The Woman Who Stole My Life

by Marian Keyes

  ‘Of course,’ Mannix said.

  ‘You’ve read him?’ Bryce asked.

  ‘Sure.’ Mannix was lying. Fair play. Far better than me at this sort of thing.

  ‘I think my dad has read one of his books,’ I said. ‘The First Casualty of War, is that the name?’

  ‘It is! This is the old guy with the bad back who worked on the docks from when he was a kid?’

  ‘… Er … yes.’

  Bryce Bonesman was probably the same age as Dad, but Blisset Renown seemed to have agreed upon a fiction that was my life – I came from a family of ill-educated, malnourished, soot-covered toilers, like the father and brothers in Zoolander.

  ‘Laszlo will get a kick out of that. Be sure to tell him,’ Bryce ordered. To Amity, he said, ‘Laszlo’s bringing a date.’

  ‘Oh wow. Who’s it going to be tonight? Last time it was a Victoria’s Secret model.’ She caught Mannix’s expression. ‘Not really. But young. Really young and really hot.’

  She winked at me. ‘He’ll like her.’

  ‘Hahaha.’ I had to pretend that I wasn’t wildly jealous at the thought of Mannix finding another woman hot.

  ‘The one before last got drunk out of her mind and sat on Laszlo’s lap and fed him food like he had Alzheimer’s. It was a stitch,’ Amity said, with an eye roll.

  ‘We’re also going to be joined by Arnold and Inga Ola,’ Bryce said. ‘Arnold’s my colleague and my greatest rival. You met him this afternoon.’

  ‘In the boardroom?’ Was he one of the vice-presidents?

  ‘We met him by the elevators as you were leaving.’

  ‘Oh!’ I had a memory of a belligerent, toad-like man who’d said, ‘So you’re Bryce’s new baby.’

  ‘Was he sort of angry?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s the guy!’

  ‘She’s a pistol,’ Amity said, about me.

  ‘Arnold’s really pissed that he didn’t sign you. But he had his chance,’ Bryce said happily. ‘Phyllis gave him first look at your book and he said it was garbage. But as soon as I want you, so does he.’

  Mannix and I exchanged a flicker. Keep smiling; keep smiling; whatever you do, keep smiling.

  ‘Speaking of whom!’ Bryce said. ‘Here’s Arnold and Inga.’

  Arnold – as belligerent and toad-like as I’d remembered – pushed towards me. ‘It’s Bryce’s new pet! And the tame boyfriend! Pleased to meet you, sir,’ he said to Mannix.

  ‘We’ve already met.’

  Arnold ignored him. ‘So your little book has a publisher! How about that! And you’re going on tour – the little Irish colleen charming the US of A with her sad little story about being paralysed. I told my maid about you. She says she’ll pray to the Mother Mary for you. She’s from Columbia. Catholic, like you guys.’

  My face was flaming.

  ‘And here you are in Brucie’s well-appointed home. And he’s booked Laszlo for tonight. You really must be important. He only books Laszlo when he really wants to impress.’

  ‘Laszlo is one of my dearest friends,’ Bryce said to me. ‘I’ve been his publisher for twenty-six years. I haven’t “booked” him.’

  ‘I’m starved,’ Arnold said. ‘Can we eat?’

  ‘As soon as Laszlo gets here,’ Amity said.

  ‘If we wait until that horse’s ass shows, we won’t get to eat at all,’ Arnold muttered. ‘Miss,’ he said to the anonymous woman holding the drinks tray, ‘can I get a bowl of raisin bran?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Amity said. ‘He’s here!’

  In came Laszlo Jellico. He was tall and wide, like a petrol pump, with a big bushy beard and lots of leonine hair. ‘Friends, friends,’ he declared in a boomy voice. ‘Amity, my beloved one.’ He placed his hands on her breasts and squeezed. ‘Powerless to resist,’ he said. ‘Nothing beats the feel of real.’ He kissed all the men, calling them ‘my dear’; he refused the cocktails, demanded tea, then sent it away untouched; and he claimed to have been ‘quite transfixed’ by my ‘sublime novel’ when he obviously hadn’t a notion who I was.

  ‘And if I may introduce Gilda Ashley.’ His date was pink and golden and pretty, but, to my relief, she wasn’t devastatingly sexy in the way of a Victoria’s Secret model.

  ‘What do you do, young lady?’ Arnold asked, his tone of voice implying that she was a whore.

  ‘I’m a nutritionist and personal trainer.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Where did you go to school?’

  ‘University of Overgaard.’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  Mannix and I exchanged a glance. What a prick.

  ‘So you’re Laszlo’s nutritionist?’ Arnold asked Gilda. ‘Whaddya feed him?’

  She gave a melodious laugh. ‘Client confidentiality.’

  ‘So what would you feed me? I’d like the same diet as Laszlo Jellico, the genius.’

  ‘Maybe you should book a consultation?’ Her voice was calm.

  ‘Maybe I should. Gotta card?’

  ‘… No …’

  ‘Course you’ve gotta card. Smart girl like you, smart enough to be working with Laszlo Jellico? Course you gotta card.’

  ‘… I …’ Gilda was flushed.

  I watched, mortified for her. She probably did have a card but knew it would be bad manners to hand it out at a dinner party.

  Salvation came from Mannix. ‘If she says she hasn’t got a card, maybe she hasn’t got a card.’

  Arnold gave him a fake-surprised look. ‘Okay, farm boy. No need to get shirty.’

  ‘He’s a neurologist,’ I said.

  ‘Not in this city.’

  I opened my mouth to jump in and defend Mannix but he put a calming hand on my arm. With effort I turned away and found myself face to face with Arnold’s wife, Inga. Without much interest she asked, ‘How are you enjoying New York City?’

  Making a big effort to sound cheery, I said, ‘Loving it. I only got here this afternoon, but –’

  Bryce overheard and said, ‘They’re going to rent the Skogells’ apartment.’

  ‘The Skogells’ apartment?’ Inga sounded surprised. ‘But you’ll have your two kids with you, I hear. Where will you all fit?’

  That was a slightly sore point – a ‘ten-room duplex on the Upper West Side’ sounded fabulous and enormous, but when my visit earlier this evening revealed that four of the ten rooms were bathrooms, it started to seem less impressive. Basically, the Skogells’ apartment was a kitchen, a sitting room and three bedrooms. (The walk-in wardrobe counted as a room in realtor language. And the ‘staff quarters’ was one shockingly small en-suite bedroom.)

  ‘We’re not used to much,’ I said, sweetly.

  ‘It’s a palace to us,’ Mannix said, deadpan. ‘An absolute palace.’

  ‘And in a beautiful part of the city,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe that Dean & DeLuca will be my local grocery store.’ During our speedy walkabout of the neighbourhood, Mannix and I had dropped in and I’d almost swooned at the freshly baked breads, the endangered-species apples and the handmade pasta. ‘When I was here with my sister five years ago, we were staying near the SoHo branch and every day we –’

  ‘Dean & DeLuca?’ Inga said. ‘My, the tourists do love it.’

  After a beat Mannix said, ‘We’re quite the pair of rubes.’

  Inga gave him a sharp look. ‘Have you got a school for your kids? That’s going to be a toughie. Most schools, there’s a waiting list for the waiting list.’

  Almost triumphantly, I said, ‘Tomorrow morning at ten a.m., we’re interviewing at Academy Manhattan.’

  ‘My. That’s fast.’

  It was thanks to Bunda Skogell, who, perhaps sensing my disappointment over her less-than-fabulous apartment, had called in a favour. Her two kids went there and, in vague, delicate language, she implied that she had a certain amount of sway over the board of governors.

  ‘It’s a good school,’ Inga Ola said. ‘They do music, artwork, sports …’

  ‘Exactly what I’m looking for. A similar ethos
to their current school.’

  ‘… Yeah,’ Inga said. ‘A good fit for the less academically gifted kid.’

  Much later, when we got back to the hotel, the kids were asleep in their separate rooms. I hadn’t seen them since we’d left for the meeting with Blisset Renown, hours and hours ago. ‘Should I wake them?’ I whispered to Mannix.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But all of this affects them. What if they don’t want to live in New York?’

  ‘Ssshh.’ His hand slid between my shoulders and the zip-pull of my dress whizzed down my back, the cold metal giving me a delicious shiver.

  ‘You said you weren’t going to have sex with me,’ I said.

  ‘I lied.’

  His eyes were full of purpose. He steered me into our bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him, then flung me on the huge bed where, despite the presence of Jeffrey in the next bedroom, we had fierce, passionate sex. Afterwards, as we lay in each other’s arms, Mannix said, ‘That went well.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sex with us always went well.

  ‘I mean, Jeffrey didn’t burst in, in a big black cape, singing the song from The Omen.’

  ‘Ah, Mannix …’

  ‘Sorry. Will I turn out the light?’

  ‘I’m so wired I feel like I’ll never sleep again.’ I took a calming breath and was immediately seized by anxiety. ‘Mannix, Ryan is going to go bananas.’ I’d been saying this every chance I’d got, ever since I’d agreed to Bryce Bonesman’s condition that I relocate to the USA. ‘I should have talked to him first. What if he won’t let the kids move with us?’

  ‘Then they stay in Ireland and live with him.’

  ‘But he can barely handle them two weekends a month.’

  ‘Exactly. Call him out on it.’

  ‘You’re tough.’

  He shrugged. ‘I want this to work. I want this for us. Can we talk about me for a minute?’ His tone was playful. ‘Tomorrow morning I have to impress Academy Manhattan with my daddy skills.’

  ‘You’ll be great,’ I said. ‘You’re great with your nephews.’ Fresh fear grasped me. ‘Mannix, are we doing the right thing? It’s such a risk.’

  ‘I like risks.’

  I knew he did. And I also knew he wasn’t stupid. If he was doing it, it couldn’t really be that big a gamble.

  ‘It was a weird night, wasn’t it?’ I said. ‘Arnold Ola and his horrible wife. And that Laszlo Jellico? It’s like they’d hired someone to do magic tricks. But Gilda was a sweetie.’

  ‘Is Laszlo Jellico her boyfriend?’

  ‘I hope not,’ I said. ‘She seems far too nice for him.’

  ‘Is this one unpasteurized? Aw? It’s not?’ The man pointing at a cheese behind the Dean & DeLuca glass counter seemed irked. ‘Then I don’t want to know. So just show me the unpasteurized!’

  I studied the man carefully; he wore a pair of smart-ish cords and a navy blue polo-neck jumper in a strange, unpleasant-looking silky knit. He had a shiny bald head and looked the very picture of an Upper West Side intellectual. Also he was abrupt to the point of rudeness, which again was quintessential New Yorker behaviour, so I was told. But, if Inga Ola was to be believed, he was just an eejit tourist visiting from Indiana.

  The day had started with a lavish breakfast in our towelling robes in our suite in the Mandarin Oriental, then Mannix and I subjected Betsy and Jeffrey to a ‘serious talk’.

  I explained that I had a publishing deal conditional on me living in the US.

  ‘If your dad is okay with it –’ I swallowed. ‘And we manage to get you into a good school, you would live in New York with me –’

  The squealing and jumping started.

  ‘– and Mannix,’ I finished. ‘If we do this, Mannix and I will be together. Living together. Think about it.’

  ‘It’s totally fine with me,’ Betsy said.

  ‘And you, Jeffrey?’ I asked.

  He wouldn’t make eye contact – torn between wanting to live in New York and needing to demonstrate his disapproval. Eventually he said, ‘Yeah. Okay.’

  ‘Really?’ I insisted. ‘You need to be sure about this, Jeffrey. Because once we make the decision, we can’t unmake it.’

  He stared at the table, and after a long silence, he said, ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Well, good. Thank you.’ I focused on Betsy. ‘What about you and Tyler?’ They were still officially in love.

  ‘He’ll come visit,’ she chirped. He wouldn’t, and we both knew it, but it didn’t matter.

  ‘So are you going to be rich?’ Jeffrey mumbled.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It’s … risky.’

  Everything was perilous and unknown. Who knew if the book would sell? Who knew how the kids would cope in the fastest city in the world? And who knew if Mannix and I would adapt from basically having an affair to living and working together 24/7?

  Only one way to find out …

  ‘Smarten yourselves up,’ I said. ‘But not too much. Academy Manhattan,’ I paused to quote from the promotional material that Bunda Skogell had given me, ‘“celebrates the individualism of their students”. Betsy, don’t brush your hair.’

  Thirty minutes later, we were getting the grand tour of Academy Manhattan’s magnificent amenities. ‘Excellent,’ we murmured, at the swimming pool, the orchestra space, the glass-blowing room … ‘Excellent.’

  Then the real business began: the interviews. Three members of the board of governors interrogated us as a family unit to see if we were a good fit with the Academy ethos. Jeffrey was a bit surly but I desperately hoped that Betsy’s sunniness would compensate. When the interview ended, Betsy and Jeffrey were taken to sit a slew of aptitude tests and I was subjected to a solo grilling with the governors. Their questions were fairly mild – what sort of parent would I describe myself as, that sort of thing – but when I was done, and it was Mannix’s turn, my nerves were jangling.

  ‘Good luck,’ I whispered to him.

  ‘We’ll be about thirty minutes,’ the nicest of the interview ladies told me. ‘Please avail yourself of the facilities in hospitality.’

  ‘Okay …’ I tried to savour the comfort of the chair in the reception room but I was as jumpy as a cat, as I focused on all the obstacles that might block this miracle opportunity – Jeffrey might deliberately fail the tests or Mannix mightn’t make a convincing father figure without me at his side, feeding him his lines …

  I stood up, wishing I could distract myself from the worry. I’d try to think about nice things. Dean & DeLuca, for example … It was only a couple of blocks away; we’d passed it on the way here. When I remembered how Inga Ola had damned it as the haunt of hillbillies and hayseeds, I was slapped with shame. Then some fighting spirit rallied and I decided to go back and check – it was one small thing I could control in a life that had suddenly gone mad.

  I didn’t have much time so I hurried along the streets, and as soon as I passed through the store’s doorway my heart lifted – the exuberant bunches of flowers, the architectural stacks of gem-coloured fruit! Surely this wasn’t simply another tourist attraction like, say, Woodbury Common? The silky-knit, unpasteurized-cheese man certainly seemed local.

  In a bid to rescue my paradise from Inga Ola’s judgement, I approached the silky-knit man and said, ‘Excuse me, sir, are you a native New Yorker?’

  He stared at me from under hooded eyes. ‘What the hell?’

  I had my answer. Rude, rude, delightfully rude: he was the real thing. ‘Thank you.’

  Feeling better, I went to stare at a sackful of coffee beans that had been passed through the digestive tract of an elephant. I’d read about this stuff – apparently it was more expensive per ounce than gold. I lingered, interested and repelled.

  I would die if Dad could see me. He’d never had coffee in his life. (‘Why would I, when I can have tea?’) And certainly not coffee that had been processed by an elephant.

  With some vague notion of buying presents for Mum and Karen, I moved on
to the chocolate section and reached for a box at the same time as another woman did.

  ‘Sorry.’ I backed off.

  ‘No, you have them,’ the woman said.

  That was when I realized I knew her: it was Gilda from last night.

  ‘Heyyy!’ She looked as pleased as punch to see me and I too felt great warmth towards her, so much so that, in less than five minutes, we agreed that she’d be my personal trainer when I returned to New York.

  ‘The only thing is,’ I said. ‘I’m not sporty. Not one bit.’ I was afraid now. What had I let myself in for?

  ‘We could try it for … say … a week? See if we’re a good fit.’

  She gave me her card and reassured me that everything was going to be fine, which was nice to hear. ‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry but I’d better go.’

  ‘What’s on for you today?’

  ‘I pick up the kids and Mannix, collect our bags from the hotel, go to the airport. Fly home, tell everyone the news and start packing up my life.’

  ‘Wow. Big stuff. And Mannix? He’s packing up his life too? He’s relocating with you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said and let myself savour the thrill. ‘Mannix and I are doing this together.’

  We were sitting in the departure lounge in JFK when the news came that Betsy and Jeffrey had been accepted at Academy Manhattan. Betsy squealed and whooped and even Jeffrey seemed pleased.

  ‘Wow.’ Mannix had paled a little. ‘We’ve got the school, the apartment, you’ve got the publishing deal … this is really happening. Time to start reassigning my patients for the next year.’

  Worried, I looked at him. ‘We don’t have to do this.’

  ‘I want to. All the planets are in alignment,’ he said. ‘It’s just … it’s a big deal.’

  ‘I feel guilty about abandoning my clients when all I really do is paint their nails. So it must be much tougher for you.’

  He shook his head. ‘You can’t do guilt when you’re a doctor. You have to compartmentalize, it’s the only way to survive. It’s okay, Stella. It’s only for a year. It’s all good.’

  He reached for his phone and began clicking off emails.

  I’d better start too. I had to speak to Ryan – I should have done it yesterday but I was afraid of the confrontation. And I had to work something out with Karen, perhaps see if someone could cover for me while I was away.