by Marian Keyes
In her idealized version of events, she’d take Mr Fay to his suite. When Anto, or whichever bellboy, brought up his luggage, asked where he’d like his bags, her most ambitious imaginings had her saying, in light-hearted tones, ‘Remember, last time I checked you in, you suggested that Anto shove them up my butt? Is that still your favoured place?’
Hard to know how he’d respond but her intention was to smile, smile, smile, and keep talking. ‘You told Anto to stick them up his butt. He said it was too small, so you suggested that he stick them up mine instead. You must remember, it was so funny!’
And then, ‘So, Mr Fay, do you need anything else? Or should I just get out now – fat bitch that I am?’ Finishing up her perfect scenario, she’d give a cool smile and swing out of there, leaving him gulping like a dying fish.
It was a delicate tone to strike, but it could be done – Anto managed to be both cheeky and respectful. All Cara had to do was be a bit more Anto.
Billy Fay might find it amusing. Maybe. Bullies often dropped the front when their victim stood up for themselves. Or he might find himself shamed into better behaviour. Not entirely impossible.
There was a chance that he’d lodge a complaint. But she could insist that they’d simply been sharing a laugh. That he’d instigated some light-hearted teasing and she’d responded in kind. That she’d been demonstrating how good a sport she was …
It was potentially risky. But, technically speaking, she wouldn’t be in the wrong. All she had to do was act innocent and keep on acting it.
She might even become a cause célèbre for bullied receptionists the world over – the very idea made her smile – and Billy Fay would be black-listed at every five-star hotel on earth.
There was a teeny, teeny possibility that she might lose her job. But it was genuinely very small. And at least she’d have regained some self-respect …
Anxiously, she paced back and forth behind the front desk. Her phone buzzed. A WhatsApp from Jessie: Johnny’s birthday dinner tonight back on! 7.30
Oh, no! The sudden crushing disappointment! She loved Johnny, Jessie, all of them, but in her head she’d already eased into an uncomplicated Friday night, watching TV in her pyjamas. Instead she’d have to summon gallons of adrenalin, which had already clocked off for the weekend, hoist her energy up from the basement and hold it above her head until about ten o’clock tonight.
Her internal line rang, making all of her nerve endings frizz.
‘Incoming,’ Oleksandr, the doorman, said. ‘Mr Fay.’
Taking the key and the iPad, she went to the front step and watched Billy Fay push his way out of the car, as if he was trying to escape a chokehold. Then he thumped his flat-footed way up the steps. Honestly, he had some nerve calling her fat.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Fay.’ Her mouth made dry, popping noises.
Without answering, he lunged for the lift, Cara in his wake.
‘I would ask how your journey was.’ She strove to sound pleasant. ‘But as I remember, you prefer silence.’
The look he gave was perplexed. Suspicious.
‘The McCafferty Suite.’ She opened the door and bade him enter. ‘Your usual. Your mini-bar has been stocked with the American beer you like. The bathroom has extra towels –’
Here came Anto. ‘Where would you like your bags, Mr Fay?’
Now! Now! This was her moment, when she stood up to the fat-shaming creep, when she handed him back the shame he’d foisted on her.
Last time you suggested that Anto shove them up my butt? Is that still your favoured place?
But when she opened her mouth, the words wouldn’t come out.
She needed them to be said. Her self-respect depended on it.
‘On the rack,’ Mr Fay muttered. ‘Whatever.’
Anto dropped them and scooted away.
She could still say it, there was still time … She heard her voice say, meekly, ‘Would you like me to take you through the room’s features?’
‘No.’ He sounded tired and bad-tempered. ‘Just get your fat ass out of here.’
Quick! Say something now. Anything!
Time slowed down. She stood, motionless, in the middle of the room. He frowned, looking at her with mild curiosity. Her mouth opened again: this time she was going to say something.
‘I need to take a nap,’ he said.
Her mouth shut. Her body moved. Then she was out in the corridor, with the free-falling desolation of anticlimax.
She’d only gone a couple of steps when fury at having squandered her chance blazed in her. She was raging at herself – for being a target, for being a coward.
She couldn’t bear feeling this way. Ravenous emptiness and hunger erupted, filling her with a great roar. She had a desperate need for food and more food, to pile it into her, to muffle this appalling discomfort.
Was this what Peggy had been talking about? The connection between unbearable feelings and the desire to numb herself?
Probably. She’d just never seen it before.
Did this mean there really was something wrong with her? Call it an illness, an addiction, the name didn’t really matter. Whatever it was, she’d thought she had a handle on it, and she clearly hadn’t.
What had she been thinking with her crazy plan to challenge Billy Fay? She could never have pulled it off. He was too sure of himself – and she … wasn’t …
A swirl of dirty emotions was sucking her down into the dark and she wanted to binge and vomit.
Well, she did, but she didn’t. Her feelings craved a painkiller but she already felt terrible loss. Afterwards she would wish she hadn’t done it.
The solution, when it appeared, felt like balm on a burn: she’d ring Peggy and plead for an appointment. Today, if possible.
She stepped into a quiet nook between two bedrooms and rang the hospital. The switchboard operator said, ‘Mrs Kennedy is with a patient.’
Of course she was with a patient, but Peggy had been so consistently available in the past that the let-down was disorienting.
‘I can connect you to her voicemail.’
‘Okay. Um, no, wait, it’s all right.’ She wondered if she should ring Peggy on her mobile. Peggy had said she could, but that had been back when she’d been Peggy’s client.
Actually, patient: that was the word. She’d been Peggy’s patient.
Could she call while she was with another patient? Wouldn’t that be terribly wrong? But if she didn’t get to talk to her, she was going to go out and buy far too much food, then eat it.
Peggy’s appointments began on the hour and lasted for fifty minutes: if she called her at about five to two, she might pick up.
But when Cara made the call at five to two, Peggy’s mobile went straight to message. Quickly she hung up.
‘Cara,’ Raoul said. ‘Two o’clock. Your lunch.’
It was all over. She had no more say in this. She had no more fight.
Except there was no place she could do it. ‘Her’ little bathroom in the basement was far too risky. She considered the ladies’ room in another nearby fancy hotel. But that wouldn’t give her the privacy she needed. Wildly, she considered renting a hotel room – which was such an extreme idea that sanity began to return.
From the far side of the busy street, Ferdia watched the door, waiting for Nell. He’d arrived early, feeling like he was losing his damn mind. She wanted to see him. That must mean something –
The heavy Georgian door opened from the inside and he tensed in readiness. Maybe she was already there. But the woman emerging from the building wasn’t Nell. For a moment the confusion was too much. What the hell …? What was Izzy doing here? Dropping in on a mate?
Seriously? What were the chances that Izzy had a friend who lived in the same building as Johnny’s flat? There were only six apartments in that place, waaay too much of a coincidence.
Izzy cast a quick look over one shoulder, then the other, then stuck her arm out and hailed a taxi. She jumped in as if she couldn’t get o
ut of the place fast enough.
This was not good. This was so not good. Then the door opened again.
And the person who came out was Johnny.
Fuck.
Ferdia’s heart thumped painfully.
Johnny repeated the same furtive over-the-shoulder checks Izzy had, then, just as she had, flagged down a cab.
It was obvious they’d been together.
What the hell had they been up to?
And what kind of stupid question was that?
Poor Mum. That was his overriding thought. This would ruin her.
He’d often wondered about Johnny. In the past, he’d decided he was a cheater, because believing bad things about him had felt good. Lately, though, he’d liked him better. Just because he literally never shut up didn’t mean he was a player.
But Ferdia had been wrong: the world was bigger, badder and far darker than he’d ever realized.
NINETY-SEVEN
I should have bought new underwear. Are we going to have actual sex? I wish I’d worn deodorant. Wait, I didn’t bring condoms. I shouldn’t be meeting him. Why did my hair have to go bushy when I need it to be beachy-wave? It was okay until I combed it. Will he have brought condoms? What will I do about Liam? This is crackheadery and I am losing my mind.
Would he be literally lurking outside on the street? Hey, maybe he wouldn’t show at all.
No. He was not going to change his mind: she was certain about that.
The street curved around and now she could see the building. Ferdia wasn’t there. But as she got nearer, she spotted him across the street, wearing a long dark coat and clumpy lace-up boots, looking like an elegant tramp.
Forcing her body to carry on as normal, she got the key from her satchel. On the edge of her vision, he was crossing the road.
The key wouldn’t fit into the latch. Oh, God, no. Had Johnny changed the locks? With trembling hands, she tried again. It slipped in, twisted easily and, with relief, she fell against the heavy door, pushing it open. Stepping into the hallway, Ferdia was behind her. She could actually smell him – fresh sweat, cold day, washing powder and a slight hint of mustiness, probably from his coat. Her skin goosebumped.
The door shut and the bright, chilly street disappeared. In the dim hallway, the only light came through the fan-shaped window above the lintel.
Nell turned to him, their glances locked and fear flared though her. This was insane.
‘It’s okay.’ He sounded really pretty sure about this.
‘The flat,’ she said. ‘It’s on the first floor.’ She gave him the key. ‘Can you …’
‘Uh … Okay.’
He had no trouble with the lock, she noticed. His fingers were all confident slides and turns. He gestured her ahead of him into the hallway and the door echoed shut behind them.
So? What now? A friendly chat? ‘How’s your grandp–’
‘Getting better.’ He spoke quickly. ‘I didn’t say because you might have cancelled on me. So why’d I have to open the door?’
‘Because it can’t seem like I’m, you know, taking advantage of you.’
‘Nell, could you please not?’ He sounded exasperated. ‘I’m hardly a teenage boy. I’m a man.’
‘Okay …’
‘And what’s even the issue? You’re married. You’re not leaving your husband. Why are we here?’
Technically, you asked me.
But feck it. I didn’t show up so you could cry on my shoulder. Might as well be honest with myself about it.
‘Why do you think?’
‘Oh. Kay.’
Her chest contracted so tightly that her breath was happening in short, sippy gasps.
He moved his hands to her body. Slipping his thumbs along her hip bones, he pulled her against him and, oh, my God, this was on.
Their lips touched in a clumsy bump. In anguish, he clutched her jaw. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No, no.’ Please don’t stop!
It became a kiss of slow and aching sweetness.
Oh, God, I remember thiiiiiiis.
Her hands slid under his big coat and around his narrow, narrow waist. Slowly pushing her palms along his stomach, she loosened his shirt from his trousers so she could touch his cool, bare skin.
It was the sudden rush of cold air that told her they were no longer alone.
Disentangling herself from his arms, she turned.
Cara. Cara was there.
Cara’s gaze moved from Nell to Ferdia. She looked beyond shocked.
‘What are you –’ Nell gulped. Then she saw the shopping bags in Cara’s hands.
Visible through the thin plastic were packets of chocolate biscuits, multipacks of Twirls, colourful bags of jelly sweets.
‘Oh, Cara, no.’
Cara turned and stuck her foot through the door before it closed. She twisted out through the space, Nell following, then Ferdia.
‘Cara, it’s okay –’
Cara hurtled down the steep staircase, going far too fast. With several steps still to go, she stumbled, then fell, bumping herself against the banisters and steps, cracking her head smartly against the oak post at the bottom. Biscuits and sweets skittered across the polished wooden floor.
‘Cara!’ Nell had reached her. ‘Oh, God, are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ Cara was agitated.
‘Take a second.’ Ferdia laid his hands on her shoulders. ‘You banged your head really hard. Can you see properly?’
‘I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m absolutely fine.’ She was already trying to stand.
‘We can take you to A and E.’
‘I’m fine. Sorry for interrupting you. I thought it was empty. I checked the bookings … But I’m going back to work now.’
‘But …’ Nell gestured at the food on the floor ‘… is there someone you could talk to? Your therapist or someone?’
‘Yep, yes. Can we just pretend none of this happened? Sorry, you two.’
She’d slipped towards the door. It slammed shut behind her and the dust motes vibrated in her wake.
Nell stared at the chocolate and biscuits scattered on the floor and realized that the mood was completely gone.
Ferdia began gathering up the stuff. After a moment, she joined him. Instead of recommencing their blissed-out kissing, she felt as if they were two conspirators clearing up a crime scene.
‘I’m worried,’ he said. ‘That was a bad bump.’
‘Maybe I should go after her.’ A breath, then she said, ‘You know, I think we should leave. This doesn’t feel good.’ She looked helplessly at the packets in her hands. ‘What’ll we do with these? Leave them in the apartment for the next people?’
‘I suppose. Yeah. Look, something weird. Johnny was here earlier. Just before us. He was with Izzy. You know, my aunt?’
Her eyes flicked from side to side as she thought through the implications. ‘Oh, my God, no. Poor Jessie.’ Then, ‘Are you okay?’
‘It’s bizarro. Just, poor Mum. And we’re all seeing each other tonight for his birthday. We’ll be doing some Oscar-winning acting.’
Cara pushed through the Friday lunchtime crowds, making her way back to the Ardglass. Her head was swimming. Ferdia and Nell? Nell and Ferdia?
Affairs happened, everyone knew that. But those two?
Although … was it that unlikely? They were closer in age to each other than Nell was to Liam.
She wondered if Nell was going to leave Liam. If Cara were somehow unlucky enough to be married to Liam, she’d leave him … A wave of nausea swept through her. What on earth?
Her stomach calmed, then leapt again. Now her head was thumping.
The utter irony if she puked now!
Weirdly, the need to overeat had vanished. Seems like catching your nephew and your sister-in-law in a sexy clinch would do that to a person. She decided to ring Peggy one more time – and, to her surprise, this time Peggy answered.
‘Cara?’ There was a smile in her voice.
‘I’m sorry
I stopped coming,’ Cara blurted. ‘But can I start again?’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you have anything free today?’
‘Not today. Let me see.’ After some clicking sounds, Peggy said, ‘Tuesday, eight a.m. I know it’s early.’
‘That’s great.’ Did she just slur her words? A little bit?
‘Cara?’ Peggy asked. ‘You don’t sound too well.’
‘I whacked my head a few minutes ago.’
‘Mmm, that’s not so good. Do you think you could be concussed?’
Briefly Cara saw double. ‘Really, I’m fine.’
‘Concussion can be very sneaky –’
‘I’m fine. Thank you. See you on Tuesday.’
Anxiety flared in Ed when he discovered Cara was in the house when he got home. ‘Why aren’t you at Peggy’s?’
‘I bumped my head. Work sent me home.’
Please let her be okay. Please don’t let them be pissed off with her.
‘You cancelled Peggy? You’d better see her twice next week. Make another appointment.’
‘I’ve got one.’
‘When?’
‘Tuesday. Eight a.m.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ She offered him her phone. ‘Call her if you’d like.’
‘Sorry, honey, I …’ Was afraid you’d stopped going to her. Now he felt guilty. ‘What happened to your head? How did you bump it?’
‘… A wooden sign. Fell on me.’
‘That sounds odd.’
‘Life is odd,’ she said.
‘What about tonight’s dinner? You able for it?’
‘What did Johnny say about loaning us the money?’
‘He said he’d see.’
‘Then we need to be there. Really, I’m fine.’
He wasn’t sure. But there was too much to worry about so he let it go.
NOW
* * *
NINETY-EIGHT
Johnny launched into a fit of energetic coughing – a bit of bread down the wrong way. But the chat around the long dinner table carried on. Lovely. He could die here, literally die, on his forty-ninth birthday, and would any of them even notice?
