Marian Keyes - Lucy Sullivan Is Getting Married (25 page)

Daniel had come out to the hall. "Christ, what's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, attempting a smile.

Karen came back down the hall.

"Sorry, Lucy, we'll wait a little bit longer for him."

Oh no. No, no, no. I didn't want any waiting to be done. I had a horrible feeling that he wasn't going to come. I didn't want us all to sit watching the door because then it would be so obvious when he didn't arrive. I wanted the evening to proceed without him. And then, if he arrived, it would be a bonus.

"Er, no, Karen, we may as well start."

"No, honestly, another half hour won't matter that much."

It was typical. Karen was being nice--which didn't happen very of- ten--and for once I didn't want her to be.

"Come in and sit down and have a glass of wine," suggested Daniel. "You're as white as a ghost, you look exhausted."

We trooped into the front room and I took a glass of wine from someone's hand and tried to act normal.

The others were acting relaxed and happy, chatting, lolling about, sipping wine, but I was rigid with tension, white-faced, silent, straining to hear the sound of the doorbell, praying to hear the phone.

Oh, please, Gus, don't do this to me, I begged silently. Please God, please God, make him come.

In what seemed like thirty seconds later, it was nine o'clock.

Time was such a contrary bastard. When I wanted it to 308 / marian keyes

gallop along, it slowed to a standstill. It could take up to twenty-four hours for an hour to pass.

And now that I wanted time to stop, it was racing.

Whenever there was a lull in the conversation--and there were a few, because we were all slightly uncomfortable with so much formality in our own home and enough wine hadn't yet been drunk--someone would say, "What's keeping Gus?" or "Where's he coming from? Camden? He might have trouble on the tube," or "I'm sure he didn't realize that you meant eight o'clock so literally."

Nobody seemed terribly worried. But I was.

I was scared.

It wasn't just the fact that he was late--although that was deeply embar- rassing after all the fuss Karen had made about the dinner--but his lateness, taken in conjunction with his having moved out of his apartment without telling me. Now that was ominous. No matter what way I looked at it, I felt it was not A Good Thing.

I kept having little stabs of despair.

What if he didn't come?

What if I never saw him again?

And who was Mandy?

I made attempts to join in with the slightly self-conscious camaraderie in the living room, tried to listen to what they were saying, to force a smile onto my rigid, white face.

But I was so agitated, I could hardly sit still for a moment.

And then the pendulum swung back in the other direction and I calmed down. After all he was only an hour, well an hour and a quarter--damn, was it an hour and a quarter already?--late. He would probably arrive in a moment, a little bit drunk, with some hilarious, outlandish

excuse. I was always overreacting to things, I told myself sternly. I was certain that he would come and I was slightly amused at how easy it was for me to think the worst.

Gus was my friend. We'd become close over the past couple of months, I knew he cared about me and that he wouldn't let me down.

40 By ten o'clock the potato chip bowls were all emptied and everyone seemed to be drunk.

"I'm not listening to any more of this," announced Charlotte, turning off the stereo. "Jazz, my ass."

Karen allowed Charlotte to change the tape, which meant that she too must have had enough of John Coltrane's later meanderings.

"Okay then," announced Karen, changing the subject. "Gus or no Gus, it's time to eat. I want you to have the delicious food before you're all too drunk to appreciate it.

"Dinner is served. Charlotte, Lucy." She motioned us toward the door.

That was our cue to become serving wenches.

I couldn't eat anything. I was still hoping desperately that Gus would show up. Just arrive along with some fantastic, outrageous excuse. I won't be mad at you, Gus, I promised fervently. Honestly, just get here and I won't say a thing.

After a while everyone stopped saying things like "I 310 / marian keyes

wonder what's keeping Gus," and "What could have happened to Gus," and looking out the window to see if a taxi was coming up the road with Gus inside it.

In fact, everyone took great care not to mention Gus at all. It had become clear that Gus wasn't merely late, but that he wasn't coming.

They all knew that I'd been stood up and, in their awkward, embarrassed way, they were trying to pretend that I hadn't been and if I had, that they certainly hadn't noticed. I knew they were just trying to be kind, but their kindness was humiliating.

The evening was interminable. There was so much food, so many courses, I thought it would never end. I would have given anything to go to bed, but pride forbade me.

It was only much, much later when everyone was really drunk--as op- posed to just very drunk--that the subject of Gus was brought up again.

"Dump the fucker," slurred Karen. Her hairdo was keeling over to one side. "How dare he treat you like this? I'd kill him."

"Let's give him a chance." I smiled tensely. "Anything could have happened to him."

"Oh come on, Lucy," scoffed Karen. "How can you be such an idiot? It's obvious that he's stood you up."

Of course it was obvious that he'd stood me up, but I was hoping to hang on to a remnant of my dignity by pretending that he hadn't.

Daniel and Simon looked uncomfortable. Simon said heartily to Daniel, "Well, how's work?"

"He could have called," said Charlotte.

"Maybe he forgot," I said miserably.

"Well, he shouldn't have," slurred Karen.

"Have you checked the phone?" Charlotte shouted sud lucy sullivan is getting married / 311

denly. "I bet the phone is broken, the lines are down or something, that's why he hasn't called."

"I doubt it," said Karen.

"Maybe you didn't hang it up right," suggested Daniel. "Maybe it's off the hook and he hasn't been able to get through."

Because Daniel had suggested it, the idea was given a bit of credibility. There was a surge toward the hall, me at the head of it, hoping against hope that Daniel was right. Of course he wasn't. There was nothing wrong with the phone and the receiver had been replaced perfectly.

How embarrassing.

"Maybe something's happened to him," I suggested hopefully. "Maybe he's had an accident. He could have been knocked down and killed," I said, fresh hope surging through me. Far better for Gus to be lying broken and bloodied beneath the wheels of a truck than for him to have decided that he didn't like me anymore.

Karen was having a passionate but hard-to-follow argument with Simon about Scottish nationalism when the knock on the door finally came.

"Quiet," shouted Daniel. "I think someone's at the door."

We fell silent--surprise, rather than the desire to hear, robbed us of the power of speech.

We held our breath and listened. Daniel was right.

Someone was knocking on the door.

Thank God, I thought fervently, relief making me dizzy.

Thank you God, thank you God, thank you God! Pencil me in for charitable work, kindness to the poor, contributions to church funds, bad skin, any- thing you like, but thank you God for giving me back Gus.

"I'll answer it, Lucy." Charlotte swayed to her feet. 312 / marian keyes

"You don't want him to think you've been worried. Just look casual."

"Thanks," I said, rushing to the mirror in panic. "Do I look okay? Is my hair all right? Oh no, look at how red my face is! Quick, quick, someone give me lipstick!"

I ran my fingers through my hair and flung myself onto the couch, trying to look unconcerned, and waited for Gus to roll into the room. I was so happy I couldn't sit still. I was looking forward to hearing whatever elaborate and imaginative excuse he might make. No doubt it would be hilarious.

But a while passed and he didn't appear. I could hear voices in the hall.

"What's keeping him?" I hissed, anxiously perched on the edge of my seat.

"Just relax." Daniel rubbed my knee. He stopped abruptly when Karen stared pointedly at his hand, then at him, then at his hand again. She had a peculiar expression, which kind of slid off her face. I realized that she had been trying to arch her eyebrows quizzically, but it had lost something in the inebriation.

More time passed and still Gus didn't appear. I realized that something was wrong--perhaps he hadn't come in because he was injured--and after a few minutes I couldn't bear it anymore and, throwing my veneer of un- concernedness to the wind, I went out to have a look.

There was no Gus.

Just Neil from downstairs.

Neil was in a bad mood, complaining about the music and wearing a very short robe.

I had been certain that Gus was on the premises and it took a great leap of imagination for me to grasp that, he actually wasn't. I squinted drunkenly past Neil, wondering why I couldn't see Gus hovering behind him. And when lucy sullivan is getting married / 313

it hit me that Gus hadn't arrived after all, I could hardly believe it.

The disappointment was so intense that the ground literally rocked be- neath my feet. (Then again, it might have been all the wine I'd drunk.)

"...You don't have to turn the music down," Neil was saying. "But for pity's sake, change the tape. If you have any compassion, any feeling for a fellow human being, you'll change the tape."

"But I like Simply Red," said Charlotte.

"I know!" said Neil. "Why else would you play it for eight weeks nonstop? Please, Charlotte."

"Okay," she agreed sulkily.

"And would you mind playing this instead?" he asked, handing her a tape.

"Get lost!" spluttered Charlotte. "The nerve of you, this is our apartment, we'll play our music."

"But I have to listen to it too, you know..." whined Neil.

I lurched back into the front room.

"Where's Gus?" asked Daniel.

"Don't know," I muttered.

I got very drunk, and at some late hour, I think it was about half past two, I decided that I would find Gus. Maybe I could get his new number from the man I had spoken to in his old apartment.

I sneaked out to the hall to the phone. If Karen and Charlotte knew what I was doing they would have tried to stop me. Luckily they were all really drunk. They had stopped playing strip Trivial Pursuit because Charlotte had insisted on putting on some Spanish music. Then she demonstrated the steps that she had learned at her flamingo dancing lessons and made them all join in.

I knew what I was doing had desperation stamped all 314 / marian keyes

over it, but I was drunk, I had no willpower. I had no idea what I would say if I did get through to him. How could I explain that I'd found his new number and tracked him down without seeming like a woman obsessed? But I didn't care.

Surely I had every right to find him and speak to him, I reasoned drunkenly. I deserved an explanation.

But I wouldn't be angry with him, I decided. I would be friendly and would calmly ask why he hadn't come.

There was a tiny sober little part of me that said I shouldn't call him, that I was behaving like a crazy person, that I was compounding my humiliation by trying to trace him, but I didn't listen. I was in the grip of a compulsion and I couldn't stop myself.

But no one answered the phone. I sat on the hall floor and let it ring until I got the recorded message telling me that my number wasn't being answered--hey, thanks, I would never have noticed otherwise--and in frustration I slammed the phone back on the cradle. I was barely aware of the tumbling and commotion in the front room.

"No answer?" asked someone. I jumped.

Damn! It was Daniel, en route to the kitchen, probably looking for more wine.

"No," I said, angry that I'd been caught.

"Who were you calling?" asked Daniel.

"Who do you think?"

"Poor Lucy."

I felt terrible. It wasn't like the old days when Daniel laughed at me and made fun of my misfortunes. Things had changed and I didn't feel as if Daniel was my friend anymore. I had to hide my feelings from him.

"You poor little thing," he said again.

"Oh shut up," I said sulkily, looking up at him from my position on the floor. lucy sullivan is getting married / 315

We had somehow crossed a line. All that light-hearted sparring had be- come real and nasty.

"What's wrong, Lucy?" Daniel crouched down to where I was slumped on the floor.

"Oh, don't start," I spat. "You know what's wrong."

"No," he said. "I mean, what's wrong with us?"

"There is no `us,'" I said, partly to hurt him and partly to avoid the con- frontation that I felt was imminent.

"Yes, there is." He gently put his hand on my neck and began stroking the area under my ear with little circles of his thumb.

"There is," he said again. His thumb sent odd shivers through my neck and down into my chest. Suddenly I couldn't breathe too well and then, to my disbelief, I felt my nipples begin to harden.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I whispered, staring up into his hand- some familiar face.

But I didn't pull away. I was drunk, I was rejected and someone was being nice to me.

"I don't know," he said, sounding shocked. I could feel his breath on my face. Oh Christ, I thought in horror, as Daniel's face came closer to mine. He's going to kiss me. Daniel! Daniel's going to kiss me, even though his girlfriend is only two yards away and I'm so drunk or upset or whatever that I'm going to let him.

"What's keeping Dan?" said Karen's voice, as she flounced out into the hall.

Saved by the belle!

"What are the pair of you doing down there?" she screeched.

"Nothing," said Daniel, getting to his feet.

"Nothing," I gasped, clambering to mine.

"You were supposed to be getting ice for Charlotte's ankle," said Karen in a fury. 316 / marian keyes

"Why, what's happened?" I asked, glad of the diversion, any diversion, as Daniel made for the kitchen.

"She tripped doing her flamingo dancing," said Karen coldly. "And she's sprained her ankle. But it would appear that Daniel would rather sit on the floor and chat to you than help poor Charlotte."

I went back into the front room. Charlotte was stretched out on the couch, giggling and saying "ouch" as Simon massaged her foot and looked up her dress.

There was almost no wine left, just dribs and drabs in the bottom of bottles, but I made my way around the table drinking everything in my path, until it all ran out. I was desperate for something to drink and sud- denly there seemed to be nothing.

An argument broke out because Charlotte insisted that her ankle was broken and that she should go to the hospital, and Simon said that it defin- itely wasn't broken, it was only sprained. Then Karen said that Charlotte should stop whining and then Simon intervened and told Karen to shut up and not to say nasty things to his girlfriend, and if Charlotte wanted to go to the hospital then to the hospital she would go. Karen asked Simon who had made his dinner for him that evening and Simon replied that he had heard all about Karen and the work she had made Charlotte do and that if anyone deserved thanks for the food that evening it was Char- lotte...and on and on.

I sat, gulping a half-bottle of red wine that I had found abandoned behind the couch, swinging my legs, enjoying the argument.

Karen shouted at Charlotte for telling Simon that she had done all the cooking. Charlotte had done nothing! Nothing! Just peeled a few carrots and that was all...

I smiled over at Daniel, forgetting for a moment what had happened, or nearly happened, in the hall. He grinned