At the time he was a kid, confused and scared, and although he was high on a drug called love, the reality of becoming a father had brought him down fast. His parents had insisted he stay away from the girl who they believed had become pregnant on purpose to trap him. When their offer of financial support, on the condition that Jane kept away from their son, was rejected by the madwoman who had reared her, they were happy to wash their hands of the girl and child entirely. They were adamant that if Dominic didn’t want to pay for university himself he would never speak to the girl again. He didn’t want to pay for college himself. He wanted the same free ride that his two older brothers had enjoyed. He wanted the cool apartment he could share with his two best friends, Mint and Brick. He wanted to experience the college lifestyle, the parties, the girls, the clubs, the drink, the sport, the late nights, the crap food and mostly the freedom from a life lived under the watchful eye of his strict parents.
He acquiesced to their demands easily, and afterwards when Jane tried to talk to him he ignored her. When she took the hint and stayed away, he watched her grow under her uniform and it was hard to avoid the terrible sadness in her eyes because she wasn’t given a choice. All the ambition that had burned so brightly in her would be lost and all Dominic wanted to do was run away, because Dominic, like their principal Amanda Reynolds, knew that Jane could have achieved whatever she wanted. She could hold a full-scale conversation with Alexandra during the maths class, and if the teacher tried to make an example of her by asking her to explain the theorem on the blackboard, she could do so without so much as a second’s thought. Alexandra, on the
other hand, would make up something so preposterous that the whole class would burst out laughing. Then she’d take a bow, leaving the teacher too busy trying to regain control to bother correcting her for not paying attention.
Jane barely opened a book and yet she maintained a B average. She could have been an A student with the greatest of ease but deliberately maintained the B because she didn’t want to be associated with the class nerds. She, too, had been desperate to go to university and she’d applied to the same colleges as Alexandra, and although it would mean being apart from Dominic, she had secretly hoped that they would both get Cork because that meant she could leave home. Dominic was sorry for Jane and he wanted the best for her because she was cool and they’d had the best two years together, but he was far too selfish to risk his own future to tell her so.
Four years after his son was born Dominic had graduated from college. He had experienced all the things that came with college life, he was on a good starting salary with the bank of his choice and his parents didn’t own him any more. He walked up the steps of his old girlfriend’s house on their child’s fourth birthday. He carried a gift in his hand. Passing balloons tied to the railings, he stopped at the front door and took a moment to collect himself before knocking. He was perfectly prepared for the door to be slammed in his face but it wasn’t. Jane opened it with their son on her hip, and even though he’d walked up the pathway and knocked on her door, he was shocked to see her and his son. He tried to raise a smile but he was ashamed and embarrassed so he lifted up the gift and held it out. She looked from him to the gift and then to her son, and she
opened the door a little more and invited him in. Thirteen years later Dominic still couldn’t work out why Jane had found it so easy to forgive him.
The first time they had slept together again was on the night of Kurt’s Holy Communion. He was seven, and in the three years Dominic had been a father to him he and Jane had become close confidants and friends. He was there, dressed in a suit with video camera in hand, when his son came down the stairs dressed in his own little mini-me suit and wearing his rosette pinned to his chest. Kurt was embarrassed and hated his suit and begged Jane to gel back his blond curls but there was no way that was happening, so after a mini-tantrum at the bottom of the stairs, which was later edited out, they made their way to the church as a family. Dominic drove, Jane sat in the front and Kurt sat between his auntie Elle, who was sixteen and going through her Siouxsie and the Banshees “craving for a raw love” phase, and Rose, who kicked the back of Dominic’s seat twice, claiming it was an accident and pretending to be horrified at the notion that her daughter could possibly think it was anything else. “I was merely crossing my legs, Jane, and if this car wasn’t the size of half a can of beans I’d have been able to do so without nearly losing a knee.”
Afterwards they had met up with his parents in a posh restaurant in Dublin city centre and, in spite of Rose getting completely twisted before the main course was even served and in spite of Dominic’s parents’ coldness, Kurt was happy. He was surrounded by the people he loved because, back then, Jane and Dominic were the centre of his universe and Elle was the coolest person he knew. Dominic stayed
until well after Kurt had been put to bed. Together he and Jane opened a bottle of wine and toasted their son’s big day. They weren’t even through the first glass when Dominic was taking Jane to her bedroom, the same one that she had snuck him into seven years earlier. They both crept as silently as they could because at that time Rose still lived in the main house, and although she was in a drunken stupor, neither Dominic nor Jane wanted to risk waking her and provoking her wrath.
Once Jane’s door was locked they kissed and touched and were naked within minutes, lying together on the bed in which their son had been conceived. This time Jane had a coil fitted and Dominic was wearing a condom. Dominic snuck out a few hours later.
The next day he phoned. He was regretful and hoped that their actions the previous night wouldn’t ruin the fantastic friendship they’d built up. Jane had promised him that nothing would change and when he’d hung up he was relieved that, once again, Jane Moore had proved herself to be so cool. Of course he didn’t see her, broken-hearted, lying face down on her bedroom floor crying for hours. Neither did he have any idea how much she had hoped that he’d give their relationship a chance because, for Jane, what could have been better than a happy ending with the man she loved, the father of her child?
The second time they’d had sex was after Jane’s twenty-seventh birthday. Dominic was seeing two girls but it was early days as neither had allowed him access to their bedrooms. Jane had broken up with an artist she’d dated for six months. They were incredibly drunk and if Jane had not woken up on top of Dominic neither of them would
have remembered having sex. This was rectified the following night when Dominic brought flowers and chocolates to apologize once again for his pesky penis. Jane opened a bottle of wine, and half an hour after Dominic’s apology they were in bed. Over the next year they often got together when Dominic was between relationships or Jane was lonely and having a hard time dealing with her mother, her sister, or their son. By that stage their relationship was firmly in the friends-with-benefits zone, which suited Dominic completely, and Jane seemed happy to make the best of it.
It stopped when Dominic met Gina at a conference held in the Gresham Hotel. She was a country girl, accomplished, nice to Jane and kind to Kurt. They lasted for three years and Jane was sure they’d marry, but when Gina demanded a ring Dominic walked away and found himself in Jane’s bed once more. And so their sexual history continued until the last time they’d had sex – the night when he’d split with the tripped-out Heidi.
A week later he’d arrived to Kurt’s birthday with his new girlfriend, Bella, and one month later they were engaged. He hadn’t slept with Jane since.
Elle felt like a new woman since her weekend away with Leslie. She had continued to work for hours every day, labouring over each face as though she was re-creating it in the presence of God. When the collection of twelve was complete, two of her old art-school contemporaries arrived at her cottage to view them. Fiona and Lori arrived together and Elle greeted them warmly, hugging them, and when Lori pointed out that they hadn’t seen her since before Christmas she explained that she had been working very
hard. They complained that she hadn’t bothered to turn up to her last exhibition and she apologized for her absence, telling them she’d come down with flu.
She made coffee before the unveiling and Fiona admitted they’d heard gossip that Vincent had ended the relationship and she’d burned out his car.
Lori laughed a little. “He deserved it,” she said.
“Elle,” Fiona said, “he’s a user, always was and always will be.”
Elle joined them at her kitchen table and poured the coffee. “So what’s the story about the blonde?” she asked. “Caroline. I bumped into them recently.”
“She’s an actress on that stupid drama shot in the UK – what’s it called?” Fiona asked Lori.
“Can’t remember, but I’ve heard she takes her kit off every second episode,” she replied.
“So now he’s living off her,” Elle said, and grinned. “Lucky girl. Until another source of income takes his fancy.”
Lori and Fiona looked at one another and Lori made a face. Fiona turned to Elle. “He married her,” she said.
“What?” said Elle. “No! It’s only been five minutes. No way! Really?”
“Sorry,” Lori said.
Elle was in shock. “He married her.”
“Last week,” said Fiona. “In a register office, and the afters were in the Four Seasons.”
“It’s featured in this week’s
VIP
magazine,” Lori said. “Can you believe that? The only thing important about him is the person he’s sleeping with.”
Elle brushed it off, telling her two friends that she wished Vincent and Caroline the best, then changed the subject.
After talking some more they followed her to the studio and were both impressed with her work, going as far as to say it would be her best show yet.
“I feel like crying,” Lori said, looking across the twelve faces, including Alexandra’s – the slight smile made her ache inside.
“It’s genius,” Fiona said, “and it’s such a great concept.”
Now that Elle was finished her latest project the girls would allow no excuses and insisted she join them at a party after the exhibition the next night. They left soon after and Elle sat at the baby grand piano that took up half of her sitting room, played some notes and decided it was time she got back in the game.
Jane appeared later that afternoon and they packed up the paintings together. Elle told her about Vincent, and Jane called him some names and wished ill health upon him, but Elle was determined to be over him so her sister’s bitching seemed unnecessary. After Jane had left, Elle got into a bath and soaked for a glorious hour. When she grew bored she got out and lathered herself in the richest of creams. She sprayed on her favourite perfume, pulled her hair off her face into a tight ponytail, then put on her sexiest short dress and black thigh-high boots. She left her cottage and walked up the path towards the gate that would lead her to adventure.
Rose was standing outside when she passed. “You look like a whore,” she said.
“I plan to act like one,” Elle said.
“Well, at least no one can say you’re a tease,” Rose said, and headed indoors.
*
Leslie had spent the week in and out of hospital, having tests to ensure that she was healthy enough to have her breasts and womb removed. She remarked on the irony of the situation to one of the nurses who, having been on her feet for twelve hours straight, wasn’t interested in irony – all she cared about was getting the necessary bloods so she could move on to the next patient and so on until she got home.
Jim had asked Leslie if she wanted him to go with her but she had politely and firmly told him no. He had a job and a life of his own and it wasn’t as though she hadn’t attended medical check-ups on her own for the past eighteen years. She was in the waiting area, reading a pamphlet on reconstructive surgery and picking at some trail mix, when a tall, bald man in his late forties sat down beside her. He nodded hello and opened a newspaper. They both sat reading for ten minutes or so before he closed his paper and asked her if she had the time.
She looked at her watch. “Just after three,” she said.
He sighed. “I’ve been here since seven this morning.”
“Hell,” she said.
“Hell,” he agreed, and smiled at her a big wide smile, and she wondered how he could smile with such warmth and how he could carry himself with such cheer when it was obvious he had cancer and was going through chemotherapy.
“I’m Mark,” he said, and put out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Leslie,” she said, and shook it.
“Are you a patient or family/friend?”
“Patient. Are you starting chemo or near the end?”
“That obvious?” he said, rubbing his freshly shaved head.
“It’s not the bald head – it’s the colour of your skin.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “Off-putting.”
“Familiar,” she said.
“Do you mind me asking why you’re here, seeing as your hair is your own and your skin looks good too?”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Leslie thought about lying or, at the very least, avoiding the question but she didn’t know the man and, aside from Jim, she hadn’t spoken to anyone about her radical plans so she was honest. “I’m having my breasts and womb removed in a few months to avoid getting cancer.”
“You’re joking,” he said.
“No.”
“To avoid getting cancer?”
“I have the gene.”
“But that doesn’t mean you’ll get it.”
“I’ve lost my entire family and my youth to cancer. I’m not willing to lose any more.”
“Except your breasts and womb.”
“Except them.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ve lost both balls.”
Leslie was as taken aback by his honesty as he had been by hers. “Ouch,” she said.
He grinned at her. “Could be worse. I could have my balls and no penis.”
“True,” she said. “That would suck.”
They laughed.
“Yes, it would,” he said.
“So how does that work?”
“You mean sex?”
She couldn’t believe that she was engaging in such an
intimate conversation with a stranger, but she nodded to indicate that, yes, she did mean sex.