The One I Love (12 page)

“Yeah, I mean, what have I got to lose?” Julie said.

“Are you insane?” Leslie asked, and the two girls looked at her in the mirror.

“What do you mean?” Julie asked.

“How long have you been with Joseph?”

“A year.”

“What age are you?”

“Twenty-one. I’ll be twenty-two in April.”

“What rate are you buying your mortgage at?”

“Don’t know.”

“How much will you be paying back per month?”

“No clue.”

“What’s your rush?”

“I need to get on the property ladder.”

“You’re twenty-one. You’ve got another ten years to get on the property ladder.”

“Yeah, well, I want to do it now.”

“Look, it’s none of my business but around here, well, let’s be honest, it’s a kip. You don’t want to pay three hundred and ninety K for a one-bed apartment in a kip, especially when you’re paying back a hundred per cent mortgage, no doubt on a non-competitive rate and with a boy you’ve only been with for one year. It’s madness.”

“It’s not a kip around here,” Julie said indignantly. “I grew up around here. My ma lives around the corner.”

“What happens if you can’t afford the mortgage?”

“But we can.”

“What happens if mortgage rates go up and you can’t afford the mortgage?”

“We’re going for a fixed-rate mortgage,” Julie said, delighted she could answer at least one of the annoying woman’s questions.

“What if you lose your job?” Leslie asked.

“I’m not going to,” Julie said, looking around uncomfortably.

“What if you split up with your boyfriend?”

“We’re happy.”

“Happy now, but in six months’ time with a ridiculously large mortgage to pay in an apartment the size of a box of matches you might not be. In fact, if I was a betting woman I’d put a hundred euro on it not lasting the year.”

Julie started to cry.

“What is wrong with you?” Esther asked Leslie, and she took Julie into the break room.

Sophie reappeared and silently resumed dyeing Leslie’s hair.

“Is Julie okay?” Leslie asked. “I was only trying to help.”

“No talking,” Sophie said.

Leslie shook her head.
Fair enough
.

When the dye was finally washed out, after what seemed an eternity, the girl who’d originally consulted with her returned, scissors in hand. She worked quickly and silently and Leslie relaxed. She blow-dried and fixed with a little wax. Then she stood back and Leslie looked at herself.

Although she was forty and had a few age spots on her face and chest, she still had a tight jawline and protruding cheekbones. The copper worked against her brown eyes and the short, elfin style suited her features. The girl was smiling. Some other girls, not Julie, came over and all said they had done a fantastic job and Leslie agreed.
Not bad. Not bad at all
.

Bolstered by her new look she stopped at a makeup counter in Brown Thomas. The girl did her makeup while describing to her what she was using to cover her troublesome areas. She’d asked for something natural and the girl did as instructed: dark eyes, light lips, flawless skin. By the end of it she looked and felt like a new woman and was
so impressed she ended up spending more than two hundred euro on the products the girl recommended even though she would never be able to re-create the look at home.

She checked her watch and it was after five. She decided to grab something quick to eat upstairs in BT’s before she’d head to the pub where Jim would be waiting. When she’d asked him to Elle’s opening she’d felt good about it, but now that the time had come she felt slightly regretful. It had been so long since she’d seen him, almost a lifetime had passed, and they had never really been that close.
What the hell am I at?
she thought, as she queued for a table.

Jane spent the day running around. She started by picking up boxes of wine from the wine merchants. She dropped them off at the catering company, then went to the gallery and hung the paintings. After that she went to a music shop and picked up some music that fitted the theme of the exhibition, “Angels and Demons”. As most of the angels and demons were copulating, she chose a mix of metal and classical. After that she got her hair done, and after that she returned to the gallery to set out tables and to load the CD player. When the place was spick and span, the paintings secure on the walls and the tables ready for the caterer, she drove home to shower and change.

She heard Kurt laugh in the kitchen and then she heard Dominic’s voice and he was laughing too, and she couldn’t remember the last time she and her son had laughed together. She entered the kitchen and Dominic stood up and surveyed her before hugging her. “You look great.”

She smiled and told him he didn’t look so bad himself.
She inquired as to what was so funny but neither her son nor his father was willing to share the joke.
In-joke bastards
.

“Are you hungry?” Dominic asked.

“I’m not cooking for you. I’m too busy.”

“I know. Kurt told me you have the exhibition tonight so I brought pizza.”

“Ah, thanks but no, I’ll just have a coffee.”

Kurt got up and checked the pizza, which was cooking in the oven. It was ready so he plated up. Dominic and Kurt ate their pizza and Jane drank her coffee.

“So, Elle’s gone fishing?” Dominic said.

“Afraid so. Still, it’s probably for the best. I’ve heard a rumour that Pat Hogan is coming.”

“Who’s Pat Hogan?” Kurt said, with his mouth full.

“Don’t talk with a full mouth,” she said. “He’s a critic that Elle threatened to stab when she was at art college.”

“Yeah, well, that wasn’t yesterday,” said Dominic. “I’m sure it’s all forgotten.”

“No – it’s funny, he loves her work but, my God, she hates him.”

“Dad, tell Mum about your new bike,” Kurt said, and then he opened his mouth wide to show his mother that it had been empty before he spoke.

“Funny,” she said. “What’s this about a bike?”

Dominic was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “It’s a Harley.”

“A road king,” Kurt said.

“Black cherry.”

“And black pearl.”

“It’s a real beaut.”

“I’d swap my dick for one,” Kurt said.

Dominic laughed, while Jane covered her ears and smiled.

“How’s Bella?” Jane asked.

“Oh, she’s not talking to me,” Dominic said.

“Because you’re a selfish prick who nearly killed himself on a motorbike a year ago and, having promised faithfully that you would never get on a bike again, you’ve gone behind her back and bought a Harley?”

“Got it in one.”

“Jesus, Dominic, what is wrong with you?”

He grinned at her. “Ah, come on, Janey, Bella’s already giving me hell. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

She smiled at him. “Okay, I’ll be happy for you. Congratulations on your new bike. Please don’t cripple or kill yourself.”

“Ah, thanks for worrying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He winked at her.

She smiled and blushed a little.
Oh, grow up, Jane
.

“Jane? Jane? Jane? Are you there? Jane?” Rose’s voice came over the intercom.

Dominic stood up and pressed the button. “Hi, Rose.”

“Who let you in?” Rose asked.

“My son.” Dominic smiled.

“I want Jane.”

“I’m sorry. Jane is currently not available. Is there something I can do for you?”

“You can go back under the rock you’ve climbed out from.”

“I miss you too, Rose.”

“I want Jane.”

Jane stood up and pushed Dominic out of the way. “Yes, Rose.”

“Have you heard from Elle?”

“No.”

Rose hung up.

Dominic turned to Jane. “So, are you going to invite me to this shindig or what?”

“Don’t you have a home to go to?”

“Maybe tomorrow when she’s cooled down.”

“Nice one, Dad. I’ll make up the spare room,” Kurt said.

Dominic reached into his pocket, took out a twenty-euro note and handed it to him. Kurt pocketed the money and headed out of the door towards the spare room.

“You don’t mind?” Dominic said.

“I don’t seem to have a choice.” But she was smiling, indicating that she didn’t mind. In fact, it was obvious she was really happy.
Get a grip, Jane, he married someone else
, she thought, as she made her way up to the shower.

Leslie walked into the bar and, although it had been at least ten years since she’d seen him, she recognized him immediately. He was reading a newspaper and when she tapped him on the shoulder he managed to appear slightly surprised that she’d shown up. He stood up and he was shorter than she remembered. They hugged awkwardly.

“You’re taller than I remember,” he said.

“Heels,” she said, and pointed to her brand-new pair of black wedges.

“Jeepers, the last time I saw you you wore nothing but sneakers.”

She didn’t tell him that this was the first time in years she had worn anything but MBTs, which, basically, were posh sneakers that made her work harder when she walked.

They sat down and he asked her if she wanted a drink and she said a white wine would be lovely, and he went to get one, and she was alone waiting for him to come back and her heart was racing and her palms sweating. He had aged around the eyes and he’d shaved his head. He was thinner than she recalled but he still had his dimples, the ones that had made Imelda go weak at the knees, and the warm smile she had loved so much.

What do we talk about? I hope I don’t make him cry. That last time I saw him I made him cry. Why did I do that? What’s wrong with me?

As it turned out, they had little or no trouble finding things to talk about. He came back with her wine and she asked him what he had been reading about and he told her and they talked about it and then they moved on to books, and they both liked to read and shared a taste in books so that gave them at least another hour of great conversation. Neither liked the cinema so they discussed why they didn’t and then Leslie attempted to persuade Jim about the benefits of broadband. She couldn’t believe he was not yet converted.

“So you’ve never sent an email?”

“No.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Is it?”

“And you’ve never surfed the net?”

“I wouldn’t know how to – besides, I don’t have the knees for it.” He laughed at his own joke.

“If only that were funny, Jim.” She shook her head. “You’re a dinosaur, my friend.”

“Sorry, I’ll try to do better.” He smiled. She had called
him a friend. Imelda would be happy. “What about you?” he asked. “Still thinking about surgery?”

She nodded. “I’ve been to three specialists since we last spoke, and I’m doing it.”

It was strange that Jim was the only one she had told, but then again it wasn’t that strange. After all, who would understand better than him? She was hardly going to tell her new friends and didn’t have anyone else in her life.

“When?” he asked.

“July. The first of July.” She nodded to herself. “That’s the date they’ve given me.”

“It’ll be hard. You’ll need help.”

“I’m going from the hospital to a nursing-home,” she said, smiling. “It’s a really nice place. It’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.”

“You’re not as strong as you think you are. They’re going to take your womb and your breasts,” he hunched his shoulders, “and that’s not fine.”

For the first time since Leslie had decided on surgery she felt her eyes fill. It had been such a relief to think that she would no longer be burdened by an imaginary time-bomb ticking loudly in her head. She would be free and that was bigger than a pair of breasts and a womb she was almost done with anyway. But at those words and the way Jim had said them – “They’re going to take your womb and your breasts” – she felt a fat tear drop from her eyelid onto her cheek and slide down to her chin. She stopped it with her hand before it made its way to her neck.

Jim saw her single tear and made no apology for causing it. He needed to know that she understood the gravity of what she was doing because, although he agreed with her decision, it had occurred to him, having known her of old,
that she wouldn’t allow herself to think or talk about the pain it caused her. They sat in silence and sipped their drinks.

After a while Leslie looked Jim in the eye. “Do you remember your wedding day?”

“Like it was yesterday.”

“Imelda insisted I be bridesmaid and even though I kicked and screamed she got her way. She made me wear peach, which is a colour I detest, and the hairdresser piled my hair so high on my head that I looked like Marge Simpson.”

“I remember.” He grinned.

“We got dressed together, we got our makeup done together and we drank a glass of champagne and we laughed at my dress, even though she swore she loved it. We talked about the future and all the babies she was going to have.”

“Oh, don’t,” he said, and closed his eyes.

“I wrote her a poem and she laughed so hard she held her ribs.” She smiled at the memory. “What was it again? ‘Imelda sighed, Imelda cried, the day she met Jim the Ride – He was short, she was tall, he took her up against the wall.’” She thought for a second. “‘She had style, he had wit, he really thought he was the shit!’” She laughed a little. “I can’t remember …”

“‘Love is blind, that’s what they say – it must be, it’s her wedding day!’” Jim said, chuckling.

“I can’t believe you remembered!”

“She repeated it often enough.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no poet laureate but you must admit it has a kind of bawdy charm, even if I do say so myself,” she said. “And after the church we all walked through a wood to the reception and it was such a hot day – do you remember how blue the sky was?”

“Not a cloud in it.”

“And the band played all the best songs and we danced all night.”

“It was a great day.”

“It was my sister’s wedding and I can honestly say it was my best day. They may be taking my breasts and my womb but for the first time I feel like I have a chance of having my own best day.”

Jim nodded and raised his glass. She raised hers. “I’ll drink to that!” he said, and they clinked. “And, Leslie, when you need someone, and you will, promise you’ll call me.”