Read Marian Keyes - Lucy Sullivan Is Getting Married Online
Authors: Marian Keyes
But this time you'd barely have known it was a boy's apartment--it didn't look like a scrapyard or the inside of a sports bag. There were no broken motorcycle engines on the kitchen table, no stray pieces of chipboard cluttering up the hall, no badminton rackets on the sofa.
Having said that, I don't want to give the impression that Daniel's apartment was nice. The furniture was a bit weird because he had gotten some of it from his older brother Paul when his marriage broke up and he went to work in Saudi Arabia, and some of it from his granny when she shuffled off her mortal coil. I suppose the best thing that could be said about Daniel's furniture was that it hadn't enough character to be offensive.
Here and there, like oases in the desert, were a couple of things that were actively nice--a red giraffe compact disc holder, a free-standing candle- stick--the sort of things that Simon's flat was packed with. But if you said to Simon, "nice shelf," he wouldn't just say "Thanks," he'd reel off, "Conran shop, Ron Arad, limited edition, be worth a fortune one day soon." Which was all probably
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true, but it somehow struck me as, well, unmanly. All Simon's inanimate articles had pedigrees and lineages, he liked to be able to trace them right back to Le Corbusier or the Bauhaus.
Simon never said, "Put on the teakettle." Instead he said, "Gently flick the turquoise enamel genuine fifties reproduction switch on my stainless steel Alessi pyramid kettle. If you damage a hair on its sleek, silver head, I'll kill you with the largest from my full set of Sabatier knives."
Daniel's Nice Things were an odd mixture--some looked like antiques and others were shiny and new and modern.
"Oh, I love this clock," I said, picking it up off a disgusting sideboard that had been part of his inheritance. "I'd love one like this, where did you get it?"
"Er, Ruth gave it to me."
"Oh." And then I saw something else I liked.
"Look at this lovely mirror," I breathed, and ran to touch the green wooden frame with covetous desire. "Where did you get this?"
"Um, Karen gave it to me," he said sheepishly.
That explained the hodge-podge of different styles in the flat--Daniel's women must have each sought to make their mark on his furnishings but they seemed to all have had different tastes.
"I'm surprised Karen hasn't asked for it back," I said.
"Actually she has," admitted Daniel quietly.
"So why is it still here?"
"She hung up on me after she told me she wanted it and she's refused to take my calls since, so I don't know when I should deliver it to her."
"I could take it home this evening," I suggested eagerly, as a vision of the mirror hanging in my bedroom lucy sullivan is getting married / 431
appeared before me. "But, no...I can't. She'd know I'd been here and I don't think she'd be too pleased."
"Lucy, you have every right to be here...." said Daniel. But I ignored him. I knew I had every right to be there, but I knew that Karen would see it differently.
"Let's see the most important room in the house," I said, making for his bedroom. "What new things have you bought?"
I flung myself on Daniel's bed and bounced around a bit. "So this is where it all happens?" I asked.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered. "Unless you mean sleep."
"But what's this?" I demanded, plucking at his duvet cover. "This looks suspiciously like it came from Habitat--I thought lurve machines like you had fur coverlets on your beds. Not that I know the difference between a cover and a coverlet."
"We do, but I took off the fur coverlet when you said you'd come over. And I unscrewed the mirror off the ceiling. But I didn't have time to turn off the video camera."
"You're disgusting," I said idly.
He smiled slightly.
"Imagine," I said, looking up at him, from where I was stretched out on his bed. "I'm in Daniel Watson's bed, well, on it, which will have to do. I'm the envy of hundreds of women."
He smiled more broadly.
"Two, anyway," I said, thinking of Karen and Charlotte.
Then I did what I always did when I was in Daniel's bedroom.
"Guess who I am, Daniel," I said. Then I wriggled around on his bed and made pretend noises of ecstasy. 432 / marian keyes
"Oh Daniel, Daniel," I moaned.
I waited for him to laugh like he normally would, but he didn't.
"Have you guessed?" I demanded.
"No."
"Dennis," I said triumphantly.
He gave a weak smile. Maybe I'd done it once too often.
"So, who's your current bed mate?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Never you mind."
"Is there a current?"
"Not exactly."
"What? You mean you've liked a new woman for more than four hours and you haven't managed to seduce her with your `I'm so innocent, I'm not a lech, I'm a really nice guy,' brand of charm? You must be losing your touch," I exclaimed.
"I must be."
He didn't smile the way he always did. He just walked out of the room. That was alarming so I jumped off the bed and ran after him.
"And how come your apartment is so clean?" I asked suspiciously, when we got back to his living room.
I felt ashamed because despite our best efforts, our apartment was always a mess. We always started off full of good intentions but after a day or so our resolve slackened and we said things like, "Charlotte, if you do my bathroom duty, you can borrow my suede dress for that thing you're going to on Friday night," and "Fuck off, Karen, I did clean it...yes, well, how could I use a Brillo pad?--Charlotte used them all on herself after sleeping with that Danish guy...well it's not my fault that it didn't all come off, it's not for lack of trying," and "I lucy sullivan is getting married / 433
know it's Sunday evening and we're stretched out watching TV and we're all so relaxed that we're nearly comatose, but I have to do the vacuuming so I'm sorry but you're all going to have to move and you'll have to turn off the TV because I need the electrical socket.... Hey, don't shout! Don't shout! If it's that much of a disruption, I suppose I could leave it, I don't want to, but if you're certain that you'd rather I didn't..."
What we really needed was to pay someone to come in and clean for a couple of hours a week, but Karen vetoed the suggestion every time. "Why should we pay someone to do something that we can do ourselves?" she demanded. "We're young and fit and well able to do it."
Except that we didn't.
"Have you got some poor Filipina child-bride slave that you pay way under the minimum wage, coming in and `doing' for you," I asked Daniel.
"I have not," he said, all affronted.
"Not even a bit player from Eastenders, with an apron and a headscarf and a bad back and red knees, coming in to dust and drink tea and com- plain?"
"No," said Daniel, "I do all my own cleaning, actually."
"Sure," I said disbelievingly. "Well I bet you get your current victim of a girlfriend to iron your shirts and clean the bathroom."
"I don't."
"Well, why not?" I asked. "I'm sure they'd love to. If someone offered to do my ironing in return for sexual favors, I wouldn't be able to turn it down."
"Lucy, I'll do your ironing in return for sexual favors," said Daniel, deadpan.
"Anyone apart from you, I think I must have forgotten to mention," I corrected. 434 / marian keyes
"But, Lucy, I actually like doing housework," he said.
I threw him a scornful look. "And you say I'm weird."
"I don't actually, Lucy," he said, looking hurt.
"Don't you?" I asked surprised. "Well, you should...Now me--I abso- lutely hate doing housework. If there's a hell being prepared for me--and I see no reason to think that there isn't--it'll involve me having to do all of Satan's ironing. And vacuuming--that's the worst, that's my room one- oh-one of housework, I'll be forced to vacuum all of hell every day.... I'm like Nature," I added.
"How so?" asked Daniel.
"Nature abhors a vacuum."
Daniel laughed. Thank God for that, I thought. He had been uncharac- teristically mirthless.
"Now come over here, Lucy," said Daniel, and put his arm around me. I felt a little leap of fear, until I realized that he was only steering me across the room to the sofa.
"You wanted to be horizontal?" he inquired.
"Yes."
"Here's the very place to do it."
"What about the chocolate you promised me?" I demanded. Lying down was no good without the chocolate. And chocolate is at its best when eaten lying down.
"Consider it done." He left the room to get it.
That was the day that the weather broke.
It was the end of August and although it was no longer sweltering, it was still warm enough for all the windows to be open in Daniel's front room.
Suddenly, like a switch being flicked, the breeze picked up, the rustling of the leaves intensified, the sky darkened and we heard the first ominous growl of the storm.
"Was that thunder?" I asked hopefully.
"It sounded like it." lucy sullivan is getting married / 435
I raced to the window, and leaned out. An empty potato chip bag that had probably lain undisturbed all summer skittered along the pavement, whipped by the breeze. And in seconds the rain had started and the world was transformed.
The roads and gardens changed from beige and dry and dusty to dark and sleek, the bright green of the trees was instantly almost black.
It was beautiful.
The air smelled green and fragrant and cool. The scent of the wet grass rushed up to me as I leaned precariously out of the window. Now and then my face got splashed with raindrops so big that they nearly concussed me. I loved thunderstorms--the only time I ever really felt at peace with myself was during a storm. All the turmoil and exuberance seemed to calm me.
Apparently that wasn't just because I was weird--there was a scientific explanation for it. Thunderstorms filled the air with negative ions; although I'm not sure what they are, I know they're supposed to make you feel good. When I had found that out, I had even bought an ionizer to try to re-create the effect of a storm all the time.
But nothing compared to the real thing.
There was another rumble of thunder and the room was zapped by silver light. In the momentary flash of silver, Daniel's table and chairs and things looked startled, like people who had been unexpectedly awakened by the bedroom light being switched on.
The rain cascaded down and I could feel the bumping of the thunder deep within me.
"Isn't it amazing?" I said, and turned, smiling to Daniel.
He was standing a couple of feet away from me, watching me. Staring at me with hard intensity, curiosity on his face. I immediately felt awkward. He thought I was nuts 436 / marian keyes
to enjoy the downpour. Then the funny, intense look disappeared and he smiled.
"I forgot that you always loved the rain," he said. "You told me once that when it rains you feel that your insides match your outsides."
"Did I?" I was embarrassed. "No wonder you think I'm certifiable."
"But I don't," he said.
I smiled at him. He smiled back, a funny little twist of a smile.
"I think you're incredible," he said.
That threw me.
There was a long pause. I tried to think of something light and insult- ing--either to him or to me--to say. Anything to dispel the tension. But I couldn't say a thing. I was mute. I was pretty sure that he had meant "in- credible" in a complimentary way but I didn't know how I should respond.
"Come away from the window," he eventually said. "I don't want you getting struck by lightning."
"Let's face it, if it could happen to anyone, it could happen to me," I said, and we both laughed extra heartily.
Although we kept well out of each other's way.
He closed the windows, muffling the sounds of the storm. And still the thunder complained and roared and bumped above us. The rain torrented down and by five o'clock in the afternoon, it was almost as dark as night. Except for when there was a flash of lightning and the room was lit up for a dazzling second. Water cascaded down the windows.
"That looks like the end of summer," said Daniel.
I felt sad for only a moment. I always knew that it wouldn't last forever and it was time to move on.
Anyway I liked autumn. Autumn--the season of new boots.
Eventually all the emotion of the storm was spent and lucy sullivan is getting married / 437
the rain settled down into a steady beating, calming, hypnotizing, cozy. I lay on the couch under a duvet, luxuriating in feeling snug, comfortable and safe.
I read my book and ate chocolate.
Daniel sat on the armchair, reading the papers and watching the TV with the sound turned down.
I don't think we spoke one word to each other in two hours.
Now and then I would sigh and wriggle and say "God, this is gorgeous," or "Peel me another grape, Copernicus." And Daniel would smile at me when I said these things, but I don't think they counted as conversation.
It was only hunger that eventually forced us to communicate.
"Daniel, I'm starving."
"Well..."
"And don't tell me that I've been eating chocolate all afternoon and that I can't be hungry."
"I wasn't going to." He sounded surprised. "I know that you have a different stomach for cookies and sweets. Would you like me to take you out for something to eat?"
"Does it mean I have to get off the couch?"
"Oh, I see the problem," he said. "Would you like a pizza?"
"And garlic bread?" I asked hopefully.
"With cheese?" he asked smoothly.
What a man!
He opened a drawer on one of his fancy shelf units and took out mounds of pizza leaflets and brochures.
"Have a look through these and decide what you want."