Anybody Out There - Marian Keyes (27 page)

carpet before she shrieked down the corridor, "Do you know how high the circulation of Femme
is! Do you know how many women READ it?"
Then Franklin would join in, yelling, "Without his cojones, a man is nothing!"
O     n Friday evening, when I walked into my local newsagent's to get supplies for my evening
of crying, I finally realized why I'd been so narky: I was roasting. The little shop was like an
oven.
"It's so hot!" I said to the man.
I wasn't expecting a reply because I didn't think he spoke English, but he said, "Hot! Yes! For
many days a heat wave!"
Many days? What did he mean? "What...when did this heat wave start?"
"Hah?"
"When, what day, did it start being hot?"
"Thursday."
"Thursday?" That wasn't so bad.
"Tuesday."
"Tuesday?" Said in high alarm.
"Sunday."
"It wasn't Sunday."
"Some other day. I don't know the name."
Disturbed, I slowly made my way home with my bag of sweets. This heat-wave business was not
good. I'd been so locked inside myself that although I'd noticed it, I hadn't noticed it enough.
A worry was worming at me: during the week, while I'd been going about my business, wearing
the wrong clothes for very hot weather, had I been...smelly?

A    fter my regulation-issue three hours' sleep, I woke on Saturday morning with sweat
trickling into my hair. Feck. So it was true: we were in the thick of a heat wave and it was
summer. Panic seized me.
I don't want it to be summer. Summer is too far away from when you died.
I'd thought I'd wanted enough time to pass so I could think of him without the pain killing me,
but now that it was July I wanted it to be February forever.
Time was the great healer, people said. But I didn't want to heal, because if I did I'd be
abandoning him.
Flattened by the sweltering heat, I was too hot to move. The air conditioner needed to be set up,
but it was a huge big yoke, the size of a telly. Last autumn, Aidan had put it away on a high shelf
in the living room.
The horror washed over me. You're not here to take it down.
Those odd little gaps where I'd forget, for a split second, that he had died were such a mistake,
because then I'd have to remember all over again. The shock always hit with the same force.
When would this get easier? Would it ever get easier? I'd been thinking about other people
who'd had horror visited upon them--holocaust survivors, rape victims, people who'd lost entire
families. Often they go on to live what looked like normal lives. At some stage they must have
stopped feeling like everything was a living nightmare.
Oppressed as I was by heat and grief, the seconds inched by and eventually I said to him, The
grief doesn't seem to be killing me but the heat might. So I made myself stand up and look for the
AC. It was on the highest shelf in the room. Even standing on a chair, I couldn't reach it, and
even if I could, it was too heavy for me to move.
Ornesto would have to help me get it down. I knew he was home because for the last ten minutes
he'd been singing "Diamonds Are Forever" at the top of his lungs.
He opened the door in gold lam� shorts and flowery Birkenstocks.
"You look lovely," I said.
"Come in," he invited. "Let's sing a song."
I shook my head. "I need a man."
Ornesto opened his eyes wide. "Well, where are we going to find one of them, honey?"

"You'll have to do."
"I dunno," he said doubtfully. "What does this `man' have to do?"
"Lift my air conditioner down from a high shelf and carry it over to the window."
"You know what? Let's get Bubba from upstairs to help us."
"Bubba?"
"Or something. He's a big guy. With bad clothes. He won't care if he sweats all over them.
C'mon." Ornesto led the way upstairs and knocked on number ten's door.
A deep voice called suspiciously, "Who is it?"
Ornesto and I looked at each other and got an unexpected fit of the giggles. "Anna," I called, in a
strangled voice. "Anna from number six." I nudged Ornesto.
"And Ornesto from number eight."
"Whaddaya want? To invite me to a garden party?" Pronounced "gooah-d'n paw-dee." New York
humor, see. That gave us the excuse to laugh.
"No, sir," I said. "I was wondering if you could help me move my air conditioner."
The door moved back and a saggy fiftysomething man in his vest stood there. "You need a bit of
muscle?"
"Er, yes."
"Long time since a woman said that to me. Lemme get my keys."
The three of us trooped down the stairs and into my apartment, where I pointed out the AC high
up on the shelf.
"Shouldn't be a problem," Bubba said.
"I'll help," Ornesto promised.
"Sure you will, son." But he said it nicely.
Bubba climbed up on the chair, which Ornesto made a big show of holding steady. He also
provided a stream of encouraging stuff, like "You got it. Yip, yeah...nearly, that's iiiit, just a bit
further..."

Then the AC was down and was hefted over to the window, plugged in, and--like a miracle--
mercifully cold air was blowing into the apartment. The gratitude!
I thanked the man effusively and asked, "Would you like a beer, sir?"
"Eugene." He stuck out his hand.
"Anna."
"A beer would be appreciated."
Luckily I had one. One. Literally. God knows how long it had been there.
As Eugene leaned against the kitchen counter and sucked down his possibly out-of-date beer, he
asked, "What happened to the guy who lived here? He move out or something?"
A stricken hiatus followed. Ornesto and I looked at each other.
"No," I said. "He was my husband."
I paused. I couldn't bring myself to say the D-word: it was taboo. Everyone sympathized on my
"tragedy" or my "sad loss," but no one would say "death," which often filled me with a terrible
compulsion to say loudly, "Actually Aidan died. He's dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead,
dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, DEAD. There now! It's only a word--nothing to
be frightened of!"
But I never said anything; it wasn't their fault. We get no lessons in dealing with death, even
though it happens to everyone, even though it's the only thing in life we can depend on.
I took a deep breath and flung the D-word into the middle of the floor. "He died."
"Aw, I'm so sorry, kid," Eugene said. "My wife died, too. I've been a widower for nearly five
years."
Oh my God. I'd never thought of it like that before. "I'm a widow." I started to laugh.
Strange as it may seem, it was the first time I'd used that word to describe myself. The image I
had of "widows" was of ancient, gnarled crones wearing black mantillas. The only thing I had in
common with them was the black mantilla, except that mine was pink.
I laughed and laughed until tears ran down my face. But it was the wrong sort of laughter and the
boys were clearly aghast.
Eugene gathered me to him, then Ornesto put his arms around the two of us, a strange, well-
meaning group hug. "It gets better, you know," Eugene promised me. "It really does get better."

47
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Job!
Ashamed to tell you, Anna. Trailing Detta Big, most boring job of all bloody time! You could set
watch by routine. Every morning, ten to ten, she leaves house to walk to ten o'clock mass. Every
shagging morning. Can't believe it--she's from crime dynasty, up to her neck in extortion and
God knows what else and she goes to mass every morning. Then goes to newsagent, buys twenty
Benson & Hedges and assorted other stuff. Sometimes bag of cola cubes, sometimes new Hello!,
once bag of rubber bands. Then she goes home, puts kettle on, makes tea, and sits in front of
telly, smoking and staring into space.
One morning after mass, she went to newsagent's AND chemist, where she bought corn
plasters. Thought excitement would kill me.
One afternoon, she went out in Beemer and I was praying she was meeting Racey O'Grady.
But only going to the chiropodist, obviously she has trouble with corns, then home, kettle, tea,
smoking, staring into space.
Another afternoon, went for walk on pier. Fast walker, despite corns. When she got to end, sat
on bench, smoked cigarette, stared into space, then came back. Nothing sinister. Just getting
exercise. Although some might consider that sinister.
Looks like she'd be good at cards, like she'd fleece you. Loads of feathery lines around her
mouth, from all the fags. Spends fair amount of time renewing lip liner. Fond of the sun, she's
got that leathery look. But don't get me wrong. Attractive woman, considering her age and all.
Only have to surveil her in daytime. Harry works nine-to-five, Monday to Friday. Says no
point in being crime lord if you can't work own hours. Neighbors think he's in rag trade. So
although boredom is war crime, at least got evenings and weekends to myself.
Piss. How are you getting on? Have cheery thought for you--at least Aidan didn't leave you
for other woman. Far rather someone died than did dirty on me. Mind you, if someone did dirty
on me, would kill them, so result would be same.
From anyone else, this would sound unspeakably callous. But this was Helen. This counted as
heartfelt sympathy.
48
S   till no word from Mitch by Sunday morning and I bowed to the inevitable and got ready to
go to the spiritualist-church place. Once again I got there miles too early and waited while across
the hall the South Pacific lads did their stuff.
Like the previous week, Nicholas was the first to arrive. Today his T-shirt said DEATH BEFORE
DISHONOR. "You came back! This is the best!"

I was so touched that I hadn't the heart to tell him that the second I got the number from Mitch, I
was off.
"Does Mitch come every week?" I asked.
"Most weeks. All of us come most weeks."
As I had him on his own, I had to satisfy my curiosity. "Tell me, why does Mackenzie come?
Who is she trying to contact?"
"She's looking for a lost will, that would leave this, like huge inheritance to her side of the
family. Time is running out. She's down to her last ten million dollars."
"I don't believe you."
"Which bit?"
"All of it, I suppose."
"Believe. Try it. It's fun." He grinned. "Look at me, I believe in the craziest stuff and I have a
really fun time."
"Like what?"
"Just about everything. Acupressure, aromatherapy, alien ab ductions--and that's just the As.
Government cover-ups, the power of meditation, that Elvis is alive and working in Taco Bell in
North Dakota...You name it, I believe in it. Try me."
"Um...reincarnation?"
"Check."
"JFK was killed by the CIA?"
"Check."
"That the pyramids were built by people from outer space?"
"Check."
Eagerly he watched me, almost bursting out of his skin with the desire to say "Check!" again,
when down the corridor came Leisl. She lit up like Times Square when she saw me. "Anna! I'm
so happy you came back." She gathered me into her bad perm. "I really hope you'll get a better
message this week."

Steffi, the young frumpy girl, was next and she smiled shyly and said she was glad to see me, as
did Carmela, one of the older elastic-waist ladies, then dazzling Mackenzie. Even Undead Fred
expressed pleasure at my presence.
I felt a huge rush of warmth and gratitude to them...but where was Mitch?
Down the corridor they came: Pomady Juan; groovy old Barb; a few more elastic waists--
everyone was here except Mitch.
The room was set up and the candles were flickering and we were all taking our places in the
circle of chairs and there was still no sign. I was wondering whether I should ask Nicholas if he
had a number for Mitch when the door opened.
It was him.
"Just in time," Leisl said.
"Yeah, I'm sorry." He did a quick scan of the circle and his glance landed on me. "Anna, I'm
sorry I didn't call. I lost your card. I'm a mess," he said. "But I've got the number here."
He handed me a piece of white paper and I unfolded it and gazed at the number written on it. Ten
precious digits that would lead me to Aidan. Right, I could go now!
But I stayed where I was. They'd all been so nice that I felt it would be rude to leave. And now
that I was there and the groany cello music was going full blast, I began to hope that something
might happen. I mean, what if today is the day that you decide to "come through" and I'd gone
to get a pedicure?
49
T    he first message was for Mitch.
"Trish is here," Leisl said, her eyes closed. "She looks like an angel today. So pretty, I wish you
could see her. Mitch, she's asking me to tell you that things will get better. She says she'll always
be with you, but you've got to start moving on."
Mitch looked as bleak as any person could look. "How?"
"It'll happen, if you're open to it."
"Yeah, well, I'm not open to it," Mitch said. "Trish," he said, and it was shocking hearing him
address her directly. "I'm not moving on, because I don't want to leave you behind."

Silence fell and we all shifted a little uncomfortably. After a while, Leisl spoke. "Barb, who's
Phoebe?"
"Phoebe?" Barb exclaimed, in her gravelly voice. "Well, who knew? She was one of my lovers,
we shared a guy, famous painter, modesty forbids, edcedera, edcedera. She was married to him, I
was humping him, then we both got rid of him and took up with each other. For a while. Heh,
heh, heh. So what's up, Phoebe, baby?"
"You're not going to like it."
"How do you know?"
"Okay." Leisl sighed. "I'm sorry about this, Barb, but Phoebe wants to tell you that--and I'm
quoting here--`he never loved you, you were only sex.'"
"Only sex? Whaddaya mean, `only' sex? Sex is what it's all about!"
"Let's move on," Leisl said quickly.
This is crazy, I thought. A beyond-the-grave slanging match. I shouldn't be here. I'm normal and
sane, these people are nuts...
Then Leisl said, "I'm getting a man," and my stomach nearly jumped out of my mouth. It
jumped straight back in again when Leisl said, "He's called Frazer. Mean anything to anyone?"
"Me!" Mackenzie said, at the same time as Leisl said, "Mackenzie, it's for you. He says he's
your uncle."
"Great-uncle. Cool! So where's the missing will, Great-uncle Frazer?"
Leisl listened for a moment, then said, "He says there is no missing will."
"But there's gotta be a will!"
Leisl shook her head. "He seems totally sure."
"But if there's no will, what am I going to do for money?"
"He says get a job." Pause for Leisl to listen to the voice in her head. "Or marry a rich guy."
"That's outrageous!" Leisl added.
Mackenzie's tanned face was flushed. "Tell him from me he's a drunken asshole who knows
nothing. Get me Great-aunt Morag! She'll know."
Leisl sat with her eyes closed.