Marian Keyes - Lucy Sullivan Is Getting Married (9 page)

A pang of something unpleasant shot through me--emptiness? loneli- ness? abandonment?--if it wasn't one of those emotions, it was at least a member of their extended family.

"I'm never going out again," I thought. "Not while the world is the way it is. Bad weather and people laughing at me. I want none of it."

After a while I couldn't help noticing that, even though it was five-thirty on a Saturday morning, I was awake. That was always happening to me--from Monday morning to Friday morning I couldn't open my eyes, even with the help of the alarm clock and the threat of losing my job if I was late one more morning. Getting out of bed was almost impossible, as though the sheets were made of Velcro.

But come Saturday morning, when I didn't have to get up, I woke of my own accord and couldn't persuade myself, under any circumstances, to turn over and shut my eyes and snuggle under the covers and go back to sleep.

The only exception to this pattern occurred on the occasional Saturdays when I had to go to work. Then I found it as hard to wake up as I had done on the previous five mornings.

If my mother knew, she would probably have held it up as evidence of my--at least according to her--contrariness.

"I know," I thought, "I'll eat something."

I got out of bed--the room was freezing--and ran down the hall to the kitchen. To my dismay, someone was already there. lucy sullivan is getting married / 99

"I don't care who it is," I thought belligerently. "I'm not talking to them."

It was a young man whom I had never seen before. He was dressed only in red boxer shorts and he was energetically gulping tap water from a mug.

That was not the first Saturday morning I had bumped into a strange man in our kitchen. The only difference on this particular Saturday morning was that I hadn't brought him home myself.

Something about him--it might have been the way he was drinking the water like he was dying of thirst--made me feel like being nice to him.

"There's Coke in the fridge," I told him, hospitably.

He jumped and turned around.

"Oh, er, hello," he said, his hands going automatically to his groin in protective fashion. "Sorry," he stuttered. "I hope I didn't frighten you. I came home with...er...your roommate last night."

"Oh," I said. "Which one?"

Who had had the attentions of this person forced upon them the previous evening? Karen or Charlotte?

"Er, this is rather embarrassing," he said sheepishly. "But I can't actually remember her name. I had quite a bit to drink."

"Well, describe her," I said nicely.

"Blond hair."

"That's no use," I told him. "They both have blond hair."

"Er, big, um," he said, sketching something expansive with his hands.

"Oh, you mean big tits." I suddenly understood. "Well, once again, it could be either of them."

"I think she had a funny accent," he said.

"Scottish?"

"No."

"Yorkshire?"

"Yes!"

"That's Charlotte."

I got my bag of cookies and went back to bed.

A few minutes later the boy walked into my room.

"Oh," he said, looking confused and flustered, his hand going to his crotch again. "But where's...? I thought..."

"Next door," I said sleepily.

15 When I awoke again, it was almost midday. Someone was in the bathroom and steam was billowing out from under the door so that I could hardly see down the hall. I found Karen lying under her duvet on the couch in the front room. She was coughing and smoking, there was an overflowing ashtray on the floor beside her and she looked like a panda because she hadn't taken off her previous night's makeup.

"Morning." She smiled, looking a bit pale and wan. "What were you up to last night?"

"Nothing," I said absently. "Why is the apartment like a sauna? Who's in the bathroom? Why are they taking so long?"

"It's Charlotte. She's purging herself with the scalding water and the Brillo pads, scrubbing herself till she bleeds, atoning for her sin." lucy sullivan is getting married / 101

I felt a powerful rush of sympathy.

"Oh no, poor Charlotte. So she slept with that guy?"

"When did you see him?" asked Karen, attempting to sit up in her excite- ment and then thinking better of it.

"I bumped into him in the kitchen about five-thirty this morning."

"Awful, wasn't he? But Charlotte was wearing her beer goggles, well, her tequila goggles, actually, so she thought he was gorgeous."

"Judgment impaired?"

"Very much so."

"Was she being all raunchy and dancing seductively around the place?"

"Yes."

"On no."

Charlotte was a lively but well-brought up, respectable girl from a small town outside Bradford. She had only been living in London for about a year and was still going through the painful process of trying to find out who she really was. Was she still the sprightly, cheeky, but very decent, apple-cheeked girl from Yorkshire? Or was she the blond, busty temptress that she turned into when she drank too much? It's an odd thing, but when she was behaving like a temptress her hair really did seem to turn a couple of shades lighter and her bust really did seem to increase at least one cup size.

She found it very, very hard to marry these two different aspects of herself. When she acted like the blond, busty temptress she spent the fol- lowing days bitterly berating herself. Guilt, self-loathing, self-hatred, fear of retribution, disgust with herself and her behavior were her constant companions.

She took far too many very hot baths during those times.

It was unfortunate that Charlotte was blond and busty 102 / marian keyes

because she was also a bit slow, and it confirmed too many stereotypes. People like Charlotte gave blondes a bad name. But I was very fond of her and she was a lovely person and an amiable roommate.

"But never mind her. Tell me about you," said Karen gleefully. "Tell me the whole story of you and the getting married thing and all."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You always say that, Lucy."

"Sorry."

"Please."

"No."

"Please!"

"Well, all right, but you can't laugh at me and you can't feel sorry for me."

Then I told Karen everything about going to see Mrs. Nolan and her predictions and about Meredia coming into money and Megan getting a split lip and Hetty running off with Dick's brother and Meredia and Megan telling everyone that I was getting married.

Karen listened awestruck.

"My god," she breathed. "How awful. And how embarrassing."

"Indeed."

"Are you upset?"

"A bit," I admitted reluctantly.

"You should kill Meredia. You shouldn't let her get away with this. And I can't believe that Megan got involved. She always seemed so normal."

"I know."

"It must have been some kind of mass hysteria," suggested Karen. lucy sullivan is getting married / 103

Charlotte shuffled into the room, wearing a heavy, shapeless polo-necked purple knitted dress that came almost to her ankles. It was her version of a hairshirt.

"Oh, Lucy," she wailed, bursting into tears and rushing toward me.

I wrapped my arms around her as best I could, bearing in mind that she was eight inches taller than me.

"I'm so ashamed," she sobbed. "I hate myself. I wish I were dead."

"Shush, shush," I said with the ease of practice. "You'll feel better soon. Don't forget that you were drinking a lot last night and that alcohol is a depressant. You're bound to feel depressed today."

"Really," she said, looking at me hopefully.

"Honest."

"Oh, Lucy, you're so good. You always know the right things to say when I'm miserable."

And of course I did. I'd had so much first-hand practice myself that it would have been churlish not to share what I had learned the hard way.

"I'm never going to drink again," she promised.

I said nothing.

"Ever!"

I inspected my nails.

"At least I'm never going to drink tequila again," she said vehemently.

I gazed out of the window.

"I'm going to stick to wine."

I stared at the television (though it wasn't on).

"And every second drink will be a mineral water."

I straightened a cushion.

"And I'm not going to have more than four glasses of wine in an even- ing."

I looked at my nails again. 104 / marian keyes

"Well, six, maybe."

Another gaze out of the window.

"Depending on the size of the glass."

The television again.

"And I won't have more than fourteen glasses a week."

And on and on she went until she had finally persuaded herself that a bottle of tequila a night was fine. I'd heard it many times before.

"Lucy, I was terrible," she confided. "I took off my blouse and I danced around in my bra."

"Just your bra?" I asked solemnly.

"Yes."

"No panties?"

"Of course I had my panties on. And my skirt."

"Well, that wasn't so bad then, was it?"

"No, I suppose not. Oh, Lucy, cheer me up. Tell me a story. Tell me...let me see, tell me...tell me about the time that your boyfriend dumped you because he'd fallen for another guy."

My heart sank.

But I could only blame myself. I had carefully cultivated a reputation for myself as a bit of a comic raconteur--at least among my close friends--with my own life tragedies in the starring roles. A long time ago it had dawned on me that one way I could avoid being a tragic and pitiful figure was to be a witty and amusing figure instead. Especially if I was being witty and amusing about my tragic and pitiful aspects.

That way no one could laugh at me, because I'd already beaten them to it. But right then I just couldn't manage it.

"Oh no, Charlotte, I can't..."

"Oh go on!"

"No." lucy sullivan is getting married / 105

"Please! Just tell me about when he made you cut your hair short and he still dumped you."

"Oh...oh...damn you! All right then."

Who knows, I thought, it might cheer me up.

So, as amusingly as I could, I regaled Charlotte with the story of one of my many humiliating losses in love. Just to make her feel that no matter how much of a disaster her life was, it could never be as bad as mine.

"There's a party tonight," said Karen. "Are you coming?"

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?" asked Karen shrewdly. As she was Scottish, she was good at asking things shrewdly.

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"I got strong-armed into saying that I'd go out for dinner with Daniel."

"Dinner with Daniel. Lucky you," breathed Charlotte, her face aglow.

"But why did he ask you?" shrieked Karen in disgust.

"Karen!" said Charlotte.

"Oh, you know what I mean, Lucy," said Karen impatiently.

"I do."

Karen didn't mince words but, in fairness, she was absolutely right--I couldn't understand either why Daniel had wanted to take me.

"He's split up with whatshername," I said, and immediately there was uproar. Karen sat bolt upright on the couch, like a corpse risen from the dead.

"Are you serious?" she asked, an odd, manic look on her face.

"Absolutely." 106 / marian keyes

"Wow," breathed Charlotte, with a beatific smile. "Isn't this wonderful?"

"So he's a free man?" asked Karen.

"He is indeed," I said solemnly. "Repaid his debt to society and all that."

"Not for long, if I've anything to do with it," said Karen, her voice full of steely determination, her head full of images of herself and Daniel walking hand-in-hand into posh restaurants, herself and Daniel smiling at each other radiantly on their wedding day, herself and Daniel tenderly tickling their first-born child.

"Where's he taking you?" asked Karen, when she had returned to the present and the general fuss had died down a bit.

"Some Russian place."

"Not The Kremlin?" asked Karen, sounding shocked.

"Yes."

"You lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky girl."

The pair of them stared at me, naked jealousy on their faces.

"Don't look at me like that," I said fearfully. "I don't even want to go."

"How can you say that?" asked Charlotte. "A good-looking..."

"Rich," interjected Karen.

"A good-looking, rich man like Daniel wants to take you to some posh restaurant and you don't even want to go?"

"But he's not good-looking and rich..." I protested lamely.

"He is!" they chorused.

"Well, maybe he is. But, but...but it's no good to me," I said weakly. "I don't think he's good-looking. He's just a friend. And I think it's a total waste to have lucy sullivan is getting married / 107

to go out with a friend on a Saturday night. Especially when I'd rather not go out at all."

"You're weird," muttered Karen.

I didn't deny it. She was preaching to the converted.

"What are you going to wear?" asked Charlotte.

"Don't know."

"But you've got to know! You're not just going to the pub for a pint."

Daniel arrived at about eight and I wasn't ready. But I would still have been in my pajamas if Charlotte and Karen hadn't bullied and cajoled me into having a bath and putting on my glamorous gold dress.

Not that I thanked them for it. I just accused them of dressing up and going out with Daniel vicariously.

They gave me lots of advice on what to wear and what way to do my makeup and my hair, and they started every sentence with, "Now, if I was going out with Daniel..." and, "If Daniel had asked me..."

"Wear these, wear these," said Charlotte in excitement, pulling some silky, lacy stockings out of my underwear drawer.

"No," I said, taking them from her and putting them back.

"But they're beautiful."

"I know."

"So why don't you wear them?"

"What for? It's only Daniel."

"You're so ungrateful."

"I'm not. What's the point in wearing them? It's a waste--who's going to see them?"

"Jesus," said Karen, pulling out a bra, "I didn't know they made bras this small."

"Show me," demanded Charlotte, pulling it from her 108 / marian keyes

and then dissolving into convulsions. "My God! It's like a doll's bra! My nipple would just about fit into it."

"You must have tiny nipples," laughed Karen, elbowing Charlotte. "I didn't know they made triple A cups."

I stomped around the bedroom, my face red with shame, waiting for them to finish making fun of me.

Just as the doorbell rang, Karen raced into my room and sprayed me energetically with her perfume.

"Thanks," I said, my eyes watering, waiting for the clouds to disperse.

"No, silly," she said. "It's so that you'll smell like me. You're paving the way for me with Daniel."

"Oh."

Charlotte and Karen fought over who was going to answer the door to him and Karen won because she had lived in the flat longer.

"Come in," she said brightly and exuberantly, flinging wide the door for him. Karen was always bright and exuberant when Daniel was around and the door was probably not the only thing she would have liked to be flinging wide for him.

Daniel looked just like Daniel, but no doubt at some later date, I'd have to listen to Karen and Charlotte blab on and on about how beautiful he was.

It was funny that women liked him so much because there was nothing really remarkable about him.

It wasn't as if he had piercing blue eyes and blue-black hair and a sexy, sulky mouth and a jawbone the size of a handbag. Nothing of the sort.

He had gray eyes, which weren't a bit piercing--gray eyes were boring, I thought.

And his hair was that noncolor--brown. As indeed was mine, except that he had been touched by the Good-Hair lucy sullivan is getting married / 109

Fairy so his hair was straight and shiny. While mine was springy and curly and after I'd been caught in the rain, I looked like I'd had a home perm.

He smiled at Karen. He smiled a lot. And everyone that ever found Daniel attractive kept going on about what a nice smile he had and I couldn't see why. It was only a row of little lumps of enamel.

Okay, so he seemed to have a full set and they looked like they were real. And none were missing, or black, or at right angles to his face, but so what?"

The secret of his success, I reckoned, was that he looked like the boy next door, like a decent, friendly man, one with old-fashioned values, who'd treat you like a lady.

Which was so far from the truth that it was funny. But by the time his women found that out, it was far, far too late.

"Hello, Karen," said Daniel, doing the smile thing again. "How are you?"

"Wonderful!" she declared. "Just great!"

And immediately she launched straight into unashamed flirting. She gave him lots of level looks and knowing smiles. And with supreme self- confidence she possessively brushed imaginary fluff from his dark winter coat.