The One I Love Page 10

  “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.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of a promise I made a long time ago.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  On the walk to the gallery they talked about relationships and Jim told Leslie about the women who had been in his life after Imelda. There was Mary, a librarian from Meath. She was a fan of musicals, the works of Shakespeare and, according to Jim, was passive aggressive. They’d lasted eight months, but it was only a year after Imelda and although Mary was a great cook and looked like a slightly chunkier and seriously paler Sophia Loren his heart hadn’t been in it. Then there had been Angela. She was funny, smart, attractive and kind. She also had a psycho ex-husband and four kids under the age of ten so, after he’d been punched in the face on the street and warned to leave her alone or he’d be joining his wife in the ground, he decided he needed space. She and the kids moved to the UK a month later and he hadn’t heard from her since. Then had come the Russian woman he had told her about on their first phone call. “I really thought we might have a future,” he said. “So, what about you?”

  Leslie laughed as he followed her across the street.

  “Well?” he s
aid.

  “No one.”

  “No one! In ten years there has been no one?”

  “Eighteen years, but who’s counting?”

  “Simon was your last relationship?” Jim was aghast and wasn’t too shy to reveal his astonishment. He slowed his pace and took her arm. “I know nuns that get more action than you.”

  “That’s funny because my hairdresser knew some Trappist monks with better haircuts. Coming up short against religious orders seems to be the theme of the day.”

  “I like your hair,” he said.

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  They entered the gallery and were met by Jane, who was surprisingly calm and collected despite her sister’s absence. Leslie introduced her to Jim and they shook hands and Jane complimented Leslie on looking stunning, which embarrassed her, and then she insisted they have a glass of wine and some savoury snacks. The place was packed with people and a lot were crowded around the paintings so they decided to wait until the herd thinned. They sipped wine and chatted in the corner. Jane was playing host and doing a lovely job. She was polite and pleasant to the three critics who came and she made time for all five collectors who had been supporters of Elle since the beginning of her career. She made excuses for Elle and no one seemed to mind particularly, apart from the photographer who was clearly off his face on cocaine and annoyed that he hadn’t been informed of Elle’s absence, even though plenty of other minor celebrities were there and ready to pose for him.

  “This is a joke,” he said to Jane. “Where the fuck is she?”

  “Freddie,” Jane said, “you’re not Herb Ritts. Take photos, hand them in to the media desks and shut up.”

  “That’s my girl!” Dominic said, from over Jane’s shoulder. He was on his third glass of wine and thoroughly enjoying his night.

  Freddie stormed off and started to push a TV presenter and a rugby player together, pointing at them and shouting for them to move this way and that. They complied. He moved on and pushed three blonde socialites back against a wall. Jane made a mental note never to use him again.

  Dominic put his arm around her. “Nice event,” he said. “Good wine, good food, good music – and who could have guessed Metallica would work so well sandwiched between Beethoven and Bach?”

  “It’s Rachmaninov and Chopin.”

  He nodded and whispered in her ear, “And who could guess Metallica would work so well sandwiched between Rachmaninov and Chopin? ‘You say tomato …’”

  “Get off!” She pushed him away playfully.

  Leslie appeared with Jim, and Jane made the introductions.

  Jane had filled Dominic in on Alexandra’s extraordinary disappearance and what they were doing to find her as they were driving to the gallery. He had been really shocked to hear the news – he had been friends with her before he’d got Jane pregnant and dumped her at a disco. After that Alexandra hadn’t had any time for him even if Jane did. The last time he’d seen her was just before she moved to Cork to go to college. His son was two months old and he hadn’t seen him yet. She’d pushed a picture of Kurt into his chest and told him to look at it. She’d told him it was his son and he should be ashamed. He still had the photo and he had been ashamed but, still, it would be nearly four years before he’d have the courage to knock on Jane’s door to visit his child.

  Dominic smiled at Leslie and told her she was doing a really good thing in helping to find Alexandra. “She was a great girl,” he said.

  Later, when all the people had gone and Dominic and Jane were alone, he helped her clear the tables and box up the unused glasses.

  “I missed so much,” he said, out of nowhere.

  “So much of what?” Jane asked, too tired to try to work out what was going on in his head.

  “Of Kurt.”

  “Oh,” she said, and sighed. “Yes, you did.”

  “I was such an arsehole.”

  “You still are.”

  She was smiling so he knew she was playing with him.

  “I regret every day I wasn’t around.”

  “Well, at least you got to have a life.”

  “I really left you in it,” he admitted. “If I could go back …”

  “You’d do exactly the same thing.”

  “Don’t say that, Janey.”

  “You know, I don’t think Kurt even remembers a time when you weren’t a part of his life.”

  “But you do,” Dominic said.

  Jane didn’t want to talk about it so she got busy brushing the floor.

  “For a girl forced out of school you’ve done an amazing job here,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “And, for the record, I would change it if I could just so I could stop you calling our kid after a heroin addict with a death wish.”

  Jane laughed. “That was unfortunate.”

  She locked up and Dominic followed her to the car. They got in, and as Jane drove, Dominic fiddled with the CD player. “Dido, no … Dixie Chicks, no and no … James Morrison, shoot me … Ray LaMontagne, Jesus, Jane – Jack Lukeman … Remember that night?” He grinned.

  “Yes, I remember.” She blushed a little and laughed.

  Dominic flicked along until he hit track twelve. It began with a bass drum kicking. Dominic and Jane fell into silence and she drove through the dark streets intermittently lit by fluorescent lights of different shapes and colours. The car was warm and outside the rain came tumbling down. She turned the windscreen wipers on and Jack L began to sing.

  “Take me to the edge of town,

  watch the evening veil come down,

  I’ll tell you all my hopes and dreams,

  hold your tongue ’cos I believe

  For me there will be only one,

  yeah for me there will be only one.”

  Dominic turned in his seat so that he could watch her. She saw him staring from the corner of her eye and his gaze made her both happy and uncomfortable.

  “I’ll take you to the silver well,

  make a wish, I’ll cast a spell

  That you’ll remain here by my side,

  childlike thoughts I cannot hide

  For me there will be only one,

  yeah for me there will be only one.”

  “Stop staring,” she said.

  “Can’t help it. I’m remembering that night.”

  “Well, stop remembering.”

  “Can’t.”

  “You’re married.”

  “Memories are allowed.”

  “I wish you’d stop.” She was becoming more uncomfortable.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Unfair.” He turned to face the road.

  “‘Until stars come showering down, till the seven seas engulf this town …’”

  Jane turned off the CD player and they drove the rest of the way to her house in silence.

  Elle arrived home two days after her exhibition had opened. She got out of the taxi, paid the man and walked through the side gate that led to her little cottage at the end of the garden. Her mother was tending her witch hazels. She called to Elle, and Elle stopped and turned towards her. Rose stood up slowly and took off her gloves. She pointed to the garden furniture and Elle sat. Rose joined her. They were both wearing heavy coats but Rose could tell that her daughter had lost a lot of weight.

  “Did you have a good time?” Rose asked.

  “Brilliant.”

  “Jane was worried.”

  “Jane worries too much.”

  “That’s what I told her. We all need to escape every now and then, don’t we?”

  “We do.”

  “And you’re happy to be home now?” Rose asked.

  Elle laughed a little. “And what about you, Mum?”

  “I’m as good as can be expected.”

  “And Jane?”

  “She’s fine. Dominic’s been sniffing around.”

  “Bored with the new wife already,” Elle said, and her mother nodded.

  “You know what that means, don’t you?” said Rose
. “Poor Janey will no doubt make a fool of herself again.”

  “Well, if anyone knows about being a fool, I do,” Elle said.

  “Vincent is the fool and if I ever see him again he’ll be a fool without a penis,” said Rose.

  Elle got up. “It’s cold.”

  “That’s winter for you.”

  “I’m going inside now.”

  “Me too.”

  Elle walked towards the front door of her cottage and took down the “Gone Fishing” sign. Her mother called after her and she turned to face her.

  “Good to have you home,” Rose said.

  Elle smiled at her, turned the key in the door and entered her cottage. Rose picked up her garden shears and walked down to the basement and to the promise of a nice glass of hot whiskey. She took a large gulp and when her eyes filled with tears she wiped them away and finished the glass. Please don’t frighten me like that again.

  *

  When darkness had descended and Jane noticed the light on in Elle’s cottage, she ran through the garden and up the path that led to the door. She knocked before opening it slowly and creeping inside. Elle was in her sitting room, cuddled up on the sofa, music playing in the background. Jane sat beside her.

  “Hi, Jane.”

  “Hi, Elle.”

  “How was the opening?”

  “We sold the lot.”

  “Good. Sorry I didn’t make it.”

  “It’s okay. Actually, it made my job a lot easier.”

  “Oh, good. Did you miss me?”

  “I did.”

  “I’m sorry for setting Vincent’s car on fire. I’m sorry for all of it.”

  “I took care of it.”

  “I know. You always do.” She sighed. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Jane smiled at her sister. “I’m glad you’re home. You look tired.”

  “I’m exhausted.”

  Jane took Elle by the hand and lifted her off the sofa. Then, arm in arm, they walked to the bedroom where Jane tucked her sister into bed. “You fall asleep now and when you get up I’ll make you your favourite breakfast.”