Marian Keyes - Lucy Sullivan Is Getting Married (14 page)

"What?"

He said nothing.

"What?" I said again, turning to look at him.

But he was asleep. Stretched out on my bed, still in his jeans and shirt. He looked so sweet, his eyelashes black and spiky, throwing shadows onto his face, faint stubble on his jaw and chin, his mouth smiling slightly.

I stared down at him.

That's what I want, I thought. He's the one.

22 I tugged the duvet out from under him and covered him with it, which made me feel very caring and tender. I pushed back a lock of hair from his fore- head just to enhance the feeling. Was it all right to let him sleep fully clothed, I wondered? Well, it would have to be because I wasn't going to undress him. I certainly had no intention of rummaging around in his un- dergarments and taking covert looks and sneak previews.

Then feeling a bit, well, at loose ends, I suppose, I got ready for bed. I put on my pajamas--I was pretty sure that Gus wasn't a sexy neglig�e type of man, which was good because I didn't have a sexy neglig�e. Gus was probably more likely to be frightened by a sexy neglig�e than turned on by it. Although, then again, you never know...

And I brushed my teeth. Of course I brushed my teeth. I brushed them so much my gums were raw. I knew that brushing my teeth was the single most important thing I 158 / marian keyes

had to do when sharing my bed with an unfamiliar man. Magazines and past experience could not stress just how important it was. It was a bit sad to think that a man who liked you enough to have sex with you in the night would make a break for the door if your breath was less than fragrant the following morning, but that, unfortunately, was the way things were. Being sad about it wouldn't change it.

And instead of removing my makeup, I put on lots more. I wanted to look lovely in the morning when Gus woke up and I figured that my extra makeup would compensate for his sobriety, even it out, if you like. Then I climbed into bed beside him. He looked so cute asleep.

I lay staring into the darkness, thinking about everything that had happened that evening and, call it excitement or anticipation or disappoint- ment or even relief, but I couldn't sleep.

After a while I heard the front door and then I heard Karen and Charlotte and someone with a man's voice talking and tea being made and murmured conversation and muffled laughs. It was a lot more peaceful than the pre- vious night--no Sound of Music, no falling furniture, no raucous screeches of laughter.

After what seemed like hours more of lying in the dark I decided to get up again and see what was going on out in the apartment. I was feeling a bit left out of things. But that was nothing new. I inched out of bed carefully, not wanting to disturb Gus, and tiptoed out of my room and, as I backed out into the hall, quietly closing my bedroom door, I bumped into some- thing big and dark that wasn't usually positioned just outside my room.

I jumped a mile!

"Jesus!" I exclaimed. lucy sullivan is getting married / 159

"Lucy," said a man's voice. The thing put its hands on my shoulders.

"Daniel!" I sputtered, as I turned around. "What the hell are you doing? You scared the life out of me, you idiot!"

Instead of being apologetic, Daniel found this hilarious. He collapsed into convulsions.

"Hello, Lucy," he wheezed, barely able to speak he was laughing so much. "What a lovely welcome you always give me. I thought you'd be halfway to Moscow by now."

"What were you doing lurking in the dark outside my door?" I deman- ded.

Daniel leaned against the wall, still laughing. "The look on your face," he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "I wish you could have seen it."

I was shaken and annoyed and I didn't think anything was funny, so I punched Daniel in the arm.

"Ouch," he said, still laughing, holding his arm where I'd hit him, "you're dangerous."

Before I could hit him again, Karen arrived in the hall and suddenly it all became clear. She gave me a meaningful wink and said, "I invited Daniel back. Nothing to do with you, don't worry."

Hats off to Karen. I was impressed. Very impressed. It seemed as if she had made definite progress on her Daniel project.

"I was just about to leave, actually," said Daniel. "But seeing as you're up I think I'll stay a bit longer."

We trooped into the front room, me feeling a bit awkward about Daniel catching me in my blue pajamas, where Charlotte was stretched out on the sofa, looking blissfully happy. The room bore signs of recent tea drinking.

"Lucy," said Charlotte in delight. "Wonderful! You're 160 / marian keyes

up. Come over here and sit beside me." She sat up and patted the place beside her on the sofa and I snuggled up next to her, modestly pulling my legs under me. I had chipped nail polish on my toes and a blister on my instep and I didn't want Daniel to see.

"Any tea left?" I asked.

"Lots," said Charlotte.

"I'll get you a cup," said Daniel, making for the kitchen. He was back in a moment and poured tea into a mug and added milk and two spoons of sugar and stirred it and handed it to me.

"Thanks. You have your uses sometimes."

He stood beside the sofa, looming over me.

"Oh, take off your coat," I said in exasperation. "You look like an under- taker."

"I like this coat."

"And sit down. You're blocking out the light."

"Sorry."

Daniel sat on the armchair nearest me and then Karen sat on the floor leaning her head on the arm-rest of his chair. Her eyes were shining and she looked all dreamy and romantic. I was, in all honesty, shocked.

She was behaving so out of character. Karen always played damn near impossible to get. She tied men into knots of uncertainty, turned many a well-balanced guy into Insecurity in a Suit. She was always a bit, I suppose, hard, and now she looked soft and pretty and sweet.

Well, well, well.

"I met a guy," Charlotte announced.

"So did I," I said gleefully.

So had Karen, but perhaps this wasn't quite the right time for her to talk about it.

"We know," said Charlotte. "Karen's been listening at your door, trying to see if you were going at it with him." lucy sullivan is getting married / 161

"You blabbermouthed--" said Karen in a fury.

"Oh shush," I said. "Don't fight. I want to hear all about Charlotte's guy."

"No, I want to hear all about yours," said Charlotte.

"No, you first."

"No, you."

Karen affected a bored, grown-up face, but she only did that for Daniel's benefit, to make him think that she didn't do silly, girly things like indulge in gossip. But that was all right--we had all done the same when the guy we were crazy about was present. No one was more culpable than I was. It was just a ploy and as soon as she was sure that Daniel was interested, Karen could be herself again.

"Please, Lucy, you go first," intervened Daniel.

Karen looked surprised and then she said, "Yes, come on Lucy. Stop being so coy."

"Okay," I said, delighted.

"Great." Charlotte hugged her knees in excitement.

"Where do you want me to start?" I asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"Look at her," said Karen dryly. "She's like the cat that got the cream."

"What's his name?" said Charlotte.

"Gus."

"Gus!" Karen was horrified. "What an awful name. Gus the Gorilla. Gussie Goose."

"And what's he like?" asked Charlotte, ignoring Karen's noises of disgust.

"He's wonderful," I began, my description gathering steam. And then I noticed that Daniel was looking at me rather oddly. He sat forward in his chair, with his hands on his knees and was staring, looking sort of puzzled, sort of sad. "What are you looking at me like that for?" I said indignantly. 162 / marian keyes

"Like what?!"

But it was Karen who shouted it, not Daniel.

"Thank you, Karen," said Daniel politely to her, "but I think I can manage to cobble together a couple of words."

She shrugged and haughtily tossed her blond hair. Apart from the slight pinkness in her cheeks no one would have known that she was embarrassed. I envied her her poise and aplomb.

Daniel turned back to me. "Where were we?" he said. "Oh yes, Like what?!"

I began to laugh.

"I don't know," I giggled. "Funny. Like you knew something about me that I didn't know."

"Lucy," he said gravely. "I would never be foolish enough to presume that I knew something that you didn't. I value my life."

"Good," I smiled. "Now can I tell you about my guy?"

"Yes," hissed Charlotte. "Get on with it, would you."

"Weeell," I said, "he's twenty-four and he's Irish and he's brilliant. Really funny and a bit, you know, off the wall. He's not like anyone I've ever met before and..."

"Really?" said Daniel, sounding surprised. "But what about that Anthony guy that you had a thing with?"

"Gus is nothing like Anthony."

"But..."

"Anthony was crazy."

"But..."

Gus isn't," I said firmly.

"Well, what about that other drunken Irishman you went out with?" suggested Daniel.

"Who?" I said, starting to feel slightly annoyed.

"Whatshisname," said Daniel. "Matthew? Malcolm?"

"Malachy," murmured Karen helpfully. The traitor. lucy sullivan is getting married / 163

"That's right. Malachy."

"Gus is nothing like Malachy either," I exclaimed. "Malachy was always drunk."

Daniel said nothing. He just raised an eyebrow and gave me a meaningful look.

"Okay!" I burst out. "I'm sorry about your Guinness. But I'll replace it, don't worry. Anyway, since when did you get so mean and stingy?"

"But I'm not..."

"Why are you being so nasty?"

"But..."

"Aren't you happy for me?"

"Yes, but..."

"Look, if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all!"

"Sorry."

He sounded so contrite that I felt guilty. I leaned over to him and rubbed his knee, apologetically, awkwardly. I was Irish--I wasn't equipped to deal with hot weather or spontaneous affection.

"I'm sorry too," I muttered.

"Maybe you're getting married after all," suggested Charlotte. "This Gus could be the man your fortune-teller told you about."

"Maybe," I agreed quietly. I was embarrassed to admit that that was what I had thought too.

"You know," said Charlotte, looking a bit shamefaced. "For a little while I thought that Daniel might be your mystery man, your husband-to-be."

I burst out laughing.

"Him! I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole--you never know where he's been."

Daniel looked all offended and Karen looked absolutely 164 / marian keyes

furious. Hastily I backtracked and winked affectionately at Daniel.

"Only joking, Daniel. You know what I mean, but if it's any consolation, my mother would be delighted. You're her ideal son-in-law."

"I know," he sighed. "But you're right, it would never work. I'm too or- dinary for you, isn't that right, Lucy?"

"How d'you mean?"

"Well I have a job and I don't show up to meet you blind drunk and I pay for you when we go out and I'm not a tortured artist."

"Shut up, you bastard," I laughed. "You make all my boyfriends sound like drunken free-loaders."

"Do I indeed?"

"Yes. And you'd better watch it because they're not."

"Sorry."

"That's okay."

"All the same," he said. "I don't think Connie's going to be too thrilled when she meets Gus."

"She won't meet him," I said.

"She'll have to if you're going to marry him," he reminded me.

"Daniel, please shut up!" I begged. "This is supposed to be a happy oc- casion."

"Sorry, Lucy," he murmured.

I caught his eye. He didn't look very sorry. Before I could complain he said, "Come on, Charlotte, tell us about your guy."

Charlotte was only too happy to oblige. Apparently his name was Simon, tall, blond, good-looking, twenty-nine, in advertising, had a great car, at the party had been all over her like a rash and was calling her the following day to take her out for lunch. "And I just know he'll call,"

she said, her eyes shining. "I have such a good feeling about this."

"Great!" I said, delighted. "It seems like we all got lucky this evening."

Then I left and slipped back into bed beside Gus.

23 Gus was still asleep and still looked gorgeous. But what Daniel had said had upset me slightly. It was true--my mother wouldn't like Gus. In fact, my mother would hate Gus. The good had gone out of the evening slightly. I marveled at my mother's unerring ability to tarnish all the happy things she touched.

She always had, as far back as I could remember.

When I was a little girl and Dad came home in a good mood because he'd just got a job, or won money at the races or whatever, she always managed to defuse any celebrations. Dad would come into the kitchen, all smiles, his coat pocket filled with candy for us and a bottle in a brown paper bag under his arm. And instead of smiling and saying, "What's happened, Jamsie? What are we celebrating?" she ruined it all by making a face and saying something awful like "Oh Jamsie, not after the last time" or, "Oh Jamsie, you promised."

And even at six or eight or whatever age I was, I felt terrible. Appalled at her ingratitude. Anxious to let him know that I thought she was behaving dreadfully, that I was on his side. And not just because candy was a rare 166 / marian keyes

event. I wholeheartedly agreed with Dad when he said, "Lucy, your mother is a right old misery."

Because there was no one else to do it, I felt that it was my job to provide an upbeat mood.

So when Dad sat down and poured himself a glass, I sat at the table with him, to keep him company, to show solidarity, so that he wasn't celebrating whatever he was celebrating alone.

It was nice to watch him. There was a rhythm to his drinking that I found comforting.

My mother indicated her disapproval by banging and clattering and washing and wiping. Intermittently Dad tried to get her to cheer up. "Eat the candy bar I brought you, Connie," he said.

If the phrase, "Lighten up," had been invented, he probably would have made good use of it.

And after a while he usually got out the record player and sang along to "Four Green Fields" and "I Wish I Was in Carrickfergus" and other Irish songs. He played them over and over again and occasionally between songs he said, "Eat the candy bar!"

And after a while more he usually began to cry. But he kept singing, his voice hoarse with tears. Or it might have been the brandy.

I knew that his heart was breaking because he wasn't in Carrickfergus--I often felt so sad for him that I cried also. But my mother would just say "Jesus! Sure that idiot doesn't even know where Carrickfergus is, never mind wishing he was there."

I couldn't understand why she had to be so miserable. Or so cruel.

And he'd say to her, in a kind of slurred voice, "It's a state of mind, my dear. It's a state of mind."

I wasn't really sure what he meant by that. lucy sullivan is getting married / 167

But when he slurred at her, "But how would you know, because you don't have a mind," I did know what he meant by that. I'd catch his eye and we'd both snigger conspiratorially.

Those evenings always followed the same pattern. The uneaten candy bar, the rhythmic drinking, the banging and clattering, the singing and crying. Then, when the bottle was nearly all gone my mother usually said something like, "Here goes. Get ready for the grand finale."

And Dad would get to his feet. Sometimes he wouldn't be able to walk too straight. Most times, actually.

"I'm going home to Ireland," my mother would say in a bored voice.

"I'm going home to Ireland," my dad would shout in the slurred voice.

"If I leave now I can catch the mail-train boat," my mother said, still in the bored voice, as she leaned against the sink.

"If I leave now I can catch the mail-train boat," my dad would shout.

"I was a fool ever to have left," Mum would say idly, inspecting her fingernails. I couldn't understand her complete lack of emotion.

"I was a bloody idiot ever to have left," Dad would shout.

"Oh, it's a `bloody idiot' this time, is it?" Mum might say. "I liked `fool' myself, but a bit of variety is nice."

Poor Dad would stand there, swaying slightly, hunched over and looking a bit like a bull, staring at Mum but not quite seeing her. Probably seeing the end of his nose, actually.

"I'm going to pack a bag," Mum would say, like a stage prompter. 168 / marian keyes

"I'm going to bag a pack," Dad would say lurching toward the kitchen door.

Even though it happened lots of times and he never got further than the front door, every time I thought he was really leaving.

"Dad, please don't go," I beseeched him.

"I won't stay in a house with that woman who won't even eat the candy bar I bought her," he usually said.

"Eat the candy bar," I begged Mum, as I tried to block Dad from leaving the room.

"Don't stand in my way, Lucy, or I won't be brespon...I mean I won't be rospensible...I mean, ah fuck it!" and he'd fall out into the hall.

Then we'd hear the sound of the hall table falling over and Mum would mutter, "If that man has broken my..."

"Mum, stop him," I'd beg frantically.

"He won't get further than the gate," she'd say bitterly. "More's the pity."

And although I never believed her, she was right. He very rarely did.

Once he made it up the road as far as the O'Hanlaoins, clutching a plastic bag that contained four slices of bread and the rest of the bottle of brandy under his armpit. His sustenance for the journey home to Monaghan. He stood outside the O'Hanlaoins for a while and shouted things. Something about the O'Hanlaoins being dishonest and how Seamus had to leave Ire- land to avoid a prison sentence. "Ye were run outta the place," my dad shouted.

Mum and Chris had to go and get him and bring him back. He came quietly. Mum led him by the hand past the censorious stares of all our neighbors who were standing, arms folded, looking over their small gates, silently watching the spectacle. When we got as far as our house