by Marian Keyes
Barking heads off, they raced across grass and were nearly on me when I found that the fucking gate had closed on rucksack, slicing everything inside in two: eyeliners, lip glosses (discovered this later). I was tugging at gate, hoping fecky thing wasn’t fully closed because then was trapped with these…beasts.
But too late, one of them got me. Had half my bottom between teeth. Gate gave slightly—poor sliced rucksack had kept lock from fully closing—got myself through, pulled gate behind me, clanged it shut.
Through the bars the dogs kept barking.
I yelled: Which one of you bit me, you fuckers?
Neither fessed up, so decided to shoot them both, but in enough trouble and thought better skedaddle because O’Gradys would hear barking and be straight out to investigate. (If they could tear themselves away from Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em.)
Arse killing me, could hardly sit down to drive, but had to. Drove to Dalkey, parked outside chipper, rang Colin.
I gave short account. Said: There’s nothing to connect me to Harry Fear, but the O’Gradys will be suspicious. Also the dogs bit me in the bum. I think I need stitches. Do you know where the nearest hospital is?
Him: St. Vincent’s in Booterstown. I’ll come to keep you company.
By time he arrived I’d been examined.
Me: I’ve to get stitches and a tetanus injection.
Seeing as I couldn’t sit down, he also stood. Solidarity.
Me: If I get lockjaw, Harry Fear will pay.
Him: You’ll never get lockjaw.
He smiled and suddenly I thought, Cor! Really fancy him. Ding-dong!
After I’d got my arse patched back together (eight stitches; apparently if dog destroyed in fire, you could use imprint on my bum as dental records to identify him), we went back to Colin’s flat. We-hay!
I stared at the screen: this wasn’t funny. Helen messing around with guns and getting bitten by guard dogs was no joke—assuming it was true; and if she’d had to get stitches, I presumed it was. Fretfully, I wondered what to do; the problem was that Helen was so contrary that if I asked her to be careful, she might do the opposite. Maybe I should talk to Mum? But the way Mum was treating the whole business—offering to ring in sick for Helen, etc.—made me think she wasn’t taking it terribly seriously either.
Because I couldn’t fix on the best course of action, I decided to do nothing, at least for the moment. But I remained riddled with anxiety; I didn’t want anything bad to happen to anyone else I loved.
Great news!” Franklin was giddy with triumph. “Ariella picked your pitch! We’re going to use Wendell’s, too, for insurance, but she liked yours the best.” He chuckled. “I have to say…at the start…I’m like, oh my God, she’s wacko, what have I done! But your pitch is great. Totally great. Mommy is very happy.”
72
Hey, Nicholas,” I called down the corridor. “Thanks for your funny Buddhist goose advice. It got me the gig.”
I got close enough to see him coloring with pride. “You really did nothing?”
“Not exactly. But I made a big thing of doing almost nothing.”
“Oh, wow. That’s so cool. So tell me.”
“Okay.” But I was distracted by his T-shirt. Today’s said THE GEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH.
“Nicholas, I’ve never seen you with the same T-shirt twice. How do you do it? Do you wear a different T-shirt with a different message every day of your life or just on Sundays?”
He grinned. “Hey, you’ll just have to meet me during the week to find out!”
The mood turned suddenly awkward, his grin faded to nothing, and a blush inched its way up his face.
“Oh, wow; sorry, Anna.” He bowed his tomato-colored head. “Flirting with you. Totally inappropriate.”
“Were you? Look, don’t worry…”
“I mean, you and Mitch…”
“What! Mitch? Oh my God, no, Nicholas. It’s not like that with Mitch. Not at all!”
Do you mind me spending so much time with Mitch? I mean, you know it’s just as friends, don’t you? You know we’re just helping each other?
I’d been so thrown by Nicholas’s comment that, after the channeling, I told Mitch I couldn’t go on today’s outing. I felt filthy with guilt and I couldn’t escape fast enough; I set off walking in the direction of home. Though I’d have preferred not to face it, I saw how easy it would be to get the wrong idea about him and me. Why else had I been so mortified when Ornesto saw us together at the quiz? And why hadn’t I told Rachel or Jacqui about him? I mean, I knew the truth and Mitch knew the truth—but did Aidan?
Aidan, if you mind, just show me and I’ll never see him again. Give me some sort of sign. Anything at all. Okay, I’ll make it easy for you—I’m going to keep walking down this street, and if you’re angry about Mitch, how about…how about…making a flowerpot fall from a window ledge right into my path. I’d prefer if it didn’t actually land on me, but if that’s what you need to do…
I walked and walked and nothing happened and I wondered if I’d been too specific. Maybe I shouldn’t have said “flowerpot.” Maybe I should have just said “something.” Make “something” fall into my path.
Okay. Anything at all. Not just a flowerpot.
But nothing landed on or near me and I was hot and tired and eventually I hailed a cab. The driver, a young Indian man, was on his mobile. I gave my address and slumped back into the seat and suddenly I heard, “You’re a filthy, dirty man and I’m going to punish you.”
It was the driver, talking into his phone. I sat up straight, keen to eavesdrop.
“Pull down your pants, you bad, bad man. I am going to punish you!”
“Excuse me, sir, who are you talking to?”
He turned around quickly, raised a finger to his lips, leaving a grand total of none on the steering wheel, then he went back to his conversation. “I am going to beat you for being so bad. Yes, beat you, you bad, bad man. Beat you on the butt with the cane. On the butt with the cane. Because you’re bad, bad, dirty and bad!”
Oh, Aidan, you have sent me a sign. A nine-out-of-ten taxi driver! So you don’t mind about Mitch!
“Hard, hard is how I will beat you. Bend over and I will count the strokes. Swish, one! Swish, two! Swish, three! Swish, four! Swish, five! Swish, SIX!”
Swish six seemed to bring things to a head: a cry came from inside the phone, then all went quiet for a while, until the driver said, “Thank you, sir. It is my pleasure, sir. Please call again.”
He hung up, and bursting with curiosity, I asked, “What was that all about?”
“I am a sex worker.” He said this quite proudly.
“You are?”
“Yes. Men pay me to abuse them. But I must also drive the cab. I have a large family back in Punjab. I send—” The chirp of his phone interrupted; he checked the caller and slightly wearily answered, “Good day, young master Thomas. What have you been doing? Have you been bad? How bad?”
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: The woman and her dog
Dear Anna,
She has “upped the auntie.” (I’ve never understood that phrase. Is it meant to be vulgar? Let me know as I will not say it at bridge if it’s vulgar. I will simply say she has “raised her game.”) More number twos.
Helen stood in it on her way home, all “loved up” (disgusting phrase) from sleeping with that Colin fellow, and she went mentalist. Effing and blinding out by the gate. “Come on,” sez she. “We’re going to see the old boot.”
There and then we drove over. I rang the bell and Zoe started to bark, then suddenly Zoe stopped barking. The old woman must have seen us through some spy hole and decided to pretend she wasn’t in. It’s Zoe I feel for. Locked away wearing a gag. A sock, or maybe a “bandanna.” She could suffocate that way. Helen shouted through the letter box, “We’ll be back, you mad old boot. I’m one of Ireland’s premeer private investigators, you know.”
Ireland’s, no less! I said nothing, but the night with Colin had obviously gone to her head.
Your loving mother,
Mum
73
Joey in love was compelling viewing. A dinner had been organized for no other reason than everyone wanted to see the unlikely combination of Jacqui and Joey together.
It wasn’t just for the usual suspects of Rachel, Luke, me, Shake, etc., but a whole swath of second-tier Real Men who held Joey in high regard. Not to mention Leon and Dana, Nell and Nell’s strange friend, and some people from Jacqui’s work. Even some people from my work asked to come: Teenie (who had slept with Joey ages ago) and Brooke—Brooke Edison.
In all, twenty-three of us came along to Haiku on the Lower East Side one Thursday night. (We’d had to keep ringing the restaurant to increase the table size.)
Joey and Jacqui were twined around each other in the center of a long booth and there was a bit of unseemly jostling from the rest of us to get the seats nearest to them. The places with the highest premium were the ones directly opposite the lovers.
“Check out Joey’s ‘in love’ face,” Teenie whispered.
It was strange: Joey hadn’t started smiling or anything—he still looked narky—but when he was tracing the curve of Jacqui’s face with his finger, or staring into her eyes, his narkiness looked quite nice. Quite sexy, actually. Intense, Heathcliffy, although his hair wasn’t dark enough. It might be if he stopped using Sun-In (he denied it vigorously but we all knew), but he was very attached to his goldeny-brown lowlights.
“This is going to be good,” Teenie said with glee.
And it was. All through the dinner, Joey and Jacqui were constantly at each other, whispering and giggling and feeding each other.
The only person who wasn’t mesmerized was Gaz and that was presumably because, night after night, he got a ringside seat in his own apartment. He wandered among us, bearing a sinister-looking little leather pouch; I knew what was in there.
“Anna,” he said, “I can help with your grief. I’m learning acupuncture!” He whipped open the pouch to display a load of needles inside. “I know which acupoints will give you relief.”
“That’s lovely. Thank you.”
“You mean you’ll let me do it?!”
“What? Now? Oh God, no, Gaz, not now. We’re in a public place. I can’t be sitting in a restaurant with needles sticking out of me. Even if we are on the Lower East Side.”
“Oh. I thought you meant…Well, some other time? Sometime soon?”
“Mmm.” I’d heard what had happened to Luke. He’d been feeling fine until Gaz had offered to “increase his endorphins.” The next thing, Luke was curled in a fetal position on the bathroom floor, unable to decide whether he was going to puke or to faint.
“I also do cupping,” Gaz said. “Another Chinese remedy. I heat up little cups and suction them to your back. It draws out all kinds of toxins.”
Yes, I knew about that, too. I also knew about how he’d put his flaming cups too close to Rachel and Luke’s window and managed to set their curtains on fire.
“Thanks, Gaz, but—” I indicated Jacqui and Joey. “I can’t concentrate on anything else at the moment.”
Actually, they looked as if they were planning to leave.
They were! They were standing up and Joey was throwing down a couple of twenties and they were “excuse me, excuse me”ing their way out.
“Going home early to have sex, without caring how rude it looks.” Brooke Edison sighed dreamily. “Not even leaving enough money to cover their share of the bill because they’re so in love, they assume the rest of the world is happy to cover them. Which we totally are.”
“It’s nice of them to leave early,” Teenie said, “Because now we can talk about them. So what’s everybody’s take?”
Reactions were mixed. You could tell the second-tier Real Men were confused because Jacqui had no breasts. But at least she was blond.
Almost everyone else, however, was charmed.
“It’s adorable.” Brooke clasped her hands, her eyes ashine. “True love can happen with anyone. Like, who says he has to work on Wall Street! He could be, like, just a plumber, or like a construction worker.” Her gaze fastened on Shake, on his tight, tight jeans and his grand head of hair, and took on a sudden, acquisitive gleam.
74
The arrival of fantastic news!!!
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Neris Hemming
Your phone interview with Neris Hemming is scheduled for 8:30 A.M.. on Wednesday sixth of October. The number to call will be sent to you closer to the date. The cost for Ms. Hemming’s time is $2,500. Please forward your credit-card details. Also note that you must not call the number until 8:30 A.M. and that you must finish exactly at nine.
I rang Mitch to tell him. I was so excited. In just over two weeks’ time I’d be talking to Aidan.
I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait.
75
Franklin leaned over my desk, flicked a furtive look at Lauryn, and said, “Anna, we’ve finally got a confirmation date from Devereaux for the Formula Twelve pitch.”
He smiled happily and suddenly, with a cold trickle down my spine, I knew what was going to happen. Even before he spoke the words, I knew exactly what he was going to say. “Wednesday of next week. October sixth. Nine A.M.”
Electric pains shot up and down my legs. Wednesday the sixth of October was the morning of my conversation with Neris Hemming. This was like a cosmic joke.
I couldn’t be at the pitch. I had to tell him. But I was afraid. Say it, go on, say it.
“I’m sorry, Franklin.” My voice sounded shaky. “It won’t be possible for me to be there. I have an appointment.”
His eyes turned to chips of ice. What kind of appointment did I have that could be more important than this?
“It’s, um, medical.”
“So reschedule.” Franklin acted as if the matter was now closed.
I cleared my throat. “It’s urgent.”
He frowned, almost in curiosity. First her husband dies, now she needs urgent medical attention. How much bad luck does this loser attract?
“We need you at this pitch,” Franklin said.
“I can be here by nine-thirty.”
“We need you at this pitch,” Franklin repeated.
“Maybe even nine-fifteen if the traffic is good.” Not a chance.
“I don’t think you’re hearing me. We need you at this pitch.” Then he turned his back on me and walked away.
I couldn’t concentrate on work, so, with trembling hands, I checked my e-mails to see if there was anything nice. Helen had received a death threat.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Death threat
Oh God, loads has happened. This morning, Colin came to my office to bring me to Harry Fear to give him photos of Detta and Racey snuggled up together on couch drinking tea and eating top-notch biscuits.
Next thing, an almighty bang! Gunshot! Eardrum still twanging from it. My window fell in on my desk, glass everyplace. Someone had just tried to shoot me! Bloody nerve!
Colin yelled: Get down. Then legged it out to see what was going on.
But I could hear tires screeching away and he was back in a second.
Him: They’re gone. Looked like some of Racey’s lads.
He knelt down on floor, in the splinters, cradled me to him, and said: It’s okay, baby.
Me (pulling self away. Morto): What the eff are you at?
Him: Comforting you.
Me: Get off. I don’t like that sort of stuff. At all. I don’t need comforting.
Him: Cup of tea, even?
Me: No. No. Nothing.
Jaysus!
Through space where window used to be saw deputation of angry mothers, in leggings and anoraks and ring of fag smoke like that planet, heading dow
n from the flats. Quick off the mark round here.
Chief mother, name of Josetta, said: Ah, Helen, this is a respectable neighborhood.
Me: No, it’s not.
Her: Okay, it’s not. But guns being fired at ten-thirty in the morning? That’s not on.
Me: Sorry. The next time someone tries to kill me I’ll ask them to wait until after lunch.
Her: Do that. Good girl.
They went away.
Me: Janey, I’ve just had an attempt on my life.
Him: Nah. Just a warning shot across the bows.
Me: Well, the next time they’ll kill me.
Him: That’s not how it works. They’ll do something, like, say, kill your dog. There’s a strict protocol to be followed here.
Me: But I don’t have a dog. I hate all living creatures.
Him: Well, maybe they’ll burn out your car—you like your car, don’t you?
Me (nodding): So it’ll be a while before they really try to kill me.
Him: Yeah, you’ve loads of time.
This had gone too far. I rattled off a reply to Helen.
