by Marian Keyes
Nothing.
She scanned it more slowly, just to be certain her anxiety wasn’t making her miss something.
Still nothing.
The disappointment was brutal.
She moved on to the Irish Times.
‘Anything?’ Liam had woken up.
‘Not in the Indo. Or, by the looks of things, the Irish Times.’
Now he was clicking and studying his screen. ‘Small mention here in the Mail.’
‘Show me.’ She lunged at him.
‘Sorry, baby. Nothing about you.’
She insisted on reading it. ‘An adequate production,’ was the conclusion but there was no mention of her or her set.
Because she’d got such good reviews for Timer, she’d been desperate for further recognition of her work. She couldn’t help it.
‘Another mention, tiny, on RTÉ.ie,’ he said. ‘Nothing about you again.’
She had to read that one, too, before she believed him.
It was mad to get hung up on reviews. A bad one could destroy your confidence, just as a good one could have you mistakenly thinking you were the Second Coming.
Her own opinion of her work should be the only one that mattered. But she kept googling and clicking, a few wisps of hope hanging on. Eventually she sighed and gave up.
‘Nothing else?’ Liam asked.
She shook her head, too disappointed to speak.
‘It’s the festival.’ He sounded sympathetic. ‘So many shows on. They probably don’t have the reviewers to get around to everything.’
‘It’s grand,’ she said. ‘I did good work and that’s all that matters. And maybe there’ll be something in the Ticket on Friday.’
Liam sounded irked. ‘Why does it matter so much? Like, you’re always working. Or thinking about work.’
‘Not always. I –’ Surprised, she stopped. ‘You know it’s important to me.’
‘Actually, no. When I met you, you said that money didn’t matter.’
That wasn’t what she’d said. Or thought. Ever. Money wasn’t her motivation. But she was very ambitious. Confused, she said, ‘They’re two different things – money and work. Working makes me happy.’
‘I don’t believe this.’ He seemed angry. ‘You sold yourself to me as easy-going, relaxed –’
‘Sold myself?’
‘Just a phrase. Don’t get up in my grille.’
She was too dispirited to fight.
‘Seriously, though,’ he said hotly, ‘last summer when we went up the west coast on the bus? You weren’t working then. Or talking about it.’
‘Because there wasn’t any. Nothing new was casting. But I told you the very first night we met how much my work means to me.’
‘Nope. No memory of that. Just this cool girl, loving life.’
‘But, Liam …’ Again, she stopped. Back then he’d obviously decided she was some sort of skippy, free-spirited, unworldly type. Any evidence to the contrary jarred with who he’d decided she was.
No wonder he was pissed off with her.
‘Hey.’ His tone was friendlier. ‘Why don’t I give you a massage? Practice for me and it might relax you.’
Hah. The massage would last about two seconds before he had a hard-on and it became foreplay.
She didn’t want to fuck. Even the idea of him touching her gave her the giant ick.
The day after an opening night was always weird: nervy exhaustion mixed with anti-climax. Suddenly, after weeks of working twelve hours a day, there was literally nothing to do. Unless the reviews were great, Nell knew there was no way round this dip in her mood. It had to run its course.
She and Lorelei had a text back-and-forth, where they propped each other up with assurances that they’d done their best. The director emailed her thanks. Triona and Wanda WhatsApped to tell her again how great she was.
And Liam was still hanging around.
She was anxious that he’d stay home all day, trying to convince her that sex would cure her of her micro-depression.
She was more and more worried that his bad attitude would piss Chelsea off enough to sack him.
There was no denying the practicalities here. One of them needed to be generating some dosh.
Right now, she was convinced she’d never work again.
When, at nearly midday, he finally left for work, relief flooded her.
On the couch with Molly Ringwald and her iPad, she escaped online. She did a quiz on Buzzfeed, then at least twenty more, before falling asleep, only to be woken at 10 p.m. by a WhatsApp from Perla: Saw Human Salt. So good! Your set is clever. See you at Harvest at w/e.
Her phone beeped again. Another WhatsApp. This time from Ferdia.
Hey! Perla and me just out from Human Salt. You’re a genius, the set was the best thing about the play. (Not dissing the play.) See you at the not-nouvy festival!
They’d gone together.
They’d gone together, just the two of them. On a date. Being loyal and nice to Nell because she was the one who’d introduced them.
All day, tears had been threatening and, finally, she cried. For the failure of her marriage, the disappointment about her play and, most of all, for her giant stupid crush on a twenty-two-year-old boy.
TWO WEEKS AGO
* * *
FRIDAY, 25 SEPTEMBER
Harvest Festival
EIGHTY-EIGHT
Just like the previous time Nell had had a positive review, Garr gave her the good news, this time via a WhatsApp at 8.07 a.m. on Friday morning: Irish Times loving your work. See The Ticket.
‘Liam!’ She nudged him awake. ‘Open the Ticket. Garr says there’s a mention! Oh, God, here it is!’ She scanned the text, ‘Blah de blah, dialogue, acting … Oh, here we go! “Nell McDermott’s set is original and surprising. Rapidly becoming the go-to designer for innovation on a shoestring. It would be interesting to see what she’d pull off with a decent budget. In the world of Irish set design, she’s one to watch.”’ Her face was full of wonder. ‘That’s me they’re talking about, Liam. Me! I’m one to watch, Liam. Me!’
‘Congratulations, baby.’
She scooped up Molly Ringwald and twirled about the room. ‘Your mama is one to watch! Bet you didn’t know that now, did you?’ She doused the cat with kisses.
‘Don’t get too carried away,’ Liam said, from the bed. ‘The world of Irish set design is a very small one.’
Abruptly she stopped. ‘You’re pissed off! You’d be happier if they’d said I was shit.’
‘Bollocks.’
No, it wasn’t.
Maybe it was …
A silent stare-off ensued, then Nell swung off to the bathroom.
‘Come on,’ Nell said. ‘Grab your weekend bag and let’s go.’
Liam made a face. ‘Yeah, you know, I’m not feeling it.’
Startled, tripping over her words, she said, ‘This isn’t just a jolly we can opt out of. Jessie needs us to work.’
Irritably he said, ‘She’s got dozens of minions down at that festival.’
‘We said we’d be there for her.’
‘And I’ve changed my mind. My job is a mare, I’m studying on my own time for another career, and I’m expected to work for free on my weekend off.’
There were a hundred ways she could shoot this down, but suddenly she didn’t care. ‘Well, I’m going.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because she’s depending on me.’
‘No, baby, don’t. Stay here with me.’
‘Will you even tell her you’re not coming?’
‘You’re really going? Then you tell her.’
She stepped into the kitchen and rang Jessie.
‘Nell?’ Jessie answered. ‘Y’okay?’
‘Grand. But, Jessie, Liam isn’t …’ Why should she cover for him? ‘Liam won’t be coming to Harvest.’
‘Is it his bad back?’
Jessie was so willing to give Liam the benefit of the doubt that Nell felt a huge rush of love
for her.
‘His back is grand. And I’m still coming.’
‘You don’t have to. I can get –’
‘I want to. I’ll text Ed, see if he’ll give me a lift down.’
Cara let herself into the house to find Ed in the hall, his backpack at his feet, keen to get going to Harvest.
She could have been home an hour earlier, instead of floating around Brown Thomas. But it was still too soon to tell him that she’d stopped going to Peggy. Another few weeks should do it.
‘Honey, go,’ she said. ‘Have a great time.’
‘The car’s being temperamental,’ he said. ‘I hope it survives the journey. Sorry to leave you all alone with this pair.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I’m going out tomorrow night.’
Vinnie and Tom would be spending the night with Dorothy and Angus.
‘I know. I just …’
‘If you’re worried I’ll go on some mad binge, I can tell you that I won’t.’
‘I didn’t mean …’
‘It’s fine, it’s fine.’ She tried to wave away the acrimony. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’ll call you.’ He still looked unsure. ‘Have a great time with Gabby.’
‘You have a great time too.’
When he’d gone, she put the boys in front of a movie and a giant bowl of homemade popcorn and slid on her headphones. One of her favourite YouTubers had just uploaded their stay in the Haritha Villas, Sri Lanka, literally walking her through every stunning step of it. It was over the top but oh-so-fabulous.
After that she immersed herself in a duplex suite in the George Cinq, then a luxury tree-house in Costa Rica …
‘Mum.’
‘Mum.’ Her leg was being poked. She lifted off one of the earphones. Vinnie was yelling, ‘MUM! Movie’s over. Ice-cream!’
‘Okay. Take it easy, sweetie.’ She moved to the kitchen and rummaged around in the freezer. ‘What flavour? Pistachio?’
‘No!’
‘I’d rather die,’ Tom said primly.
‘Chocolate?’
‘Yes!’
Three small scoops in two small bowls, that would do them. As she shut the freezer door with her hip, she automatically licked the scoop. Oh, my God, it was so intensely delicious that she felt light-headed.
In the living room, she watched the boys devour their ice-cream.
Sugar was not something she could avoid for ever. At some stage, she’d have to start eating normally again. Now was as good a time as any.
Back in the kitchen she got herself two medium-sized scoops of chocolate ice-cream. Then sat down and ate them.
Nothing bad happened.
EIGHTY-NINE
Harvest boasted impeccable eco-credentials. Indeed, no sooner had Ed parked his car than Nell had counted two, three … no four Teslas.
‘This crowd really are eco-sound,’ she said to Ed.
‘Yeaaahhh.’ He sounded doubtful. ‘All the same, Jessie says they kicked off big-time when the helipad was scrapped.’
It was almost eight in the evening, the light was dimming, and dozens of people were crossing the field, heading for the entrance, carrying – even in the gloom Nell noticed this – very sleek-looking weekend bags. A lot of Louis Vuitton.
Almost as soon as she was through the gate, a troupe of samba dancers, about thirty strong, kitted out in full carnival regalia, went dancing by, their feathered headdresses swaying.
‘That’s the pop-up Mardi Gras,’ Ed said.
Mesmerized, she watched them go.
Ed was consulting his app. ‘Jessie and the gang are at the Singing Vegan, which is …’ he looked around and pointed ‘… this way.’
As he led her past tents and stages, through groups of beautiful girls, covered with glitter, she wondered if Ferdia had arrived yet. The eruption of longing was shocking. Even if he were there, he’d be with Perla.
You really need to get a grip on yourself.
Now they were passing through a cluster of street-food vans from around the world, set against a giant cine-screen of the Brooklyn Bridge. You could almost fool yourself you were in New York. It was stunning.
‘This isn’t the half of it,’ Ed said. ‘As well as the bands, there’s so much fun stuff, mad stuff, dance lessons, candle-making, tantric something or other …’ They turned into a narrow street with small, vibrantly coloured ‘buildings’. They looked Nepalese, or perhaps Andean. Just façades, but so convincing.
Following his app, Ed said, ‘The Singing Vegan should be right … here!’
So it was. They opened the door and there were Jessie, Johnny and what seemed like an army of children. But after the frenzy of hugging had died down, Nell registered that only Bridey, TJ, Dilly and Kassandra were present. ‘Where’s, um, Saoirse?’
‘Not coming,’ TJ said. ‘She’s got a new friend. A Goth. She cut her fringe really short and says she might dye her hair navy.’
‘Ill-advised, imo,’ Bridey said. ‘That means “in my opinion”.’
‘We miss her,’ TJ said. ‘But what can you do?’
‘That’s sad.’ Clearing her throat, Nell aimed for a deeply casual tone. ‘And Ferdia?’
‘Coming tomorrow with Perla.’
Perla. God. How sorry she was that she’d ever introduced them. But how could she grudge Perla happiness?
‘You like to see your tent?’ Dilly asked.
‘Or would you like to eat?’ Jessie asked.
‘The tent.’
‘C’mon.’ She was swept out of the door by all the females of the group.
‘At first it will seem far –’ Dilly said.
‘– and confusing –’ Kassandra said.
‘– so if you get lost, look up for the tower. You see it?’
‘Head for there. Then you can ask a man.’
‘Not any man. They must have the uniform – we’re nearly there!’ Then, ‘This is your tent,’ Dilly declared. ‘Isn’t it adorable?’
Adorable was exactly right: a cosy cone-roofed space with pink-hued lanterns strung across the ceiling. It even had a real bed, made from carved wood, adorned with patterned pillows and mohair throws. A solid-looking chest-of-drawers sported an old-fashioned wireless.
‘Shoes off!’ Bridey said. ‘Now try the carpet.’
The ground sheet was covered with three overlapping rugs, which felt deep and luxurious.
‘Because Uncle Liam isn’t here, Kassandra and I will sleep in with you,’ Dilly said.
‘Thank you. I accept, with pleasure.’
‘Is there room for me?’ Bridey asked.
‘No!’ Dilly yelled.
‘Of course,’ Nell said.
‘Uncle Ed’s tent is over there,’ TJ said. ‘His isn’t as fancy. That’s because he’s a man and men don’t care about any of that shi–’ she threw a hunted look at Jessie ‘– stuff. And Perla’s is down that way.’
‘You don’t have your own bathroom,’ Bridey said. ‘But they’re not far –’
‘– and they’re not disgusting.’
‘Let’s show her the magic bathtubs!’ Jessie ducked back outside and led the way through the rows of tents.
‘They’re outside,’ Dilly said. ‘But hidden in the trees, so nobody can see your bum. There’s one, over there.’
‘See that giant water-jug beside the trees?’ TJ asked Nell. ‘With the tulip drawn on it? That’s the tulip bath.’
TJ moved closer, stuck her face between two tree trunks and yelled, ‘Hello? Is anyone in the bath being nudey?’ She paused, appearing to listen.
‘You can just check the app,’ Jessie said. ‘That’ll say if it’s occupied.’
‘But I like shouting,’ TJ said. ‘Tell us NOW because we’re COMING in.’
Nobody answered. ‘They didn’t say they weren’t there. So let’s go in.’
Linked between TJ and Dilly, Nell was led into an enchanting little space. In a circle surrounded by dense foliage, a deep bathtub sat on slate flooring. Simple shelves made from
tree branches sported towels and soaps.
‘You like?’ Jessie asked.
Nell breathed, ‘I love. You’re literally having a bath in a forest.’
‘When you book it,’ Jessie said, ‘they’ll run the bath, so it’s all ready when you arrive. And the water’s great for your skin because it comes from hot springs.’
‘But not smelly!’
‘Can anyone use this?’ Nell asked.
‘Course. Look on the app, see if a bath is free – there are seven – and put your name down! Easy! Let’s get Daddy and Uncle Ed. We’ll sit in the enchanted garden and we’ll plan our gigs and stuff for tomorrow.’
‘Jessie, give me my orders,’ Ed said.
Jessie produced her iPad.
A shoal of people in patterned bodysuits fluttered by, wearing wings lit up by LED strips.
‘Who are they?’ Nell stared after them as they flickered off into the night.
‘Just people being fireflies,’ Johnny said.
‘I love it here.’
‘I hope you’ll still love it after you’ve worked six cookery demos,’ Jessie said. ‘Three tomorrow, three on Sunday, at ten, twelve thirty and four o’clock, each forty-five minutes long. Float around with a tray of food, have a chat. If they seem friendly, ask if they’d like to be on our mailing list. No need to be pushy. If they’re not keen, be nice and move on.
‘Just you two will be doing the ten a.m. and twelve thirty sessions. But Ferdia and Perla will be there for the rest. If you can get to each demo fifteen minutes early that would be great. Apart from that, your time is your own.’
‘But everyone is coming to Momoland at five thirty,’ Dilly insisted. ‘A girl band. K-pop. From Korea! Oh, Nell, they’re so cute.’
‘We love them,’ Bridey said.
‘There’s nine girls,’ Dilly gushed. ‘They all have different hair.’
‘They’re too girly,’ TJ said. ‘But I like the songs. And sometimes their videos are funny.’
‘It’s bubblegum pop,’ Dilly said.
That made Nell laugh. ‘What do you know about bubblegum pop?’
‘It’s what Ferdia said.’ Defensively, she declared, ‘And there’s nothing wrong with it. I’ll teach you the moves.’
