by Marian Keyes
‘Babes, stop. It’s just being around your parents –’
‘Rory, he was another one. He had worth as a person, like. Me and him were a great team. I had the – the charm,’ he almost spat the word, ‘but Rory was the substance.’
‘Johnny, you’ll feel differently in the morning.’
‘I’ve felt like this for a while now. I’m hollow. There’s nothing to me. Jessie, do you love me?’
‘Of course I love you. Sweetie, what is it?’
‘Are we real? Or are we just colleagues who got married? To halve the hotel costs when we’re travelling for work?’
‘Johnny!’ This was so unlike him that she struggled for the right words. ‘Has something happened? To upset you?’
‘Ah, no, don’t mind me. I’ll go to sleep now. Turn off the light.’
‘It’s off.’
‘But it’s bright. Is it the sun? Even the sun is laughing at me.’
Within seconds he was snoring heavily.
She carried on reading, now and again giving him curious, anxious looks. Poor Johnny. Having Canice Casey as a father would dent the most robust of personalities. Was it any wonder that Johnny had become so attached to Rory’s dad, Michael Kinsella? He’d been such a lovely man: calm, wise, kind …
Well, until Johnny and Jessie had fallen for each other and all of that calm, wise kindness had been turned off like a tap.
Sometimes she wondered if Johnny still missed him. On weekends like this, she was sure that he did. But Johnny had been presented with a choice: Jessie or the Kinsellas. He’d picked Jessie. Occasionally Jessie marvelled that they’d ended up together at all. After Rory’s death, she had seen Johnny non-stop, but she’d never considered him as a man: she’d been allotted one love and he’d died. Her work was what had kept her going.
At the time the pressure to keep expanding was relentless. Her big focus was Limerick but premises there were few and far between. Naturally enough, the day a suitable site came free, she’d been up several times in the night with Saoirse. She didn’t trust herself to drive.
‘Wait until tomorrow,’ Rionna had advised.
But it was Spring 2007, boom time, and premises went fast.
Johnny, as he often did, offered to drive her.
It was early evening when they arrived in Limerick. The site looked good. The next step was for the architect to take a look. But Clellia couldn’t come until the next day.
‘Johnny?’ Jessie asked. ‘I don’t know if I could handle a seven-hour round trip home and back for tomorrow morning. If I can get the nanny to stay over with the kids, could you stay the night?’
They’d gone for a sandwich, Jessie peppering Johnny with questions. ‘You don’t think the economy is top-heavy?’ And ‘You don’t think I’m opening shops too quickly?’ And ‘You don’t think people have stopped cooking?’
When they went to the hotel – one of a chain, clean and cheap – Johnny saw her into her room to check that no one was under the bed or in the bathroom.
‘I’m pitiful, I know,’ she said, as she always did.
‘You’re not.’ He looked into the bathroom. ‘All clear. Night. See you for breakfast.’
‘Night.’ As he shut the door behind him, she called out, ‘Johnny?’
He reappeared.
‘You don’t think the site is too big?’
Wearily he shook his head, and she remembered that he was only her employee, a person with no vested interest. She was asking too much of him. ‘Sorry. I’m treating you the way I treated Rory.’
‘Not quite.’
‘What – Oh. Right.’ Her skin felt hot. ‘Ah, stop. You were only interested when I belonged to your friend. Now I’m available you wouldn’t want me.’
After a silence, he said, ‘I do want you.’
I do want you.
Hold on. Hold. On.
‘Oh, fuck.’ He’d rubbed his eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have said –’
‘But you should, you should, Johnny. And it’s said now.’ Sudden sensations were flowing through her – she visualized them later as snakes of electricity, as if a giant lever had been flipped over and she had been shocked back into life.
‘Listen.’ She clambered off the bed. ‘Wait, will you?’ She didn’t know what she was thinking. She wasn’t thinking, that was it. She was motivated by instinct, emotion, anything but thoughts. ‘Stay the night.’ She’d reached him. ‘Here. With me.’
‘Aaaah … no.’
She gave the door a gentle push, cocking her head to listen, as it softly clicked shut. Then she placed her hand on his jaw, rasping her thumb along his stubble. He was such a ride.
His face was a mix of desire and confusion. ‘Jesus, Jessie, I don’t know …’
‘We’re still alive,’ she said.
‘People will judge us.’
Feck that. She’d always played by the rules and Rory had died. Anything could be taken from you in the blink of an eye. ‘Who’ll judge?’
‘Everyone.’
‘Right now, I don’t care.’
‘Right now,’ and he seemed like a broken man, ‘neither do I.’
The surprise reveal of his body as she slowly undid his buttons, savouring every second, stroking her hands in wonder along his honed pecs, down his sides to his hip bones. Casting the cotton shirt back off his shoulders, she reached for his belt buckle and then his zip.
He’d stood like a shop dummy as if all of this was happening to another man, then abruptly reached for her, pulling her hard against him, his hands pressing on her back. The first touch of his tongue against hers felt so heady she thought she might faint. His lips butterflied along her skin, moving from her mouth to her neck, as shivers shook her body. Down her back, a rope of energy uncoiled as his hands opened her dress, helping her to step out of it.
This was the first time in more than two years that her skin had had any sensation, instead of feeling coated in a thick, rubbery lagging jacket.
Lying on the cool white sheet, his skin touching hers, thigh to thigh, stomach to stomach, calves intertwined, felt almost unbearably pleasurable. It was everything she’d never let herself think about – slow, tender, intense. Then passionate, vigorous, loud.
There was so much that was unexpected: his dedicated patience as he took her in his mouth, and stayed, until she burst into incredible sensation; the revelation of his upper-body strength. ‘How did I not know that you’ve these guns?’ she demanded, in happy outrage.
She wouldn’t compare. She’d loved Rory. She still did. She’d fancied Rory. She’d been really happy with him.
Johnny was different. That was all she could admit.
And maybe more adventurous in bed. She’d let herself admit that too.
Definitely more adventurous.
But that was all she let herself think about as she finally drifted into sleep.
As the early-morning light stole into the bedroom, she woke to find him watching her. ‘Helllooo.’ She stretched like a happy cat and slid herself up against him.
He looked woebegone.
In a cartoony sympathetic voice, she asked, ‘Johnny not happy?’
‘You’re my best friend’s widow. I’ve a duty to mind you.’
‘We’re not in a Victorian novel, Johnny. I can mind myself. But think about it, we could have so much …’ What? Fun? Pleasure? Sex! That was the word. ‘Johnny, you and me, we could have so much sex, so much lovely sex.’
‘This doesn’t feel right, Jessie. It’s not noble.’
‘We could have lots of non-noble sex?’ she said gaily.
‘No.’
‘Okay.’
‘We keep things strictly professional.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’m going to my room now. See you for breakfast.’
In a haze of bliss, she watched him leave. Things would never be professional again. She knew it. He knew it.
He just needed to make his peace with it.
She hadn’t planned to get p
regnant.
She hadn’t planned not to get pregnant either.
She’d behaved as if there were no consequences to what they were doing. Almost as if it wasn’t really happening.
Looking back, she found it hard to believe she’d been so … stupid? Irresponsible? But those descriptions weren’t accurate.
Dishonest: that was the word. She’d been lying to herself: she wasn’t sleeping with Johnny so why would she be on the pill?
Clearly he wasn’t sleeping with her either, so there was no need for condoms.
They were both adamant that their thing was temporary and top-secret. She was deluded enough to believe that no one knew.
But they knew in the office, they knew in the shops, they knew at the industry conferences. Not one person dared ask about it, but everybody knew.
Jessie’s periods stopped and she felt nauseous most days. She thought nothing of it until the night Johnny eyed her suddenly enormous breasts and asked haltingly, ‘Jessie … could you be, you know – pregnant?’
She considered it calmly. ‘I think, mmm. Yes. I could b– Yep, I am. I think.’
Eleven weeks, the scan showed.
‘You really didn’t know?’ the nurse asked. ‘But you’ve missed three periods.’
For the first time in a long time, Jessie burst into a bout of noisy crying. ‘I don’t understand. I’m a sensible person. I’m really copped-on.’
The nurse flicked a suspicious look at Johnny, then asked, ‘Is there some situation here?’
Jessie blurted, ‘My husband died two and a half years ago. Him there, Johnny, the father, was his best friend. I’m sleeping with him.’
‘Right. Well, that’s –’
‘Have you seen this ever happen before?’ Jessie asked. ‘Someone being pregnant and not telling themselves.’
‘I’ve seen women who didn’t know they were pregnant until they went into labour. The human mind is capable of a lot.’
‘But me, this sort of behaviour, where I’ve checked out of reality, it’s … new to me.’
After the appointment, she said to Johnny, ‘I’m going to see the Kinsellas. To tell them I’m pregnant.’
They were always going to find it hard if Jessie met another man – any other man.
‘And about me? I want to stop all this sneaking around. I love you.’
‘They’ll be very upset.’
‘I said I love you.’
‘I love you too.’ She was distracted. ‘Okay, we’ll go to see them together.’
Because they’d been worried that their chemistry might be obvious, they’d taken to visiting the Kinsellas separately in the months since their fling had started.
‘We’re having this baby. We need to be brave.’
It had been terrible, worse than either of them had anticipated.
‘I didn’t think I’d feel so ashamed,’ she said to Johnny, on the way home.
‘I know. And sad.’
‘Maybe it’ll be okay in a few months.’
‘Maybe.’
But the upshot was that she was now officially with Johnny. Sleep-walking her way into a pregnancy had forced the situation. What was also official was that they and the Kinsellas were estranged. And that was hard.
Back in the present, she looked at Johnny lying beside her. Even in sleep, he appeared anxious.
Maybe they needed some together time. But the mad thing was, they were together for almost every second of every day. How much more togetherness did they need?
She and Johnny were doing all their stuff side by side – the work and the kids and the social life. But were they on parallel paths, never connecting?
Fear corkscrewed in her stomach. These thoughts were scary.
But, look, she told herself, if that’s the case, do something. Fix it. Organize some alone time, some one-on-one. Be nice to him, ask questions, try to prise him open and find out what’s up.
As she returned to her iPad, she still felt unsettled. Something caught her eye on the news page and her heart plummeted: ‘Hagen Klein Goes Into Rehab’.
What the hell? Hagen Klein was lined up to do their next cookery school in three weeks’ time! And, according to this paper, he’d gone into rehab for amphetamine abuse.
No, no, no! Like, poor Hagen Klein and all, but poor Jessie too!
If he didn’t come – and how could he, if he was in rehab in Norway? – their quarterly take would plummet.
Her immediate impulse was to ring Mason, because he knew the answer to everything. But, no! He’d take this as proof that Jessie’s way of running PiG was completely wrong. Shifting PiG’s current set-up to a company that operated almost entirely online was a natural evolution, according to Mason. He was confident that public goodwill for the shops would translate into online sales.
As far as Jessie was concerned, the two ideas were entirely different. Because what no one knew about Jessie – except Jessie herself – was that she wasn’t an entrepreneur. Entrepreneurs were people who noticed gaps in a market: they could suss out weakness, had nerves of steel and negotiated like demons.
Jessie had a reputation as a resourceful business person, but all she was was someone who’d turned her hobby into a living.
In her innermost heart, Jessie suspected that her only talent now lay in bagging chefs. If they turned PiG into an online grocery, she would be literally redundant.
FIFTY-THREE
‘Nell? What are you doing out here?’
Blearily, she opened her eyes. Ferdia was staring down at her. A beautiful pink-gold light filled the sky. The sun must be nearly up.
‘Sleeping,’ she mumbled. ‘Trying to.’
‘But – Ah, for feck’s sake, you let Liam have the room?’
‘I was hardly going to share a bed with him.’ She’d taken a pillow and a throw and slept outside on one of the loungers. It was surprisingly comfortable.
‘You could have had Barty’s room!’
‘I’m good. Is Sammie okay?’
‘Or you could have slept in with her.’
Just go away, Ferdia, I need to sleep.
Later, she was awakened again, this time by Liam. ‘Nell? Baby, I’m sorry. Please talk to me.’
Angrily, she sat up. ‘What the hell, Liam?’
‘I just felt … left behind. What if you get really successful and you don’t want me any more? What if I’m too old and boring and you’re really in love with Garr?’
‘Garr? Cop on! Garr is my best friend! And you know what my work means to me. I thought you’d be happy for me –’
‘I’m jealous of your passion. And it was a weird night, Dad being such a spiteful old bastard … And there’s something else … Violet and Lenore aren’t coming to Italy. Paige says she can’t move the dates of their camp.’
‘When did you find out?’
‘… Like, ten days ago? I’m sorry for not telling you. I was just gutted. All of it together, it made me be a dick. Forgive me, Nell?’
‘It’s sad about your girls. But, Liam, what you did last night was very wrong. To me and to Sammie.’
‘Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Anything so you’ll forgive me.’
‘Apologize to Sammie. And Ferdia.’
‘Ferdia’s only a kid … I won’t apologize to him.’
‘He’s a grown man. And what about Sammie? That was … You scared her, Liam.’
‘… Did I? But …’
‘If you don’t make it right with the two of them …’
At that moment Ferdia and Sammie emerged from the house carrying their rucksacks, followed by Barty.
Ferdia asked, ‘Nell, can you drive us to the station?’
‘Not staying for the lunch?’
‘No.’
‘Aaah,’ Liam intervened. ‘Ferdia, Sammie, can I … Last night, I’m sorry. I’ve, you know, stuff going on. I was acting out. Involved you two, I shouldn’t have. Apologies. Like, sincerely.’
Ferdia and Sammie, hands entangled, flat-eyed Lia
m.
‘No hard feelings?’ Liam sounded anxious.
It was Sammie who spoke. ‘No hard feelings.’ Her voice was free from emotion. ‘No hard feelings, right, Ferdia? Right?’
‘… Okay.’
‘So we’re good?’
‘You also owe your wife an apology,’ Ferdia said to Liam.
‘That’s none of your business.’
Nell could see things escalating again very quickly. ‘He’s apologized to me, Ferdia.’
‘Okay.’
It was hardly a tearful reunion, but it would have to do. As for her own feelings? She didn’t think she’d ever been as humiliated, not in any relationship.
THREE MONTHS AGO
* * *
JULY
Jessie’s birthday
FIFTY-FOUR
Great stay in the heart of Dublin City. Cara was quick to respond to my questions and her associate was welcoming at check-in. The apartment was super-clean and looked freshly decorated. Beautiful, stylish, well equipped, more like a luxury hotel suite. Close to amenities, restaurants, bars and shops.
Johnny read it again, his chest aglow with pride. Five stars, they gave it, for cleanliness. Five stars for location. Five stars for everything! He’d swept the boards with his first Airbnb gig! Mind you, everyone had done a great job in preparing the flat for its new life. Nell’s dad and brother had given it a fresh look, not just painting the flat but sanding floorboards, fixing wonky shelves, whatever needed doing.
As for the décor, once again Nell had been a superstar, advising on affordable furniture and doing that mysterious transformative business with cushions and throw blankets, which had always baffled Johnny. It was a guilty relief that, because of the Hagen Klein shitshow, Jessie had been too busy to get involved. Christ alone knew how much they’d have ended up spending.
The day-to-day running of the flat had been delegated to an ex-employee of the Ardglass called Hassan. Cara was responsible for the broad-brush stuff but, as far as Johnny knew, it didn’t take too much of her time.
