Grown Ups

by Marian Keyes

  ‘What?’ Ed had walked in.

  Her lips felt numb. ‘I … aaaah …’

  ‘What’s happened?’ His eyes flicked over and around her, as if he was expecting evidence of a binge.

  A terrible thought occurred. ‘Did you come here to spy on me?’

  They still hadn’t fully recovered from the terrible things they’d said after her seizure. They were polite and pleasant but it felt to her that they were both acting.

  ‘I came to see you were okay. Finding your snack and all.’

  He looked surprised, then wounded. Suddenly she felt ashamed. ‘Sorry, sweetie.’

  Johnny appeared, followed by Dilly, TJ, Vinnie and Tom. More people were straggling behind them. All at once the entire household was passing through the kitchen, drifting back to their rooms for a snooze.

  Ed moved towards Cara, but she slipped away. ‘I’d better ring Peggy.’

  He had to let her go because Peggy was the person Cara trusted to keep her on the straight and narrow. Nothing could get in the way of that relationship.

  As his wife disappeared up the stairs, Ed stood in the kitchen wondering if he’d ever felt so lonely before. For the last five weeks, terror had invaded his dreams: Cara could have died. It rocketed him into wakefulness with a gasp and a pounding heart. She’s dead.

  His life had become like Sliding Doors. In one version, the real one, Cara was still alive. In the other, she’d died on that Friday night.

  He was experiencing this holiday through the prism of the second version. Even though she was here, alive, he understood how close death was. Everyone was attached to life by the most slender of threads. It was just crazy good fortune that they didn’t snap, snap, snap, one after the other, sending people tumbling into the void.

  He couldn’t stop watching Vinnie and Tom – Vinnie creating mayhem in the pool, Tom reading under a tree – and thinking how different this holiday could have been. Your mum could have died. You’d still be here and she wouldn’t.

  Not that he could tell her any of this. She was trying to get better: he couldn’t burden her.

  ‘Are you okay there?’ Johnny was looking at him with concern. ‘Come up the town. We’ll have a drink with Marcello. Man stuff! Well, we can pretend. Liam, are you on for it?’

  ‘No espresso,’ Johnny said to Marcello. ‘If we’re “talking about our feelings”, we need beer.’

  ‘Ah, stop,’ Ed said. ‘I can’t spill my guts to order.’ Besides, these men wouldn’t understand. He and Cara were different from Johnny and Jessie, from Liam and Nell, from any other couple.

  Before he’d met Cara, all three of his long-term girlfriends had dumped him. He wasn’t serious enough – about life, about his career, about them … In the early days of a relationship, he’d be lauded for his easy-going attitude but eventually that would curdle into angry charges that he was ‘detached’ and ‘too independent’.

  He’d always been okay in his own company, even as a kid. Growing up, he had idolized his older brother Johnny. But when he’d noticed how hard Johnny worked to make everyone love him, his hero-worship had mutated into something nearer to pity.

  As an adult, he was comfortable going on solo holidays. He’d strike up conversations on trains, in bars – he’d talk to anyone and he was always okay. By the time he’d met Cara, he was thirty-two and had the reputation of a nice guy who was not to be taken seriously. All of that had changed when he climbed a ladder at a house party. That night, the higher he got, the more frightened he became. Then the woman at the foot of the ladder had called up to him, ‘I’ve got you. You’re safe.’

  Out of nowhere, Ed felt something totally new: he craved the safety she promised.

  From the word go, he had thought Cara was extraordinary. But when he’d been extolling her qualities to his brothers, Liam had laughed and said, ‘True what they say, right? Love is blind.’

  After his fury had abated, Ed got it: to most people, Cara was unremarkable. But she’d unlocked his capacity to love. With that heart-rush of devotion had come matching vulnerability. He’d never wanted anyone else.

  Cheating happened, he knew. Some of his friends were loyal, some had lapses, some were habitual fuck-boys … He had his suspicions about Johnny – not that he would ever ask. If Johnny was cheating, he did not want to know. Himself, though, he was a straight arrow.

  The beers arrived and Ed filled Marcello in on his and Cara’s story.

  ‘Say something,’ Johnny said. ‘We think you’re very wise because you have a deep voice and a foreign accent.’

  ‘She is doing a rehab?’ Marcello asked. ‘This is a positive.’

  But it wasn’t.

  Ed had hoped some childhood trauma would quickly be identified and plucked out, restoring Cara to instant normality. Instead, the hospital’s recovery plan seemed to be a trial-and-error process where his wife gradually re-forged a relationship with food. Worse still, she’d become secretive about her ‘recovery’. All these years, he’d been her partner-in-crime in her overeating: hiding chocolate, retrieving it.

  Now, when she was – allegedly – getting well, she’d cut him out. It hurt him and it scared him.

  It felt that they were further away from each other than when she’d been throwing up several times a day.

  Outside the villa, Nell waved her iPad above her head. Seriously, the Wi-Fi here was shite. It was the worst to bitch about Wi-Fi when you were in actual paradise, but she needed to FaceTime Lorelei to see how things were going on set at the Liffey Theatre.

  She’d got the job designing Human Salt just after the murder-mystery weekend. It had done a huge amount to restore her confidence.

  ‘What’re you doing?’

  It was Ferdia at the door of his little house.

  ‘Trying to get a signal.’

  He opened the door wide. ‘My bedroom has the best Wi-Fi in the whole place.’

  She felt awkward about going in there. He was a young bloke – God only knew what he’d been up to.

  Ducking into his living room, she ran up the shallow stone stairs to his bedroom and tried not to look at his sheets or the clothes strewn on the floor. It didn’t smell too bad: no smell of feet or sweat or … self-pleasuring. Suddenly she wanted to giggle.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ His head had appeared around the doorway.

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘You like a drink? I’ve cider!’

  ‘Sure.’ Why not? It was nearly six o’clock.

  Ferdia was right about the signal. She connected immediately.

  ‘Lorelei, sorry about the lateness. Crappy Wi-Fi. How’s it all going?’

  ‘We can’t have the giant water tank. Health and safety.’

  Ah, shite. She’d feared as much but Nell was ever the optimist.

  ‘But we can have five smaller ones in a line. We’ve done a mock-up –’

  ‘Show me.’

  Lorelei demonstrated the line of smaller water tanks. ‘Taken together,’ she said, ‘it could still look like the sea.’

  Nell wasn’t sure. It was frustrating not to be there. ‘Let me sleep on it. Maybe something will come to me. Thanks, hon, talk soon.’

  ‘Any time you need the signal,’ Ferdia said, once she was back downstairs, ‘come over. So you’re working again?’

  ‘Yep. I got back on the horse –’

  ‘Like I said?’ He sounded pleased.

  ‘Oh? It was you, right! Yep, got a gig for the theatre festival. Not as big as the one I was working on in Mayo, much smaller budget, but the work is interesting. I’m excited about it.’

  ‘It must be frustrating being here and not there?’

  ‘Yes –’ She caught herself and flushed. ‘Who wouldn’t want to be here? The most beautiful place ever. And Liam and I are going to the Uffizi on Tuesday. Does it get any better?’

  ‘I wasn’t throwing shade. I was just …’

  ‘… being nice?’

  ‘Yeah!’ He grinned. ‘Being nice.’

&
nbsp; ‘That’s new.’

  The grin vanished. ‘I’ve been behaving differently for a while now.’ He sounded hurt. ‘More mature.’

  Now that he mentioned it, he didn’t seem as touchy as he’d used to. Must be Perla’s good influence. And he’d been great that night in Gulban Manor, helping Cara. ‘You are different,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added. ‘I’m too caught up in my own stuff.’ Encourage the lad, why not? ‘You coming up to the procession later?’

  Santa Laura was having some religious festival.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t miss it.’

  She looked at him carefully.

  ‘I mean it. I’m not being sarky.’

  After dinner, when all the kids had run off, Jessie set her elbows on the table with purpose. ‘Okay, can I talk to you about a thing? Last weekend in September? Harvest?’

  ‘What is it?’ Nell asked.

  ‘Festival,’ Johnny said. ‘A new one, only been on the go for the last two years.’

  ‘Is that the one in a forest in Tipperary? But it’s really –’

  ‘Nouvy,’ Jessie jumped in. ‘Yes!’

  ‘I was going to say upmarket.’

  Ferdia laughed. ‘It’s not nouvy. It’s cool, boutique, eco-friendly.’

  ‘Grown-up,’ Jessie insisted.

  ‘For people who can’t hack hardship. The tents have actual beds.’

  ‘But the bathrooms are shared. All the same, they’re so, so clean.’ Jessie’s face took on a dreamy expression. ‘They’ve outdoor showers, wooden bathtubs in the forest fed from hot springs, fairy lights strung through the trees …’ To Nell, she said, ‘You’ll love it.’

  ‘What? Am I going?’

  ‘If you’d like. Here’s the deal,’ Jessie said. ‘Pop-up PiG cookery school with René Redzepi’s ex-sous-chef doing free demos. I need volunteers.’

  ‘To do what?’ Liam sounded sceptical.

  ‘Lure people in, pass around the food, then data-capture. Basically, persuade people to give up their email. There’s going to be twelve thousand well-off notion-y types gathered in one place. Ideal customers for the cookery school.’

  ‘I’ve a lot going on.’ Again from Liam. ‘Doing my course plus pretty much managing a busy bike shop for shitty pay.’

  ‘No one’s making you,’ Jessie said, a hint of vinegar to her tone. ‘The guys from work would kill to come, but family gets first dibs. You’ll have plenty of time to go to gigs or have your chakras realigned or smoke some really strong blem and lie flat on your back outside your caravan, looking up at the stars and talking shite for six hours …’ This last part was directed at Johnny.

  ‘You can take an acting workshop,’ Ed said. ‘Or listen to Angela Merkel talking to the head of the IMF or go swimming in the river –’

  ‘Nudey swimming.’ Bridey had reappeared.

  ‘It was only one nudey woman,’ Jessie said. ‘And I think she was just confused.’

  ‘It sounds amazing,’ Nell said. ‘Even the non-nudey swimming.’

  ‘And your accommodation would be free.’

  ‘Is that when we stayed in the caravan that looks like a cottage?’ Dilly had also slunk back to the table. ‘Oh, Nell, you must come. It’s glorious. The kitchen table turns into a bed. It’s magic. Bridey says it’s unhygienic.’

  ‘It is unhygienic!’

  ‘Are you going?’ Nell asked Cara.

  She shook her head. ‘I’d love the music but I don’t do well in the outdoors. Camping, even glamping, it’s not for me. And it’s the same weekend as my friend Gabby’s birthday. Ed goes, though.’

  ‘Line-up is always amazing.’ Ed was scrolling through his phone. ‘This year they’ve got … wow, Hozier, Janelle Monáe, Duran Duran, hah! Are they still alive? Laurie Anderson, Halsey … Someone usually does a secret gig. Jessie, count me in.’

  ‘And me,’ Ferdia said. ‘I’m going anyway. Me and Perla –’

  ‘What?!’ Jessie jumped on this information. ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since a few weeks ago.’

  ‘I’m on for it too,’ Nell said.

  ‘You’ll be working.’ This from Liam.

  ‘Last weekend of September? No, my play will have opened. I’m in. Won’t it be cold, though?’

  ‘Amazingly, no,’ Johnny said. ‘The last two years it’s been blazing sunshine, like they have their own micro-climate.’

  ‘Maybe they get some fighter planes up there to burst all the rainclouds, like Putin does before a big parade,’ Ferdia said.

  ‘Maaaybe.’ Jessie was thoughtful. To Ferdia, she asked, ‘Are you sure it’s not nouvy?’

  SEVENTY

  ‘What if I have a heart attack?’ Johnny asked.

  ‘You won’t,’ Liam scoffed.

  It was Monday morning, another shiny yellow day. Johnny, Liam and Ed were gathered at the breakfast table, consulting a big fold-out map.

  Nell arrived. ‘I’m having one more coffee before the pool.’

  ‘Nell,’ Johnny said. ‘Protect me from your husband. He’s making me go on a killer cycle tomorrow.’

  ‘T-tomorrow?’ Nell suddenly had a very bad feeling. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s making us cycle fifty-five kilometres, up steep hills, in the heat.’ Johnny’s tone was cheery.

  ‘But tomorrow?’ she checked.

  ‘Tomorrow. Tuesday.’

  Liam had looked up from the map. ‘What?’

  Trying to sound jokey, she wagged her finger. ‘No cycle for you tomorrow. You’ve a date with me in the Uffizi.’

  Dumbstruck, he stared at her.

  ‘Remember? I booked tickets? It’s in our planner.’

  He grabbed his phone and checked. ‘Shit. Sorry, baby. Totally forgot.’

  ‘Lucky you have me to remind you.’ She forced a smile.

  ‘Will it be like the Prado in Madrid?’

  ‘Maybe even better.’

  ‘Oh, baby, nooooo.’

  Now she was dumbstruck. Eventually she managed, ‘I thought you loved the Prado? You said you did.’

  ‘I’ve literally never been so bored in my life.’

  She was shocked beyond words.

  Jessie, with her radar for drama, had emerged from the kitchen.

  ‘I went because I love you,’ Liam said.

  He seemed to be waiting for her to let him off the hook.

  ‘But I thought you …’ Nell was still in shock.

  ‘Ah, Liam!’ Johnny scolded.

  ‘I did it because I love her. It was a good thing.’

  ‘But the deal is, you can never drop the act!’ Ed said.

  ‘You take it to your grave.’

  Everyone weighed in with the same opinion. The tone was jokey, but the mood was tense.

  ‘It’s okay.’ A wobbly smile inched across her face. ‘I’ll go on my own. I’ll love it.’

  ‘You can’t go on your own,’ Jessie cried.

  ‘Seriously. I’m super-excited. It’s all good.’ Before anyone could say another thing, she abandoned her coffee and turned back upstairs.

  She lay on the bed. So. This was not good.

  A bump at the bedroom door heralded the arrival of Liam. ‘Nell, I’m really sorry. I’m a dick.’

  She sat up. ‘Yep.’

  ‘You know what it’s like? Start of something, you’d agree to anything so the person thinks you’re cool. Everyone does it.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Yeh. Course. Everyone.’ He was energetically defensive. ‘I get it, you feel humiliated –’

  It was a lot worse than that. ‘I’m wondering who I married.’

  He groaned. ‘Oh, Nell. Don’t make a thing of this. It’s not important.’

  ‘It’s important to me.’

  ‘Seriously, don’t be a bitch. You’re better than this. Do you still want me to come?’

  ‘Are you insane? That would be the literal worst.’

  ‘Baby, I fucked up. But I haven’t done anything that every human on earth hasn’t don
e at one stage. You could look at it another way.’

  ‘And what way’s that?’

  ‘That even though you’re passionate about something I don’t understand – that I actually can’t stand – I still love you.’

  ‘No! No way. You don’t get to say anything like that ever. I didn’t lie about who I am.’

  ‘I didn’t lie either. I just – Nell, let’s stop this. C’mon, let’s go to the pool.’

  ‘You go. I’ll be down in a while. I just need to … process.’

  ‘You’ll be okay,’ he said.

  She probably would. But how many more discoveries would she have to make about him? Was this how it was for everyone? Was this what they meant when they said marriage was hard? One disappointment and shock after another?

  ‘Ferdia? You in? Can I use your Wi-Fi?’

  He opened his door. He was eating an apple. ‘Sure. Go on up.’ He spoke through a full mouth. ‘Y’okay? I heard about the art-gallery cluster.’

  ‘Grand. Just looking for a cheap hotel in Florence for tonight. My Uffizi ticket is for nine forty-five a.m. tomorrow, local bus can’t get me there on time. So I’ll go this afternoon, stay the night and, bam, be on the spot when I wake up. Except everything’s fully booked.’

  ‘Late August,’ he said. ‘Tourist Central. Why can’t you drive? It’s only an hour.’

  She hesitated. ‘Don’t judge, but I’m nervous about driving into Florence. They’re loons on the road here, and there’s all these rules. You need a permit for the centre of Florence and I can’t do it, not on my own.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Another fool. Seriously, who had she wronged in a past life to deserve this visitation of fools?

  ‘I’d like to see “art”. Sammie said I was a cultural wasteland. There’s a Da Vinci museum as well, with some of the machines he designed. That would be cool. Hey!’ He stalled her protests. ‘I’m not being nice. I want to go – there’s a spare ticket, so let’s go. I can even drive.’

  ‘I don’t know … I’d better talk to Jessie.’

  ‘I’m twenty-one. Nearly twenty-two. I’m not a kid, Nell. If we’re “talking” to my mum, shouldn’t you “talk” to your husband?’

  She scoffed and rolled her eyes. ‘Seriously, I need to okay this with Jessie.’