PENGUIN
IRELAND
PENGUIN IRELAND
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First published 2009
1
Copyright © Evelyn Cosgrave, 2009
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-14-191044-4
To James
Angela O'Regan looked round the room and smiled to herself. Who would have thought she'd ever have an eighty-fifth birthday party? She'd nearly given up on living half her lifetime ago, and now look at her, blowing out the candles on a cake shaped like a bicycle (some daft person had remembered that at one time in her life she was never off her bicycle). It was too much really; a woman of her age should be sitting quietly in a chair by the fire dozing, hardly aware what day or year it was. But that was the thing, she didn't feel like a woman her age, she felt much more like a girl.
‘Go on, Granny, blow! You're going to have to do better than that!’ Susan, her middle granddaughter, screamed from the far end of the table.
‘Then give me a bit of help, child,’ Angela retorted. ‘I haven't got the puff I once had.’
‘All right, then,’ said Felicity, the eldest granddaughter, ‘let's all go together. One, two, three… HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GRANNY!!!’
Angela sat back and let her daughter-in-law take over the cutting of the cake. Maureen liked to take charge and it wouldn't have dawned on her that Angela might enjoy presiding over her own cake. ‘Pass your plates up,’ she called out brusquely as if she was doling out broccoli at a children's tea. ‘Someone get the pastry forks. We might as well use the good stuff.’
Susan left her position by her boyfriend's side and went to the bottom drawer of the mahogany sideboard. Angela thought she was looking pale, not that she wasn't always as white as a sheet, but this was more than mere lack of pigmentation. There was a lack of warmth in her cheeks. And wasn't she the one they were all watching and waiting for an announcement from? She was about to move back to Limerick with Paul, and they were on the lookout for a house. The big day couldn't be far off. It made Angela smile the way the young people did everything backwards now. The sex came first, the house came second and only then did any of them think of getting married. But Paul had an air about him of a man who was about to settle down. You could tell he'd done his running around and was ready to take on the responsibility of being a married man. The kids took so long to grow up these days; you sometimes wondered if they'd ever make it.
‘Are these the ones?’ Susan asked, holding up a battered blue velvet box.
‘They were my mother's,’ Angela told her. ‘They were a silver wedding present.’
‘You should throw out all that junk, Granny,’ said Marianne, the youngest granddaughter. ‘Or sell it. You'd get a great price at one of those antique fairs. I'll bring 'em if you like.’
‘Those are heirlooms, Marianne,’ said her mother dryly. ‘Some of them will be yours one day, but for now they're still very precious to your granny.’
‘I was only mentioning it. I don't want any of that old stuff, anyway. It's mouldy and smelly.’
‘Marianne, mind your manners. And pass me your plate.’
Marianne really was a caution, thought Angela. She was twenty-six years old and still behaved as if she was fifteen. Still dressed that way too, although Angela knew that the combat trousers and the couple of T-shirts she was wearing on top of each other were what she considered dressing up. She'd let a couple of her piercings close – the one in her lip and the one in her eyebrow. Angela had always admired the little nose stud. That thing on her tongue she tried not to think about. And she'd completely given up asking her what she was doing with herself now. Every time she saw Marianne she asked her how the job in the clothes shop was going, or the job in the café, or how she was getting on with her course in reflexology or in lighting design or marine biology or papier mâché… she'd had to give up. It wasn't her place to say anything, of course – she just hoped Tom and Maureen would say something before it was too late and that girl was lost altogether.
‘Lovely cake, Mum,’ said Tom, who was already halfway through his slice.
Angela turned to her son, who was seated at his wife's elbow.
‘You like your cake, Tom.’
‘That I do.’
‘I'll bet the bicycle idea was yours.’
‘You have me there! I thought you'd like it.’
‘Ahh, you're just a big eejit, Tom.’
Everyone had dressed up for the occasion, but Tom was the only one who looked overdressed. It wasn't at all that Angela thought men shouldn't wear pink, it was that they shouldn't wear baby pink. And, yes, she knew that the little man waving his stick meant that this was a very good jumper – hadn't Maureen pointed it out to her often enough – but there had to be something more suitable for a man approaching sixty. She mightn't have minded quite as much if she had been convinced that this pansy pullover was his own choice; but, of course, Maureen had dressed him. She'd been dressing him since she turned up at Angela's door thirty-five years ago.
Maureen herself looked very nice. She always did. She'd always spent a fortune on her back. She had lovely trousers on her today, casual but cut very nicely, and a colourdy top that was very good at hiding the bit of a tummy she had. Her hair was done in a new way – cut in short waves that travelled up her cheek – and it helped to soften the hard edges of her face. She never wore too much make-up, just the right amount to brighten her up. Oh yes, Maureen kept herself very well, she had to give her that.
‘I think it's time for the champagne now, Granny.’ Felicity smiled at her across the table. Felicity was a fabulous girl. She'd always been the sensible one – even Susan could be flighty at times – but you could always rely on Felicity. Not that Angela saw much of her now that her job in London kept her so busy, but Felicity was always the one to call to remind her that the clocks were going forward or that there was a cold spell forecast or that the Brown Thomas sale had started. She was great at giving out information, not so great at revealing anything else though. You wouldn't have a clue what was going on in her personal life – not a boyfriend or even a date was ever mentioned. And she was the oldest of them – thirty-three now – probably the most attractive of three good-looking girls. Her naturally blonde hair and sparkly blue-green eyes and the lovely clothes she wore made her stand out in a crowd. Yet there wasn't a sign of her getting married. Not that marriage was the be-all and end-all of everything, especially not nowadays. Women had so many more options than they'd had in Angela's day and Felicity was particularly career-driven. Tom had explained to Angela that when a big multi-national bought out the company Felicity worked for, she'd be a very wealthy woman. You had to admire that kind of drive and ambition in a person. Still… when the nights were cold… Angela could only look back on her own marriage, brief as it had been, and think of it as the happiest time in her life.
‘Oh, don't be wasting it on me, love,’ she said, realizing that Felicity was still looking at her expectantly.
‘Don't be silly, Granny, this is what I got it for.’
‘I know, but it's so expensive. You should keep it for yourself. Any old rubbish would do me. Sure, I don't know the difference.’
‘Nonsense! An occasion doesn't get any bigger than this.’
‘OooooohhhhhhHHHH!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANGELA!!!!’ The cork popped and the champagne began to flow.
‘Not too much now – I've already had all that wine,’ said Angela.
‘Don't give Daddy any. He has to drive us home,’ said Maureen.
‘Cheers!’ said the three girls in unison.
‘Happy birthday… Mrs O'Regan,’ said Paul.
‘Oh, this is nice!’ said Marianne. ‘Did you bring another bottle?’
‘I did,’ said Felicity. ‘But you're not getting your hands on it.’
‘Oh, Fliss! Don't be so stingy. I never even got a birthday present off you this year.’
‘You most certainly did! I sent you sterling. What you asked for!’
‘Oh yeah, right, thanks. Did I thank you?’
‘No, you didn't actually.’
‘Well… thanks.’
‘You're welcome.’
‘Marianne, come here and have the rest of mine, love, I can't be doing with all this alcohol – but it is absolutely lovely, Felicity. Thank you so much for bringing it.’
‘You're welcome, Granny.’
‘And thank you all for all my beautiful presents. I don't deserve any of them.’
‘Oh, Granny!’
‘And Paul. There was absolutely no need for you to give me anything. It's a lovely scarf, I'm sure I'll wear it all the time.’
‘You're more than welcome, Mrs O.’
‘He picked it out by himself, too,’ added Susan.
‘Isn't he marvellous! Did I tell you Gavin will be home soon?’ Angela said to Maureen as she took away her half-eaten cake.
‘You did, Angela.’
‘It'll be lovely to see him again. It's been so long.’
‘Oh, that boy… he always makes life hard for himself.’
Angela couldn't hide the excitement she felt at the thought of Gavin's return. She'd always had a soft spot for him, ever since her first glimpse of him as a baby with those bright blue eyes, that pudgy little mouth and that expression on his face, so like his mother's, of absolute trust in everyone round him. It was so easy to see how Frank had fallen for Grace.
‘And it was a shame Luke couldn't make it. He works very hard, you know.’
‘Luke always pleases himself. I don't know if those boys will ever turn out right.’
‘Who's that?’ asked Susan, catching the end of the conversation.
‘Your O'Regan cousins.’
‘God, I haven't seen them in a hundred years. What are they up to now?’
‘Well, Gavin's on his way back from Sweden and –’
‘He'd have been here only that he's coming home for good so soon – he couldn't get the time off,’ offered Angela.
‘And Luke's still in the States. I doubt he'll ever come home.’
‘You wouldn't expect them home just for an old woman's birthday party. Sure, even Kay couldn't manage it.’
Angela's daughter had made every effort to get home for her mother's eighty-fifth, but seeing as her sister-in-law was organizing the event and had moved the date around to suit herself, it had become impossible in the end for Kay to make the party. She was planning a more extensive visit to her mother later in the year.
‘Tom will come over and give the grass one more cut tomorrow,’ said Maureen, changing the subject quickly.
‘Oh, that's great. There's fierce growth at the moment.’
‘That'll have to be it for a little while then because we're bringing the mower down to Ballyconnell. There's a huge amount of work to be done in the garden there and we'll need the good mower. We'll eventually buy another one, but there's just so much expense at the moment.’
‘Of course, love. Sure, it's so exciting for ye with the new house.’
‘Oh, it'll be marvellous, Angela. A new lease of life.’
‘Aren't ye great to be doing it?’
‘A life-long dream. You have to grab your dreams.’
‘You do, love, you do.’ Angela was silent for a moment as she contemplated her son and daughter-in-law grabbing their dreams at the seaside. ‘And have ye seen any nice houses, Paul?’
‘Well, you know, things are a bit up and down at the moment, Mrs O'Regan. With prices falling we'd do better to hold on for a little while.’
‘Things are so hard these days for young people trying to buy a house. It was never so hard in our day.’
‘Ah, well, you know, nothing's cheap. But if you're crafty about it you should be able to do well.’
‘Have you seen anything you liked, Susan?’
‘What, Gran?’
‘Any nice houses? Anywhere you think you'd like to settle?’
‘Mmmm, nothing much really… We haven't looked at that many yet. It'll be easier after we move down.’
It struck Angela that Susan wasn't all that excited about the prospect of buying her first home with her boyfriend.
‘And ye're going to rent for a while?’
‘Yeah, I think we'll get one of those new apartments in the city centre. There's some beautiful ones just gone up on O'Connell Avenue. You know, that lovely building that used to be the county council? They're supposed to be fabulous.’
‘They're very expensive,’ added Paul.
Susan flashed him a look.
‘We wouldn't be renting for long… I just think it would be nice to be living in the middle of everything, like you do, Gran.’
‘Much good it does me now to be in the middle of everything.
‘You know what I mean. I'm not ready for the suburbs yet.’
‘Nothing wrong with the suburbs, Susie,’ said her mother. ‘That's where all life happens. We can't be sharing houses like students all our lives.’
‘I know but…’
‘Sure, it'll be for the pair of them to decide what they want,’ said Angela, giving her granddaughter a warm smile.
Susan smiled at her granny, ignoring her mother's frown.
‘I don't know,’ said Tom expansively, spreading his arms along the table, ‘in my day things were done differently.’ His eyes were wide with an expression of bemusement, his lips curling at the corners.
‘Oh, Dad, please,’ said Susan. ‘We know all about your day; your day was a hundred years ago.’
‘I'm only saying things were done… in a certain order… in my day. Isn't that right, Mam?’
‘Leave me out of it,’ said Angela. ‘Let the young people do things their way.’
‘Isn't that right, Paul?’ continued Tom, with a wink in his direction.
‘Oh, erm… erm…’
‘In my day a man took charge. There's certain things in life that only a man can do… if you get my meaning.’
‘Dad,’ said Susan with a sustained whine, ‘would you shut up!’
‘Oh, now…’
Somehow, Tom had passed the point of harmless joking. Paul's gaze hadn't left the crumbs of cake on his plate since Tom had started talking. Susan was caught between trying to give her father dagger eyes and scanning the rest of the room for help. No one else knew where to look or what to say.
Suddenly Paul cleared his throat.
Susan went white.
‘Well…’ he began, ‘it has been on my mind… and Susan is…’
‘Oh fuck!’ gasped Marianne.
Paul went to stand up, but the legs of his chair caught on the edge of the rug and caused him to fall backwards a little. His face was purple and he couldn't tear his gaze away from the crumbs on his plate.
‘I… ah…’ he began again. ‘I… ah…’ Eventually he shifted his focus to his girlfriend of three years, cleared his throat again, and, as if someone had finally given him the answer in a television quiz show, the words began to flow.
‘I would like to ask Susan to marry me,’ he said. ‘It would make me very happy.’
Susan was frantically ringing the doorbell. She wasn't even sure how she had got here, but now that she was here she couldn't go back. She began walloping the knocker. Nothing. She tried peering in the windows but that was useless – bloomin’ net curtains. She was beginning to root in her bag for her mobile when the door opened.
‘Susan, sweetheart, what a lovely surprise!’
‘Oh, Granny,’ she said, and burst into tears.
It didn't take long for Angela to gather up her granddaughter and set her down in the living room with a large glass of brandy. She had been listening to her granddaughters’ woes and crises ever since the days when the three girls used to call in after school. As soon as they were legal she replaced the warm milk with brandy, but otherwise her handling of their crises had remained the same: she listened, she proffered the drink, she made a few soothing noises and soon everything was all right again.
But this time the old formula didn't seem to be working.
‘Oh, Granny,’ Susan said again, polishing off the brandy with a sniff, ‘it's all a huge mess. I don't know what I'm going to do.’
‘Take a deep breath now, and tell me all about it.’
‘But it's a mess,’ she wailed. ‘I've made a mess of everything.’
‘Just tell me about it, sweetheart. Is it to do with Paul?’
‘I've left him! I just walked out today and said I wasn't coming back. I didn't even know where I was going when I left. I just ended up here. Is it OK if I stay for a while? Just a little while, until I get myself sorted?’
‘Of course, dear, you stay as long as you like. Now, would you like another drop of brandy?’
‘Oh, thanks, Gran, that would be lovely.’
Angela poured another double for her granddaughter and a little one for herself. ‘Now, do you want to tell me why you have walked out on Paul, or is it private?’
Susan put her glass on the table and lowered her eyes. She seemed to be deliberating furiously; her forehead was knotted and her lips were fixed in a bloodless pout.
‘I… it was all… we had this big row,’ she said at last.
‘Oh?’
Susan scratched her head as though it was crawling with nits. ‘I sort of – I…’
‘Take your time, lovey. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.’
‘No, no, I do want to. It's just, it's…’ She looked hopefully up at the ceiling and then began scratching her head again, ‘not very easy.’
‘Did something happen?’
‘Well, a while ago… I… did something, and… a couple of hours ago I… told him about it.’
‘What did you do, love?’
‘Oh, Granny, don't hate me, please don't hate me.’
‘I could never hate you. Don't be silly.’
‘I know, but…’
‘Take a deep breath.’
‘There was this wedding. You remember? That couple we used to live with, Niall and Stephanie?’
‘I remember.’
‘At their wedding I – did something.’
‘Yes?’
‘I sort of… I sort of slept with somebody.’
‘Oh.’
‘Please don't hate me, Granny.
‘I don't hate you. I'm a little surprised, that's all.’
‘Please don't be surprised! And don't be disappointed. Oh God, don't say you're disappointed in me!’
‘I only mean I'm surprised because I thought you were happy with Paul.’
‘I was – I mean – I thought I was, but… Actually, I think, maybe I wasn't.’
‘So did Paul throw you out?’
‘What?’
‘When you told him.’
‘No! You see, that's the thing. He didn't throw me out. He forgave me!’
‘Isn't that a good thing?’
‘You'd think, wouldn't you? What's wrong with me, Gran?’
‘There's nothing wrong with you, love. You're in shock, for a start. Here, I'll get you another little brandy.’
‘Thanks, Gran. You're so good to me.’
As Angela took Susan's glass she noticed that her hands were shaking. Poor girl. She really was in a state. And in a right mess too, like she said. It was only a little over a year since she'd got engaged. In this very house. That had been an odd thing – Tom kind of forcing the issue and Paul clearly not having a clue. She remembered it well. Paul had made his declaration – though you'd never have thought, by the way his eyes had gone buggy and his skin had come up in lumps, that he'd just asked the love of his life to marry him – and then Susan had looked up meekly from her plate and said, ‘Sure, why not?’
After that it was all screams and hoots and congratulations and more of Felicity's lovely champagne. Paul actually apologized later for stealing her thunder. As if, at her age, she had an ounce of thunder left to steal! But she'd thought Susan was happy. She'd thought this was what she wanted. Now here she was, having been unfaithful to him and walking out on him!
‘So you didn't want him to forgive you?’ she ventured, setting down the brandy beside Susan.
‘I should have, shouldn't I? I mean, if you really love someone and you make a mistake, then of course you want them to forgive you. And I thought that's what I wanted when I sat down to tell him. I didn't want there to be any secrets between us, you see. But then – it was so quick – he didn't even have to think about it! It was as though I'd told him I'd finished the last packet of crisps or something.’
‘He said nothing to you at all?’
‘Well, no. He sort of said he couldn't believe it and what was I thinking and he said fuck a lot, but under his breath, not really at me. And he kept walking in and out of the kitchen. But – I'd expected a lot more shouting… and crying. It all seemed too calm.’
‘And then what?’
‘Then he said that he understood there'd been a lot of change lately and he presumed everything would settle down once we had our house. That's what he said, Granny – can you believe it!’
‘Oh, lovey, we all say things that come out funny sometimes. What you need now is a good night's sleep. The back room's all made up and I'll bring you up a cup of hot milk and a couple of digestives. Here, take this week's Hello! – it'll help you relax.’
‘But really,’ continued Susan as she was bundled out of the room, ‘wasn't that just the weirdest thing to say?’
Angela reflected, as she watched Susan climb the stairs two at a time, that any man who had just been told that he'd been cuckolded had every right to behave a little oddly. But there wasn't anything to be gained by pointing this out to her slightly hysterical granddaughter.
Susan was sitting up in bed wearing one of her granny's nightdresses (she had neglected to pack a bag) flicking through the pages of the magazine, but not even a shot of a half-naked Daniel Craig could hold her attention. It had all happened so fast. Her only instinct had been to run. If she hadn't got out of that flat she would have exploded. As she stood in the middle of the kitchen floor she'd felt a tingling in her hands so strong that she'd had to clench them into fists to prevent herself from grabbing the plates from the press and firing them at the wall, one by one, each crash scoring her a gold medal. And they weren't even her plates. She'd wanted to scream like a harridan until someone called the guards, convinced a heinous crime was being committed. She'd wanted to take the knives out of the drawer and stab them between his eyes. It was frustration she felt, just like any delinquent acting out their issues in the town centre on a Saturday night. Only she was too well brought up to actually do any of it.
How could he do that? How could he just forgive her? Had he no respect for himself at all? Clearly he had absolutely none for her. What was it she had said to him as she was walking round the kitchen in circles trying not to go to the knife drawer? That she wished she had never met him, that she had wasted years of her life with him and she needed to move on now before it was too late? Had she really said all that? And had she really meant it? Paul had stood there with a packet of biscuits in one hand and a jar of coffee in the other, motionless, voiceless. She couldn't get that image out of her head; the impotence of it galled her. Why wasn't he smashing things? He was a man – he wasn't supposed to be able to control his urges like she was. Oh Paul, she thought bleakly, and his urges…
She spread her legs wide in the small double bed so that one foot touched either edge and then brought them close together again. She sighed. It was good to be in this room again; she couldn't remember the last time she'd slept here. So much had changed recently. She had moved house, moved city, changed jobs, got engaged, lost daily or weekly contact with all her friends. And why exactly? Well, of course, it was all part of growing up, being sensible, starting a real life – her mother was right, you couldn't pretend you were a student all your life – it was just that it had happened so quickly. As if, overnight, she'd gone from eating spag bol while watching Big Brother on a rented telly in a room with cigarette burns on the carpet, to having Sunday roast in a house that smelled of paint with a man who said he was her husband and with whom she was having a conversation about who would give up work after the baby arrived.
She sighed and picked up the magazine again. She loved a good nose into a glossy – she liked to imagine what it would be like to wear those clothes, have those lips, meet those friends, live in that house, have sex with those men. Although the truth was that it was rare enough for Susan to find herself truly lusting over any of these things. If asked, she'd say the nicest house she'd ever been in was her granny's; her favourite clothes were the jeans and shirts she wore when she was relaxing on a Saturday and her ideal man was… now that she thought about it she wasn't sure. George Clooney maybe, or Johnny Depp, or what about the new Mr Darcy, what was his name again? McFadden or something? It was quite a while since she'd been heavily in lust with a fantasy man. Was that, she wondered, because her every need had been satisfied or because she was so far from having her needs satisfied, she had forgotten what they were?
Susan had never considered herself to be fascinating, but there had been a time when she had been capable of spontaneous behaviour – like the time she and three of her classmates ran naked round the Aula for a dare. Sure, it was night time and there was only the four of them there, but they did it. Now, if somebody suggested a midnight run in the buff, the first thing that would occur to her was that she might step on something, or catch a chill. She sighed. How had she let herself get this way?
It had all started in a shared house in Ranelagh. After her year of travelling, she came back to Dublin to take up the job she'd been offered in the tax office. At the time she'd happily batted away the fairly constant stream of jokes about her job with the confident assertion that she was living in one of the most happening cities in the world and her work was merely a means of experiencing all it had to offer. Yet, somehow, after a year or so of exploring a handful of Dublin pubs and nightclubs, her job, uninvolving though it was, took over her life and in the evenings she did little other than explore the TV listings.
She had found the Ranelagh house through a friend of a friend. For Paul it had been a similar experience: a friend of his was moving out, so he moved in. The location was perfect for access to work and town, and the area itself was extremely pleasant to live in. It was one of those rare house shares where everyone had the room they wanted, everyone had similar ideas about domestic hygiene and everybody liked the same TV programmes. There was another girl, Stephanie, and another guy, Niall. Stephanie and Susan worked together as did Niall and Paul. The girls got the bus to work and the boys drove in Paul's car. They would all arrive home at roughly the same time; someone would put the kettle on and make tea for everyone; someone else would have picked up some food and started a little gentle cooking; someone else would open a bottle of wine and someone else would tell a story that had them all in stitches. They were good times. At weekends the four of them were inclined to go out together on Saturday nights. Often the girls went shopping during the day while the boys went to a match, and on Sundays they stayed home together to nurse their hangovers with the Sunday papers and a big fry-up. When Susan thought back on her life with Paul it was those times, pre-relationship, that seemed the best.
Then, all of a sudden, everything changed: Stephanie and Niall got together. One minute all four of them were just having a laugh, the next Stephanie and Niall were all over one another. It couldn't but make a difference, even though they all tried not to let it. They still did a lot of things as a foursome, but there was no avoiding the fact that the other pair would sometimes go out by themselves, or that they often went to bed early, and so Paul and Susan were inevitably thrown together more. And that was how it always seemed to Susan when she thought about it: they had been flung together like ingredients in a bowl, but nobody had paid any attention to the recipe. If they hadn't been so much in the habit of spending all their free time together they might never have looked at each other and thought, Hey, why not? And they certainly wouldn't have ended up, one Friday night, during the ads of The Late Late Show, turning to each other and letting their lips collide. Susan wondered if they were ever truly attracted to each other or whether it was just comfort and convenience and a desire to make up the foursome again that drew them together.
That's when they had sex for the first time – during The Late Late. Pat Kenny was interviewing Brian Kennedy, but despite that, their libidos remained high. There had been something in the atmosphere all evening: Stephanie and Niall had gone out straight after work; Susan had done some late-night shopping, so Paul had come home to an empty house. As soon as Susan walked in the door he was hopping on one leg trying to do things for her. He made her a cup of coffee with biscuits he had bought specially. While she was drinking that he ran out for a Chinese take-away and a bottle of wine. He had stopped off at the video shop but hadn't been able to make a satisfactory choice. A thriller seemed wrong and he didn't know enough about romantic comedies to take the risk. Hence, they ended up watching The Late Late. Susan had gone along with Paul's new-found attentiveness without taking too much notice, but when he started to edge closer to her on the couch and when his breathing became noticeably heavier and when he kept altering his position as if he couldn't get comfortable, she started to wonder if something was about to happen.
She had truly never thought about Paul that way before. He had always seemed somewhat asexual to her, even though he was obviously a very masculine sort of man. He was tallish and had an athletic build. His strong jaw was softened by a warm smile and his eyes, though often frustratingly inexpressive, were genial. There was nothing wrong with him, he just wasn't the sort of man to appeal to Susan instantly. She was convinced at the time, however, that all the best relationships came about between people who weren't instantly attracted to each other (having just had a fairly disastrous fling with a co-worker she had been lusting after for months), and you only had to look at Stephanie and Niall to feel the love between them. And so, with all these thoughts in her head, and Paul getting closer on the couch, Susan concluded that if he was keen, then she might as well be keen as well.
Somewhere, deep within her, Susan was painfully committed to a non-specific notion of ‘romance’, yet when it came to choosing men, or even knowing what she wanted in a man, she was never able to realize her fantasies. Paul wasn't the man she dreamed of, but he was the man she knew she'd end up with…
Their first kiss really was just a collision of their lips. Susan couldn't ignore Paul any longer, so she turned to him and he immediately moved forward so that his face was perfectly parallel with hers. They looked at each other somewhat dubiously, then closed their eyes and moved into the kiss.
Susan didn't feel anything. She had thought she might get a little tingle as soon as she felt his breath, but there was nothing other than a slightly out of body feeling that was a little uncomfortable. Paul, however, seemed to be feeling plenty. He lunged forward and promoted the kiss from mere lip contact to fully blown French-style tongue gymnastics. Susan was quite surprised, but now that she had started, she figured she might as well keep going. So she gathered her knees under her, wrapped her arms round his neck and kissed Paul as if he were someone she had been lusting after for months.
They were like a ball rolling down a hill, gathering more and more momentum until they had to stop or they would end up smashing into pieces. Wild-eyed and breathless, Susan managed to pull away for a moment to ask Paul if he was sure that they should do this. Paul was not in the mood for conversation, but he did know where Susan was coming from. She had to know whether this was a Friday-night fling because they were home alone, healthy and horny, or if this was the beginning of something lasting.
‘I think you're great,’ he said, ‘you're really hot.’
‘Thanks,’ said Susan, but that wasn't exactly what she was looking for.
‘No, really,’ he said, ‘I've been thinking about you for ages. I really think we'd be good together.’
‘You do?’
‘Fuck, yeah! We know each other really well. We know we get on great. You're really hot.’
Susan was trying desperately to hear what she wanted in Paul's words, and while there was nothing wrong with what he was saying as such, it just didn't have the magic she would have liked. Maybe she shouldn't have started talking at all and just let it happen. Because she did want it to happen; in the time they had been kissing she had worked out that this was a good thing. All of a sudden the idea of Paul slotted into place. She hadn't met anybody she liked in ages – apart from the guy at work and pure lust didn't count – and she was feeling the need to be in a relationship. It wasn't because she was desperate for a man, or that she was incapable of functioning on her own, it was simply because it was nice. Going out with someone was nicer than not going out with someone, and Paul was the nicest someone she had met in a long time. She disagreed, however, about knowing each other really well. They might have been living in the same house for over a year, but she felt she had never had a real insight into who he was. But that was one of the best things about being in a relationship: it allowed you access to the next layer of a person, and allowed them to peel a layer off you. Yes, all of a sudden Susan got very excited about the prospect of being Paul's girlfriend, and she was willing to waive his lack of romantic diction in favour of getting right down to some hot and heavy lovemaking.
The first time wasn't particularly good but that was to be expected. They certainly didn't know each other's bodies well and it emerged that they had very different styles. Susan loved to be wooed slowly; she liked long lingering kisses that travelled all over the body and she liked foreplay to continue until sex seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
Paul, on the other hand, was impatient. He liked to get in there and get on with it, but he was more than happy to engage in a bit of cuddling afterwards. He considered himself quite a good lover because his penis was ever so slightly above average in length and girth, and because, on occasion, his lovers had faked it a little too enthusiastically. Once Paul got up a head of steam, he was rather single-minded in his approach and there was little chance of his partner getting there for real. So far he had never been with anybody long enough, or with anybody who cared enough, to tell him that his technique left a lot to be desired.
And so it was the first time with Susan; as soon as they resumed after their little chat, Paul launched himself into the act. Only the necessary clothing was removed, and after very little further effort he had his orgasm before Susan had even positioned herself comfortably beneath him.
It was not good for Susan, but she wasn't giving up. She hadn't had a whole lot of experience, just enough to know that if she wanted this to work, she would have to make some changes. She wasn't signing up for night after night of bad sex, no matter how convenient it was.
They were lying on the couch half dressed, sweaty and a little unsure of what to do next. Pat Kenny, still mute, had moved onto the big car prize of the night and was just about to call Brian Kennedy back to make the draw when Susan found the remote under her left buttock and switched the TV off.
‘Why don't we go upstairs?’ she suggested, in a tone she hoped would signal that if he had thought that was good, then he hadn't seen anything yet.
‘Sure,’ he said, in a tone that seemed to suggest he would like to go to sleep. Susan was tired too, but if she let the night pass with only the previous ten minutes to recommend Paul to her, they might never get any further.
Firstly, she suggested they share a shower. There was nothing sexier than a shower-clean naked body (actually, there was nothing sexier than a raw earthy sweaty one, but Susan knew they weren't there yet). Thankfully her own bed was nicely made and the sheets were only a few days old. After drying each other off, she threw him down on the bed and began to kiss him all over, very slowly and very sexily. He went nuts. But she wouldn't let him in until he had done the same for her. It drove him even crazier. Then she insisted that she went on top and worked at her own orgasm before she let him throw her on the floor and find his own. It was very successful. As they lay panting by the foot of the bed, they wrapped their arms about each other and Paul kissed the top of Susan's head.
‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I love you too,’ she said.
Susan wasn't sure if he meant it, or if she meant it when she said it back to him, but she was confident that sooner or later they would both mean it. Once they had climbed back into bed, she nestled against him, not sorry that he was there.
The first year or so of their relationship was quite good, and most of the time they got along perfectly well. Yet Susan needed to feel some tension somewhere, something that would suggest that her world would fall apart if she ever lost this man. But they didn't seem able to generate that kind of intensity. Apart from having reasonably regular sex, they could still have been housemates.
And as time wore on, the sex became tedious. Susan tried not to focus on what wasn't working because she still wanted to be with Paul, but she was disappointed in the sex. She had expected that the thrill might wane with familiarity, but she felt she could reasonably hope for a little more. Paul easily reverted back to his streamlined approach and Susan found her mind wandering on the occasions when he sidled up to her and began his routine. At first she was able to maintain her interest by fantasizing about other men. She didn't think there was any harm in imagining that it was Johnny Depp's arms around her, or that it was Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Enterprise, breaking his rule to make love to a junior officer (after all, a healthy fantasy life was highly recommended by experts and quacks alike), but after a while even that became too much of an effort. When she started making shopping lists or thinking about something funny somebody had said during the day she knew there wasn't much va-va-voom left in their sex life.
Yet neither of them seemed to have any ideas. Their habit had always been to look to Niall and Stephanie – Susan couldn't escape the idea that herself and Paul were merely their sidekicks – and so when Niall and Stephanie got engaged and started looking at houses, Paul began to think that getting on the property ladder was something they should be doing too. He'd never mentioned marriage though…
*
Susan woke the next morning to the sound of birds singing and the smell of coffee brewing. Suddenly, as the events of the previous day flooded in, she was consumed by a sense of panic. Yet, as her eyes adjusted to the muted April light coming through the muslin curtains, she began to relax a little. As a child she had spent hours lying on this bed staring at the rows of pink flowers interlocked with pink ribbons until her vision became blurred and all sorts of weird shapes emerged from the walls.
She got out of bed and looked at herself in the dressing-table mirror. Apart from the ridiculous nightie (it seemed to contain more material than all her clothes put together), she didn't look too bad. Susan wasn't vain and she never peered at herself too closely, but she had half expected to see some horrific change reflected in her face. Yet there were no new lines, no disfiguring scars, not even much of a shadow under her eyes. Breaking up seemed to be good for her complexion.
She turned round and boldly pulled back the curtains. She was symbolically letting in the light not only on a new day, but on a whole new life. She was going to embrace that light and let it illuminate a brand new world for her.
She was busy being poetic and portentous in her head when she noticed a figure entering the gate at the foot of the garden. It was a man, wearing wellington boots and a waxed jacket that was too big for him. He was carrying something that looked like an inside-out kettle and he was dragging another odd-looking contraption behind him. It was unlikely that he was a burglar – he didn't look the type and a quarter past seven in the morning was hardly peak burgling hour. Susan figured he was probably the gardener – Angela had a gardener now that Tom had moved to Ballyconnell. Just as she was beginning to turn away from the window, he looked up. He saw Susan and remained looking at her for barely a second, yet it seemed longer than was to be expected from a mere gardener. She was suddenly aware of her billowing and translucent night attire, yet she continued to stand at the side of the window with her hand on the sill, until she heard the noise of the bolt on the back door being opened.
She decided not to go downstairs if there was company, so she climbed back into bed and took up her magazine once again. However, the glossy pages were beginning to bore her; there were only so many celebrity interviews one could read without feeling that it was all a bit pointless. She began to fantasize about what it would be like if she and Paul were a celebrity couple: their break-up would have to be kept from the press, they would have to remain tightlipped about the details and she would have to make fleeting appearances in public wearing designer jeans and dark glasses. She smiled at the thought. She picked up a biro from the bedside locker and began to make a list. Whenever Susan felt things were getting a little out of control in her life, she resorted to her list. A list of things to do steadied her and made her feel that her life had some structure. Crossing things off the list made her feel that she was (if only benignly) the master of her own destiny. To do:
Before she could start on 5, she heard the back door open again and, rushing to the window, was in time to see the gardener walk back down the path. His hands were in his pockets this time and he seemed to be in a hurry. Susan wished he would turn round and look up again (as if she was actually going to say anything…) but he didn't. Oh well, she thought, it can wait till tomorrow…
Susan had been in two minds about coming out on Friday evening but eventually she'd let the girls persuade her. Tiffany's bar had opened only recently and was attempting to be very sophisticated with its chandeliers and wine lists, fancy mirrors and raised balcony over the river, but in fact it was just a comfy pub which served a good pint and decent wine. Getting out again during the week was one of the things she was enjoying about being back in Limerick. Her home city was on a scale that suited her; in Dublin she used to feel like the gombeen girl up from the country but now, as she placed one foot pointedly in front of the other, she felt almost cosmopolitan. Bringing her back to Limerick was perhaps the one good thing Paul had done for her…
She'd also let the girls persuade her into a little late-night shopping. ‘You know me,’ her friend Bernie had said, ‘I'm no shopaholic, but I'm a firm believer in a little retail therapy for the lovelorn.’
It wasn't too hard, in the end, to let them drag her into Brown Thomas where they did a hit and run on all the cosmetics counters.
‘They go with your hair,’ said the girl at Chanel of a luminous palette of colours she had just applied to Susan's sea-green eyes.
‘It's such a healthy look,’ said the YSL girl of the blusher she had applied to the apples of Susan's cheeks.
‘All you need to do is match your lipstick to your skin tone,’ chimed the pair at Clinique, presenting Susan with three of the most beautiful lipsticks she had ever seen. After spending most of her life avoiding the girls at the cosmetics counters, Susan was charmed to see what they could do for her. How long was it, she wondered, since she'd looked in the mirror and been truly happy with what she'd seen?
Next they dragged her to Cruises Street where she was shunted into Carmel's favourite boutique and told not to come out until she had at least one complete outfit. Susan usually bought half an outfit because she felt guilty about spending too much money. So she would buy the top and leave the skirt, or buy the pants and leave the top, and then find, when she went home, that she had nothing to go with the top or the skirt and end up buying more disparate bits the following week because, when she opened up her wardrobe, she had nothing to wear.
But this time was different. Carmel found her the top – a gorgeous blend of heathery greens and warm russets – in a soft silk that rested suggestively on her breasts. Bernie handed her the cropped trousers that picked up the colours of the top so perfectly but it was the sales assistant who presented her with the pièce de résistance – the absolutely fabulous shoes. Susan gasped when she added up the price tags. What would Paul think of her spending so much when they were saving for a house? But then she remembered…
It only truly dawned on her later, as she was strolling down Charlotte Avenue to meet the girls, that she was single again, that Paul wasn't part of her life any more, that her life as she had known it for the past four years was over. It should have scared her; it should have terrified her; yet she couldn't ignore the slow bubbling of excitement that was beginning to manifest itself all over her body. It wasn't just the new clothes or the make-up; she was experiencing a very real lightness in her step that she hadn't felt in a very long time. Maybe part of it was having unloaded her problems to Angela – maybe part of it was having unloaded her guilty secret to Paul – but most of it seemed to have something to do with having left Paul. It was losing him, leaving him behind, that was giving her this sense of her world having opened up again.