by Marian Keyes
‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’ve obviously thrown a scare into you. The “you and me” thing was only an idea. A bad one. I didn’t mean it.’
‘Ah, sure, I know that.’ Jesus Christ, the relief.
‘Off my rocker there, for a while. None of us are exactly in tip-top condition now, are we? I’m sorry for putting the wind up you.’
‘Nah. You haven’t. Seriously work is mental.’
Funnily enough, that was the truth. Jessie kept pushing forward, working herself harder and harder and dragging everyone else with her. She was currently fixated on finding premises in Limerick.
‘Come down this Saturday, though,’ Izzy coaxed. ‘We all miss you. I’ll ring Jessie and tell her to give you the weekend off.’
‘Right, so, do that!’
A huge load had lifted from him. Suddenly he was springing around, full of energy.
As it happened, a couple of days later he drove Jessie to Limerick to view potential premises.
The site looked promising, good enough to get the architect involved. Jessie was too tired for another round trip the next day: her nanny could spend the night with Ferdia and Saoirse, and Johnny was okay to stay the night because he had nothing on that evening. Because he never did.
They booked into a small hotel, then went for a sandwich. Johnny saw Jessie to her room, then checked there were no intruders hiding under her bed. He was almost out of the door when she said, ‘You only wanted me because your buddy did.’
He could have left it at that – a short laugh, an admission that that was the kind of dickhead he was.
Instead he said, ‘I do want you.’
Because, yeah, he did.
Hadn’t he recently learnt that actions have consequences, that he couldn’t live his life having sex with anyone and everyone?
But this was Jessie.
Flushed and delighted, she was suddenly unbuttoning his shirt, and although he tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, he wasn’t stopping her either. And sometimes he had to wonder just what kind of man he was.
ELEVEN DAYS AGO
* * *
MONDAY, 28 SEPTEMBER
NINETY-TWO
From his breathing, Nell could tell that Liam was already awake.
Neither of them had a job, so neither had any reason to get up. It was a depressing realization. ‘It’s everyone’s dream to skip work on a Monday morning,’ she said, ‘but when you’ve no choice …’
Liam rolled over. ‘I know what will make us both feel better.’
No. She slithered across the sheets and clambered from the bed.
‘What?’ He looked baffled. ‘You don’t want to?’
What should she say? ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Is it your period?’
‘No … I’m just … sorry.’
‘You just don’t want to?’ He seemed shocked. ‘Don’t you fancy me any more?’
‘I just don’t want to right now.’
‘I don’t get it.’
She shrugged nervously. She needed a reason to be out of the flat. The two of them trapped there together day after day felt dangerous.
In the living room, she rang her dad.
‘Nellie, what’s up?’
‘Have you a job on right now? Can I help out? I don’t need to be paid much.’
‘Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?’
‘Dad. Yes or no?’
‘… Yeh. Big house in Malahide. Look, are you all right?’
‘I just need to be doing something. That’s all.’
‘Don’t tell me, so. Your mother will get it out of you and she’ll tell me. You could cut out the middle man and … No? Rightio. You want to start tomorrow?’
‘Thanks. Text me the address.’
‘I could just tell it to you. Seeing as we’re talking to each other. Why do we have to click every fecking thing? Can’t I just –’
‘Grand. Fine. Tell me.’
She heard Liam slam out of the apartment. With enormous relief, she climbed onto the couch with Molly Ringwald, got her iPad and googled, ‘I got divorced and I wasn’t even married a year.’
It was amazing how often this happened. There were couples who had discovered on literal honeymoon that it was all over. For some, the wedding preparations had been so elaborate and time-draining that the happy pair hadn’t exchanged a civil word in months. When they’d found themselves marooned together on a tiny strip of sand in the Indian Ocean, they’d discovered that actually they couldn’t stand each other.
Then there were the women who had ‘panic-married’: afraid they’d never find the perfect man, they’d decided they could put up with some substandard specimen. Only to realize that, actually, they couldn’t …
Nell devoured each story, taking particular comfort from the ones most similar to her: basically that they’d got married too quickly, before they knew each other properly. ‘It’s too easy to tune out the details at the start.’ That really resonated.
There was no point in blaming Liam. This was on her. She’d willed him to be Mr Fabulous and she’d refused to listen to those who begged her to be cautious.
Why had they got married? What was the big fat hurry? Liam had wanted it, but so had she.
She’d thought it was exciting – that was what it was. That it made her seem interesting and grown-up.
Now she remembered actually saying to her dad, ‘We can always get divorced.’ She’d been joking but, subconsciously, had she sensed that this was not something for the long haul?
She hadn’t left Liam. Because if she had, the entire Casey clan would have been in uproar. She’d seemed so certain on Saturday night. But something had obviously changed after she’d arrived home. Had she decided to give him another chance? Realized she still loved him?
Whatever it was, Ferdia felt like shit. Hands down, these had been the hardest few days in forever.
On Sunday evening, when they’d all got back from the festival, he’d been holding his breath, waiting for the news to break that she’d left Liam. Nothing happened, so, feeling uneasy, he went to bed. The next morning, still no word. He went to college, trying to style it out, but checking his phone every ten minutes.
All he got was a big fat nothing. Every. Single. Time.
Tuesday, same. He was distracted, jittery and utterly fucking miserable.
The worst was that he had no one to talk to. Especially not Nell.
Whatever she decided to do – or not – he had to be cool: texting or calling would be stalker-y.
Who knew if she’d have a thing with him even if she left Liam? But while she was still married, there was zero hope.
It was crushing him. He felt abandoned, as if he’d lost someone precious. Which was insane, because he’d never actually had her.
Wednesday morning now. Still no news. For the first time, he admitted that there would likely be no news. This was his life now. He needed to carry on, act As If. Keep putting one foot in front of the other and eventually he’d get over her.
Up in the house, the breakfast mayhem was under way.
Jessie thrust a plate at him. ‘Bunny, toast, it’s going spare.’ Then, to the younger kids, ‘Go now or you’ll miss the bus.’
Ferdia looked at the slice of toast. His mouth was dry. He literally couldn’t eat. ‘Mum?’ he croaked. ‘When’s our next family get-together?’
She flicked a look at Johnny. ‘His birthday. Friday week. Dinner here at the house.’
‘Who’s coming?’
‘Usual. Us. Ed, Cara and the nippers. Liam and Nell. Why?’
‘Just wondering.’
She was all set to interrogate him further, but her phone beeped.
Zipping past, she took a glance. ‘From Nell. Liam’s looking for bodies to practise his massage on.’
‘Wha-at?’
‘His massage course.’ Jessie was impatient. ‘He needs volunteers.’
Nell was going in to bat for Liam? This really didn’t sound good.<
br />
‘I’m too busy,’ Johnny said quickly.
‘It can be any time over the next seven weeks.’
‘Even if I had all of eternity, I’m not having a massage. Doesn’t anyone ever consider how unnatural it is? One person scrubbing away at another person, like they’re trying to get dog wee out of the rug?’
‘When did Camilla wee on the rug?’ Jessie glared.
‘It’s fixed now.’
‘Grand. I’m also too busy,’ Jessie said.
‘So not loving the idea of a massage from Uncle Liam.’ Saoirse made an ick face.
‘Ferd?’
‘Seriously? You know what I think about that dick.’
‘He could ask Robyn.’ Saoirse’s voice was soft. ‘I’m sure she’d enjoy it. They both would.’
As Jessie descended the stairs into the gloom of Jack Black’s, the barman spotted her and reached for the gin bottle. No. Gin was for evening times, not for ten thirty in the morning.
There, at a sticky table, sporting yet another of his wacko suits, was Karl Brennan. In a different person, his reliability might be impressive but today, their third meeting, Jessie wondered if he actually slept there.
She shook her head at the barman. ‘Just water, thanks.’
‘But you always have gin!’
My God, these men with their fragile egos, looking for positive endorsement simply for remembering a person’s drink. Which was (a) their job. And (b) hardly the most challenging prospect when she was literally the only woman she’d ever seen in this small, desolate bar. Which, for her own sanity, she’d renamed Last Stop Before Rehab.
‘Bit early for gin,’ she said, which caused two men at separate tables to give her startled, wounded stares.
‘Ms Parnell.’ Karl gave an over-formal nod. ‘Always a pleasure.’
‘Mr Brennan.’ Jessie pulled up a stool.
She had no experience of management consultants but suspected Karl Brennan was wildly atypical of the breed. For a start, he seemed to do a lot of daytime drinking. Also, evening drinking.
His suits belonged to the lead singer in an eighties band.
As did his hair.
But his ability to focus on the very things she thought were important heartened her. He’d asked for this meeting to drill down into her chef-pestering. Her suspicion was that he was many things – most of them bad – but there was a chance that, in his repulsive, dysfunctional way, he might be a genius.
‘Ed, no! I’d have to shave my legs. And maybe put on fake tan.’
‘What? Why?’
‘For Liam to see me without my clothes on … I would die.’
‘But didn’t Peggy say you’ve to start being kind to your body?’
‘Yes, but …’
… It was almost three weeks since she’d seen Peggy. In a few more weeks, she’d be able to tell Ed.
‘How about you tell Liam you’re nervous?’ Ed suggested.
‘I don’t think he’d care.’
‘He’ll be dealing with all kinds of people, if he ever qualifies. This’ll be a good opportunity for him. And for you.’
She could not bear to be massaged by Liam. He was not a good man. She wasn’t quite sure when she’d arrived at that decision but she felt it intensely.
He was a bit of a lech – in Tuscany he’d been ogling Robyn non-stop.
She didn’t think he was a kind person. She sometimes wondered if Nell was too young and too dazzled by him.
But if she kept resisting this massage suggestion, there was a chance that Ed might do something like ring Peggy to get her to intercede. And that would be a disaster.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Cara says you can massage her,’ Nell said.
Liam winced. ‘No. I can’t deal, not with her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Super-judgy person.’
‘She’s totally not. She’s so sweet.’ It was a huge effort to get herself under control. ‘When you qualify you’ll have to work with people you don’t love. All part of your training.’
‘I’ll only work with people I like.’ He noticed her sceptical look. ‘What? I’m good at this, Nell. I’ll be able to pick and choose my clients.’
This was like being in a bad dream, trapped with Liam until he passed his fucking exams.
Thanks to him, she’d lived rent-free for a year. Fairness said she should shoulder the financial burden for the next couple of months. A tougher person would have just walked away. They’d have told him he was a fool for jacking in his job and leaving himself with no income. But that wasn’t who she was.
As soon as he was earning again, she could leave, so the only thing she could do was round up plenty of bodies for his massage practice. Which was a lot more difficult than she’d expected. His nearest and dearest weren’t exactly knocking the door down. And she literally couldn’t bear him to touch her.
Her obsession with Ferdia was still eating away at her. If they were insane enough to start anything, who knew what chaos it would kick off? Horrible visions bothered her, of him crashing out of his degree, both of them living in penury, hated by all the Caseys, then eventually by each other.
She’d probably see him on Friday of next week for Johnny’s birthday. It would be absolute torture.
FOUR DAYS AGO
* * *
MONDAY, 5 OCTOBER
NINETY-THREE
Liam’s massage table was in Violet’s bedroom.
‘Sit down.’ Liam waved Cara towards the pink rocking chair. ‘Just need a few details here. You on medication? Injuries I need to be aware of? Any other pertinent info?’
‘No medication. No injuries. But I’m …’ she coughed ‘… out of my comfort zone.’
‘This is a professional environment, Cara. Think of me the way you’d think of a doctor.’
That didn’t help: she was also embarrassed whenever she revealed herself to a doctor.
Liam stepped from the room, leaving her to undress. She clambered onto the table, tugging at the towel, desperate to cover as much of herself as possible.
Lifting her face from the headrest, she bleated miserably, ‘I’m ready.’ Then she replaced her face and admired Violet’s carpet.
In he came, whisking the towel down to her waist, carelessly splashing oil across her back. Some drops ricocheted into her hair, which she had only just washed. His cold hands landed on her skin, making her entire body pop with goosebumps. Immediately he was kneading and knuckling as if he were a washerwoman by a brook, laundering a badly soiled bedsheet.
He was energetic, she’d say that.
Soon her skin felt as if it had been scorched with a lighter. He appeared to have landed on a particularly stubborn stain on her right shoulder. Jabbing both of his thumbs deep into the tissue, it felt instantly bruised. His knuckles dragged back over the same area and she wasn’t sure she could endure it.
This is what it’s like being tortured, she thought. Lying down, being subjected to unbearable agony.
Except when you’re being tortured you don’t have to pretend you’re enjoying it. You’re allowed to shout and beg for mercy.
God, here he came again with the knuckles.
‘Um, Liam,’ she coughed again, ‘I’m finding the pressure a bit intense.’
‘Yeah?’ He sounded surprised. ‘Probably cos you’re not athletic. Right?’
‘Yep,’ she muttered, hot with humiliation.
‘Okay. Toned-down version specially for you.’ There was an expectant pause.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, into the headrest.
Off he went again, the pressure less brutal, but at no stage actually pleasant. When he reached her thighs, he spent what she considered far too long on them, lifting and squeezing her cellulite, as if it was Play-Doh slime. She was certain there was no benefit in this, that he was just amusing himself.
There he went again, lifting it and letting it wobble-flop back into place.
Eventually she had to turn
over, so he could work on the front of her body. But when he made a move towards her stomach, she could take no more.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That’s you done. Wow, you needed that.’
She smiled anxiously. Please get out and let me get dressed.
‘You are literally the most tense person I’ve ever touched.’
Fuck off.
‘So how was it?’ he asked.
‘Good.’
He continued to look at her.
‘Very good.’ Then, in a flash of inspiration, ‘Dreamy.’
‘That is good! Great.’ His smile was wide. ‘Cool. Any suggestions for improvements?’
She shook her head. Please could he just leave the room and let her put her clothes back on.
‘Dreamy,’ he repeated. ‘And no need to improve. I’m totally killing this!’
THREE DAYS AGO
* * *
TUESDAY, 6 OCTOBER
NINETY-FOUR
The sound of a ringing phone startled Nell so much that she wobbled on her ladder. No one rang anyone these days … It must be an emergency! She grabbed her mobile.
‘Jessie? Y’okay?’
‘Nell, sorry for ringing. Johnny’s birthday dinner, Friday night? I’m not sure it’s going ahead.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
Maybe she should be relieved: being in the same space as Ferdia, behaving as if he was nothing to her, would she even be able?
But a jittery thrill shot through her whenever she’d thought of Friday.
Jessie was talking quickly. ‘Michael Kinsella – you know, the father of my first husband, Rory? My father-in-law? We just found out he’s in intensive care, a heart attack. Johnny’s in bits. Michael was like a father to him, a proper one, I mean, not like that psycho Canice. Ferdia and Saoirse are very upset too.’ Then she added, ‘And I’m not doing exactly fantastic myself.’
