Marian Keyes - Lucy Sullivan Is Getting Married (16 page)

"And in all that time you've never been to the park? That's a disgrace, Lucy."

"I'm not really an outdoor creature, Gus."

"I am."

"Will they have a television there?"

"Aye."

"Really?"

"No. But I'll entertain you, don't worry."

"Okay."

I was really very pleased. Delighted, in fact. He wanted to spend the day with me.

"Can I wear this sweater?"

"Yes, in fact you can have it, I hate it."

Gus was rummaging around in my cupboards and had unearthed a re- volting dark blue Aran sweater that my mother had knitted for me. I had never worn it precisely because she had knitted it for me.

"Wow, thanks, Lucy Sullivan."

25 I went to take a shower and when I got back my room was empty--Gus was gone and I felt slightly panicky. I was afraid that he might have left the apartment completely but I was more afraid that he hadn't. He had an admirable capacity to create havoc and, despite his touching apology earlier, I wasn't yet convinced that it was safe to let him roam my place without a chaperone.

Visions of finding him lying in bed with Daniel and Karen, blithely chatting, while they put a reluctant and ill-tempered halt to their sexual activities, appeared before me.

But it was fine.

Gus was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with Daniel and Karen. They were all drinking tea and the newspapers were spread out. To my intense relief, everyone was getting along nicely and having a civilized Sunday morning chat, stolen Guinness and misappropriated Elizabeth Arden toi- letries notwithstanding. Gus and Daniel seemed to have resolved their differences regarding Gus's unauthorized 180 / marian keyes

drinking of Daniel's Guinness. Gus and Karen appeared to be the best of friends.

"Lucy," smiled Gus when I appeared in the kitchen doorway, "come in and sit down and partake of some nourishment."

"Oh," I said faintly, a bit taken aback by all the camaraderie. I was a little bit, well, not annoyed exactly, but a bit put out, I suppose because all these people, who only knew one another because of me, were getting along fine without me.

"I explained to Karen about me using her Elizabeth Ardent things," sang Gus, his face a picture of innocence. "And she says it's okay."

"It's fine," said Karen, smiling at Gus, smiling at Daniel, smiling at me.

Gosh! I'm sure Karen wouldn't have been quite so reasonable if Charlotte or I had used said Elizabeth Arden toiletries.

She obviously liked Gus.

Or maybe Daniel had surpassed himself between the sheets the previous night. No doubt I'd find out later. She would tell everything, in the minutest possible detail, when the menfolk were gone.

I spent hours getting ready. It was the hardest thing in the world to look as if I was dressed sensibly and to look pretty and feminine and skinny at the same time. It was far harder to do that than getting ready for dinner with Daniel the previous evening had been. The trick with dressing for a visit to the great outdoors was to look as if I didn't care how I looked, as though I'd just grabbed anything that came to hand and slung it on me. I wore my jeans--I couldn't really see any way around it, even though I hated the way they made my thighs stick out. lucy sullivan is getting married / 181

I hated my thighs more than life itself and I would have given anything to have had skinny ones. I even used to pray for them. Well, I had once. It was one Christmas day at Mass (my mother insisted that we still go to Mass en famille and I had learned to go along with it). When the priest said that we should pray for our own special intentions, I prayed for thinner thighs. Afterward my mother asked me what my "special intention" was and when I told her she was furious and told me that that was a completely unworthy and inappropriate thing to pray for. So I shamefacedly slunk back into the church, piously bowed my head and prayed for thinner thighs for her, Dad, Chris, Pete, Granny Sullivan, the poor people in Africa and anyone else who might like them.

But God didn't reward my altruism by granting me slimmer thighs and I found that the only way to make them look small was to surround them with big things. So I put on my heavy, clumpy boots. But then I had to cancel out the trucker image that they conjured up by wearing a girly, pink angora sweater. And a big checked blue-and-black jacket, to make me look fragile and tiny.

I spent another hour or so trying to make it seem as if I had just loosely bundled my hair up on top of my head. It took forever to arrange my curls so that they looked as if they had just fallen down around my face at ran- dom.

Then a heavy application of makeup to achieve the Unmadeup Look, or Bare-faced chic, if you prefer. All pink cheeks and clear white skin and bright eyes and fresh lips.

I found Gus in the front room, obviously firmly bonded with Karen, Charlotte and Daniel. They looked as if they'd known each other all their lives and my heart lifted. I wanted my roommates and friends to like him. And I wanted him to like my roommates and friends. 182 / marian keyes

Although not too much, obviously.

There's only one thing worse than your boyfriend and roommates not liking one another and that's when they like each other a bit too much. It can lead to all sorts of terrible complications and confusion over the sleeping arrangements.

Charlotte's Simon had called and Charlotte, all made-up and perfumed, was excitedly preparing for the lunch.

"Condoms," she said feverishly, sitting down and rummaging through her bag. "Condoms, condoms, have I got condoms?"

"But you're only meeting him for lunch," I said.

"Lucy, don't be ridiculous," she said scornfully. "Oh good...damn, there's only one--what flavor is it? Pina Colada--but it'll just have to do."

"You look lovely, Lucy," said Daniel admiringly.

"Aye, you do. Beautiful." Gus turned around to have a good look at me.

"Yes, you do," echoed Charlotte.

"Thanks."

"Are we ready?" Gus got up.

"We are," I said.

"Very nice meeting you all," said Gus to the general assembly, all rancor from the previous evening seemingly long forgotten. "And good luck with the...er...um..." he nodded to Charlotte.

"Thanks." She smiled nervously.

"Have fun." Daniel winked at me.

"You too." I winked back.

"Do you have gloves, Lucy?"

"Yes."

"Well, give them to me."

"Oh." Selfish bastard.

"Och, no, not for me!" he laughed. "Look, one for your right hand and one for my left hand and then we'll hold hands with our two middle ones. See?"

"I see."

That was great because it took care of the awkward question of hand- holding. A matter that wasn't a problem at all on the previous alcohol lubricated evening, but that could have become a bit of an issue in the cold sober light of day.

On we marched, swinging hands, the cold air reddening our faces.

We lolled on a bench and held hands and watched the squirrels running and jumping about.

Even though I felt a little bit shy, I couldn't take my eyes off Gus. He was something to look at--his hair so black and shiny, his jaw covered in stubble (he obviously hadn't found Karen's razor), and his eyes bright green in the cold winter light.

It was wonderful to be with him.

183 184 / marian keyes

"This is lovely." I sighed. "I'm so glad you forced me to come."

"I'm glad you're glad, Lucy Sullivan."

"And the squirrels are so sweet," I said. "I love watching them running about, jumping, gambolling."

Gus quickly sat up and stared at me.

"Are you serious?" he demanded, looking very alarmed.

What now, I wondered, feeling anxious. Was he about to go off on another mad flight of fancy?

He was, apparently.

"Well," he sputtered. "I have to say that the barbarians are well and truly at the gates when the dumb beasts of the fields have to entertain themselves by illicit betting...but that's London for you, I suppose. Next they'll be smoking crack!"

Oh my God, I thought, he's bonkers. But I couldn't take it seriously, I was laughing so much that I could barely speak.

"Not gambling, gambolling," I said.

"I heard you the first time, Lucy Sullivan," he said. "And what is it, Lucy?" he demanded. "The dogs? The horses? Bingo? Eyes down and two fat ladies for the little squirrels! Cards? Blackjack? Roulette? There's no in- nocence anymore, Lucy! None. There's nothing unspoiled. To think that the little squirrels are gambling, it breaks my heart--you wouldn't get that in Donegal. What was wrong with gathering nuts? No thrill left in it, I suppose.... The influence of television."

He stared at me, realization dawning.

"Oh," he said, shamefaced. "Oh. Oh no. You meant the gambolling type of gambling. Not the gambling type of gambling."

"Yes." lucy sullivan is getting married / 185

"Oh. Oh. Well, sorry about that. A misunderstanding. You must think I'm fit to be locked up. The padded room for Gus."

"No. I think you're hilarious."

"That's very decent of you, Lucy" he said. "Most people just say that I'm crazy."

"Why's that?" I asked, amused.

"Search me," he said, his pixie face a picture of assumed innocence.

I'd be delighted to, I thought.

"Anyway," he continued, "if they think I'm crazy, they should meet the rest of my family."

Oh oh! I sensed an unpleasant revelation hovering on the horizon. But I squared my shoulders and met it head on.

"Er, and what are they like, Gus?"

He gave me a sidelong grin and said, "Well now, insane isn't a word I care to bandy about, Lucy, but..."

I tried to hide my alarm, but it must have shown on my face because he burst out laughing.

"Poor Lucy. Would you look at the worried little face!"

I tried to smile gamely.

"But settle yourself, Lucy, I'm only teasing. They're not actually insane..."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"...as such..." he continued. "But very, very emotional, I suppose is the best way of describing it."

"How do you mean?" I might as well deal with it there and then, I de- cided.

"I'm kind of afraid to tell you, Lucy, in case I convince you that I'm stone crazy. When you hear the kind of background I come from, you'll probably run away screaming."

"Don't be silly," I said reassuringly. But I had a little 186 / marian keyes

knot in my stomach. Please God, don't make this too awful. I like him too much.

"Are you sure you want to hear this, Lucy?"

"I'm sure. Nothing can be that bad. Have you parents?"

"Oh aye. The full complement. A matching pair. A complete set."

"You already mentioned that you had lots of brothers...?"

"Five of them."

"That's a lot."

"Not really, not in the area I come from. I was always ashamed that my number of brothers didn't run to double digits."

"Older or younger?"

"Older. They're all older than me."

"So you're the baby."

"I am, although I'm the only one of the guys who doesn't still live at home."

"Five grown men all living at home--that must create a lot of problems."

"Jesus! You don't know the half of it. But they have to, really, because they work on the farm and in the pub."

"You own a pub?"

"We do."

"You must be loaded."

"Well, we're not."

"But I always thought owning a pub meant you could almost print your own money."

"Not our pub. It's my brothers, you see. Fond of the drink."

"Ah, I see, they drink the profits."

"No they don't," he laughed. "There aren't any profits to drink, because they drink the drink."

"Oh Gus." lucy sullivan is getting married / 187

"And we hardly ever have any stock because they drink it all and we owe money to every brewery in Ireland so almost none of them will deliver to us anymore. Our name is a hissing and a byword among the distillers of Ireland," he said, quoting P.G. Wodehouse. My, what a literary fellow this was.

"But don't you have customers, couldn't you make a profit from them?" I asked.

"Not really, because we're in such a remote area. Our only customers are my brothers and my da. And the local constabulary of course--and they only come after closing hours every night. And they can't be charged the full price--in fact they can't be charged any price--because they'd close us down for breaking the liquor laws, if we tried to."

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

My head was racing, trying to come up with money-spinners, profit- making schemes for Gus's family's pub, Karaoke evenings? Quiz nights? Special promotions? Food at lunchtime? And I said as much to him.

"No, Lucy." He shook his head and looked amused and sad at the same time. "They're not great organizers. Something would go wrong because they're forever getting drunk and fighting each other."

"Are you serious?"

"I am! Most nights in our house are conducted in a state of high drama. I'd come home in the evening and the brothers would be in the kitchen and a couple of them would be covered with blood and another would have his hand wrapped up in a shirt after putting his fist through a window and they'd be calling one another names and then they'd start crying and telling one another that they loved each other like a brother. I hate it." 188 / marian keyes

"And what would they fight about?" I asked, intrigued, fascinated.

"Oh anything at all. They're not picky. A dirty look, an inflection in a voice, anything!"

"Really?"

"Yes. I was home at Christmas and the first night I was back we all had a huge feed of drink. And it was great for a while, until things went wrong, the way they usually do. At about midnight P.J. thought Paudi was looking at him funny so P.J. hit Paudi, then Mikey shouted at P.J. to leave Paudi alone and John Joe hit Mikey for shouting at P.J., then P.J. hit John Joe for hitting Mikey and Stevie started crying because of brother being set against brother. And then P.J. started crying because he was sorry for upsetting Stevie, then Stevie hit P.J. for starting it all, then Paudi hit Stevie for hitting P.J. because he had wanted to hit P.J.... And then my da came in and he tried to hit all of them."

Gus paused for breath. "It was terrible. It's the boredom, I'm sure of it. But the whole thing is fueled by alcohol. They calmed down a bit a few years ago when we got Sky Sports, but then the da wouldn't pay the bill for it, so the ruckus started up again."

I was spellbound. I could have listened forever to Gus's beautiful, lyrical accent, telling the story of his fascinatingly dysfunctional family.

"And where do you fit into it all? Who do you hit?"

"No one. I don't fit into it at all, at least I try my very best not to."

"The whole thing sounds hilarious," I said. "Like something out of a play."

"Really?" said Gus, sounding shocked, annoyed even. "Maybe I've told it wrong because it wasn't funny at all."

Immediately I felt ashamed. lucy sullivan is getting married / 189

"Sorry, Gus," I muttered. "I forgot for a moment that this is your life we're talking about. It's just that you tell it so well.... But I'm sure it was terrible really."

"Well, it was you know, Lucy," he said, indignantly. "It left terrible scars, it made me do awful things."

"Like what?"

"I used to walk the hills for hours and talk to the rabbits and write poetry. Of course it was only because I wanted to get away from the family and because I didn't know any better."

"But what's wrong with walking the hills and talking to the rabbits and writing poetry?" I thought it sounded wild and romantic and Irish.

"Plenty, Lucy, as I'm sure you'd agree if you ever read any of my poetry."

I laughed, but only a little bit, I didn't want him to think I was making fun of him.

"And rabbits make very poor conversationalists," he said. "Carrots and sex, that's all they talk about."

"Is that right?"

"So as soon as I got away from there, I dropped the poetry and the tor- tured soul image."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with being a tortured soul..." I protested, desperate to cling to the image of Gus as a poetic figure.

"Oh, there is, Lucy. It's embarrassing and boring."

"Oh, is it? I quite like tortured souls..."

"No, Lucy, you mustn't," he said firmly. "I insist."

"So what are your parents like?" I asked, changing the subject.

"My father is the worst of them all. A terrible man when he has drink taken. Which is most of the time."

And what about your mother?"

"She doesn't really do anything. Well, I mean she does 190 / marian keyes

plenty--all the cooking and washing and stuff, but she doesn't try to keep them in line. I suppose she's too afraid. She prays a lot. And cries--we're a great family for crying, a very lachrymose crowd. She prays for my brothers and father to give up the drink."

"And do you have any sisters?"

"Two, but they escaped when they were very young. Eleanor got married when she was nineteen to a man who was old enough to be her grandfather, Francis Cassidy from Letterkenny."

Gus seemed to cheer up at the memory. "He only came up to the farm once and that was to ask the da for her hand, and maybe I shouldn't tell you this because you'll think that we're a crowd of savages, but we ran him out of the place. We tried to set the dogs on poor old Francis, but the dogs refused to bite him. Afraid they might catch something, probably."

Gus peered at me closely. "Should I bow my head in shame, Lucy?"

"No," I said. "It's funny."

"I know it wasn't very hospitable, Lucy, but we had little to amuse us and Francis Cassidy was awful, far worse than any of us. He was the most miserable-looking old stick you ever laid eyes on and he must have had the evil eye because the hens didn't lay for four days afterward and the cows had no milk."

"And what about your other sister?"

"Eileen? She just disappeared. None of the local boys came looking for her hand--I suppose Francis Cassidy had warned them off. We only noticed she was gone when the breakfast wasn't on the table one morning. It was summer and we were making the hay and had to get up at the crack of dawn and Eileen was supposed to make the food before we all went off to the fields." lucy sullivan is getting married / 191

"And where had she gone?"

"I don't know, Dublin, I think."

"And wasn't anyone worried about her?" I asked, appalled. "Didn't anyone try to go after her or to find her?"

"They were worried all right. They were worried that they'd have to make their own breakfasts from then on."

"But that's terrible," I said, feeling upset. The story of Eileen had upset me far more than the story of Francis Cassidy and the dogs. "Really, really terrible."

"Lucy," said Gus, squeezing my hand. "I wasn't worried about having to make my own breakfast. I wanted to go after her, but my da said he'd kill me."

"Fair enough," I said, feeling a bit better.

"I missed her, she was lovely, she used to talk to me. But I was glad for her that she was gone."

"Why?"

She was too bright to let my father marry her off to one of the old men who owned the neighboring farms. He wanted to get his hands on their land, you see."

"That's barbaric," I said in horror.

"Some people might call it good economics," said Gus. "But I wouldn't be one of them," he added hastily, when I gave him a glare.

"And what became of poor Eileen?" I asked, feeling as though my heart would break from the sadness of it all. "Did you ever hear from her again?"

"I think she went to Dublin, but she never wrote to me, so I don't know for sure."

"It's so sad," I breathed.

Then a thought struck me and I looked at him sharply. "You're not making any of this up, by any chance, are you? This isn't one of your inven- tions like the squirrels gambling and my roommate Elizabeth Ardent?"

"No." he protested. "Of course it's not. Honestly, 192 / marian keyes

Lucy, I wouldn't joke or make things up about something important. Al- though I wish the story of my family was a fairy tale. I suppose it sounds very peculiar to a sophisticated city girl like yourself."

Oddly enough, it didn't.

"But, you see, we were very isolated," Gus went on. "The farm was re- mote and we didn't meet that many other people so I didn't know any better. I had nothing to compare my family to. For years I thought that the fights and the crying and the shouting and everything were perfectly normal and that everyone lived like us. It was a big relief, I can tell you, to find out that my suspicions were correct and that they were really as crazy as I had thought they were. So that's the story of my origins, Lucy."