Friends Like Us (15 page)

At home, the next day, Steph felt all the feelings, disappointment, rage, sadness, begin to spark again, but instead, Stepford Wife-style, she popped in the dishwasher tablet and turned it on. She even practised her fake smile when she was on her own but it was beginning to hurt her cheeks and her eyes, she had noticed, had a crazed hollow look. She looked not quite real, like a waxwork. Exhibit A: unhappy wife.

Poor Melissa! She had been so brave to say what she had. She couldn't stop thinking about her. At least, they could now talk about it. That would help, surely?

She wondered if she too would ever be able to express how lonely she was, how certain she was that her husband was a bully and an adulterer and how fearful that she may have lost Rachel. She didn't think she could ever say it out loud. If people knew the truth, it would make her failure official. Eilis was on her way round for a cup of tea, they were neighbours after all and Melissa lived in town, and she had to look normal and definitely not unhappy.

When Steph and Rick moved into the house on Kish Road, Rachel was only three. The cracks in their marriage were already crevasses but they had a young child and Steph didn't dwell on them. The problem, she thought now, was that there hadn't been proper love, real love there in the first place. And they would never have got married if she wasn't pregnant.

The family next door seemed just like them. There was Miriam and Hugh and their three-year-old daughter Aoife, and a few years later, little Sorcha arrived. It suited everyone when the families began spending weekends together, and even holidays. There were dinner parties, joint children's parties with huge bobbing bouncy castles and bottles of fizzy orange. It took the bare look off an unsuccessful marriage. But now, of course, there was the not inconsiderable and rather inconsiderate matter that Rick was sleeping with Miriam. And Angeline. And… there were most likely to be more. There had to be. And then there was the bullying, the anger, the ignoring, the total disinterest in her life. It ground you down all of that, until you begun to lose sight of who you really were.

There was a ring of the doorbell.

‘Eilis! Come on in. Kettle's on.' The hugged hello. ‘It's so nice to see a friendly face,' Steph said. ‘Come in…' she led the way to the kitchen.

Steph noticed Eilis looking around, the old dresser she found at an auction, an armchair with a flattened cushion on it and a rug. A book titled
Finding Your Spark
was spread open on the arm.

‘The house looks nice,' Eilis said. ‘You know, cosy.'

‘Does it?' Steph laughed. ‘It's messy, though. I never seem to win against the clutter. I'd love a minimal space, a blank canvas.'

‘Well, that's what I've got. Rob's choice. Everything is hard and poky. I was thinking of buying a chair, just for me, something soft, but no one is allowed to sit in it but me. Like yours.' Steph wondered if all was well with Eilis. Didn't she have a choice about the furnishings?

‘Well,' she said. ‘Rick's got his study, Rachel's got her bedroom and I've got the kitchen. Well, one chair.'

‘Everyone needs a chair.'

‘A chair of one's own. You can do lots of things in a chair. Reading, thinking…'

‘Exactly. So will you come round and see our uncosy cottage? It's Rob's vision, everything Danish and designer. Even his egg cup. I've got my garden, though. My oasis.'

‘These things are important… egg cups and… and tea towels.' They laughed.

‘Our kettle has –' Eilis dropped to a stage-whisper ‘– a remote control.'

‘Wow.' Steph was feeling so much better that she had a friend in her house, it gave her a greater feeling of possession, of ownership, having Eilis around and hearing about her life. She put down a pot of tea and two large mugs. ‘Now that's serious. Why on earth would you want that?'

‘And I'm always losing it. There's always a frantic search for it before I can even have a cup of tea!' They laughed.

‘You should buy your own, to be beside Rob's. And while he's still trying to find the remote, you could be sipping your tea. He'll soon realize that normal kettles are fine. Rick has pretty firm ideas of things too,' Steph said. ‘He actually chose this kitchen. Though God knows why as he's never here. But he wanted the double burner and the ice-maker. And the wine fridge, too.'

‘That's considerate,' said Eilis. ‘A nice full wine fridge.'

‘I would prefer it,' said Steph, ‘if we had a chocolate fridge. You know, to make sure chocolate was kept at the perfect temperature.'

‘There's a business idea in there somewhere,' said Eilis.

‘Somewhere!'

Steph would have loved to talk about Rick, what was really going on. Not just skimming the surface. She realised that this hinting that all was not well was desperate, hoping someone might see the truth and know the pain she was in. She was so lonely, she longed to open up to someone. She was just about to say something, to admit all was not going well when they heard Rachel from upstairs.

‘Mum! Muuuuu-um!'

‘Yes darling?' She dashed out of the kitchen to attend the emergency. An angry face at the top of the stairs: Rachel, furious, incandescent.

‘Have you been
tidying
my room again?'

‘Just straightened up a few things, picked up your clothes, collected some mugs, that sort of thing. I found mould –
mould
– inside those mugs.' Steph tried to sound confident, but inside, her chest was constricted. A permanent fixture. She couldn't remember the last time she breathed freely. She had even given up her weekly yoga class as she would lie there supine with nothing to do in the quiet except think about how unhappy she was. It became embarrassing, pretending she wasn't crying.

‘They are
my
mugs. Okay?'

‘Technically, they belong to the family,' said Steph, immediately wishing she hadn't. Teenage wrath was, she was learning, best avoided. Brilliant, she thought, your parenting is brilliant.

Rachel death-stared at her. ‘Just
leave
everything. It's
my
room. Okay? And
now
I can't find anything and NOW I'm going to be late. And IT'S YOUR FAULT.'

Should Steph shout back? No, she wasn't much good at shouting. Try and argue and reason her point? Maybe she shouldn't have tidied up. It was interfering, but then again things had to be cleaned. She just didn't know. She glanced at Eilis who was pretending not to hear anything, just gazing out of the window.

‘I'm just trying to get everything ready for the weekend. Getting
your
stuff together? You're staying with Granny and Granddad. While we're in Rome. Okay? And Rachel?'

‘
What
?'

‘Do you want to meet Eilis… you haven't seen her since you were tiny.'

There was no answer.

Steph went back into the kitchen, smiling in an embarrassed way at Eilis. ‘Teenagers!'

And then there was a sound of feet on the stairs and then into the room came Rachel.

‘Oh darling, there you are.' Steph was beaming now, genuine delight and pride. ‘This is Eilis… you have heard me talk about her so many times. She lives in Dalkey now. Again. She grew up in the village. I was up on the hill.'

Rachel shook hands. ‘Pleased to meet you,' she said.

‘So you're in Fifth Year now,' said Eilis.

‘Yeah…'

‘And how's it going?'

‘Fine, lots of work. But you know…' Rachel smiled at Eilis and Steph saw that the sweet girl was still there, just well hidden.

‘What's for dinner?' Rachel said, turning to her mother.

‘Pasta!' Steph made it sound like it was something new and exciting.

Rachel groaned. ‘Not again. We're not Italians!'

‘I know that,' said Steph, rolling her eyes at Eilis, who was smiling at the two of them. ‘I thought you liked it.' She turned to Eilis. ‘Who doesn't like pasta?'

‘Me,' said Rachel. ‘It's fine. Don't worry about me. I'll have toast or something later.' And she headed out of the kitchen.

‘Nice to meet you, Rachel,' called Eilis.

‘You too,' said Rachel.

‘It's just that…' Steph began. Too late. Rachel had disappeared upstairs and slammed the door and Steph was left standing there uselessly. For a brief beautiful moment, she remembered the little girl who used to hold her hand and would leave love notes on her pillow. It was so clear, so real and then like a bubble it began to float away.

‘So!' said Steph, when it was just the two of them again. ‘Family life!'

‘Yeah, it's all go, isn't it?'

‘And we've got Rome this weekend,' said Steph, smiling that false smile. ‘So that's going to be fun.'

‘Yes,' Eilis said. ‘I forgot about that. Remember you spent that summer in Rome, didn't you? And I was so jealous because I had to work in that hospital in Cork. I was almost dead by the end, but you came back glowing with life and calling everyone ‘bella' and saying ‘ciao' all the time!'

Steph laughed. ‘I can only apologize for my pretentious insensitivity. Oh, but we had such a ball. It was myself and Pippa and Eileen. No money, surviving on pizza.'

‘But I thought you weren't Italian?' They laughed again.

‘I keep trying to be, don't I?' said Steph. ‘When will I ever learn?'

They chatted for ages about the old days, about the new days, about Eilis' job, about Steph's mam and dad and then, finally, Eilis stood up to go. ‘I'll leave you to it. Making that pasta.'

‘Maybe I'll try to be Spanish. Paella or something.'

‘But you like Italy, don't you?'

‘Always have done.'

‘So carry on being Italian. Don't change. And come and see me in Uncosy Cottage next time. Text me when you are back from Rome. Please?' She hugged her goodbye. ‘Take care, won't you. Enjoy Rome.'

‘I will!' said Steph smiling. ‘Thanks for coming round.'

‘Look after yourself, won't you,' Eilis said again.

‘Don't worry about me. Ciao!' They laughed again, but when she finally closed the door on Eilis, Steph thought she was going to cry.

Music was coming from Rachel's room. Once it was very clear she and Rick were not going to be happy together, Rachel had been Steph's only chance – for love… joy… purpose. And so it was into Rachel that she poured all the tiny tendernesses of a mother's passion; the singing and giggling together, the incessant chatting about nothing, the playing. She moved her hand, trying to remember what Rachel's little fingers felt. There was nothing there. Now, she was mother to a sixteen-year-old who had perfected the art of the scowl and the door slam and seemed so
angry
at her
.
Steph had no idea how to get it all back.

I want to matter, she thought. I want to matter.
I want to mean something to someone.

A whole life stretched ahead of her. How was she going to fill it all? There were years of it to go. And Rome to deal with.

And pasta to boil.

Jimbo was dunking his custard cream. He was Melissa's desk-mate at the
Standard
, in the features department.

He threw over the packet of biscuits. ‘Lunch?'

‘Normal people eat sandwiches,' she said, putting down her phone, which she had looked at for the millionth time. She hadn't heard from Cormac for days now, since the ice cream on the pier in Dun Laoghaire. What was going on? Had he tired of her too, like Alistair, like all the others? Not Cormac as well. No, he couldn't, because he was Cormac and Cormac didn't do things like that. You could rely on Cormac and that was the whole point of Cormac and her, wasn't it? It was something steady, something she could depend on. Take the passion out and you had the perfect relationship.

‘Aye,' said Jimbo, ‘but no one ever said I was normal.'

‘Nor am I,' she said, taking one. ‘Thank you! I didn't know they still made these.'

‘You know, Melissa…'

‘What's that, Jimbo? You're looking serious. Should I be scared?'

‘Aye, you should. Because I don't say this very often…'

‘What?'

‘And I shouldn't say it. As a member of the League of Men, a not-always-proud member of that ancient and august club… I shouldn't say what I'm about to say…'

‘What? Spit it out?'

‘That some men are wankers.' He looked at her.

Melissa laughed. ‘Are you including yourself in that?'

‘Maybe.' He shrugged. ‘It's just that they are. Wankers. Some of them.'

‘I knew that, but thanks anyway.' God, was she so transparent that Jimbo knew what was going on? That she had been dumped again and had fallen in love with her best friend, despite years and years of protesting she felt nothing, she now realized that she felt something very deep indeed. But was it rebound, that's what she was trying to wrestle with. Feeling vulnerable? Fall in love with your male best friend!

Or had she been fooling herself all these years that the one thing, the best thing, was right under her very nose. She felt scared. This was not what she planned, they were meant to be happy as friends for ever and ever. Not this.

‘I'll take it on board,' she said, smiling smoothly. ‘Thanks Jimbo.'

‘You're welcome. I like being earth-shattering.'

‘You should give a Ted Talk. It'd go viral.'

‘I should, aye.' He dipped his biscuit and sucked noisily on it while looking pensively, perhaps dreaming of auditoria, ovations, fame. Maybe a self-help book? ‘Avoiding wankers and other horrors. That's the title.'

‘Perfect.'

They heard a raised voice and rolled their eyes at each other.

‘Talking of which…' said Jimbo.