by Marian Keyes
‘No, just …’
‘Oh, the young lad.’
‘It was nothing like you think,’ Johnny said urgently. ‘We sent each other the occasional message. Light, jokey stuff. Cat gifs.’
‘Cat gifs?’ Jessie said. ‘You hate cats!’
‘I do. But … Jessie, can you look at the messages? You’ll see there was nothing like that.’
‘Sure I’ll look at your light, jokey messages.’ Then, ‘Whoops, Jessie, looks like I accidentally deleted them.’
‘Why would I do that? I wasn’t doing anything wrong.’ He scrolled along his screen. His hands were shaking, she saw. Well, he’d been caught cheating: was it any surprise?
‘Just read them.’ He thrust his phone at her.
Izzy’s first message said: MAD bumping into you in Errislannan last weekend
It had been sent four months ago. Fear reverberated, like the clang of a giant bell. Izzy had been back in Johnny’s life for all this time and she hadn’t had one clue.
Johnny had replied, Gas alright
Jessie felt sick. ‘What does she look like now?’ This was an important question.
‘I dunno. The same.’
She glared at him and he said defensively, ‘The same. Lots of hair. Tall.’
In the next message, Izzy, in recognizably Izzy fashion, said, That’s some piece of shit you’re driving
Ha-ha, Johnny replied, least I don’t look like a drug dealer
‘What’s her car?’ Jessie asked.
‘Discovery.’
‘Ugh.’
Next was a cat gif from Izzy. Then Johnny sent Izzy an attachment about an armed robbery in Kildare, captioned, You up to your old tricks again lol
‘Lol?’ Jessie furrowed her brow. ‘You’re a “lol” person now?’
Another cat gif from Izzy. Jessie would never have seen her as a cat person. Life really took people in some strange directions … She spotted her own name and her heart nearly jumped out of her throat.
Jessie’s 50th this weekend, Johnny had written. Doing murder mystery thing in fancy hotel
Izzy hadn’t commented. Nothing from her for an entire week. Then she sent a photo of lambs in a farming championship, followed by a little back-and-forth between Johnny and her about how busy they were.
I’m always on a plane, Johnny wrote.
Ha-ha me too. Never settled down with the babies and the book club
Jessie spotted her name again. Off on my summer holiers with Jessie and the kids. Tuscany
Izzy’s next message wasn’t until ten days later. Ouch! With an emoji of a footballer.
‘What does this mean?’ Jessie asked, distressed because she didn’t understand.
‘Football?’ Johnny said. ‘Liverpool must have been beaten that day. I can’t even remember.’
‘Johnny.’ Her voice was faint. ‘I can’t believe this. All of it.’
‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘You did. I can’t believe … You and her, best friends.’
As she read the stream of messages, many were so bland she thought they must be code.
Nice weekend? Johnny had asked in late August.
Down in Errislannan.
Sounds great. How’s everyone?
Grand
Whenever Johnny mentioned Jessie or their kids, Izzy made no comment.
‘She still hates me,’ Jessie said.
‘I was trying to find out …’
For the thousandth time, Jessie reminded herself that, back in the day, before she’d started sleeping with Johnny, she’d had no clue that Izzy wanted him. This wasn’t her fault. If she had known, would it have stopped her?
Maybe.
And maybe not. Life is rarely black and white, and how could she ever know now?
Thinking out loud she said, ‘I won a competition that I didn’t even know I was competing in.’
‘It wasn’t a competition,’ Johnny said. ‘I loved you. I only wanted you.’
‘Except when you wanted her.’
‘That was a million years before. And you know that, Jessie, you know it.’
Watching Jessie scrutinize the messages from Izzy, Johnny’s heartbeat hurt his chest.
After an exchange featuring several laughing emojis, Izzy had messaged, It would be good to see you IRL
Cautiously, Johnny had bounced the ball back into her court, by replying, It would
A few days later, she’d said, So are we meeting up?
He hadn’t known what to say because he still hadn’t a clue what she wanted from him. Trying to get a steer, he said, What were you thinking?
Drink after work? Someplace city centre
No. He didn’t want to meet her in a public place where he could easily be seen. If word got back to Jessie before he knew how Izzy felt, it was open to misinterpretation. To put it mildly. But neither did he want to lurk with Izzy in shady corners, like he was up to something scuzzy.
He replied, Thinking Errislannan would be better
City centre suits me. Then, Errislannan too far to drive on a school night
He didn’t buy it. The drive wasn’t that long.
It was clear that both of them were being cagey. He didn’t want to meet her in public and she didn’t want him anywhere near her family.
They were at an impasse, and while he was in Italy, he’d decided he was no longer sure this was worth bothering with. But the day they got home from holidays, Jessie told him about Ferdia falling out with Barty. It troubled him deeply. He felt as the ties remaining to the Kinsellas were becoming fewer and fewer, and the thought that soon none would be left made him persist.
So he messaged: Any other suggestions?
She replied: You know what? We could prob have a drink at Dublin airport? Sometime when we’re both travelling? Seeing as we both almost live in the place
It wasn’t a great suggestion. Airports were in constant motion. He had wanted their first face-to-face to be in a peaceful place, where he could ask her about Michael, Ellen and Keeva. And even though they both complained about ‘almost living’ in Dublin airport, he suspected it would be a monumental challenge to pin down an overlapping time when they were both in the vicinity.
It was then that he’d started thinking about his apartment. It was in the centre of the city but it was private.
Limited availability, however.
He could reserve it for himself, but that started to feel like a whole other thing. Despite his hopes for a reconciliation with the Kinsellas, it seemed easier, safer, just to let things slide.
A week elapsed quietly. Then ten days, two weeks … Then Michael Kinsella had a heart attack and Johnny found out about it from Ferdia.
Nothing from Izzy. Not a word.
That first day, he rang her several times and her phone went to message again and again.
He was deeply shaken. He’d thought he and Izzy had recovered plenty of their old easy intimacy. But it wasn’t just Izzy he was upset about, it was all of them.
Ferdia’s intel said that Michael likely wouldn’t survive, and Johnny was confused: he’d always thought that at some stage he and the Kinsellas would be okay again. How could that happen if Michael died?
On Wednesday and Thursday he brooded on everything, moving back and forth along his memories, like fingers up and down the keys of a piano, wondering how he could have averted that long-ago falling-out.
In the middle of it all, Ed had texted, asking if he could borrow ten grand. He was so distracted that he gave a vague I’ll have to see as a reply, then promptly forgot about it.
Suddenly, around nine o’clock on Thursday night, Jessie’s phone buzzed, the family WhatsApp chimed and Johnny’s phone started to ring. The person calling Johnny was Izzy and he went light-headed with hope and dread. Either Michael had died or …
He hadn’t.
The relief of that, coupled with Izzy considering Johnny meaningful enough to be told, rocketed him back into hope. This was fixable. All of it.
And his response was, ‘Yes! Remember my old apartment on Baggot Street? Hold on a sec, I just need to check … Wait, this is great. Tomorrow? One o’clock? One thirty?’
‘Okay. One thirty. See you there.’
Jessie appeared before him to tell him the good news, which he already knew, and he was so overwhelmed with hope and guilt and the past accelerating into the present that weak tears dampened his face.
It was almost 5.30 a.m. and she was already better by the time it was confirmed that Cara had had a concussion, which was why she’d said those cruel, out-of-character things.
As Ed drove them home, the previous night began revisiting her in bursts of vivid imagery. Telling Liam that he was a terrible masseur. Oh, my God, dropping Nell and Ferdia in the shit. Admitting that she’d been all set for a food binge. Upsetting Saoirse, whom she loved so much, by saying she had a face like the moon. Instigating some revelation about Johnny and Izzy Kinsella …
It was hard to fathom – actually horrifying – the damage she’d unleashed. She had a lot of apologetic calls to make as soon as people were up.
In the darkness, Nell looked at her phone: 5.35 a.m.
Three missed calls from Ferdia.
She was finding it hard to believe that she’d gone ahead and met him in that apartment. Last night – my God, was it really only last night? – when their thing was revealed to everyone around the dinner party, the spell had broken.
Everything seemed entirely different this morning. She felt older, wiser, far less starry-eyed.
She must have been temporarily crazy. Ferdia was waaaaay too young for her. To think that if Cara hadn’t shown up, they’d definitely have fucked.
She liked Ferdia. Objectively she could see that he was hot, but her feelings for him had reverted to the way they’d been before Italy. He was only a kid. She’d got an insane crush on him because her marriage was falling apart. Maybe he’d be on the same page as her, realizing that there was nothing real here. She needed to call him but couldn’t summon the nerve yet.
There was nothing from Liam, not a text, WhatsApp, nothing. She wondered if she’d ever hear from him again.
None of it had played out like she’d hoped. She’d expected that when ‘the end’ eventually showed up they’d be civil to each other. But her business with Ferdia and Liam’s with Robyn …
She couldn’t deny her sadness: the initial sweetness with Liam had turned very ugly. And Robyn was so astonishingly young that she felt ashamed of Liam.
What wacko way had the planets been aligned last night? Every marriage around the table had hit the skids.
‘You okay?’ Garr whispered. ‘Will I turn on the light?’
‘Thanks.’ She was very grateful to have him to talk to. ‘I cannot understand how I got married and eleven months later it’s over. Who does that? I’ve been thinking about all the stuff when people split up. The two names on, like, a mortgage, bank account, bills? Liam and I own litch nothing together. His ex-wife pays for the apartment, but the bills are in his name. I paid half of them but nothing document-y connects us.’
‘That’s probably good,’ Garr said.
‘Mmm, yeah. But it’s not really normal. Anyway. Soon as it’s a sensible time I’m gonna call Mum and Dad, see if they’ll take me in while I look for another gaff.’ Weakly she punched the air. ‘So winning at life.’
‘Stash your gear with them, but you can stay here if you want.’
‘Could I? That would be the best. Just for a couple of weeks.’
‘Whatever you need. What will you do about the young lad?’
‘I feel so bad about him. He’s … great. But he’s too young and I’m obviously a bit mad, and starting a thing with someone else would be the worst.’ She eyed her phone. ‘I need to tell him.’
‘Do it. I’m getting a glass of water. Room’s all yours.’
‘Oh, God.’ Then, ‘Okay.’
Ferdia answered immediately. ‘Nell? Are you okay? Can we meet?’
‘Ferdia. Ferd. Listen, I need to say this. You and I, we need to stop. I’ve got to sort my head out.’
‘Uh. Um. God …’ He sounded shocked. ‘I thought we were going to –’
‘That’s my bad. It’s like I was insane for a while. Now I’m sane again and I don’t like the way I’ve been acting. I don’t understand it. I need to stay out of relationships.’
‘I was hoping –’
‘I know. I’m sorry. But you’ll get over it quickly. You’re –’
‘– young. So people keep telling me. I wish we’d had a chance to … But, hey, okay. I get it. Just, you’re great.’
‘And you’re great too. You’re the best.’
‘Okay. Gotta go.’
Quickly she hung up, feeling almost euphoric that this unpleasant thing had been done with dignity.
At about 6.30 a.m., Ed and Cara got home to a cold, empty house. Exhausted, they traipsed up the stairs and into their bedroom.
‘Do you need anything?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Try to get some sleep. I’ll wake you in four hours, just to check you’re okay.’
‘… Aren’t you coming to bed?’
‘Not in this room.’
Then she’d known. She waited.
‘I’m leaving you,’ he said gently. ‘You know that?’
She nodded.
‘I’m sorry.’ He began to cry.
‘Sweetie, don’t. Please. It’s okay.’
Something strange had happened to her over the last several hours, as if weeks of tension had come to a head, then burst, blowing away all her self-hatred, her resentment at being labelled, her distance from Ed. For the first time in months, her love for Ed, the real, unsullied version, had rushed back in, like a delayed high tide.
She’d also had an unprecedented overview of her problem with food: she had no control. She couldn’t fix herself – and Ed couldn’t fix her either.
‘If I stayed,’ he said, ‘I’d be complicit … The most important thing is that you get better. For you and for the boys. More important than me or us or …’
Lots of people wouldn’t understand his actions – they’d think he was deserting her when she most needed help. But she wasn’t one of them. Being without him was going to be horrible. Right now she was unable to imagine the depth of the loss. But this was all her own doing. Some part of her had known they were going to end up exactly here. He had told her he couldn’t cope with her starting again – and he’d never been one to fling around meaningless threats.
From the very first time she had lied to him about Peggy, they’d been headed towards this very outcome. She’d known it and she hadn’t been able to stop.
‘Get some sleep, honey,’ he said. ‘I’ll be next door.’
‘Morning, Mum! All fine, but bit of bad news. Liam and I have broken up.’
‘Nell, love.’ Angie’s voice was soft. ‘Everyone has big, shouty arguments. You think it’s the end of the world but –’
‘Seriously, Mum, we’re done. We’ll be getting divorced.’
‘Oh, Nell! How can we help? Hold on, Dad wants to know what’s –’ Nell heard Angie’s muffled voice say, ‘Nell and Liam have split up. They’re getting a divorce.’
Then Petey’s muffled reply: ‘I never liked the chap.’
Petey took the phone. ‘Ah, dear. Ah, dear, dear, dear, Nellie. That’s sad now, so it is. Are you okay? Because that’s all that matters. Lookit, that wedding of yours at the North Pole probably wasn’t even legal. There was a thing on Joe Duffy about people taking their kids to see Santy there and even the snow wasn’t real, never mind the elves. You can live with us. We can do the telly bingo together, like we used to.’
‘Dad, you’re the best. But I’m going to kip at Garr’s place.’
Petey’s brief silence spoke volumes. ‘Garr?’ he demanded. ‘Hold up there, Nellie! Is there something you’re not telling
us?’
‘Dad, don’t be a plank. Garr’s my best friend.’
‘And Angie McDermott is my best friend.’
In the background, Nell heard her mum say, ‘Niall Campion is your best friend.’
Jessie woke up from a Xanax-induced sleep. She was crying. Johnny was there, up and dressed, with a mug of green tea for her. She didn’t know where he’d slept last night, but most probably on the couch.
‘Angel.’ He touched her wet face.
‘I’ve no friends,’ she gasped, with tears.
‘I’m your friend.’
‘You’re not. This person who was my best friend once-upon-a-time and now she hates me and you’ve been meeting her, and even if you weren’t sleeping with her – and how do I know that? – you still shouldn’t have been messaging her all friendly and gas, with your old in-jokes and lols.’
‘Only because I hoped she might be our friend again. Our friend.’
‘But I didn’t need it. You went behind my back. I’m so sad.’ Jessie’s tears began again, seeping and spilling down her face. ‘I thought you and me were on the same side.’
‘We are. I was doing it for both of us!’
‘Tell me.’ She sat on the bed and looked into his face. ‘Have you had sex with her? Even a quick one-off for old times’ sake?’
‘No.’
‘You were always slippery. You could never keep it in your pants.’
‘A long time ago. I’m different now.’
‘Those messages you showed me, they could be fake. You could have another phone with the real stuff on it.’
‘You know I haven’t. I would never do that to you. Even simple logistics back me up. On Friday, I left the office at one ten, I was back at five past two. In that time I did two taxi journeys in lunchtime traffic. It would have been a very fast fuck.’
Jessie had also calculated Friday’s timings and concluded that there hadn’t been much time to do anything. Also, the tone of the messages, it wasn’t flirty.
But none of that made any real difference to how she felt.
‘You were messaging her without me knowing anything. You betrayed me and, Johnny, I can’t handle it. I feel like I have nobody.’
‘You have me.’
‘Explain to me again about the bank account.’
‘A bank account for the income from the Airbnb. Kept separate from the rest of our stuff, just in case we hit the skids financially. If the bank ever decided to call in our overdraft or cancel our cards, that money might have kept us going until we were back in the black.’
