Love Me Or Leave Me (33 page)

‘Well, actually it’s the Merrion,’ he eventually says. ‘Things aren’t so good there right now, you see. We’re way down on guest numbers and they’re making staff cutbacks right, left and centre. So the thing is …’

‘Yes?’

‘You see, I’m keeping my eye out for other managerial jobs pretty much anywhere I can. And then when I heard the Ferndale group were opening up here, I thought now was as good a time as any for me to come forward. So maybe, if you ever hear of anything going, you’d put in a good word for me? I’d really appreciate it.’

I just stare back at him, open mouthed, utterly shocked. But it seems he’s still not finished.

‘Oh and by the way,’ he goes on, ‘rumour in the business has it that Rob McFayden himself is actually spending the weekend here in Dublin. Is it true?’

‘Yes, actually.’

A pause and I swear I’m actually dreading what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

‘So … is there any chance you could possibly introduce me? And maybe let him know that I’m now Assistant General Manager over at the Merrion? But of course, that I’m happy to consider other offers, if the right one ever came along. You know yourself. I’m well qualified to work as General Manager; I just need the right break, that’s all.’

I look at him, speechless. So it’s not just
a
job he’s after, more specifically, it seems to be
my
job. Should things not work out for me here at Hope Street, he’s most likely thinking.

What do you say to that? What do you say when the man who dumped you on your wedding day, the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with, suddenly bounces back into your world again, not to say sorry, or even just to wish you luck, but chasing after your job?

‘And … is that really all you have to say to me, Frank?’ I eventually manage to get out, not even caring if it sounds a bit rude.

‘Well … yeah. Apart from, it’s good to see you again. So if you ever fancied a drink, or maybe dinner …’

I cut him short. Hard to explain. Just have to. Can’t really listen to much more.

‘You know something, Frank?’ I say, stopping to face him square-on. ‘I could do the polite thing here. I could choose to be the bigger person and forgive and forget and agree to meet you for a drink and even offer to introduce you to my boss. But I’m not going to. Because you know why? You don’t deserve it, none of it. You didn’t deserve me three years ago and you certainly don’t get to saunter back into my life right now, just because things have turned around for me, and hope to ride on my coattails into the sunset. You weren’t sure of me three years ago, but I’m pretty certain about you right now. And I wish you every success for the future, Frank, I sincerely do. But I can tell you right now that I’ll certainly have no part in it. Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do.’

He’s scarlet in the face now, but for the first time all I can think is, feck you anyway. Then in total silence, as I briskly show him to the terrace door, a thought lodges in my head that somehow won’t leave once it’s taken hold.

Had he and I actually gone ahead and got married that dim, distant day long ago, would we be checking into a hotel like this right now? Would I be a guest here and not managing instead?

A no-brainer, really.

*

Five minutes later, I’m standing at the main entrance door watching Frank walk away – stomach churning, but feeling strong and somehow vindicated and an awful lot better than I ever imagined I would – when I hear the sound of quick footsteps behind me.

Rob.

He stands right beside me wordlessly, towering over me as usual, as we both watch Frank recede into the distance.

‘You okay?’ he asks softly, with his eyes on me, scanning my face, as though he’s worried I might burst into tears at any minute.

So I turn to face him full on.

‘In a funny way … yeah. I’m fine. Better than fine, in fact. Didn’t think I would be and yet somehow … I am.’

And then he smiles down at me. A warm crinkly smile that reaches all the way up to his eyes.

‘So you needn’t worry,’ I add. ‘You don’t have a General Manager who’s suddenly about to go AWOL on you.’

‘I wasn’t worried about my General Manager,’ he says gently. ‘Actually, I was concerned about you.’

I feel a tiny flick of surprise, so I give him a reassuring grin as he steers me back inside.

‘I heard that git was here and was sort of on standby, just in case you wanted his arse kicked for him.’

‘Well … emm … thanks …’

‘… But I took it as a very good sign that he didn’t stay.’

‘It was,’ I tell him.

A pause as Rob looks down at me, bit puzzled now.

‘So, that’s him then. The runaway groom.’

‘Yup.’

‘Chloe, if I ask you a straight question, will you give me a straight answer?’

‘Depends,’ I say, feeling evasive and not even knowing why, other than it feels like he and I are about to cross a line here or something.

‘Why did he do it?’

‘What?’

‘I mean, why would any guy in his right mind, put someone like you through something so awful? And on your wedding day? I just don’t get it.’

And now I find I’m suddenly stammering uselessly.

‘It’s well … look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you asking or anything … but … well … I can’t … I just …’

Another pause and this time he looks wrong-footed.

‘Hey, I’m sorry if I went too far; I was just concerned, that’s all. Forgive me?’

And then Liliana interrupts, to say there’s a call for me at Reception.

‘Maybe I’ll tell you sometime,’ I tell him, slipping away to take the call.

‘And maybe I’ll hold you to that.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jo was back up in her room, completely stuck. The day had gone reasonably well for her so far, given that Dave had actually decided to behave himself and stop acting the maggot. In fact, he’d been pretty quiet all day for him, muttering an apology to her before their first session and not giving her a single ounce of hassle since. Meek and mild, like he was ashamed of what happened last night and … well, like he was just about ready to finally accept that this was happening, whether he liked it or not.

But right now Jo was rightly flummoxed. One of the ‘assignments’ that Kate, their marital relations counsellor, had given each of them earlier was to write down all the positive qualities that they loved and respected about each other and that was the whole problem. She could still accurately list off what she’d initially liked – loved – about Dave.

The way he put up with her, for instance. Which by the way, most other fellas in their sane minds wouldn’t. At least, not for very long. Then there was the way he made her laugh. Even at herself. With a pang, Jo suddenly found herself missing that. I haven’t laughed in so long, she thought, I’m actually starting to forget what my teeth look like.

But her worry now was … would Dave be able to do the same for her? Given the way she’d been treating him of late?

Re-reading a pile of emails from just a few days before they’d checked into the Hope Street Hotel certainly didn’t throw her any crumbs of comfort either.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: My fabulous divorce.

July 9th, 10.27 a.m.

You up yet, arsehole?

Doubtless you won’t even see this email until long after you’ve stirred from the alcoholic coma you and your delightful chum Bash drank yourselves into last night. Same as the pair of you do every other night after you collect your dole. Bit like a twenty-first century version of that movie about the drunks that Richard E. Grant was in.

But when you do finally surface to the gourmet meal of eggs on toast that Mammy will lovingly serve up to you, would you kindly have the goodness to confirm that you actually got it together to keep your appointment with Chloe Townsend at the hotel yesterday? And that you didn’t manage to make a holy, mortifying show of yourself? I’ve just met with her now and can confidently say that I think we’re in.

As long as you did absolutely nothing to f**k this up on me.

As you can appreciate, I’m anxious to put the sad spectre of what could be laughingly called our marriage out of its misery once and for all.

Jo.

PS. Am on my way to Berlin. Kindly get back to me before I take off, to confirm.

Even reading it made Jo wince now. And his reply was, if possible, even worse.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: My fabulous divorce.

July 9th, 10.37 a.m.

Dearest soon-to-be-ex,

Dole?
Dole?!!!
You think I’m still on the scratch???!!!

I am aware that in Jo-world, the phrase ‘I’m sorry,’ is an acute sign of weakness, but prepare, dearest one, to swallow your words. Had you taken the time/trouble over the past eight weeks to do your wifely duty and inquire as to what was happening in my life, you’d know that I’ve actually gone and landed a part in a telly gig. Ha! So take that and swallow it!

Enjoying the bittersweet taste of your own words, my lovely? Anyway, said gig involves many, many long hours shooting late into the night, so as it happens I’m currently enjoying a typical actor’s breakfast and preparing for a busy day ahead in front of the cameras.

And no, before heading off on your broomstick to go and terrorize your minions in some far-flung corner of the globe as yet uncolonized by Digitech, allow me to reassure you that brekkie for me these days doesn’t actually involve Irish coffee and vodka on cornflakes, as it once might have done. Or, more correctly, as you once drove me to.

Cue shock horror in Jo-land! I can just picture you now, dearest heart, sitting up in your air-conditioned corporate lounge at the airport, espresso coffee frozen mid-air in manicured claw as your jaw freezes somewhere around your collarbone whilst reading this. But then my angel, you never did like having to recalibrate your bad opinion of anyone, did you? Least of all me.

So sorry to disappoint your preferred assumption that your husband is an out-of-work washed-up alcoholic, with the liver of Richard Burton and the work ethic of Withnail from that Richard E Grant movie, that you so lovingly – and inaccurately refer to.

And just as an aside, how can any human alive not know every immortal line of dialogue ever uttered in that movie? For the love of Uncle Monty,
how
?!! What did you spend all your years in college doing, anyway? Studying? When you could have been far more gainfully employed learning Withnail and Monty Python off by heart?

*shakes head sadly in disbelief.*

So excuse me if you will, my love. Taxi will be here shortly and to quote yourself back at you, some of us have actual work to do.

Kisses, hugs, arsenic. What you will.

Dave x

PS. Hardly know why I even bother telling you all of the above. Goes without saying, not that you’re remotely interested in anything that’s going on in your husband’s life. Despite the fact that it’s actually considered quite polite in the real world to at least occasionally show some kind of interest in one’s spouse, dearest one.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: My fabulous divorce.

July 9th, 10.52 a.m.

Dave,

Wonders will never cease. You in an actual job! And what exactly is the nature of this telly gig anyway? Playing the rear end of a panto horse on some kid’s TV channel with all of three viewers, including your mother?

You still haven’t answered my question. Did you get to your interview with Chloe at Ferndale Hotels yesterday? And if so, would you kindly fill me in on what happened? As you’ll perhaps recall my telling you (I only sent you about thirty emails on the subject), they insist all couples be on friendly, amicable terms before they let you through the front door.

So I bloody well hope for your sake that you remembered to keep your end up and act the part of my best friend who’s sorry his marriage is over, but who’ll continue to be friends with me once we come out the other side. Look on it as the most challenging role you’ve probably ever played in your sad little career.

I mean it Dave. We are checking in and out of that hotel next weekend if it kills us. Under no circumstances am I prepared to drag this out for years and years through family law courts. Not when I can be rid of you in just a few short days.

Arse this one, last thing up on me, and I will swing for you. Gladly.

Flight’s boarding shortly. A prompt answer would be appreciated.