Pack Up the Moon (27 page)

Clo was adamant. “There is obviously a big problem — excuse the pun. As her friends, it’s our job find out what the hell is going on, sort it and put her on a diet so that she can fit into the bloody bridesmaid dress!”

-I knew we bought those dresses too early,” I said shaking my head.

-You are joking. We’ve all been pretty much the same size for the last five years!” Her hands were in the air and she was beginning to sweat.

It was a good argument and I agreed our friend’s

sudden weight gain was puzzling and ill-timed, but added that if she wanted our help she’d ask for it and so far Anne

was acting like there wasn’t a problem. We could always return the dresses — and maybe she was happy with her new size and it was only other people’s small-mindedness

that would be the cause of her unhappiness.

Clo looked at me and said, “I love you, Em, but sometimes you talk out of your arse.”

I informed her that it was a fact as I’d seen it on Oprah. She laughed and made some smart comment about

Oprah.

“Excuse me, Clo,” I began snottily, “Oprah Winfrey has done more for women, fat people, skinny people and minorities in America and the world than most politicians, presidents and royals since the beginning of time. Furthermore I believe that when she makes a point it’s

based on medical and documented fact as opposed to

relying on the old adage that agreeing with anything

outside your realm of experience means talking through

your arse.”

Clo looked at me and smiled. “Em, you’re right and maybe Oprah’s right, but something’s going on and I’m going to find out what.”

At least I got her to agree to wait until we were back

at her place and I remember promising myself that I’d get

pissed.

We got back and it was late. My feet were swollen, Clo had a headache and Anne was hungry, again. I opened a bottle of wine and handed Clo a glass, which she used to wash down a couple of headache tablets.

And Anne gave out to her for abusing her body.

Oh, Christ, here we go.

Clo swallowed and smiled. “Speaking of which,” she began, “Em and I were just talking.”

I couldn’t believe she’d included me in her crusade. I was losing colour while Anne listened to her intently. -You’ve really packed on the pounds.”

Now Anne was starting to lose colour. Clo must have noticed, but carried on regardless.

“In a really short space of time. It’s just not right.” Anne was silent. I was mortified.

Clo continued. “It’s not like you’re Oprah or anything. You’ve never fluctuated more than half a stone in your

life.”

I was appalled that she had the audacity to bring

Oprah into this and in such a negative light.

Anne looked at me with hurt in her eyes, so I decided to speak before Clo’s version of kindness killed her. I really didn’t know what to say. This whole thing had got out of hand. It felt like an intervention and who the fuck were we to intervene? What did we know? The girl had put on some weight. So what? I wondered what Oprah would say.

So I asked her if she was unhappy and she answered by

bursting into tears. Clo and I sat beside her on the couch. Clo handed her some wine and tissues. Her eyes were puffy and sore.

“I hate Kerry!” she wailed. “And now apparently I’m a fat pig!”

“OK, you are fat but you will never be a pig,” Clo said gently as though she had just said something helpful. Anne stared at her incredulously. I pretty much

mirrored Anne. Years of working in PR had obviously addled Clo’s brain because she didn’t seem to notice our

bemusement.

“And besides, even with the extra pounds you’re still more attractive than some skinny people I know!” do added triumphantly.

Anne looked at me and I looked at Anne and Clo sat

looking at us both, grinning like she’d just waved a magic wand. We sat for a few seconds before Anne burst out laughing.

“You really are the shallowest person I know but I still

love you,” she said, nudging Clo, and Clo smiled at her, acknowledging her shallowness and glad to be accepted.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” I piped up.

Anne wondered how.

“You’re going to sit Richard down and tell him that

you’re homesick and then you’ll come home,” I said like it was a problem easily solved.

Living in Kerry was Richard’s dream. He loved residing in a small and beautiful place surrounded by

mountains and lakes. He loved the views, the slow pace of life, the people, the quaint bars, the good food and the - silence. Kerry gave Richard peace, but Anne was a city girl. She found beauty in architecture, noisy restaurants, - city lights, the theatre, museums, Brown Thomas and the Shelbourne. She loved the noise, the people, the queues and even the traffic.

“Do you know there isn’t one traffic light in the entire

town?” she almost cried. “How the hell am I supposed to live like that?”

We nodded in agreement. It seemed insane. She

further argued that her husband would never agree to

leave Kerry, adding that she was ready to hang herself.

“Why not compromise?” I asked. “Why not live in Dublin during the winter and Kerry in the summer?”

Anne thought about it. “But the summer is only three months of the year.”

“Exactly,” Clo grinned.

Anne smiled and added how lovely Kerry was in the

summer. “I wouldn’t mind Christmas there either. It’s really nice at Christmas,” she said, brightening as she spoke.

“Well, there you go then,” I said as though it was decided.

“More wine?” Clo offered as if to seal the deal.

Anne’s smile turned to concern. She wasn’t as convinced as us, but then again a problem is always simply resolved when it’s not your own.

So we drank. We drank to our health, to Clo’s wedding and to Anne’s diet and then we drank some more because

for most people in their twenties being heavy is a crime

while drinking yourself to death is perfectly acceptable. People are insane.

Sean picked me up just after eleven. Anne was passed out on the couch with a blanket over her and an empty

glass in her hand. Clo tried to take it, but Anne wasn’t letting go.

Clo and I said our goodbyes and Sean escorted me to

the car. When we got home, he made me a coffee and ran a bath. I lay in it for the longest time just thinking. Sean brought in a refill. He sat on the floor by the bath the way John used to do. He offered to wash my back the way John used to do. He took care of me the way John used

to do and I realised that I was happy, truly content. I was twenty-eight and living in rented accommodation. I was a teacher on a bullshit wage. I had a car that broke down once a month and a cat that made Roseanne Barr appear

stable. But as Sean towel-dried my hair I was at peace.

Later in bed we turned into one another and I told

him of Anne’s unhappiness and subsequent weight gain.

“I’d move to the moon for you,” he said.

I laughed. “I take it that’s the moon or nowhere?” I said.

“Obviously,” he replied grinning.

He kissed me and it still felt like the first time. We had run out of condoms, but we made love anyway and afterwards I lay in the dark smiling.

*

Anne returned to Kerry the next day She was hungover, but determined. Richard picked her up from the airport. He turned up with flowers and she told him they needed

to talk. What ensued was a blazing row during which the flowers were severely damaged. Anne wanted to go back to Dublin. Richard wanted to stay in Kerry. She argued homesickness. He argued his distaste for Dublin. He argued she hadn’t made an effort to fit into the Kerry lifestyle. He had made a lot of friends, but she refused to socialise. He further argued that after a year they had made a new

life for themselves there. He pointed out the obvious: they had a home, they were trying for children and she had agreed to move to the country. She disputed that it was more difficult for her to make friends, but when challenged she couldn’t give a reason why. She pointed

out that they still had an apartment in Dublin and plenty

of money to buy a house. It was also apparent to her that so far they had been unsuccessful at getting pregnant and

besides there were perfectly good schools in Dublin

anyway. They screamed and roared. He, disappointed because she was giving up so quickly, she, disappointed because her husband was either completely blind to her pain or

didn’t care. Richard was used to getting his way and Anne was used to giving it to him but she couldn’t do that

anymore.

At four in the morning, she packed her clothes and drove to Dublin. Richard woke on the couch to find his wife gone and a note with the word “Choose” written on

it.

*

It was two weeks since Anne had walked out on Richard. In that time she had dropped an entire dress size, which Clo unhelpfully described as a silver lining. I was worried. She had gone from overeating to not being able to hold

down soup. She set up home in their Dublin apartment, which was a penthouse and nicer than my bloody house, but it didn’t stop me from wondering if Anne felt like she

was slumming it. Each day she waited for Richard to call, but he didn’t and she was devastated. She’d ring me sobbing so loudly her pain was impossible to ignore.

“I left and he doesn’t care!” she’d wail.

I tried to be positive, but the evidence was weighing in favour of her statement.

“He’s a selfish bastard!” she’d roar.

I sympathised while being careful not to agree, afraid

that if and when they got back together she’d hold it

against me. Women can be funny like that.

“Where is he, Emma?” she’d cry plaintively

Good question.

“Why can’t he just meet me halfway?”

Better question.

“Does he even love me?”

Scary question.

I wanted her to stay with Sean and me, but she didn’t want to leave the apartment just in case he called. She sounded really depressed and it frightened me.

One night I tried to call her. She didn’t pick up. She hadn’t left the apartment in two weeks and she had been

very down during the day She could have been out, but deep down something told me she wasn’t. I called again. No answer. I was getting very nervous. Something was wrong. I could feel it — that terrible dread was creeping into my bones. I got into the car, but of course it wouldn’t start and Sean was out so I called a cab, but nothing was available for over an hour. That was too long. There was no direct bus so I went to Doreen.

Doreen had been a nurse. I told her to bring her medical bag. We reached Anne within half an hour after my first unanswered call. There was no answer at the main door so we entered the building with a pizza deliveryman. He didn’t notice us follow him in and, if he did, thankfully he didn’t care. We took the lift to the top floor and I rang the bell. Nothing.

“Emma, this is ridiculous — she’s probably with her parents,” Doreen said, leaning on the wall.

I rang the bell again and pressed my ear against the door.

“Doreen, listen,” I said urgently, sure that I had heard something or someone.

Doreen pressed her ear against the door and then looked

inc.at “The TV?” she questioned while repositioning her ear.

Now we were both listening intently. A man passed us and stopped.

“Can I help you?” he said.

“No, thanks,” I said nonchalantly, attempting to appear normal.

“I’m the caretaker so if there’s a problem?”

“Yes, actually we’d like to get in. Do you have a key?” Doreen asked with authority like she owned the place.

The man smiled at her audacity. “Yes, I do have a key, but I can’t just give it out, you understand.”

I had returned to pressing my ear against the door. “Shush,” I said hurriedly. “I can hear something. It’s her. I can hear her.”

I could hear the word “help” being called out faintly. Doreen went back to listening. The man approached and looked for space so that he too could listen.

Doreen was becoming impatient. “Listen, there’s a young woman in there and we think that she may need help. So you run along and get the key and if we’re wrong we’ll

apologise and bid you goodnight, but, if we’re right, you’ll be a hero.”

The caretaker contemplated this for a moment. “Give me a minute,” he said and left.

By the time he returned we were both full sure that

we could hear her calling out and I was screaming that everything would be fine to a wooden door. He let us in

and followed. The sitting-room was empty and the TV was on. The kitchen was clear and so was the bedroom. I made my way down the hall and to the bathroom with

Doreen and the stranger following tentatively behind.

I tried the door. It was locked.

“Anne!” I called out.

“Em!” a small voice called out from behind the door. “Anne, let me in!”

“I can’t!” she cried.

“Why not?” I asked, looking at the two others behind. “I’ve pulled my back out! I can’t move.”

I pushed at the door.

“Stop!” she cried out. “I’m naked!”

“Jesus,” mumbled the caretaker. I guess he was expecting a quiet night and a naked injured woman certainly wasn’t

on his “to do” list.

“Calm down, love. We have the caretaker. He’ll take care of the door,” Doreen said, while gesturing to the caretaker.

“Doreen?” Anne whined.

“Yes, it’s me, love. Everything will be fine.”

“I’m naked,” Anne reminded us.

“It will be fine. I’ll cover his — what’s your name?” She looked at the caretaker.

“Jim.”

“I’ll cover Jim’s eyes when he removes the door.”

Jim looked nervous. I could hear Anne mumbling something about God. Jim disappeared to find his tools. Doreen and I kept Anne talking. It appears that she hadn’t eaten all day and the likelihood was that she had fainted