by Marian Keyes
‘That totally sucks, Jessie.’
‘So a birthday dinner in two days looks unlikely.’
‘Forget about all that. Just mind Johnny and … the kids. And yourself.’
‘Okay. Thanks. Bye, bunny.’ She was gone.
Nell took a deep breath. Ferdia had told her how important Michael was to him. So … should she ring him?
As a friend?
But she’d put ten tough days into weaning herself off him. Any contact would reset the counter to zero.
Okay. Not calling him. Totally not calling him.
Emails, Jessie thought. She’d answer emails.
She glanced across at Johnny. Simultaneously, he looked up. ‘Should we –’
‘Ring Ellen? No.’
‘But –’
No, they couldn’t.
Ellen’s husband might be dying. The poor woman must be going through hell. They had no right to distress her further.
‘I could ring Ferdia?’ Jessie suggested.
‘Will he even have his phone on? If they’re all in intensive care?’
‘I’ll give it a go.’ But his phone went to voicemail and she hung up.
Early afternoon, Ferdia rang back. ‘He flatlined twice. A balloon was put in to unblock his artery, and he got a temporary pacemaker. His chances are only thirty per cent. If he survives until tomorrow night, they’ll have a better idea.’
That really didn’t sound great … ‘How’s everyone?’
‘Ah, you know.’ Ferdia sounded awkward.
‘Can you tell them –’ Jessie stopped. ‘Thanks, bunny.’
She related the facts to Johnny, who responded with a curt nod. Her heart sank. He was so upset. Though she wasn’t anything like as cut up as he was, this had stirred up a lot for her too: protective sorrow on behalf of Ferdia and Saoirse; empathy for Rory, how hard he’d have found this, if he were here. Most of all, memories of that part of her life when she’d been so young and happy, when Izzy and Keeva had made her feel ‘real’.
She’d long ago stopped yearning for a reconciliation. It was uncomfortable – and embarrassing – to be estranged from her former in-laws, but she got on with it. Today, though, she was overwhelmed with nostalgia – they really had had the best of times. Today she missed them terribly. Particularly Izzy.
The call from Ellen to Ferdia had come just before seven that morning. Ferdia and Saoirse had raced around, preparing to go to the hospital.
Jessie was in the kitchen making breakfast for them, when Johnny said quietly, ‘Should I go too?’
Shocked, she realized that Johnny must be expecting – even hoping – that a life-and-death drama would trigger a reunion. In fact, a tiny pocket of hope had also survived for her.
But the life-and-death drama was here and a last-minute deathbed love-in was looking increasingly unlikely. The only solution was for them both to undo everything that had happened since Rory’s death.
Jessie neither could nor would do that.
If she had grieved Rory the way the Kinsellas had wanted, she would never have married Johnny or had three more children. The family and the life she had now simply wouldn’t exist. But remembering how she’d broken the news to them, it was hard to believe her own insensitivity. She’d sat in their living room and said, ‘I think I was meant to be with both of them, first Rory, then Johnny.’
Which was utter bullshit. But in those gorgeous early days of sex, sex and more sex with Johnny, some handy part of her subconscious had silenced her guilt with whispers of Meant To Be.
Michael, Ellen and Keeva had responded with aghast silence. Izzy had erupted in tearful fury.
‘What is wrong with you?’
Jessie knew about Izzy and Johnny’s long-ago hook-ups. Like, everybody had known. It was never any sort of deal, because Izzy slept with everyone. So did Johnny, for that matter.
Izzy had always been cheerfully dismissive, saying things like ‘No man for ages. Apart from a ridey night with Johnny Casey, but he doesn’t count.’ In matters of the heart, Izzy was admirably resilient. Funnily enough, although she’d told Jessie about her most recent hook-up with Johnny, she’d said nothing about her suggestion that they give an actual relationship a go. Johnny had been the one to tell Jessie.
She’d read nothing at all into Izzy’s omission – life had changed, priorities were different.
Now, through unstoppable tears, Izzy had gasped, ‘Rory is gone, you’ve taken everything, and we have nothing.’
Jessie had gone cold. She’d just realised that Izzy was in love with Johnny. She didn’t know when Izzy’s feelings for him had turned to love, but they clearly had.
She adored Izzy – admired her, respected her, loved her, was in awe of her. Now she’d wounded her. Rory’s family were never going to be thrilled about this development between her and Johnny but she’d had faith that they’d eventually make their peace with it. This was a whole different problem.
Panic took hold as she wondered how to fix it. I’ll have to let Izzy have Johnny.
But I love him.
And we’re having a baby.
I should let him choose.
But, no, that’s absolute nonsense. I love him, he loves me. It’s not a handbag that Izzy and I are tussling over.
All four Kinsellas had seemed much angrier with Jessie than with Johnny.
‘There’s two of us here’, Johnny insisted loudly. ‘I’m just as much to –’
But Izzy hissed, ‘Shut up, Johnny,’ and spoke over his attempts to blame himself.
Even as Jessie and Johnny had slunk from the house, Michael had shaken his hand and Ellen had grabbed him in a wild, tearful embrace.
All Jessie had got was how-could-you glares.
As soon as she got home, Jessie called Izzy. Izzy hung up on her.
Jessie rang back. She called again the following morning. Izzy hung up again and again and again.
Apart from Johnny, Jessie had no one to confide in now.
Comfort came from an unexpected source – her own mother.
Dilly Parnell was, by nature, a low-key person. It took an awful lot to get her chatting animatedly. But hearing about Johnny and Jessie did the trick. ‘To be given a second chance with love! That’s a great blessing. And another baby on the way! But, tell me, how are Michael and Ellen taking this?’
With a rush of relief, Jessie unburdened herself, ‘They’re awful upset. So’s Izzy and Keeva.’
‘That’s to be expected.’
‘But they’re blaming me much more than Johnny. As if I was some heartless seducer. Women always get the blame.’
‘They’re not thinking with their proper heads,’ she said. ‘They think you stole both of their sons.’
‘I stole nobody!’
‘When you married Rory, you took him away from them. While he was in your “care”, he died. Now you’ve taken their – What’s the word? Replacement. Surrogate?’
‘Ma, that’s not logical. I’m getting blamed for … And I’m surprised, because they’re such lovely people. Decent.’
‘They’re grieving. You’ve had the luck to meet a man who might be Rory’s equal. But they’ll never get a replacement son or brother. And what about Johnny and Izzy?’
‘I didn’t think it was anything. But Izzy, her heart is broken. Maybe I should let her have him.’
‘Don’t be cracked. Anyway, you don’t mean it.’
She didn’t: her survival instinct had kicked in.
‘You’re alive again,’ her mother said, ‘and you like it.’
Over the following weeks and months Jessie continued to click off texts to Izzy, pleading her previous ignorance about Izzy’s feelings for Johnny; she sent emails full of abject apologies; she handwrote letters in which she swore she’d do anything Izzy wanted. Except give up Johnny.
Izzy ignored everything.
It was well over a year before they even clapped eyes on each other again: one of Michael and Ellen’s meticulously choreographed weekend ha
ndovers of Ferdia and Saoirse had slipped off its tracks. Mrs Templeton, the neighbour who most frequently acted as the go-between, was bedbound with pneumonia. It was Izzy who opened the door and let Ferdia and Saoirse into the house. Her glance slid over Jessie, in a way that was both dismissive and scathing, then the door closed.
It shook her, being that close to Izzy, feeling her hostility. On the drive home, she cried.
Then, from the back seat, eight-month-old Bridey began squawking and her heart lightened.
She wished she hadn’t hurt anyone; she wished she and Izzy were still friends. But in this life, you get what you get.
Now Johnny stole a look at Jessie across the office. For many years, missing the Kinsellas had been a low-level thing, frequently so faint it barely registered. But since that rainy Sunday back in June, when he’d driven Saoirse and Ferdia to Errislannan, that had changed.
He’d let Ferdia and Saoirse out of the car, done a U-turn and driven back along the narrow country road, heading for home. He’d gone barely fifty yards when he heard a muffled rhythmic noise, music with a heavy bass. A shiny, burgundy-coloured Range Rover Discovery was booming its way towards him.
There wasn’t enough room for both cars to pass: one of them would have to pull in and, from the attitude of that yoke, it would have to be him.
Suddenly his heart was pumping pure adrenaline – Izzy was the other driver.
It was years since he’d seen her. He watched her face change as she recognized him; abruptly her car stopped, blocking his path.
All of his muscles tensed, waiting for the confrontation.
Then she smiled.
ONE DAY AGO
* * *
NINETY-FIVE
He loves his grandpa, he must be in pieces, he’d want me to call.
But … What about Liam? What about my principles?
Yeah, but I can meet Ferdia just as a friend …
All day Wednesday, Nell back-and-forthed in her head.
Now it was Thursday morning and the mental table tennis continued with no let-up.
She realized that if she didn’t call, the agonizing would go on into infinity: if she rang him, it would stop.
Grand, she thought, awash with relief. I’m doing it.
He answered after half a ring. ‘Nell?’
‘Ferd.’ She exhaled, just from the pleasure of saying his name. ‘I heard about your grandpa. I’m really sorry. How’s he doing?’
‘Still hanging on. If he survives the next thirteen hours, he should be okay.’
‘Oh, God. Right. Fingers crossed.’
‘Yeah.’ Then: ‘Nell? Meet me?’
‘Okay.’
‘You will?’
‘Totally.’ Why else had she rung?
But where?
It couldn’t be a bar or a coffee shop. Dublin was too small – someone was bound to see them. Obviously it couldn’t be in Liam’s apartment and obviously it couldn’t be in Ferdia’s granny flat.
What about her parents’ house? No. That would be super-scuzzy. Garr’s place? No. It was wrong to involve any other person.
A fleeting thought zipped across her mind: this house she was decorating? Only like the sketchiest plan ever but it had given her an idea. ‘What about Johnny’s Airbnb flat? If someone isn’t booked in there today.’
Silence followed.
She was worried now: had she gone too far?
Then he said, ‘How would we get in? He must have a key in the –’
‘I’ve a key. From painting it in the summer. I never gave it back. Well, I tried but Johnny said a few of us should have one in case Cara lost hers.’
‘From what Johnny says, it’s really busy, nearly always booked.’ She heard him clicking. ‘The chances of it being empty are … Here we go. No. Someone’s there today. But looks like tomorrow it’s empty?’
Fuuuuuck.
‘Nell?’
Was she doing this? Really doing this?
‘Okay.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘What time?’
‘Checkout is at twelve.’ He had to clear his throat. ‘Should we give it a couple of hours to make sure they’re properly gone?’
‘So …? We’ll meet each other there at two o’clock?’
Nothing was going to happen. Not in that way. They were better than that.
Ed had just moved over to the left-hand lane when his car engine began making alarming choking noises. Hitting the brake, he bunny-hopped to the hard shoulder and hoped to God his AA membership was still in date. The engine was emitting evil-looking black smoke and he sensed that it was game over for the ageing Peugeot.
Not ideal in terms of timing. It would never have been ideal, but at the moment, because of the expense of Cara’s illness, they were more strapped than usual. If they needed a new car, she was likely to plunge into a fresh bout of remorse.
He wished she wouldn’t. He got it: she felt profoundly guilty. But it had happened, she was getting well, and it was time to move on.
Maybe the car would be okay. Broken fan belt, something small like that …
But when he lifted the bonnet, bluish flames jumped up at him, immediately burning faster now that they had oxygen.
He strode quickly away down the hard shoulder, putting as much space between him and the car in case it decided to blow up. Never mind ringing the AA, he’d better ring the Fire Brigade instead.
‘The car’s buggered.’
‘What?’ Cara looked up, shocked. ‘Seriously?’
‘The engine went on fire on the M50.’
‘Oh, Ed! Were you okay? Promise? So … Does this mean we need to buy a new car?’
‘Afraid so.’
Oh, no. ‘How much?’
‘Could probably get an okay second-hand one for about ten grand. Bank loan?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s only a month since we got an overdraft.’ To cover expenses they couldn’t currently pay. Expenses that were her fault.
‘Could we get a new credit card?’ He sounded exhausted. ‘Pay for it with that?’
‘Ed, the interest rates … It would be almost as bad as a loan shark.’
They were both silent. She couldn’t ask her parents: they didn’t have it. He couldn’t ask his: they wouldn’t give it.
‘I could ask Johnny for a loan?’ Ed suggested.
‘Maybe.’ She hadn’t done their accounts for a couple of months – perhaps they’d suddenly got a grip on their spending?
Then there was always Johnny’s Airbnb account: there was plenty of money in that.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Ask him. The worst thing he can say is no.’
‘Johnny.’ Jessie’s tone was halting.
They’d had a strange evening at home, she and Johnny floating in separate orbits, suspended in an atmosphere of imminent catastrophe. Ferdia and Saoirse were still at the hospital. They hadn’t rung in hours. Soon they would know if Michael was going to make it.
Despite their falling-out, Jessie still thought of Michael with great affection. He’d been a lovely man and the best father-in-law you could wish for. She hoped he’d survive but a solid seam of acceptance ran through her: sometimes people died. Both her dad and her mum had. And Rory. She knew better than most …
Those who hadn’t experienced the death of a parent – and Johnny was one – had an innocence that flew in the face of reality, an expectation that life would still deliver a fairy-tale ending. All the same, she knew the last two days had been really tough going for him.
He was half watching some car show. Jessie took the remote and muted it. ‘Just for a second,’ she said. Then, ‘Babes, we made our choice. It was a good one, we’ve been happy.’
Johnny remained silent.
Maybe if she articulated the truth he was trying to face, it would help. ‘We’ve been hoping that, if we waited long enough, they’d forgive us.’
She didn’t really mean ‘we’: she hadn’t been convinced of the possibility for a long time. But she didn’t want to risk humiliating
him. ‘I’m not so sure it’s going to happen.’
‘Okay.’ His voice was barely audible.
She wanted to say more, something to give him comfort or courage, but maybe she’d said enough for now. She presented him with the remote. ‘Watch your cars.’
As if she was keeping vigil, she sat with him.
The car show ended and another began – this must be the car channel. How could there be enough car shows to fill an entire channel?
Her phone vibrated. Ferdia!
‘Bunny?’
Beside her, Johnny’s phone rang – it felt as if every phone in the house had suddenly starting ringing. ‘Yeah?’ Johnny got to his feet and left the room.
Ferdia said into her ear, ‘Mum. Grandpa’s going to not-die, the doctor says. Like, not yet, you know what I mean? His vitals are returning to normal. Saoirsh and me are coming home now.’
‘Great. Great! Drive safe. See you soon.’ She hung up and called, ‘Johnny!’
She found him in the hall. ‘That was Ferd. He says Michael’s going to be okay.’
Johnny put his face into his hands. Silent tears leaked from his eyes.
TODAY
* * *
NINETY-SIX
‘You’re okay to do this?’ Raoul asked Cara.
‘Totally.’
Billy Fay was on his way from the airport and Cara had asked if she could check him in.
‘Madelyn can manage,’ Raoul said.
‘Trust me.’ She made herself smile. ‘Let me.’
In the six weeks since she’d returned to work, Billy Fay had stayed at the Ardglass twice. Madelyn had taken care of him on those two occasions.
Everyone was still walking on eggshells around her.
But she had a plan. It was time to be her own hero. If she managed to banter her way through Billy Fay’s insults – while still remaining professional and polite – it would boost her opinion of herself. Even if her colleagues didn’t know the details, they were bound to pick up on the improvement in her self-esteem.
