Grown Ups

by Marian Keyes

  On a day-to-day basis – work, money, childcare – he and Cara were managing.

  Two nights a week Cara went to a support group run by the hospital; Ed spent that time with the kids. But he tended to avoid Cara. It was just too painful.

  On a night such as this, when she was going out, she’d slide past him in the hall, with a quick, nervous smile. When, a couple of hours later, she returned home, they’d exchange another wobbly smile. Then he’d disappear.

  He never asked questions about her treatment. Whatever Cara did or didn’t do, it had to be for her alone. Harsh though it sounded, it was none of his business.

  In the house, Tom was at the kitchen table, reading a hefty hardback. ‘Hi, Dad,’ he said. ‘Did you see her out there? Football? I feel like I don’t even know her any more.’

  Ed managed a laugh.

  ‘Ed!’ Cara tumbled in through the front door. ‘Ed?’

  ‘Kitchen.’

  ‘So sorry.’ She was glowing. Vibrant. ‘Lost track of the time out there.’

  Mutely, he nodded. This was the most eye-contact they’d had in months.

  ‘Quick shower,’ she said. ‘And I’ll be off.’ Then she frowned. ‘You okay?’

  He forced a smile. ‘Course. Grand.’

  ‘’Kay.’ She hurtled up the stairs. Ten minutes later the hall door slammed shut behind her and she was gone.

  Ed switched on the oven to prepare the boys’ dinner. His hands had a slight shake.

  He and Cara were done. It was over and he knew it.

  For the last eight months, he’d trudged through his days, doing what needed to be done. Give him a task and he’d do it. Tell him to show up at a particular time and place and he’d be there. But his future was a blank expanse.

  He never wondered if he’d meet someone else. Nor was there any hope, tucked away in a tiny corner of his heart, that one day Cara would be well enough for them to be together again. Life was simply about survival in the short term.

  But seeing Cara looking so happy had shattered the walls he’d constructed around his feelings.

  He saw now that he had been holding on.

  He felt flooded with loss.

  Cara was getting better. That much was obvious.

  It looked like she was peeling away on a different path, about to graduate to a bigger and better life. How could he object to that?

  As he mechanically slung oven chips and Quorn nuggets onto plates, he was dying a quiet death.

  People thought that Cara was weak, especially so since her dramatic meltdown. That he’d been the caretaker in their relationship. But they had it wrong. Cara was the strong one, the only person who had ever made him feel secure. Fourteen years ago, she’d promised him, ‘I’ve got you. You’re safe.’

  He’d needed it then.

  He still needed it.

  In a bare room, nine people sat on upright chairs, arranged in a circle.

  Peggy was tonight’s moderator. She began by inviting a contribution from Serena, a newcomer, followed by a man called Trevor.

  When he’d finished, Peggy asked, ‘How are things with you, Cara?’

  ‘Aaah. Today I kicked a football around with Vinnie. He was much better than me but to feel so free in my body …’ To her surprise, tears spilt from her eyes. ‘It’s new. Good. Something I never thought I’d do again.’

  ‘So what’s with the tears?’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  Peggy waited. None of the others dared to cough or shift in their chairs. The silence would endure until Cara found her truth.

  Eventually, she said, ‘I think I’m becoming a better version of the person I was. And that’s breaking my heart because Ed missed out on it.’ She paused. ‘He deserved to get the best of me. I love him. I feel I’ll always love him. And he’s not coming back.’

  Peggy remained tight-lipped.

  After a pause, punctuated by shuddery sniffs, Cara said, ‘I wish we got a certificate here, signed by you, Peggy. “Cara Casey is now cured.” Then he’d have proof that it was safe for us to be together.’ She gave a watery laugh. ‘It doesn’t work like that, I know.’

  Peggy nodded, to indicate Keep talking.

  ‘Time is passing too quickly. I hoped that after a few months he’d see I was committed to this. But it’s been eight months. I think it’s sinking in that this is permanent.’

  ‘How do you think you’re doing?’ Peggy asked. ‘Overall?’

  ‘You’ll probably disagree but I think I’m doing okay. Not one binge since Jessie’s fiftieth. I haven’t missed a single weekly session with you in the last eight months. I’ve come to every meeting of this group, except for when Vinnie broke his ankle in January. I’ve obeyed my food plan so much that now it feels instinctive. I don’t panic if I have to go out to eat. At the start it felt … like there was no joy in eating …’

  ‘And now?’ Peggy was interested.

  ‘I’ve got used to it. The dullness of how I eat. No highs. No shame. They’re just my meals. I’m lucky to have them but they’re not my …’ she sought the word ‘… my entertainment. Not any more.’

  ‘What would you think if someone else in this group said what you’ve just said?’

  Cara was wary. ‘I’d say that they sounded like they’d learnt a lot … They were in a good place.’

  ‘Good enough to resume a marriage?’

  ‘I suppose, yes.’ Then, with more conviction, ‘Yes.’

  Any hope was shattered when Peggy asked, ‘Good enough to survive the end of their marriage?’

  Cara pressed her hands over her eyes. ‘God,’ she whispered. Then, ‘Yes. I guess. It’s going to be really fucking hard, but yes.’

  Peggy smiled. ‘There you are. Whatever happens, you’ll be okay.’

  Ed heard Cara call out, ‘I’m home.’ This was his cue to gather his stuff and vanish from the house.

  Instead, he went into the hall, blocking her from scooting up the stairs. ‘Cara?’ He indicated the living room. ‘Can we talk?’

  She followed him in. ‘About what?’

  He took an armchair. ‘About how you are.’

  Cautiously, she sat opposite him. ‘Doing well. All the right things. Even Peggy says.’

  ‘You looked happy. Earlier. Playing football.’

  ‘I guess … yes. I felt happy in my body. Free.’

  ‘Free?’ Maybe it was already too late.

  ‘Ed. What’s going on?’ She swallowed. ‘Is it time to make this – our split – official? Like, get divorced?’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘You’re the one who left.’ Then, ‘Sorry. If it’s what you want, then okay.’

  He decided to risk it. ‘No, Cara, I do not want it.’

  Her eyes flicked from side to side in confusion.

  ‘Look … I want to come home. To you. To the boys, but mostly to you. If that’s not what you want, I’ll live with it, but –’

  ‘Stop.’ She looked stunned. ‘Wait. Are you serious about this?’

  ‘Completely.’

  ‘Because I couldn’t take it if you’re –’

  ‘I mean it.’

  ‘Then, yes. Do.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously.’

  The relief was too much and he began to cry. She was there, climbing onto his lap.

  He buried his face in her neck. ‘I haven’t touched you for two hundred and forty-seven days.’ He half laughed. ‘Not that I’ve been counting. I’ve been so scared without you.’

  ‘There’s no need to be scared,’ she said.

  ‘Say it,’ he said. ‘Humour me.’

  ‘But I mean it.’

  ‘Go on, then. Say it. I need to hear it.’

  ‘I’ve got you,’ she said. ‘You’re safe.’

  Acknowledgements

  It takes a village, as they say, and I’m immensely grateful to so many.

  I need to mention that The Lough Lein Hotel is inspired by the dreeeeeamy Hotel Europe in
Kerry, where I’ve had happy Easters with my nieces and nephews. But there are differences; for example, there is no boathouse in the Hotel Europe for ‘the young people’ to meet up late at night, for shenanigans.

  The other hotels (The Ardglass and Gulban Manor) are also invented, as is Harvest festival, the towns of Beltibbet and Errislannan and I took wild liberties with the location of Lough Dan.

  Further liberties were taken with the date of the Spice Girls’ Dublin concert. Also, with the Fleet Foxes gig. I hope you don’t mind.

  Various people, very generously, helped me with all kinds of research: Lian Bell, Richard Chambers, Suzanne Curley, Monica Frawley, Ema Keyes, Luka Keyes, Vicky Landers, Petra Hjortsberg, Jimmy Martin, Ann McCarrick, Judy McLoughlin, Fergal McLoughlin, Brian Murphy, Aoife Murray, Stephen Crosby and Rachel Wright. Special thanks to Louise O’Neill. I’m immensely grateful to all of them.

  The Goddess that is Nigella Lawson helped me out with some Italian translation. In addition, my friends on Twitter jumped in to assist with all kinds of random enquiries (usually medical questions). I appreciate all the information given and any mistakes or inaccuracies are mine.

  One of the greatest ways a person can help is to read the book as I write it and offer insight, encouragement and opinions. I’m deeply indebted to Jenny Boland, Cathy Kelly, Caitriona Keyes, Rita-Anne Keyes, Mammy Keyes, Louise O’Neill (again) and Eileen Prendergast.

  Kate Beaufoy deserves a War-and-Peace-size tome of gratitude – she read the manuscript in various forms approximately a million times and kept me on track with suggestions, unstinting support and, once or twice, a sound scolding!

  You’ll have seen the term ‘Direct Provision’ mentioned in the book. This refers to how the Irish state treats people who are seeking asylum in Ireland, having escaped war or trauma in their country of origin. While they wait for their application for asylum to be processed, they are provided for ‘directly’, as in their food and shelter is provided for, in one of thirty-six centres around the country.

  Their lives are subject to a variety of restrictions and indignities, from being ineligible to work, being unable to cook their own food, sharing sleeping space with people from many different countries and cultures and not being permitted to have visitors. Many asylum seekers live like this for several years.

  It’s a terrible way to treat people who are already traumatized and I suspect that one day Ireland will feel great shame that we let this happen.

  The book also touches on the issue of Period Poverty. Obviously this affects those in Direct Provision, but also many others. My gratitude to Claire Hunt from Homeless Period Ireland who has done great work in this area. (And of course to everyone else working to make sanitary protection free to those who need it.)

  My visionary publisher Louise Moore has championed me from day one. As an author, I’m unusually lucky to have such an amazing person to encourage, support and promote me. She gives me all the time I need until I feel my book is ‘there’. There aren’t enough words in the universe for my gratitude.

  Likewise my wonderful agent, Jonathan Lloyd, who always has my back. Louise, Jonathan and I have worked together for over twenty-three years and I owe them my career.

  Enormous gratitude too goes to every single person in Michael Joseph: the Sales team, the Marketing team, the Editorial team, the Artwork team. Everyone works so hard and imaginatively to get my books out into the world and I’d like to extend a special thank you to Liz Smith, Clare Parker and Claire Bush.

  Likewise, thank you to everyone at Curtis Brown – Foreign Rights, Film and Audio. I’m immensely grateful.

  And where would I be without the lovely Annabel Robinson from FMCM, who manages my publicity in the UK?

  Or indeed the powerhouse that is Cliona Lewis who takes care of my Irish publicity? PRH Ireland publish me with great energy and enthusiasm and I’m in awe of the achievements of the Sales team, Brian Walker and Carrie Anderson.

  Thank you, Gemma Correll, for creating such a beautiful jacket.

  This is my fourteenth novel and may I offer deep, heartfelt thanks to you, my readers, for your faith and your loyalty. It’s a huge honour to have people who believe I’ll write a book they’ll enjoy. I never take any of this for granted.

  The person I’m most grateful to is my husband. He offers unstinting support and encouragement, never lets me do myself down and has unwavering faith in my work even when I’ve none myself. I don’t know what I ever did to get so lucky.

  (I should mention that thanks to the menopause my memory has gone to hell; if there’s anyone who should be on this list and who isn’t, please accept my abject apologies.)

  Permissions

  Excerpt(s) from WALKING ON WATER: REFLECTIONS ON FAITH AND ART by Madeleine L’Engle, copyright © 1980, 1998, 2001 by Crosswicks, Ltd. Used by permission of Convergent Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

  I Fought The Law Words & Music by Sonny Curtis © Copyright 1961 Sony/ATV Music Publishing. All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured. Used by permission of Hal Leonard Europe Limited.

  Girls Like You Words & Music by Adam Levine, Henry Russell Walter, Jason Evigan, Brittany Hazzard & Gian Stone © Copyright 2017 Prescription Songs/Songs Of Universal Inc/BMG Platinum Songs/BMG Gold Songs/Bad Robot /Cirkut Breaker LLC/ These Are Songs Of Pulse/Sudgee 2 Music/ People Over Planes/Sudgee 2 Music. Kobalt Music Publishing Limited/Pulse Songs/Sudgee 2 Music/BMG Rights Management (US) LLC. All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured. Used by Permission of Hal Leonard Europe Limited.

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  First published 2020

  Copyright © Marian Keyes, 2020

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Jacket illustration by Gemma Correll

  Author photograph © Dean Chalkley

  ISBN: 978-1-405-91880-0

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