Anybody Out There - Marian Keyes (40 page)

was pivotal to me. I needed it; it kept me going. It gave me a reason to get up in the morning and
it took my mind off things.
Not to mention that I got paid for it, which was vital, as I was up to my eyes in debt. I'd moved
two and a half grand into a separate account as soon as I'd heard from Neris Hemming's people,
so at least that was safe. Other than that, I was just making the minimum card payments every
month. I'd done a very good job of shutting out the fear but the idea of being unemployed
brought it all rushing in. I'd read somewhere that the average New Yorker was just two
paychecks away from the street. For as long as I was earning money I could keep the show on
the road, but even a couple of wageless weeks could mean everything collapsing. I'd probably
have to give up the apartment, I might even have to go back to Ireland. And I couldn't do that, I
had to be in New York to be near Aidan. I had to do this pitch.
Then I got indignant: What if I really was seriously sick? What if I had cancer and was due my
first session of lifesaving radiation treatment the morning of the pitch to Devereaux? Wasn't
Franklin being a little inhumane? Hadn't this whole work ethic thing gone too far?
I tried to think of other ways around the dilemma: I could call Neris on my cell phone from a
coffee shop near work, then be at work just after nine. Indeed, I could even try to make the call
from my desk. Except I couldn't; I wouldn't be able to properly savor my conversation with
Aidan.
Things clicked into place; I'd made my decision. Not that there had ever really been any doubt. I
would talk to Neris and blow off the pitch.
I made my way to Franklin's desk.
"Can I have a word?"
Coldly, he nodded.
"Franklin, I can't be at the pitch. But someone else could do mine. Lauryn could."
Exasperated, he said, "We need you, you're the one with the scar. Lauryn hasn't got a scar." He
was silent for a moment, and I'm sure he was considering if he could scar Lauryn. He must have
decided that, darn, he couldn't because he asked, "What's got you so sick?"
"It's, um, gynecological." I thought it would be safe saying that to him, what with him being a
man. It had always worked in other jobs--telling a man boss I had period pains, when I just
wanted the afternoon off to go shopping. Usually they couldn't get rid of me quick enough--you
could see the terror written all over them: Just don't say the word menstruating. Instead Franklin
leaped up from behind his desk, grabbed me, and wove speedily through the desks.
"Where are we going?"
"To see Mommy."

Shite, shite, shite, shite, shite.
"She says she can't make the pitch," Franklin said, very loudly. "She says she's got a medical
appointment. She says it's gynecological."
"Gynecological?" Ariella said. "She's having an abortion?" She looked at me in powder-blue
shoulder-padded fury. "You're missing my pitch to Formula Twelve for a lousy abortion?"
"No. Oh my God, no, not at all." I was terrified at what I'd got myself into, terrified by her rage,
terrified by my lies, terrified at what I'd unleashed.
And I'd have to come up with more lies. And quickly.
"It's um, my, cervix."
"Is it cancer?" She tilted her head inquiringly and held my look for a long, long moment. "Do
you have cancer?" The message was clear: if I had cancer, she'd allow me to miss the pitch.
Nothing less would do. But I couldn't bring myself to say it.
"Precancerous," I choked out, dying with shame at what I was saying.
Jacqui had had a precancerous situation in her cervix a couple of years back. At the time we'd all
cried, convinced she was going to die, but after the tiniest little operation that didn't even involve
a local anesthetic, she was fully restored to health.
Suddenly Ariella went very calm. Scary calm. Her voice dropped to her sore-throat whisper.
"Anna, have I not been good to you?"
I felt sick. "Of course, Arie--"
But there was no stopping her. I'd have to sit through the whole speech.
"Have I not taken care of you? Put clothes on your back? When we were representing Fabrice &
Vivien before the ungrateful fucks went elsewhere? Do I not put makeup on your face? Food in
your mouth in the finest restaurants in town? Did I not keep your job open for you when your
husband bought the farm? Took you back although you have a scar on your face that would scare
even Dr. De Groot?"
As she said the final, damning line, I said it, too, in my head.
And this is how you repay me?
76

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Off the case!
All right, all right, keep your pants on! Just 'cos Aidan died doesn't mean rest of us will.
Anyway, showed Harry the photos of Detta drinking tea with Racey and he said: Ah, there's no
sexual chemistry there at all. Nothing going on there, nothing. No, the leak must be coming from
somewhere else. Colin, back to the drawing board. Miss Walsh, I'm happy to say you can go
now.
Me: Thanks be to Christ. Antipathy is mutual. (Liked saying that.) Bye, Colin, nice working
with you, stay in touch.
Gave him little smile, he looked quite bereft.
So there you are, all over, not shot, nothing to worry about, you big wussy wuss-girl.
It was a relief to know that she wasn't putting herself in danger any longer. (If she ever had
been.) Funnily enough, now that it was over, I had to admit that I was slightly curious--had
Detta really been giving Harry's secrets to Racey? It was strange because it felt more like a soap
opera than real life, but unlike a soap opera, it had come to an abrupt end.
O    ver the next two weeks, Wendell and I were put through myriad run-throughs of the pitch
so that we were letter-perfect. Ariella and Franklin cross-examined us, pretending to be the
Devereaux executives. They flung queries on costings, timings, customer profile, competitors--
every conceivable question we might be asked. Then some of the other senior girls were brought
in to see if any questions had been left unasked, so there would be no surprises on the big day.
I went along with it even though I knew I wouldn't be there.
But I'd co-opted Teenie; we'd gone for lunch and I'd sworn her to secrecy.
"The pitch on Wednesday? I can't make it."
"Wha--?"
"You do my pitch. Cover yourself in glory."
"But, oh my God! I mean, like, you can't be...Ariella will go crazy."
"Yes, and then she'll need someone to do my pitch. Make sure it's you. Do not let Lauryn muscle
in on this."

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: All is revealed
Dear Anna,
You'll never guess who Nan O'Shea is. Go on, have a go. You'll never get it. I'll give you a hint.
It is all your father's fault. Something I should have known all along. Go on, guess. I'm not
going to tell you yet. I want you to have a good long guess at it. Wait'll you hear, though--you'll
never believe it!
Your loving mother,
Mum
On the eve of the pitch, Wendell and I were put through our paces one final time. At about six-
thirty, Ariella called it a day.
"Okay, that's enough," she said. "Let's keep it fresh."
"See you tomorrow, Anna," Franklin said meaningfully.
"Bright and early," I said.
I hadn't decided if I would come in after the phone call with Neris, or if I would simply never
come back.
Just in case, I took my framed photo of Aidan off my desk, put it in my bag, and said good-bye to
Teenie and Brooke.
77
I  t felt like the night before the most important day of my life. I couldn't settle to anything. I
was excited, but also anxious.
Aidan, what if you don't come through? How will I cope? Where can I go from there?
When the phone rang I jumped. It was Kevin; I let the machine pick up. "Anna," he said. "I gotta
talk to you, this is urgent, urgent, urgent. Call me."
I barely registered it.
Sometime later--I had no idea how long--my buzzer went. I ignored it but it rang again. On the
third go, I answered. Whoever was out there wanted to talk to me pretty badly.
It was Jacqui. "You'll never guess," she said.

"So tell me."
"I'm pregnant."
I stared at her and she stared back at me. "What?" she said.
"What what?"
"You looked weird."
I'd felt weird. My womb had sort of twanged.
"Are you jealous?" she asked. Just like that.
"Yes," I said. Just like that.
"I'm sorry. And I don't even want to be effing pregnant. Isn't life shit?"
"Yes. And isn't this a bit fast? You're only barely in love."
"Do you know when it happened? The first night. The first effing night! When you were in the
Hamptons. Can you believe it? Condom burst, I meant to get the morning-after, but we spent the
next three days in bed and I forgot about it and then it was too late. I'm only six weeks' pregnant
but they count from your last period, so I'm officially eight weeks."
"Does Narky Joey know?"
She shook her head. "No, and when I tell him, he'll break up with me."
"But he's mad about you."
She shook her head. "Dopamine. Teenie explained it to me at your birthday--she knows a lot,
that girl--when men think they're in love, it's only because their brain is producing too much
dopamine. It usually goes away after the first year, which explains a lot. But if I tell him I'm
pregnant, I bet it'll go away immediately."
"Why would it?"
"Narky Joey doesn't want responsibility."
"But..."
"It's too soon. We barely know each other. Maybe if it had happened in six months' time we
might have been secure enough to take it, but it's too soon."
"Talk to him about it, it might all be okay."

"Maybe."
I made myself say it, but curiously I didn't want to. "You do have other options."
"I know. I've been thinking." Pause. "Being pregnant isn't the horrible disaster it would have
been five years ago, or even three years. Back then, I'd no security, I hadn't a bean, and I'd
definitely have had a termination. But now...I have an apartment, I have a well-paid job--it's
not their fault that I can't live within my means--and I sort of like the idea of having a baby
round the place."
"Um...Jacqui, having a baby is a huge life-changing event. It's not like getting a Labradoodle.
You mightn't even be able to do your well-paid job. Are you sure you've really thought this
through?"
"Oh yeah! It'll cry a lot, I'll be skint." She paused, "Skinter; I'll look like a hag, my nanny will
steal from me, but it'll be fun! Let's hope I get a girl baby, their clothes are much nicer."
Then she burst into tears.
"Thank God," I said. "That's the first normal thing you've done."
A    fter she left, I tried but never got properly to sleep. I just skimmed the surface and was fully
awake again by 5 A.M. I was also in worse pain than usual--something to do with my heightened
emotional state? I watched the clock count down to eight-thirty, when I would finally get to talk
to Aidan. My stomach churned and I felt tingly and sick. To pass the time, I got my e-mails.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Full frontals
You're not going to believe what's happened. This morning in post, got A-4 envelope, full of
photos of Racey and Detta riding the arse off each other. Nothing left to imagination--mickeys
and full frontals and the whole war-crime business. You'd need strong stomach.
So they were at it all along! Harry was right, I was wrong. But why is someone sending me
pictures of them, especially now I'm off case?
Rang Colin. Asked him what should I do?
Let's discuss it, he says. In bed.
Oo-er, don't mind if I do, missus!
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: All is revealed

Dear Anna,
I know you have a fair bit on your mind at the minute but I must admit I am slightly hurt that you
haven't seen fit to reply to me with your guesses. I know that our little "drama" here isn't
anything as exciting as the things that go on in New York city but I thought you might humor us
a bit. So go on, guess who Nan O'Shea is. Go on, try! You'll never guess!
Your loving mother,
Mum
P.S. If you don't "guess," I will be very annoyed.
To get her off my back, I dashed off an absentminded reply.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: All is revealed
I don't know. I give up. Is she an old girlfriend of Dad's?
I'd waited so long to talk to Aidan that I'd started to believe that eight-thirty would never come.
But it did. Light-headed, I looked at the two hands on the clock; they were in the magic
formation, the time had finally arrived. I picked up the phone and punched the numbers.
It rang four times, then a woman's voice said hello and I was shaking so much I could hardly
speak to say, "Hello, is that Neris?"
"Yeees?" Said cautiously.
"Hello, it's me, Anna Walsh, I'm calling from New York for my reading."
"Um." She sounded perplexed. "Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes! Yes! Of course I do! I've paid and everything. I can give you the name of the person who
set this up."
"Oh, I'm sorry, honey, I've got construction workers in here, running all over the place. I told the
office. No way can I concentrate on a reading."
Shock robbed me of speech. This couldn't be happening. My call waiting started clicking. I
ignored it.
"You mean you're not going to channel for me?"
"Not right now, honey."
"But we have an appointment. I've been desperate for this day to come--"

"I know, honey. Call the office. Let's reschedule."
"But I had to wait three months for this appointment and--"
"I'll tell them to prioritize you."
"There's no chance we could do something quick just now, is there?"
"No, there sure is not." Her breezy tone stayed breezy but with a steely addition. "Call the office.
Y'all take care now."
And she was gone.
78
I   stared at the phone, then a tangle of outrage, disappointment, and thwarted hope erupted
together. Unlike the occasional surges of terrible anger, which usually departed after one snarky
sentence, I was overwhelmed by an entire reservoir of white-hot fury--not with Neris but with
Aidan.
"Why won't you talk to me?" I screeched. "Why are you blocking me at every fucking turn? I've
given you every fucking opportunity." I was pulling at my hair. "And why did you have to die?
You should have tried harder, you lazy, useless BASTARD. If you'd loved me enough, you'd
have stayed alive, you'd have held on to your life. You fucking useless PRICK, just giving in like
that."
I hit redial and got the engaged tone and that just made me worse. This was no accident.
"Why won't you talk to me?" I shrieked. "You're too fucking CHICKEN, that's why! You had a
CHOICE, you could have STAYED, but you didn't care about me enough, you didn't love me
enough, you were more concerned with YOURSELF."
Eventually I ran out of words, and over and over again, I shrieked into my hands, tearing my
throat raw as I tried to get the rage out of me.
I couldn't stay in the apartment; it was too small to contain my feelings. In a haze of red, I made
for the door. Passing the computer, I saw that a new e-mail had arrived. I didn't know what I was
hoping for--a new appointment time with Neris, maybe?--but it was only from Helen.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Full frontals