Friends Like Us (28 page)

Mrs Long didn't come to the wedding. She was on her annual pilgrimage to Florence which Steph was relieved about. At least, she wouldn't have Mrs Long and her disapproving eyebrows watch her walk up the aisle.

‘All right?' whispered Joe. They were standing at the back of the church, on her wedding day, everyone craning to get a look at her in that ridiculous dress.

‘Yes, Dad…'

‘You know,' he spoke, urgently, ‘are you sure? Because if you aren't, we can just walk away.' He smiled gently, his eyes reaching hers, locking in. This was her last chance. She could, she knew, just walk away. She could… But she didn't.

Once they were married, the hints she had about Rick became real. When Rachel was about two, Rick said something to her and she didn't answer. She remembered it so clearly because Rachel had a cough and couldn't sleep and Steph had been to the doctor's. And then Rick asked her a question and Steph didn't really hear him, she was so busy thinking about Rachel. She had heard him but it hadn't registered he had spoken. It was so hard to explain, but whatever it was, she hadn't answered him.

‘Steph!' The shout made her jump. ‘You never fucking listen, do you!' He had been drinking a glass of whiskey and he threw it full whack against the wall. It splashed over everything, including Steph, and bits of glass ricocheted through the air. It was a miracle that she wasn't hurt.

‘Now,' he said. ‘Now, look what you made me do. Listen,' he hissed. ‘Just listen in future.'

He poured himself another glass and walked out, leaving Steph to clear everything up with shaking hands, before rushing in to see if Rachel was alright. And the next day, the excuses: tired, stressed at work, bit too much to drink.

‘Yes, yes,' she said. ‘Totally fine. Don't worry.' But inside she was thinking he was mad. People didn't behave like that, did they? And yet it carried on. There could be months and months between an episode, even years, but then there it would be.

And he was still doing it. She had never got used to it. The shaking never got any less.

She was lost in thought, and still staring at the painting when she heard Rachel coming downstairs. It was time to tell her about Nuala, she couldn't keep it from her any longer. She had been dreading telling her but she wanted to at least not keep this a secret, however painful it was, however much she wanted to protect Rachel. Full disclosure was the only way. She'd already let Rachel down enough.

‘Good morning, sweetheart. Would you like some juice? I've got pancakes.'

‘Not hungry,' said Rachel.

‘Eat something, though. Please? Look, I've got those nice muffin things you like.'

‘Don't bother, mum, I'm not hungry.' Rachel looked angrily at her mother. Things were still strained after Rachel caught her reading her diary. Steph had tried to apologize again but Rachel was still angry, the violation of her privacy was going to take a long time to get over.

‘Come on, you've got time. We'll just have something together. There's something I want to talk to you about…'

‘No.' Rachel swung around, ready to leave.

‘Don't leave. Please don't leave,' Steph begged her. ‘Let's not be like this.' She reached out to her, grabbing Rachel's shoulder, in an attempt to pull her back. Rachel grabbed her hand and pushed it away, almost disgusted. ‘I need to talk to you.' Steph stopped. ‘There's no right way of telling you this but… gran… she's ill. Cancer. Cervical. I thought you should know.'

Rachel stopped, eyes horrified, staring at her mother.

‘Of course I should know!' Rachel screamed at her. ‘Or were you thinking of not telling me, like I am some non-person who doesn't deserve to be told things and all you stupid adults just keep fucking up their lives and expect me to deal with it.' And then she began to cry. ‘Is she… is she dying?'

Steph hesitated. Nuala and Rachel had always been so close. ‘I hope not,' she said simply. ‘She's in really good hands and everyone is incredibly positive.'

Rachel headed to the front door.

‘Where are you going?'

‘Away from you!' Rachel shouted.

She could never get it right. She wished that Rachel would turn to her for comfort, would talk to her. They were both going to have to face this together. Instead Rachel turned to her grandparents.

An hour later, she received a text from Joe

Just to let you know that Rachel is with us. She's going to have a bite to eat and I'll drop her back later.

And when Rachel got home, she stayed in her room, refusing to come out. Steph knew she had to give her time.

In the end, Steph, needing fresh air and space to think, went out for a late-night walk, something she often did on her own, fresh summer air, the quiet of an evening when all the other people were at home, watching television, making dinner and spending time with their families. What went wrong here, thought Steph. Who's to blame? She knew she had to shoulder much of the blame, she was guilty of so many things. And she and Rick hadn't ever been right but they had brought Rachel into this mess and kept her there. Had that been fair? And now with Nuala so ill, she was threatened with the loss of the one person who Steph relied on, the one person who was always there unchanging, steady and loving. Without her, the world was a far lonelier place.

When she got home, she saw that Rachel's light was off, her curtains closed, but Rick appeared, eyes glittering, from his study, looking, Steph realised, worse for wear, and immediately she felt the cold-blooded fear. Wrong place, wrong time. If she had come home earlier, or even later, he might not have caught her.

‘Steph?' he said.

She looked away and didn't answer. She had suddenly enough. Don't speak to me again, she thought, don't you speak to me again. She turned to face him, furious.

‘Don't ignore me.'

‘I wasn't… I…' Leave me alone, she thought. Just leave me alone.

‘So,' he said. ‘We should talk about Rome.' He was goading her, she knew it. He wanted an argument. He wanted to let off steam. ‘What happened… what you did.' He laughed in her face.

‘What did I do?' she said, taking the bait, now riled.

‘You made a show of yourself and a show of me,' he said. She could smell his breath. ‘Do you want to apologize?'

‘No.' She knew she had been dragged into this argument and now wanted to get out. She didn't have the strength to get into this, with him, at this moment in her life. She wanted out. From everything. She looked down, not knowing what to do. Maybe she should just beg forgiveness and maybe,
maybe
, he would move on.

‘What did you say?'

‘I said I have nothing to apologize for. You should say sorry to me.' Why did I say that? she thought. Just get away from him. She began to move for the door.

‘Me? To you?
You
?' He laughed. ‘You are nothing. Just a little stay-at-home. What exactly do you contribute? I think we should stop the pretence, don't you?'

‘What pretence?'

‘That you are a good mother, that you are such a good mother.' He laughed. ‘We all know the truth. And the house! There's things everywhere. Your mess! Your shoes in the hall, bits on the work surface. I came home earlier and the house was a tip.'

‘It wasn't,' she said, but wishing she had put away her shoes. But the house was always immaculate, she knew. He always did this, mentioned how good or bad a mother she was or talked about the state of the house. It was the latent or blatant misogynist in him. He was pathetic. You have no right to do this to me, she thought. She summoned her inner strength, raising herself up.

‘You're sleeping with Miriam,' she hissed. ‘And Angeline. And I am sure some other poor deluded woman who thinks you're the bee's knees.'

‘So?' he said, giving her a death stare, not unlike the one Rachel was able to flash at times.

‘So,' she said, faltering a moment, ‘you shouldn't be. You're married.'

‘To you, yes.' He came right up to her and pressed his face into hers. She could see the sweat glistening on his forehead. ‘Waste of fucking space you are. No wonder I seek pleasure elsewhere. Any sane, red-blooded man would. You are a disappointment. And it's not just me who would say it.' He didn't laugh but stared at her, his face grimacing, looking at her as though she disgusted him, but she could smell the beer on his breath, see his high colour in his face.

She turned to go. Ignoring this verbal abuse was the only to handle it, wondering what else he would throw at her to keep her emotionally engaged in this dysfunctional marriage. But then she turned to him. ‘
Miriam
?' she said. ‘For God's sake, Rick. She's our neighbour, the mother of our daughter's best friend. Are you so
desperate
? Are you so sad?'

For a moment, he looked shocked. She watched his face change from surprise to anger and then he shrugged. ‘You're the one who's desperate,' he slurred. ‘And you made the biggest show of yourself in Rome. Everyone was laughing at you. You stupid cow.' He stood right up against her to do what? Was he trying to intimidate her? Was he trying to show her that he could hurt her if he wanted to?

Steph took both his hands and pushed his shoulders away from her with as much force she could manage. He staggered back against the wall and then, suddenly, like a cobra, he was right in her face again. He grabbed her and thrust her full-force downwards so she hit herself against the corner of the radiator and landed sprawled on the floor.

‘Don't you ever fucking touch me again, you little bitch,' he said. ‘Just don't.'

And then he was gone, back into his study.

Never again, she vowed, as she stood up. Never again will he talk to me like that. She felt as though her whole marriage had been clouded by insanity and confusion and suddenly, beyond there was her future, one for her and Rachel, which was filled with clarity and sanity. It was within touching distance.

‘
How EU are you
?' Melissa read out. ‘What does that even mean?'

‘Does drinking wine count?' said Jimbo. ‘If it does, then I am. Very. And what's more, I don't care what country it comes from. That's how EU I am.'

‘And, look, brilliantly, it tells you what character you are most like, depending on your answers: Amelie, Heidi or Fionnuala? Who the hell is Fionnuala? Is she a
thing
?'

‘
Connemara Central
, you know, the Irish language version of
The Wire
?
Everyone
is watching it. Apart from you.' Jimbo shrugged nonchalantly. ‘And me.'

‘Jimbo, this is serious,' said Melissa. ‘Answer the question. When going out on a date,' she read, ‘do you a) wear Birkenstocks and drink beer, b) wear matching lingerie and order a glass of champagne, or c) feck what you wear and drink everyone under the table?'

‘I don't.'

‘What?'

‘Go on dates. Whatever they are.'

If there was any residual awkwardness between them, they were both good at hiding it. They both behaved as though nothing had happened. Obviously, thought Melissa, they both valued that roles as office confidents and allies far more than dealing with an awkward sexual encounter.

‘This is
hypothetical
,' said Melissa. ‘It's meant to be fun. You should be enjoying yourself. Aren't you? Try again.'

‘Hmmm.' Jimbo gave it real consideration. ‘B?'

Melissa made a mark on the page. ‘Question two. When,' she read on, ‘on a night out do you a) go to see a strange experimental film in some dark and forgotten part of town, b) sip a glass of wine and get in bed by ten or c) find a lock-in and forget your own name? But how could you forget your own name,' said Melissa. ‘It's written at the top, it's either Heidi, Amelie or Fionnuala. Oh, I'm taking this way too seriously.'

‘What's wrong with you, anyway?' said Jimbo. ‘Are you not impressed and joyous about our latest edition? Are you not celebrating this departure into the land of levity and brevity?'

‘No,' she said. ‘I'm not.' She was thinking about Cormac, really. On her way to work, she had bumped into Nora, Walter's wife. Nora massively pregnant was with little Axel bashing things with a small wooden sword. Small but deadly, as it turned out.

‘So you've heard about the amazing Erica, then,' said Nora. ‘The yoga queen.' Axel jabbed the sword into Melissa's calf. It may as well be my heart, she thought, dully.

‘Yes,' she said, smiling through the pain. ‘Wish I could do yoga but I never got the flexible gene.'

‘Nor did I,' said Nora. ‘I can't pick up anything from the floor. And it's not just this.' She pointed to her massive belly. ‘This is just from eating,' she said. ‘I've been mainlining cheese and onion for eight months now. I think the baby is going to come out with a bag of crisps in its hand. That's not going to go down well in hospital.'

‘Just pretend they're organic. Then it's all right, isn't it?' Melissa said. ‘So, this Erica, what exactly is amazing about her?' she said, casually.

‘Well, she's kind of not of this planet. I know she's American and all that, but she just makes me feel all mortal and ordinary.'

‘Wow.' Melissa didn't know what else to say.

‘You'll like her,' said Nora. ‘And Cormac seems happy.'

‘That's great, that's really great.' Melissa was working hard to try and appear normal but she felt terrible. Was it too dramatic to feel as though her heart was being wrenched out and eaten by some monster?

‘So, listen,' said Nora, ‘what's new with you?'

Apart from no longer having a heart and lying here bleeding to death in the middle of town? Melissa shrugged, unable to think of anything that she could impart standing in the middle of Grafton Street, surrounded by buskers, shoppers, moving statues and being repeatedly jabbed by a tiny sword. ‘Something will come to me, I promise,' she said, making a joke of her silence. ‘Um…'