Marian Keyes - Watermelon (15 page)

And I had no immediate access to funds. Therefore I had to lay claim to my money in England.

Sordid and unpleasant as it might be.

My head swam slightly at all this, kind of like the way it had swum the night before when Mum started her Cher and Ike conversation.

Little did I think, the warm April day three years ago when I married James, that our union would end in such a way. That something that started out as such good fun and so full of hope and excitement could end in heartbreak and legalese.

That I would be dealing in so many clich�s.

Arguing about money and possessions.

I'd always thought that James and I would be different. That even though we might be married there was no reason that we had to act it, goddammit!

That fun and love and passion would always be the most important things to us.

I'd vowed that there would never come a day when I would

129 Marian Keyes

walk into a room and say to James, without even looking at him, "The tiles in the bathroom are coming loose. You'd better take a look at them." Or, again giving him but the most cursory of glances, "I hope you're not thinking of wearing that sweater to the Reynolds' dinner."

Hadn't I realized that thousands of women before me had made a pact with themselves never to lose the magic in their marriages? The same way that they fiercely promised themselves that they would never let their gray hair show, would never let their breasts droop, would never get wrinkles. But it still happened.

Their will wasn't strong enough to fight the inevitable, to reverse the waves of time.

And neither was mine.

I lay Kate back down in her bassinet while I went to take a shower. I was obviously really getting to grips with this living business, I thought to myself proudly.

"Cleanliness," I told Kate, feeling very self-righteous, feeling that I was a Good Mother, "is next to godliness. And I'll tell you what godliness is when you're a bit older."

In the shower, I couldn't stop thinking about James. Not in a maudlin or bitter way. Just remembering how great it had been. Really, even though he had hurt me in a way I never thought he would, I couldn't forget just how great it was with him.

When I first met James and we were out with other people, I would watch him across a room, talking to someone else. I would always think to myself how sexy and handsome he looked. Especially if he was looking all serious and accountantlike. That always made me smile. He looked as if he was no fun at all.

But let me tell you, I knew differently.

And it gave me such a thrill to know that when the party or whatever had ended my man would be coming home with me. I wanted it always to be like that.

I had met a man who loved me unconditionally. Even better than the unconditional love that my mother had for me, because unfortunately that unconditional love had certain conditions attached.

And he'd made me laugh in the same way that my sisters

130 WATERMELON

or my girlfriends could make me laugh. But it was even better because I didn't usually wake up in the same bed as my sisters or my girlfriends.

So the opportunities for having a good laugh with James were far more plentiful and in far better places.

And about far better places too, I suppose.

You know, I thought if anyone was going to have an affair that it would be me. Not that I thought I would have had one, if you know what I mean.

But I was always the loud rowdy one who was regarded as great fun. And popular opinion held James to be the sensible reliable one. Quiet, self- contained, as steady as a rock.

That's the trouble with men who wear suits and reading glasses and who fix you with a sincere gaze and say things like "Well, in a period of low inflation, a fixed-rate mortgage is your best bet," or "I would sell the treasury stock and buy government equities," or some such similar state- ment.

You get hoodwinked into thinking that they're as dull as ditchwater and as safe as houses.

And I suppose that even I did a bit with James.

I felt that I could behave or misbehave in any fashion that took my fancy and he would smile tolerantly on me. He was amused by me.

No, not amused. That sounds sort of patronizing and disdainful.

But he was certainly entertained by me.

He really thought I was great.

And I, on the other hand, felt very safe and secure and protected with James.

The very fact that I knew I could make a fool of myself and James would still love me insured that I didn't make a fool of myself.

I didn't get drunk very often anymore.

But even in the days when I did and I would wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and cringing from the few snippets of what I could remember of the previous evening, he would be so sweet.

He would laugh kindly and get me glasses of water and lean over and kiss me on my throbbing forehead as I lay like a corpse in the bed and say soothing things like "No, sweetie,

131 Marian Keyes

you weren't obnoxious. You were really funny," and "No, darling, you weren't overbearing. You had us all in stitches," and "Your bag will turn up. It was probably under some coats at Lisa's. I'll call her now," and "Of course you can look those people in the eye again. I mean, everyone was plastered. You weren't the drunkest by any stretch of the imagination."

And on one really awful occasion, my worst "morning after" ever, I think--the promises to never drink again were thick on the ground that morning, I can tell you--"Hurry up, angel, your hearing is at nine-thirty. You can't be late because the lawyer said your judge is a bastard."

Now look, wait a minute. Just let me explain. Please hear me out.

Yes, I was arrested one night but it wasn't because I did anything illegal. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I just happened to be somewhere that just happened to be an unlicensed drinking club. I had no idea that the people running the place were doing anything criminal.

Apart from the price they were charging for the wine.

And the suits the bouncers were wearing. The suits alone deserved ten years in solitary confinement.

I don't know how I managed to get mixed up in it. All I know for sure is that drink was taken and spirits were high.

When we saw the policemen entering the club and everyone started hiding their drinks under their tables, Judy and Laura and I thought it was great fun.

"Just like Prohibition," we laughingly agreed.

I decided that I would tell my favorite joke to some of the policemen, which is the one that goes: How many policemen does it take to break a lightbulb? The answer being, of course, none. It fell down the stairs.

And one of the policemen took great umbrage at this and told me that, if I didn't behave, he would arrest me.

"Arrest me then." I smiled up at him saucily and extended both my wrists for him to put the bracelets on. I obviously hadn't come to terms with the fact that these were real policemen and not just cartoons.

So no one was more surprised than I was when the policeman did just that.

Of course, I realized that he was only doing his duty.

132 WATERMELON

I bore him no grudges. I wasn't bitter.

The bastard.

I must admit that I was very, very taken aback.

I tried to tell him that I was just a suburban, middle-class young woman. That I had even managed to get a man to marry me and that he was an ac- countant. I told him all this to let him know that I was on the same side as him. Righting wrongs and fighting injustice and all that.

And that by arresting me he was throwing everyone's stereotype of a drunk and disorderly person into disarray.

So off I went in the squad car, peering tearfully out the window at Laura and Judy.

"Call James," I mouthed at them as I was driven off.

I knew that he would know what to do.

And he did.

He bailed me out and got me a lawyer.

And I don't think I have ever, ever in my whole life been so frightened. I was convinced that I would have a confession beaten out of me and I'd be jailed for several lifetimes and I'd never see James or my friends or family again. I'd never see blue sky again, except from the exercise yard, I thought, feeling intensely sorry for myself. I'd never wear nice clothes again. I'd have to wear those horrible prison sack dresses.

And I'd have to become a lesbian. I'd have to become the girlfriend of Missus Big so that she'd protect me from all the other girls and their Coke bottles.

And I already had a degree and it was no big deal.

And I'd have to start smoking again.

I was distraught.

So when James came to the police station and bailed me out--or "sprung" me, as I preferred to call it--I couldn't believe that there were no television cameras and delirious crowds with banners outside.

Just another squad car which screeched to a halt, scraping the curb. About five drunks tumbling out.

James took me home.

He got the name of a lawyer from a friend and called him.

He woke me in the morning, when I couldn't open my eyes because of the terrible sense of foreboding.

133 Marian Keyes

He wiped off my lipstick and told me it might be better for my case if I didn't look like a good-time girl.

He made me wear a long skirt and a high-necked blouse for the same reason.

He sat in the courtroom holding my hand as I waited for my turn to come.

He hummed little songs to me as I sat there white-faced and nauseous with the shock and the hangover.

I found the songs that he was humming very comforting.

Until I caught a few words of one.

Something about breaking rocks and being on a chain gang.

I turned and glared at him tearfully, ready to tell him to fuck off and go home if he found my predicament that amusing.

But I caught his eye.

And I just couldn't help it.

I started to laugh.

He was right.

The whole situation was so ridiculous that there was no point in not laughing at it.

The pair of us sniggered like schoolchildren.

The judge gave us a filthy look.

"That's another ten years onto your sentence," snorted James, and the pair of us collapsed again.

I got off with a fifty-pound fine, which James laughingly paid. "You can pay it yourself the next time." He grinned at me.

I couldn't believe his attitude. If someone woke me at two in the morning to tell me that James had been arrested I would have been horrified. I cer- tainly wouldn't have found the situation funny the way he had.

I would have seriously asked myself to think about what kind of man I had married.

I wouldn't have been indulgent and so completely supportive and for- giving the way James was.

In fact, he wasn't even forgiving, because he never for a second acted as if I had done something wrong.

So now the next time I got arrested I wouldn't have anyone to hold my hand in the courtroom and make me laugh.

134 WATERMELON

Sometimes he was just so sweet. When I used to wake in the middle of the night to worry, he was wonderful.

"What's wrong, baby?" he used to ask.

"Nothing," I'd say, unable to put words on that horrible, nameless, free- floating anxiety.

"Can't you sleep?"

"No."

"Should I bore you to sleep?"

"Yes, please."

And I would eventually fall into a peaceful sleep, lulled by the sound of James's soothing voice explaining tax breaks for charities or the new eco- nomic regulations set by the European Union.

I turned off the shower and dried myself.

I'd better call him, I told myself.

I went back into my room and started to get dressed.

"Call him," I ordered myself sternly.

"After I've fed Kate," I replied in a vague and wishy-washy fashion.

"Call him!" I told myself again.

"Do you want the child to starve?" I asked, trying to sound outraged. "I'll call him when I've fed her."

"No you won't. Call him now!"

I was up to my old tricks again.

Procrastinating, avoiding responsibility, running away from unpleasant situations.

But I was so afraid.

I knew that I had to talk to James about money and the apartment and all that. I wasn't denying that for a minute. But I felt that the moment I ac- tually spoke to him about these things they would become real.

And if they were real it meant that my marriage was over.

"Oh God," I sighed.

I looked at Kate, lying in her bassinet, soft and plump and fragrant in her little pink pajamas.

And I knew that I had to call James. I could be a yaller-bellied, lily-livered, cringing coward on my own account all I liked, but I owed it to this beau- tiful child of mine to sort out her future.

135 Marian Keyes

"Right," I said resignedly, looking at her. "You've twisted my arm. I'll call him."

I went into Mum's room to use the phone there.

I started to dial the number of James's office in London and I began to feel dizzy.

Excited and frightened at the same time.

In a few moments I'd hear his voice.

And I couldn't wait.

I was warm and shaky with anticipation.

I'd be speaking to him, to my James, my best friend. Except, of course, he wasn't anymore, was he? But sometimes I forgot. Just for a second.

It was becoming very hard for me to breathe. My breath didn't seem to be able to go down all the way.

The phone connected and started to ring.

A thrill ran through me and I thought I might throw up. The receptionist answered.

"Um, can I speak to Mr. James Webster, please," I asked, my voice wobbling. My lips felt as if I'd been given an injection to numb them.

There were a couple of clicks on the line.

I'd be speaking to him in a moment.

I held my breath.

It wasn't as if the breathing that I had been doing had been particularly successful anyway.

Another click.

And the receptionist was back.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Webster is away this week. Can anyone else help?"