Pack Up the Moon (20 page)

-Fine.” She straightened up in her chair. “Tom has two kids. Mia is nine and Liam is four.”

I think I may have blanched. “Two kids?”

She nodded.

“Have you met them?”

“Your turn.”

I was beginning to tire of this game. “Fine, I had sex with Pierre this morning.”

She burst out laughing. “Yes. Oh yes! Thank you, God!”

We were both laughing.

“What was it like?” She was jumping slightly in her chair. It was time to end this charade and find out what was really going on with Tom, because shag or no shag that’s what we really needed to talk about.

“You tell me about Tom and his kids and what it all

means and I’ll tell you about my morning with Pierre

Dulac.”

So she told me.

Torn was seventeen when his girlfriend got pregnant. They had Mia. He got a job in a computer factory. He was married and had a mortgage at twenty-one. He worked hard during the day and did computer courses by

night. She got a job in a flower shop. They had Liam. Tom opened his business. He became successful quickly, but he was never home. His wife met someone at the flower shop. She had an affair. He left. It was messy for a while, but amicable in the end. They both realised that they had been going through the motions. They had just married too young. She did well in the divorce. She’d since remarried and he saw his kids on weekends. He told

Clodagh about his past on their first date. She had met his children and, although it was clear she wasn’t Mary Poppins, they were getting on all right. She was happy and it didn’t matter.

“Are you sure?”

“Initially it was a worry, especially with my luck. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I needed to work it out for myself.”

She was worried I’d be offended that she hadn’t told

me, but deep down she knew it didn’t matter.

“You’re in love.”

“Yeah, I am,” she agreed smiling. “First time for everything,” she added, laughing.

Wow, Clo was in love. There was light at the end of the tunnel.

I’d like to be able to say that we spent the rest of the day

in museums, galleries and old Parisian churches but I can’t. We shopped, buying in Old Navy, Gap, Naf Naf, the list went on. We bought dresses, shoes and bags. Clodagh bought a watch. We ate lunch outdoors watching our fellow shoppers go by. We looked in Prada, Gucci and Chanel just for a few minutes, then out the door before one of the beady-eyed salespeople spotted us, blew a whistle and kicked us out. In the late afternoon we walked along the winding little backstreets absorbing the atmosphere.

It was after eight when we got back. Anne, Richard and Tom were playing poker in the sitting-room. Frankie and Sean were out. Anne made tea and we filled her in on our day. She talked about the Mona Lisa. It had been a let-down and her feet were killing her. She loved the galleries and had bought a painting that would be shipped

to Kerry. Tom was in great spirits, having thoroughly enjoyed his sightseeing. He and Richard bonded over a mini-case of seasickness on the bateau-mouche, but they had recovered enough to enjoy four pints in the afternoon.

We were all starving so Anne left a note telling Sean

which restaurant we would be in. Over dinner Tom showed us pictures of his kids. Everyone was happy and in good spirits. I aimed for the vegetarian option and got fed. It was a good night, but Sean was missing. It reminded me of our fight and all the ugly things we’d said. I felt tired. The others wanted to go for a drink, but I made my excuses. They blamed my weariness on having had a good ride and they were partly right.

Clo and Tom walked me around the corner to the

apartment. They waited until I was inside before they walked away arm in arm. I sat on the sofa and lit up. Sean entered from his bedroom quietly and sat down next to

me. I handed him a cigarette. He took it gratefully We sat in silence.

“You were right. I’m an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole. You’re just an insensitive tosser,”

I smiled. It was impossible to stay annoyed with him.

“I would never intentionally say anything to hurt you.” “I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He looked so lost I couldn’t help but put my arms

around him and we hugged.

“Where’s Frankie?” I asked mid-hug.

His arms stiffened. “Gone.”

I remembered that Pierre and his posse were heading

off to Canada that afternoon. She was part of the posse so it made sense.

“Oh well,” I sighed, “at least we have each other.” He kissed the top of my head and we lay in one

another’s arms exhausted and fell asleep.

The Sound of Music, Plastic Tits and Bruce Willis

It was coming up to Christmas and I was dreading it. I had to look forward to at least three Christmas parties, which I was being forced to attend, battling to get Christmas presents, crowds, wrapping, extending my Visa credit, “Jingle Bells”, queuing in the post office for four hours, marking Christmas tests and Wham’s bloody “Last Christmas” on the radio every five minutes, culminating with Christmas Day spent with my parents fighting over the remote. At least Noel was coming home. The rest of it was almost worth it. I was wrapping presents when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Emma, crackle, crackle …”

“Hello?” Crackle, crackle …

I shook the phone, something I always did when I had a bad line. It never helped, but it felt like I was doing something.

“Emma, crackle, crackle. It’s me, Noel.”

“Noel, is that you?” Crackle, buzz, crackle.

“The line is really crackle, crackle, crackle …”

“Noel, oh my God! Where are you calling from? It’s so good to hear your voice!” Buzz. “Damn this line.” “Goa buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“Are you OK?” Crackle, crackle, crackle. “When are you coming home?”

“Em, I’m not. Crackle, crackle, crackle … Tell crackle, crackle that crackle, crackle. Sorry. I’d crackle to but I’ll call on crackle day.

“What?” Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. “You’re not coming home?” My heart sank.

“I crackle time crackle love you crackle I’m crackle.” “You’re what?”

“Fine!”

“I love you too!” I shouted.

The line went dead.

“Fuck!”

How was I going to break this to the parents? Oh Noel, please come home!

I was upset then pissed off, then really pissed off. He had called me with the bad news so that I was the one

who had to break it to our parents. He was doing God knows what in Goa and I was left on the receiving end of

their wrath.

That’s like something I’d do.

I decided to get it out of the way as soon as possible. I fixed myself a hot port and dialled home.

Bloody Christmas.

*

There was one bright side to the season. Clo, Torn, Sean and I were heading down to Kerry to spend New Year’s

Eve with Anne and Richard and I was really looking

forward to that. I missed them and I couldn’t wait to see their place and to get out of Dublin. I was excited so I planned to grin and bear the rest of it. That was the plan — the reality was somewhat different.

Tom ran his own graphic design company, which meant that he threw a company Christmas party. Clodagh attempted to entice us to attend.

“It’ll be great,” she said.

I didn’t want to go and complained loudly. She told me to shut up. It had been over a month since Paris and as soon as we returned to Dublin the old unsocial me had

taken up residence once more. She was fed up of it.

Sean didn’t complain — he was in party mood. He’d met some New Yorker who was working with the magazine

for two months. She was an executive type, blonde hair, tall and big tits. Basically, most women’s worst nightmare. Despite his vow to never date a co-worker again, he appeared smitten and needed an excuse to ask her out. Tom’s Christmas party was perfect.

I was busy getting ready. The doorbell rang. I ran down the stairs cursing the pizza man. It was Sean. He was early.

“You’re early,” I said while trying to towel-dry my hair.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I had a late meeting in town.” “How’d it go?” I asked while running up the stairs, not waiting for his answer.

He made himself at home. The pizza man arrived and he paid him. I arrived downstairs fifteen minutes and half

the pizza later. He looked up from the near-empty box. “I was hungry,” he said.

I sat down and started to eat the remains. “So how did it go?” I asked again, this time actually awaiting the answer. “Good.” But he didn’t appear happy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he answered.

This was annoying. I knew that he had something to tell me. I could always tell when he was holding back. “Well?” I said.

“Well,” he repeated.

Christ, it’s like talking to my mother. I gave him a dirty look.

“OK,” he surrendered, “my boss called me in to his office and asked me if I would like a promotion.”

I was delighted. “Oh my God! That’s amazing. Congratulations. What’s the job?”

He wasn’t smiling. “Editor,” he said unhappily. “Wow,” I said cautiously. “Amazing.”

“Yeah,” he said. “The thing is, it’s editor of a new sister magazine. I’d be based in London.”

I stopped smiling. “London,” I repeated.

“Yeah,” he said while looking at my clean floor. “London, England?” It just came out.

“No, London, Spain.” He almost laughed.

“Wow” Then I repeated the word “London” because I was having difficulty allowing it to sink in. I felt a lump in my throat. Oh my God, I’m going to cry. To give myself something to do I picked up the pizza box and put it in

the bin, then turned away to make coffee. He was silent. “That’s great,” I repeated.

“You think so?” His voice was small.

“What’s the money like?” I asked, delaying a response. What was I supposed to say? Don’t go?

“It’s good money,” he repeated dully.

Sean loved Dublin. Unlike most of us, he never complained about the dirt or the late bus. He lived in Joyce’s Dublin. He acknowledged the beauty of this ancient city, the old, the new, the tradition, its people and of course the old-fashioned craic. He actually got excited when he stood at the taxi rank on Dame Street. He’d spin around observing the glory of the Central Bank and

Trinity College, the two concrete works of art that closeted him.

“This is where Stoker first thought of the idea for

Dracula,” he told me once.

I remembered laughing at him one cold night as he

pointed out the Central Bank lit up in all its glory. “You can see how these buildings inspired him, can’t you?” he had said, seeing something that I would never see.

He would miss Dublin and I would miss him. I didn’t want to turn around because my eyes were filling up.

“It’s a good opportunity,” he said for both our benefits.

I stuck my head in the fridge, feigning difficulty in reaching the milk.

Don’t cry. Be a friend. This isn’t about you.

I turned with milk in my hand. “It’s great news. You should be really proud. I’m really happy for you.” I smiled, hoping to convince.

He looked down. “Great,” he repeated.

I tried to brighten. “So when are you leaving?” I asked, afraid of his answer.

“The end of January.”

“That soon?” I managed.

“That soon,” he agreed.

My heart sank as I smiled widely. “That’s great,” I repeated once too often.

He wanted to leave, so he called a taxi while I pretended to look for some lipstick. I sat on my bed and I wanted to bawl. My head felt heavy so I held it in my hands.

“Fuck,” I said to the wall. What can I do? I can’t tell him to stay. That’s selfish. I can’t tell him that losing him would be unbearable, because I’m not his girlfriend. We’re just friends.

I missed him already and I felt sick, but we had a party to go to. I put on more lipstick. The taxi came and we left.

We arrived after nine. The party was in full swing. Clo was drunk.

“I drank too much wine at dinner,” she confided. “And I didn’t eat enough dinner at dinner. The chicken was foul.” She laughed at her devastatingly witty comment. She could see that I wasn’t amused. “Jesus! Who shoved a fork up your

I interrupted, “Sean’s leaving.”

“He’s just got here,” she pointed out.

“He’s moving to London at the end of January” She sobered up momentarily. “You are joking.” “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Did you ask him to stay?” she asked.

I was taken aback. “Of course not. It’s none of my business.” I was annoyed by her question and wondered whether she was keeping up with our conversation or

having her own one in her head. “What the fuck would I ask him to stay for?”

She put her hands in the air. “No reason, Emma. No reason at all. I’m going to the bar.” She left.

What the fuck was that?

*

Tom was talking to a female member of his staff. He was smiling and making small talk and I had no interest. Clo had disappeared and I briefly wondered if she had already

retired to the cloakroom for forty winks. I looked around and sipped at my vodka. Sean was standing at the bar talking with his blonde co-worker.

Bitch.

He caught me watching them. I smiled at him, embarrassed, and then scanned the room pretending that I was looking for Clo. I finished my drink. Tom noticed and another one magically appeared. Clo returned from whence she had gone.

“Where did you go?” I asked.

“I needed to pee. How long has Tom been talking to her?”

“Not long.”

“Bitch!” she whispered.

“What have I done now?” I asked, pissed off that I had bothered to come out.

“Not you. Her!” She pointed out the woman Tom was talking to.

I asked what the problem was and she told me that

Tom used to go out with her.

“Who Cares? Sean’s moving to London.

“So?” I said unhelpfully.

“So. She’s a bitch,” she replied.