Marian Keyes - Watermelon (33 page)

"Look, James," I said, swallowing back tears, "this is all a bit of a shock. I need to think about what you've said. I'm going now. I'll talk to you to- morrow."

And with that I hopped up and made for the door, leaving

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James, sitting at the table, mouthing silently like an agitated goldfish.

"Good for you, love," said one of the waiters to me as I swept past. "He's not your type, at all at all."

I drove home at high speed, jumping red lights and risking the life and limb of pedestrians and other motorists alike.

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I put my key in the door and, with a marvelous display of their psychic abilities, the kitchen door opened and Anna, Helen and Mum rushed out into the hall to greet me. Either that or they heard me parking the car.

"How did you get on?" asked Mum.

Obviously they were all at a very loose end at the moment. My real-life soap opera wouldn't have been afforded so much interest if they'd had anything better to do.

"What happened?" shouted Helen.

"Oh, marvelous news," I yelled tearfully as I started up the stairs to see Kate.

"Oh good." Mum beamed.

"Well, you know the way James left me and went off and lived with someone else and didn't even know Kate's name. Well, it's all okay now. Because it was my fault. I was asking for it. Apparently I was begging for it. Down on my knees begging for it!"

I swung into my room, leaving three astonished faces at the bottom of the stairs, their mouths three ohs of surprise.

Kate started bawling when she saw me. And just for the hell of it, I de- cided to join in. I was not finding this blame-acceptance thing easy, as you may have gathered.

But I took my frustration with the situation out on Helen, Anna and Mum, when I should have voiced it to James. And that wasn't fair to the girls and Mum. A little voice reminded me that I had tried to tell James about it and he'd said it was

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further proof of my childishness. Well, he was probably right. He usually was.

What a pain in the ass, I thought rebelliously.

And now I had to stop being resentful and rebellious. I was no longer a twenty-nine-year-old adolescent. If I was going to be a sensitive, considerate, caring adult then I might as well start now.

I could begin by being responsive to Kate's needs.

"What can I get you, my darling?" I asked. I wondered if that would be mature enough for James. I must stop!

He was right, I was wrong.

I tried to calm the crying child in my arms.

"Clean diaper, perchance? Or can I interest you in a bottle? And we have a wonderful selection of attention and affection. All are available. You only have to ask."

But no, I was even doing that wrong. According to James, people shouldn't even have to ask me for what they wanted. If I was really selfless I should know.

Just to be on the safe side I gave her all of the above. I changed her diaper, fed her and told her she was more beautiful than Claudia Schiffer.

Mum, Anna and Helen materialized in the room. They crept in cautiously, wondering how crazy I had gone.

"Oh, hi," I said when I saw the first tentative head appearing around the door. "Come in, come in. Sorry about that little display in the hall. I was upset. I had no right to take it out on you three."

"Oh, that's fine then," said Helen. The three of them marched in and took up residence on the bed while I tended to Kate and told them the story of my evening.

"So, in a funny way, knowing how difficult I was makes the fact that he left me a bit easier," I told them. "You know, at least it makes sense."

"Claire," said Mum slowly, "I'm sure that you couldn't have been as bad as he makes out."

"I know, I don't understand that either," I admitted. "But when I told him that, he said that was exactly the way he would have expected me to react."

There really wasn't anything anyone else could say.

James had me boxed in good and neatly.

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That night was terrible. As bad as the early days when James had first left me. When the others finally left, having given up trying to reassure me that I couldn't be that bad, I couldn't sleep. I lay flat on my back, staring into the darkness. Questions buzzed around in my head.

This had all come as a terrible shock. I'd never known that I was so selfish and immature. No one else ever complained before. Granted, I was high- spirited. And maybe a bit noisy and lively. But I honestly thought I was considerate of other people's feelings.

The thought crossed my mind that maybe, just maybe, James was perhaps exaggerating how bad I had been. Was even making it up. I dismissed that idea again almost as quickly. That was just me trying to escape the blame. Why would James do something like that if it wasn't true? As he'd said himself--and his words kept going around and around in my head--"If I had been happy, why would I have left?"

I admit that I absolutely hated being wrong. I was really bad at graciously admitting that I was in error. I felt burning, raw, exposed, mortified. I had been so smug. I'd thought that I had right on my side. It was very humbling to find that I hadn't.

Even when I was a little girl and didn't get all my spelling words right at school, I found it very hard to bow my head and swallow and say, "You are right and I am wrong."

Well, practice makes perfect.

I finally slept.

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Dad woke me the following morning by thrusting a huge manila envelope under my nose. "Here," he said ill-temperedly. "Take this. I'm late for work."

"Thanks, Dad," I said sleepily, dragging myself up in the bed as I pushed my hair out of my eyes.

I looked at the letter. It had a London postmark. With a little cold thrill, I realized it was the deed to the apartment and all the other documents that James had asked to be sent over.

I toyed with the idea of ringing the Vatican to report a miracle. Surely nothing had ever arrived from London to Dublin that quickly ever before?

I toyed with the idea of calling James instead.

It might be better if I called James.

Though I'd probably get a better reception at the Vatican.

I found the number of the LiffeySide in the phone book. Some woman answered. I asked to speak to James.

She told me to hold on a moment while she went to get him. While I was waiting I could hear noises in the background that sounded like machine gun fire. Now, granted, it might only have been the washing machine, but if you knew the LiffeySide and the street it was on, you'd be more inclined to put your money on it being machine gun fire.

"Hello," said James. He sounded all officious and important.

"James, it's me," I told him.

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"Claire," he said attempting to sound friendly. "I was just about to call you."

"Were you?" I asked politely, wondering why that was. Had he just re- membered some other awful way I used to treat him? Had he omitted some important criticism about my behavior in public that he had meant to tell me last night?

Now, now, I warned myself. Be selfless and adult about this.

"Would you believe it?" he asked disbelievingly. "Not one newspaper shop in this city opens before nine o'clock. I've been trying to get the FT since I got up, not a chance."

"Well, well, would you believe that?" I said, feeling a surge of irritation. But I tried to hide it. I had to bear in mind that although the Financial Times wasn't important to me, it was important to another human being, namely James, so, as an altruistic, caring, empathetic person, I should care.

"Was that why were you just about to ring me?" I asked. "To tell me that?"

"No, no, no. Why was it? Oh yes," he said, remembering. "I wanted to see if you were feeling all right after last night. I realize that I may have been a little bit...well...hard on you. I can see now that you had no idea that you were behaving so selfishly and thoughtlessly. The truth may have come as a bit of a shock to you."

"Well, a bit," I admitted. The confusion started up again. I felt like a suspect being interrogated by two policemen, one nice one and one nasty one. Just when I'd gotten used to one of them being nasty to me, the other starts by being extra nice and making me want to cry and hug him. Except there was only one James. But the effect was the same. Now that he was being nice to me I wanted to, yes, you guessed it, cry and hug him.

"You weren't deliberately awful," he went on. "You just weren't aware."

"No," I sniffed. "I wasn't."

I was so glad that he was being nice to me at last. I could have cried with relief.

"Must try harder," he said with a little laugh. "Isn't that right?"

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"Um, yes, I suppose so. Good news, James," I said, getting to the point of my phone call.

"What's that?" he asked. He sounded pleased and indulgent.

"The documents have arrived!" I said triumphantly. "I could hardly be- lieve it. It must be a first for the Irish postal system."

"So?" he asked sharply.

Oh God, I thought, I've annoyed him again. I see what he means. I seem to do it without even realizing it.

"So, it's good..." I said limply. "We needn't waste any more time. We can start sorting things out immediately."

"Oh." He sounded a bit dazed. A bit stupid.

"Oh," he said again. "Right. Fine."

"Why don't you come over here?" I suggested. "No boiling oil, I promise you."

I forced myself to laugh in a gently humoring way.

As though the very suggestion that he might suffer any kind of injury at my hands or at the hands of my family was ludicrous.

"Fine," he said shortly. "I'll be with you in an hour."

And he hung up! Just like that.

A brief thought flickered across my brain.

Was James schizophrenic?

Or was there any history of madness in his family?

I was as sure as hell finding it difficult to keep up with all these mood changes.

Something had to be causing it.

Maybe I'd find out when he arrived. Meanwhile I was going to have a sneak preview of the deeds just to see if I actually had any rights at all.

Precisely one hour later, the doorbell rang. It was James.

He greeted me with a little smile and an inquiry after Kate's health.

"Well, why don't you ask her yourself?" I asked him.

"Oh, um, fine then," he said.

We went into the dining room, where Kate was. James hesitantly tickled her. I went to the kitchen to make coffee.

I reappeared with the coffee and turned to James with a smile. "Right then," I said pleasantly. "Shall we start?"

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I gestured to the documents, which were spread out on the table.

We both sat down.

"I thought it would be best if we started with the deed to the apartment first," I said.

"Okay," he said faintly.

"Now, if you look at this clause here," I said, pointing to one that referred to selling the apartment before the mortgage was paid off, "you'll see that..."

I launched into explanations and suggestions, peppered with the odd bit of legalese. I was proud of myself. I sounded as if I knew exactly what I was talking about. Absently, I hoped that I was impressing him. Even though we had split up it was important to me that he started to think of me as a capable woman and not some spoiled, dizzy, bimbo.

After a while I noticed that he wasn't paying any attention to what I was saying.

He just sat back in his chair and looked at my face, not at the document that I was so painstakingly explaining to him.

I stopped mid-disclaimer clause and said, "James, what's wrong? Why aren't you paying attention?"

He ruffled my hair affectionately--which came as quite a surprise, let me tell you--and said with a little smile, "You can stop now, Claire. I'm convinced."

"Convinced about what?" I asked him.

What the hell was he talking about now?

"I'm convinced that you've changed. You don't have to keep up this act."

"What act?" I asked blankly.

"You know," he said, smiling into my eyes. "This pretense that we're going to sell the apartment and settle on child support for Kate. You can stop now."

I didn't say anything. What on earth could I say?

"It's not an act," I squeaked.

"Claire," he said, smiling indulgently, "stop it! I must admit you really had me going at one stage. I nearly believed that you were serious. Did you really have to go through the charade of getting the deed sent over? Wasn't that a bit over the top?"

"James," I said faintly.

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He seemed to take this as some kind of capitulation. He put his arms around me and pulled me to him. I sat there with my head poised stiffly on his shoulder.

"Look, I know you've been very difficult. Bloody difficult," he said. I could hear the rueful smile in his voice. "But I can see that you're making an effort. I can see how hard you're trying to convince me that you're re- sponsible and grown-up and considerate now."

"I am?" I asked.

"Yes," he said kindly. He pulled away from me and looked into my eyes. "You are."

"So, we can get rid of these for a start." He rustled the papers on the table and pushed them all into an untidy pile.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because we won't be selling the apartment." He smiled.

He looked a bit more carefully at my white, shocked face.

"Oh God." He slapped his hand dramatically to his forehead. "You haven't realized, have you?"

"No," I said.

He grabbed me forcefully by the shoulders and put his face close to mine. "I love you," he said with a little laugh. "You little silly girl, hadn't you realized?"

"No," I said, feeling as if I might burst into tears.

Isn't it odd how relief can sometimes feel very much like dread?

How happiness can feel like disappointment?

"Why did you think I came to Dublin?" He shook me gently by the shoulders and gave me that same indulgent smile.

"I don't know," I faltered. "Maybe to clean up loose ends."

"I suppose you thought I'd never forgive you for the way you behaved?"

Actually, no, I wasn't thinking anything of the sort, I thought.

"But I have forgiven you," he told me nicely. "I'm prepared to make a go of things in the future. I'm sure things will be very different because you've grown up so much."

I nodded mutely.

Why wasn't I happy?

He still loved me.

He had never stopped loving me.

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I had driven him away.

But I was different now and things could be fixed.

Wasn't that what I wanted?

Well, wasn't it?

He looked at my silent, shocked face and chucked me under the chin.

"You're not still put out about that business with Denise, are you?" he asked, as if that was a totally ludicrous idea.

"Well, actually, I am," I said in a little voice. I felt that I had no right to complain about anything now that he was being so nice to me.

"But it was nothing," he protested laughingly. "It was just a reaction to the way you made me feel. I'm sure that you won't make that mistake again." He smiled as if it were funny.

But it wasn't.

"Um, right, James," I said. I felt as if my head was going to explode. I had to get away from him for a while.

"James," I said faintly, "this has come as a terrible--"

"Surprise!" he interjected. "I know, I know."

"I need to be on my own to think about things a bit."

"What's there to think about?" he asked lightly.

"James," I said, "you hurt me an awful lot. Hurt me and humiliated me. I can't just bounce out of that feeling to please you."

"Oh dear," he sighed. "We're back to `poor Claire' all over again. I thought you'd changed. What about the ways you hurt and humiliated me?"

"But I never meant to..."

"Well, I never set out to hurt you either," he replied. A slightly impatient tone in his voice. "It just happened."

"But you said you loved Denise," I said, remembering the part that hurt most of all.

"I thought I loved her," he said carefully, as if he was explaining some- thing to a very young child. "But it turned out that I didn't."

There was a pause.

Then he spoke.

"Fine, all right!" he said belligerently. "You want me to admit that I made a mistake. Fine, I'll do it. Just to show you how committed I am to making this marriage work."

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He paused and said in a singsong voice, sounding like a little boy, the type of little boy you'd like to kill, "`I Made a Mistake.' Will that do you?"

"Um, thank you," I said politely.

Would he please just go.

"Of course, if you're going to hang on to grudges and grievances then there's no point in my being here, is there?" he asked. "If that's the case I'll just go straight to the airport and go back to London and I'll never refer to this again."

"No, don't do that." I felt panicky at the thought of his leaving me again. I also felt panicky about the thought of his staying.

This was too much to cope with.

The fucker left me out of the blue.

He arrived back and told me it was all my fault that he left me.

But that he still loved me and wanted to try again.

Was that the behavior of a logical person?

"Claire," he said, back to the gentle nice guy James, "I can see how overwhelmed you are by all of this. It's perfectly understandable. You thought you were all alone. And now you find that you have your old happy life back. It must be hard to take in all at once."

"That's right," I mumbled.

"So I'll leave you by yourself for a couple of hours."

"Thanks." I sagged with relief.

"I'll see about plane tickets. What day would you like to fly back to London?"

"Oh, I don't know." Panic gripped me again. I didn't want to go back to London. At least I didn't want to go back with James.

"No time like the present, eh?" He winked. "How long will it take you to pack?"

"Oh James, I don't know," I said, feeling horrorstruck. "A long time, probably, what with all Kate's stuff and that."

"Oh yes, Kate," he said, as if he'd just remembered her. "I'd better book her on the plane too."

"Well, don't do anything just yet," I said. "Give me a little bit of time to think things through."

"Well," he said, frowning, "I'm missing work by being

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here. So I'd like to get back as soon as possible, now that we've got things worked out."

"I'll talk to you later about it," I said, guiding him toward the front door.

"Well, don't take too long about it," he said, "after all..."

"Time is money, I know, I know," I wearily finished off the sentence for him.

I closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, leaning against the door, feeling quite weak.

"Is he gone?" hissed a voice.

It was Mum, sticking her head out of her bedroom and looking down at me in the hall.

"Yes," I said.

"What's wrong?" she asked, taking in my shocked appearance.

"Nothing," I said faintly.

"Good," she said.

"James told me he still loves me," I said blankly.

"What!" she screeched.

"I hope you told him where to stick it," shouted a voice from behind Mum.

"Claire, Claire," said Mum, running down the stairs, "come in. Sit down. Tell me all about it. This is great news."

She guided me to the kitchen.