This Charming Man (82 page)

‘Even though you
have
moved on.’

‘Yes, but no one should
say
it.’

‘Saying it makes you sound like you
not
moved on,’ he said. ‘Paradox.’

‘Yes, indeed, Considine, paradox. Okay, from start to finish, here is whole story.’

Related it all. Even the unpalatable details. ‘First night I said almost nothing to him and my knees wouldn’t stop shaking. However, second night, different story.’ Bragging slightly. ‘Made him eat own words about purple hair! “Molichino,” I said. Made him repeat it!’

‘Best thing you could have done, taking him on,’ Considine concluded. ‘Will stand to you, no doubt about it. You not terrified of bumping into him when back in Dublin?’

‘No.’ On other hand was not relishing thought of it either, but why dwell on negative?

Packed everything. Tidied house. Said my farewells to everyone in town. Must admit, very choked. Had arrived five months earlier, a wreck. Now returning to old life, not exactly as good as new, because
would never be the same as was before I met Paddy, but in reasonable enough nick.

Considine came to help carry bags into car. Didn’t take long.

‘Everything in?’ He smacked the boot.

‘Yep!’ I slapped the back window. ‘Everything in.’

Both of us being over-jovial and manly, our hands hanging conspicuously by our sides as if they had suddenly swollen to ten times their normal size.

‘Will you be back?’ he asked.

‘Yes, probably, some weekend, for hen night maybe.’

He nodded awkwardly. We both swung our abnormally noticeable hands.

After silence, I said, ‘Thank you, you have been kindly to me in my time here. Sharing your telly. Advising me on de Courcy.’

He nodded again. ‘You have been kindly to me also. Trannie evenings. Loan of plunger. Badger’s arse night.’

More silence, then I asked, ‘You ever come to Dublin for your eco-swot job?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. You ever come to Dublin to visit friends?’

‘No.’

‘Oh?’

‘Have no friends in Dublin.’

‘Surely I am your friend?’ said stoutly. ‘And I live in Dublin.’

‘In that case might visit you.’

‘Good. We will get rough as badger’s arse.’

‘Will look forward to it. Goodbye, Lola.’

Looked at him. Dark eyes. Messy hair. And God, you know something…

Took step towards him, he took step towards me, I tilted my face up to him, he grasped me with hand around lower back and held his mouth against mine, lips touching lips. For few seconds stayed like that, without moving, like movie kiss. Quivered – both of us – actually quivered with want – felt it in him, felt it in me – before melting into each other. Slow, sensual, knee-weakening. Rossa Considine extremely sexy kisser.

My flat in Dublin
Welcomed home by Bridie, Barry, Treese and Jem.

‘Said goodbye to all your Knockavoy pals?’ Bridie asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Sad?’

‘Yes.’

‘We will go back one day for visit,’ she promised. ‘Uncle Tom’s cabin should be free for bank holiday weekend in about seven years’ time.’

Saturday had passed without me getting up the nerve to confess to Damien. It also passed without de Courcy shopping me to Damien. Sunday too passed without incident. Then it was Monday and Damien rang me from work.

‘Charlie and Angus have killed the story about Dee.’ His voice was trembling with excitement.

So Paddy had stuck to his word and got his source to withdraw the story. Probably the only decent thing he’d ever done in his life. It was only now that he’d actually done it that I believed it. Even over the weekend, I’d half expected to see the story about Dee pop up in one of the papers.

‘You’ve saved Dee’s career,’ Damien said.

‘So have you.’

‘Seriously. A general election is going to be called soon. IfPaddy had got his way, he’d be going into the campaign as leader of New Ireland.’

‘You were the one who risked his job.’ Anxiously I added, ‘You haven’t been sacked?’

He laughed. ‘No. No talk of a leak. No one’s making a big deal of it.’ Stories were killed all the time, it was a routine occurrence. ‘There won’t be any fallout,’ he promised me. ‘It’s all going to be okay.’

I wanted to believe him.

One way and another it had been a rough six months. Since the summer I’d been desperate to make things up to Damien and for us to be back to normal.

Maybe now we could be. Maybe the whole horrible de Courcy episode had finally been put to bed.

Daring to be hopeful, but still holding my breath, Monday passed without Paddy de Courcy ruining my life.

Ditto Tuesday.

Ditto Wednesday.

On Thursday the Taoiseach Teddy Taft called a general election.

This was very good news. Paddy would be up to his tonsils with
campaigning. An
d
he was getting married in five weeks. He’d have no time to be bothered with someone like me.

I decided it was safe to breathe again.

Recommenced work. Had expected slow start. But no! Funny thing had happened. SarahJane Hutchinson had suddenly been elevated to queen of society. Combination of her new, wealthy boyfriend and her ‘connection’ with Zara Kaletsky had thrust her to summit of pile. Despite bloodhound knees, everyone wanted to be her friend. Everyone wanted to serve on her committee. Everyone wanted to use her stylist…

Yes! I had stuck with her through the bad times, for once in life backed the right horse and looked set to reap rewards, assuming could hold it together and not burn any expensive dresses at shoots.

Phone began ringing.

Snowed under with work.

Changed mind about styling Grace Gildee. People are the way they are. No point trying to change them.

Also cannot spare time.

Siam Nights
Jem had called emergency summit meeting in Thai restaurant. Despite me being snowed under with work, he insisted that I attend.

Was forty-three minutes late. Rushed in. ‘Apologies, apologies, but am –’

‘– yes, snowed under with work.’

Sat down. Looked around at Treese, Bridie and Jem. ‘What did I miss?’

‘He wouldn’t tell us until you got here.’ Bridie sour.

‘Apologies, apologies, but am –’

‘Don’t say it.’

‘Now that everyone is finally here,’ Jem said, with ominous formality, ‘have something to tell you all.’

Heart sank. He was getting married to stinky Claudia and we would be stuck with her for ever. Worse, would have to go to her hen night, maybe even organize it. Am not a hen-party person. Too dangerous.

‘Tell us, then,’ Bridie demanded.

Jem suddenly shifty. Making patterns with his glass on the table. ‘I’ve… ah… met someone.’

Moment to digest his words.

‘Met someone? You mean… a woman?’

He nodded, still shifting glass about like receiving messages on ouija board.

‘But you already have woman! Claudia!’

‘Yes! Claudia!’ Treese confirmed.

With his hand, Jem made short, brutal, Mafia-style chop across his neck. ‘Gone.’

Claudia was gone!

‘Who “goned” her?’ I asked. Indignant. ‘You?’

He assented. ‘Tonight she sleeps with the newsreaders.’

‘What? All of them?’ Bridie asked.

He shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘So you just cast her aside like out-of-date Muller Fruit Corner?’ I demanded.

‘Why you annoyed?’ Jem surprised. ‘You hated her. You all hated her.’

Clamour of disagreement. ‘Didn’t hate her. No, didn’t hate her. Really quite fond of her.’

‘Oh all right,’ Bridie admitted. ‘Did hate her. But she hated me too.’

‘Treese?’ Jem asked.

‘Yes, hated her,’ Treese said.

‘Lola?’ Jem asked.

‘Yes, hated her. Of course. Sorry, was just having moment of identification with dumped woman there. Has passed now. Am bloody delighted. Who is this new one? I hope she’s a bit nicer than Claudia.’

I would settle for her liking Jem, which Claudia had never seemed to manage.

Jem’s face lit up with sappy glow. ‘Gwen. You will meet her. You will love her.’

Yes, but he had said that about Claudia too.

When Ma notified me about Bid’s final diagnosis, I could have rung Damien at work, but I decided to wait to tell him in person. Because of the forthcoming election, he was working an average of fourteen hours a day, stuck on tour buses, covering God-awful campaign trails.

It was ten to twelve when he got home from work that night.

‘In here,’ I called from the living room. ‘In here.’

He pushed open the door and cheerily I said, ‘Guess what?’

His face went grey. Slowly he sat down on the floor. (Still no new couch, it hadn’t even been ordered.) ‘Just tell me, Grace.’

Clearly he was expecting some type of bad news. But I’d been so upbeat…?

I looked at his anxious expression and was seized by a blinding flash of terror that he and I would never be right again.

The night with Zara and Selma should have fixed things, but here we were, Damien and I, still mismatching each other’s moods.

‘Bid’s scan,’ I said. ‘She got the all-clear.’

It wasn’t what he’d expected. I could almost see the cloud of angst lift from him. ‘Serious?’ He began to smile and smile. ‘My God, she’s unbelievable, isn’t she? Unstoppable.’

‘The old boot will probably outlive us all.’

‘I thought she wouldn’t come through it,’ Damien admitted.

‘I don’t know what I thought,’ I said. I suppose I simply hadn’t let myself think at all.

‘It’s bloody fantastic news,’ Damien said.

‘Even more fantastic,’ I said, ‘we can start smoking again. Six months without a cigarette, I couldn’t have done it without you.’ Pompously I said, ‘Our sacrifice kept her alive, of course, you do know that?’

But instead of laughing, his cheer seemed to drain from him and the mood once again went into a nosedive. What the hell was happening now?

‘I’ve something to tell you,’ Damien said with terrible weariness.

Instantly I was plunged into the horrors. The hideous fear intensified when he said, ‘A confession.’

Don’t let this be happening
…

‘I didn’t want to worry you while the jury was still out on Bid,’ he said. ‘But I’ve… betrayed you.’

Such a horrible word that:
betrayed
.

‘I tried my damnedest, Grace.’ Damien was a picture of remorse. ‘But I just didn’t have it in me to resist.’

‘With Juno?’ Why did I ask? Hadn’t I smelt her in my house? In my own bed?

I’d known she’d been there. I’d known it in some deep hidden part of me. But I’d wanted so much to be wrong that I’d believed Damien when he told me there was nothing going on.

‘Yes, sometimes with Juno.’

‘
Some
times?’ I was tangled up in shock and confusion. ‘… There have been others?’ Was this worse or better? It was hard to know because it was all so horrific.

‘Grace, wait,’ Damien said urgently. ‘What are we talking about here?’

‘You tell me.’

‘I’ve been smoking. Cigarettes. While you’ve been in London with Marnie.’

It took several seconds for me to understand. ‘You’ve been
smoking?’

He nodded.

‘That’s all?’

It was what I’d smelt: the faintest trace of cigarette smoke. I’d confused it with infidelity.

‘We had a pact,’ he said. ‘And I didn’t honour my side of it.’

‘But it’s okay!’

‘I lied to you.’

‘But who cares about a few sneaky fags? You haven’t cheated on me?’

‘Grace, that fecking
word
. No, I haven’t.’

‘Oh God, Damien, I thought… I’m so relieved, I’m –’ I should have been skipping around with relief, but suddenly something else was there.

Where had it come from?

Why now?

And then I understood that it had been there all along. Just waiting for its moment.

‘What?’ I said defensively. Guilt jumped from my eyes and there was an answer waiting in his. Neither of us spoke and something – anything – was needed to break the strange atmosphere. I pressed my feet against the floor to stand up, but then he spoke and I froze.

‘Grace. I know.’

I couldn’t speak.

‘About you and de Courcy.’

The fear I’d felt when I’d thought Damien had slept with Juno was as nothing compared to this. This was infinitely, immeasurably worse.

‘How?’ The word was tiny.

‘When you were working on his autobiography. You couldn’t… miss it.’

My life was draining from me. My entire existence was disappearing, dissolving into nothing. I actually stopped being able to feel my feet.

‘Please…’ I wanted to tell him that nothing had happened with Paddy and me. But that was only true in the strictest interpretation of the words and I had too much respect for Damien to fob him off with that shite.

‘Then your bruised face, the cigarette burn on your hand. That story about you tripping on the paving stone.’ Damien laughed softly and shook his head.

I was horrified. I’d thought he’d believed me. How could I have been so thick?

‘But why didn’t you say anything?’ My voice was croaky.

‘If you were going to lie to me,’ he said, ‘what good would it do to tell you that I knew?’

That was the very worst moment of my life. Even as it was happening, I recognized it.

Shame engulfed me – pure shame, not that hot, blustery, shouty stuff where you go on the defensive, trying to pretend you’re not in the wrong.

I
knew
I was in the wrong. Damien didn’t give his trust easily, it was a rare and precious thing and I’d treated it like a pair of old jocks that you use for cleaning the windows.

‘It was six months ago. How have you lived with it?’ This is what baffled me. ‘Without saying anything to me?’

‘Because I loved you. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to fix it if we could.’

Oh Christ… Successive waves of shame hit me as I remembered how Damien had tried to patch up the damage I’d caused.

He’d got a bank loan to replace the car that Paddy had burnt out.