Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
‘No, you don’t. You look very sweet and lovely.’
I get a strange fizzy feeling in my stomach.
‘But Larry always asks his dinner dates to spank him. His wife
won’t do it, so he approaches nice understanding strangers at
parties when he’s abroad. He tells them that being spanked is the
only way he can obtain any kind of sexual relief. It’s amazing how
many of them oblige, after a slap-up meal and four bottles of vintage wine.’
I am blushing to the roots of my easi-meche highlights. ‘That’s
not true. Larry isn’t like that,’ I protest, trying to salvage some
meagre dignity. Anyway, Nathaniel looks just the type who might
make this sort of nonsense up for a joke. I don’t know how I could have thought he was sweet and soulful.
‘I think I’m in a position to know more about Larry than you do,’ Nathaniel replies firmly.
‘Oh, you’ve spanked his bottom, have you?’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, I
didn’t know you were speaking from first-hand experience.’
Nathaniel blithely overlooks this remark. ‘Look, I lived in New
York up until a few months ago. I know people Larry knows. He’s got quite a reputation.’
Oh, God… maybe it’s true. Oh, the humiliation of it. How has
my life become this odd? And why did Larry choose me? Do I look like the biggest sucker in the room? I lower my head miserably.
Nathaniel touches my arm. This time I don’t flinch. ‘Look, he
only chose you because you’re so pretty. But we’ve got to go. He
really will come out and start looking for you soon.’
‘Where’s the gents’ toilet? That’s where you last saw him, isn’t i
t?’ I’m starting to panic. It’s as if I expect Larry to appear with a
big stick and demand that I spank him right there and then.
‘Yes. It’s to the right and through the…’
‘I don’t want directions to it, I just want to know if it’s
near
here,’ I gabble. ‘You’re right: I’d better go. Bye.’ I dash away from
Nathaniel down the dimly lit corridor, yank open a door and find
myself in a cleaning cupboard, surrounded by mops.
‘It’s the other way.’ Nathaniel is standing behind me.
‘What?’ I glower.
‘The exit. I’ll show you. If we go this way, we don’t have to go
anywhere near the reception.’
‘This store only opened last week. How do you know so much
about it?’ I demand. Everything about him is starting to irritate me.
‘I’ve been helping Greta with this Young Irish Talent thing. She’s my cousin.’
‘Ah, yes,’ I say. ‘I should have known.’
As I race after him down another corridor, I want him to ask
how I should have known, so I can tell him he is even more bossy
and opinionated than Greta is. But he doesn’t say anything. He
just yanks open a door beside a cement staircase. ‘Freedom!’ he
exclaims, as we find ourselves in a small and rather grimy side-street.
Good. Now I can get away from him. ‘Well, I suppose it’s goodbye, then,’ I say stonily, proffering my hand to make the whole transaction as formal as possible.
‘Since I deprived you of a meal with Larry, I think I should buy
you one myself,’ Nathaniel says. ‘Come on. I know a fabulous place. You’d love it.’
How on earth do you know what I like and what I don’t?
I think.
The cheek of you and your presumptions!
‘You look like you could do with a really nice Chinese meal, Sally Adams.’ He is standing far too close.
‘I’m married.’ I decide to just announce it.
‘Yes, I know you are, and so am I… and so, of course, is Larry.’
He smiles. Does he take
anything
seriously?
‘We shouldn’t even be
talking
like this,’ I say frostily.
‘Why didn’t you talk to me before?’ His eyes have darkened.
He’s serious now. ‘Why didn’t you talk to me at that party, years
ago?’
‘Why didn’t you talk to me?’ I counter.
‘I wanted to, but when I came over to your side of the room
you’d dashed off. Someone told me you had gone home. You were
in such a rush you even left your coat.’
I take a deep breath. This is indeed true. Now I wish I had talked to him. I would have seen he wasn’t a beautiful stranger, after all. He was just a great big handsome eejit.
‘I’m going now,’ I say firmly. ‘And I assume you’re going, too
– going home to your wife.’
‘I can’t go home to her. She’s having a torrid affair with a transvestite from the Bronx.’
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just say, ‘Oh,’ and turn on my heel and leave.
I’m almost back on Grafton Street when my mobile rings. ‘Sally?’ It’s Marie, and she’s sounding very imperious. ‘I’ve decided I have to tell you something.’
‘What?’ I demand. If she wants me to apply for another job on
Road Haulage Weekly,
I may well scream right in her ear.
‘DeeDee’s dead.’
I stop in my tracks.
‘What?’
‘She’s dead. I should have told you that.’
I lean against a wall. I can’t speak for a moment. I look at a plastic bag dancing in the wind. ‘How… how did she die?’
‘I don’t know. Some woman phoned me from Rio de Janeiro, fifteen years ago, to tell me she was dead. I was the only relative
listed in DeeDee’s address book – we used to be very close when
I was a child – and this woman thought I should know.’
I don’t say anything, so Marie adds, ‘So now you know. I
suppose I should have told you before. I didn’t want to upset you,
but then you kept going on about wanting to find her… I haven’t
told anyone else, Sally – as I’ve said, I think DeeDee is best forgotten – so let’s keep it between ourselves.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Thank you for… for telling me the truth. Bye.’
I feel winded. Dazed. Surely this can’t be true. I stare numbly
at the pavement. I don’t know why I’m so upset about someone I
never met; but I feel I
should
have met her, I should have learned her story. Tears are coursing down my cheeks, stupid tears for a
total stranger – a woman who just walked out on everyone; a woman who shouldn’t be missed.
I am so lost in my grief that I scarcely notice Nathaniel has caught up with me.
‘What is it? What was that phone call about?’
I don’t reply.
He lowers his face towards mine. ‘My car is in the next street.
Please let me buy you a meal. You can’t go home like that.’ He sounds so concerned, so tender.
I should say no. I should go home. I should call Diarmuid. But
he wouldn’t understand; he would be comforting and kind, but he
wouldn’t really get it. He would remind me that I didn’t really
know DeeDee, that she wasn’t part of my life. But she was – she
is,
in some way I can’t even explain to myself. I need someone to
talk to. I have needed it for so long.
Nathaniel offers me a paper hanky. I do not protest as he
gently takes my hand.
Chapter
Eleven
The late-evening sun
is scorching. I put my hand to my
forehead to shield my eyes from the glare. It wasn’t this hot
when I went into the reception, or when I came out of it; the heat
seems to have arrived suddenly from nowhere.
Nathaniel’s hand is warm too, warm and strong; I can almost
feel the blood pulsing through his veins. He is leading me down a
series of back streets I have never seen before, narrow alleys full of refuse sacks and the sweet, acrid scent of decay. The doors we
pass are fire exits. Scrawny stray cats dart away from us as we approach. The tall buildings at each side shield us from the sun,
and there is a blazing brilliance in the gaps. I wonder, vaguely, how
long we will be walking – half an hour, ten minutes? I don’t speak.
‘Here it is.’ Nathaniel lets go of my hand and approaches a battered blue car.
It’s a very old car. I even know the make: it’s a 2CV Citroën. I
recall a long-ago student-exchange holiday in a Paris suburb: I
was trying to improve my French, and ancient 2CVs seemed to be
everywhere, driven by young, laughing tearaways smoking Gauloises.
‘Sorry it’s such a mess.’ Nathaniel smiles as he yanks open a
door, which doesn’t appear to be locked. He starts to shove piles
of paper and magazines to the back seat, which contains a large and very dirty cushion covered in dog hair. ‘I’m a messy sort of
person, I’m afraid.’ He smiles at me, and for the first time he looks
bashful. ‘My apartment looks like a hurricane’s hit it, and my office looks like some modern-art installation called “Chaos”.’
I must look alarmed, because he laughs. ‘I am exaggerating, just slightly. I’m determined to get more organised. I’ve been throwing piles of stuff away, and buying sleek coloured files in stationery shops.’
I consider asking him what he does, but I’m facing the
challenge of getting into his ancient car. I will, apparently, have to
slide over to the passenger seat from the driver’s seat; Nathaniel
informs me that the passenger door does open from the inside, but sometimes it almost falls off with the effort. I feel muddled
and strange. The fact that his car is almost impossible to get into
seems oddly appropriate. I haven’t got into a car like this in years.
All my friends have sensible, shiny cars that purr and hum and glide. Every single one of them looks the same to me.
I twist and squirm my way into the passenger seat and thank Jesus that I am wearing trousers. If I were wearing a skirt, it would probably be up past my thighs.
‘They’re not very comfortable seats, I’m afraid,’ Nathaniel says
as he climbs in after me. ‘And the suspension is bolloxed… but I
love this car, which is just as well, because I can’t afford a new one.’ He yanks a lever and the canvas roof rolls back.
I sit there numbly. Then new plump tears start to fall down my
cheeks.
Nathaniel looks at me keenly and starts the engine. ‘It’s a weird
little place,’ he remarks, ‘but the food is great.’
‘What?’ The word seems to rise from my stomach. ‘What are
you talking about?’
‘The Chinese restaurant. And it’s cheap. Don’t be put off by the
scowls.’
‘The what?’
‘Henry, the owner, scowls at everyone. But his eyes are friendly.
He’s a great big teddy bear pretending to be a tiger.’
I feel panicky suddenly. I don’t do this kind of thing. ‘I think I
should get out.’ My voice is quivery.
‘And they do really great imported beer.’ The car is chugging
forwards erratically, as though it’s complaining about being woken from a pleasant slumber. ‘She’ll heat up in a minute.’ Nathaniel pats the dashboard affectionately. ‘You’ll feel better when you’re having some fat spring rolls. They do great spring rolls.’
I look at him dubiously.
‘And then you can tell me why you’re so sad.’