Marian Keyes - Lucy Sullivan Is Getting Married (8 page)

seven hours of solid drinking, ending up in the early hours of Saturday morning in an anonymous, tourist-trap nightclub in a basement somewhere near Oxford Circus, dancing with young men in cheap suits wearing their ties knotted around their heads, there was a good chance that I would have the apartment to myself.

I was glad about that. Whenever I had a tussle with life and came out the loser--and I usually did come out the loser--I would hibernate. I hid myself away from people. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I tried to limit human contact to ordering in a pizza and paying the delivery man. And I preferred it if the delivery man kept his bicycle helmet on because it cut down on eye contact. The feeling always passed after a while.

After a couple of days I'd have regained the energy I needed to go out into the world and deal with other human beings. I'd have managed to reassemble my protective armor so that I wasn't a whining, miserable pain in the neck. So that I was able to laugh at my misfortunes and actively en- courage others to do so also, just to show what a good sport I was.

13 By the time I got off the bus, it had started raining and was bitterly cold. Although I was mute with misery and desperate for the shelter of home, I stopped at the row of shops beside the bus stop to buy supplies for my couple of days of isolation. lucy sullivan is getting married / 83

First I visited the newsstand and bought four chocolate bars and a magazine, which I managed to procure without one word being exchanged between me and the shopkeeper. (That was one of the many benefits of living in central London.)

Then I went next door to the liquor store and guiltily bought a bottle of white wine, uncomfortably sure that the man knew I intended to drink the entire bottle on my own. I don't know why I was so worried because he probably wouldn't have raised an eyebrow even if I was knifed in the line, just so long as he got paid. But it was hard to shake my inherited small- town mentality.

Next I stopped at the fish and chips shop and, apart from a rudimentary discussion involving salt and vinegar, I was able to avoid any real human contact and buy a bag of chips.

Then I went into the video shop, hoping that I could very quickly pick up something light and diverting, with the minimum of conversation.

But it was not to be.

"Lucy!" called Adrian, the video shop man, sounding all excited and delighted to see me.

I could have kicked myself for coming in! I had forgotten that Adrian would want to talk to me, that his customers were his social life.

"Hi, Adrian." I smiled demurely, hoping to calm him down.

"Great to see you," he shouted.

I wished he hadn't. I was sure that the other people were looking at me. I tried to make myself smaller inside my inconspicuous brown coat. I quickly--a lot more quickly than I had originally intended--found what I wanted and took it to the desk.

Adrian smiled broadly. 84 / marian keyes

If I wasn't so curmudgeonly I would have had to admit that he really was sweet. Just a bit too enthusiastic.

"So where've you been?" he asked loudly. "I haven't seen you for, oh...days!"

The other customers paused from perusing the racks and looked at me, waiting for my answer. Well at least that was how it felt to me, but I was self-conscious to the point of paranoia.

My face burned with embarrassment.

"So you went and got yourself a life?" asked Adrian.

"I did," I murmured. (Shut up Adrian, please.)

"And what happened?" he asked.

"It fell through," I smiled wistfully.

He guffawed. "You're a laugh, do you know that?"

I gave a tight smile. I was sure that I could feel all the other customers craning their necks, looking at me and thinking "Her?--that insignificant little thing. Are you sure? She doesn't look like a laugh."

"Well, it's good to see you again," announced Adrian. "And what are you going to watch this evening?" He looked down at the box in my hands.

"Oh no!" he said. His broad smile vanished in disgust and he almost threw my choice of video back at me. "Not Four Weddings and a Funeral."

"Yes, Four Weddings and a Funeral," I insisted, sliding it back across the counter at him.

"But, Lucy," he pleaded, sliding it firmly back to me, "it's sentimental crap. I know, I know! What about Cinema Paradiso?"

"I've seen it," I told him. "And on your recommendation. That was the night you wouldn't let me take out Sleepless in Seattle."

"Aha!" he said triumphantly. "But what about Cinema Paradiso, The Dir- ector's Cut?" lucy sullivan is getting married / 85

"Seen it."

"Jean de Florette?" he asked hopefully.

"Seen it," I said.

"Babette's Feast?"

"Seen it."

"Cyrano de Bergerac?"

"Which version?"

"Any of them."

"Seen them all."

"La Dolce Vita?"

"Seen it."

"Something by Fassbinder?"

"No, Adrian," I said, fighting back despair, but trying to sound firm. "You never let me take out anything I want. I've seen every cult and foreign film that you stock in here. Please, please, just this once, let me watch something lighthearted.... That's in English," I added hastily, before he attempted to find me something lighthearted in Swedish.

He sighed.

"Well, okay," he said sadly. "Four Weddings and a Funeral it is. What have you got for your dinner?"

"Oh," I said, thrown slightly by the abrupt change in subject.

"Give up your bag," he said.

I reluctantly put my bags up on the counter.

This was a ritual that Adrian and I usually went through. A long time ago he had confessed to me that his job made him feel very isolated. That he never had his meals at the same time as anyone else. And that it made him feel as though he still belonged to the real world if he kept in contact with the nine-to-fivers and what they did with their evenings and, more specifically, what they ate.

Normally I had a lot of sympathy for him, but that 86 / marian keyes

evening I wanted to get out of the outside world and be alone with my chocolate and my wine so that I could revel in the complete absence of any other human beings.

Also I was ashamed of the high-sugar, high-saturated-fat, low-protein, low-fiber purchases.

"I see," he said, poking through my carrier bags. "Chocolate, chips, wine--the chocolate will melt if you leave it next to the chips, you know--are you feeling a bit depressed?"

"I suppose," I said, trying to smile, trying to be polite. While every atom in me ached to be at home, with the door locked behind me.

"Poor you," he said kindly.

Again I tried to smile, but I wasn't able. For a moment I thought I might tell him about the whole me-getting-married fiasco, but I couldn't find the energy.

Adrian was sweet. Really sweet. And cute, I realized vaguely. And I kind of thought that he had a crush on me. Maybe I should consider him, I thought halfheartedly. Maybe that's what Mrs. Nolan meant when she told me that at first I may not recognize my future husband.

Then, with a little burst of irritation, I realized that even I had started to believe Mrs. Nolan, that I was just as bad as Megan and Meredia. Angrily, I told myself to get a grip, that I wasn't marrying anyone and certainly not Adrian. It would never work.

To begin with, there were financial considerations. I wasn't sure what kind of money Adrian was earning, but it couldn't have been much--it certainly couldn't have been much more than the pittance I earned. I cer- tainly wasn't mercenary, but face it, I thought--how could we possibly keep a family on our combined incomes? And what about our children? Adrian seemed to work twenty lucy sullivan is getting married / 87

hours a day, seven days a week, so they'd never even get to see their dad.

In fact, I'd probably never get to see him long enough for him to actually impregnate me. Oh well.

Adrian had keyed in my account number, which he knew by heart and was telling me that I owed a late charge for something that had been taken out ten days previously and hadn't yet been returned.

"Really?" I asked, turning pale at the thought of the amount I owed and the fear that I might never actually get out of that shop.

"Yes," he said, looking concerned. "That's not like you, Lucy."

He was right. I never did anything risky. I was far too afraid of annoying someone or of being told off.

"Oh God," I said in alarm. "I don't even remember taking out something in the last fortnight. What is it?"

"The Sound of Music."

"Oh," I said, worried. "That wasn't me. That must have been Charlotte using my card."

My heart sank. That meant that I was going to have to tell Charlotte off for impersonating me. And I'd have to get money from her for the late charge. Extracting teeth would be easier.

"But why The Sound of Music?" asked Adrian.

"It's her favorite film."

"Really? Is there something wrong with her?"

"No," I said defensively. "She's very sweet."

"Ah, come on," scoffed Adrian. "She must not be too bright."

"She's not dumb," I insisted. "She's just young."

"If she's over the age of eight, she's out of the `just young' category," he snorted. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-three," I muttered. 88 / marian keyes

"Old enough to know better," he said.

"I bet she has a pink duvet cover," he added, his lip curled in disgust. "And she loves children and animals and gets up early on Sunday mornings to watch Little House on the Prairie."

If he only knew how close he was.

"You can tell an awful lot about a person by the video they choose," he explained. "Anyway, why is it charged to your card?"

"Because you closed her account. Remember?"

"She's not the blond who took Planes, Trains and Automobiles to Spain?" said Adrian, his voice rising in alarm. He looked appalled at the realization that he'd lent out one of his precious videos to the awful girl who had taken one of his babies across Europe and then refused to pay the late charge on her return. That somehow the trade sanctions that he'd imposed against Charlotte had been breached.

"Yes."

"I can't think how I didn't recognize her," he said, looking upset.

"Don't worry, don't worry," I said soothingly, willing him to clam down and let me go home. "I'll get it back. And I'll pay the fine."

I would have agreed to pay anything so that I could leave.

"No," he said. "Just get it back." The way tearful mothers of missing children do on television appeals.

"Just get it back," he repeated. "That's all I ask."

I left. I was exhausted. So much for not wanting to talk to anyone. But I wouldn't speak to anyone else that evening, I decided. I couldn't speak to anyone else that evening. I was taking a vow of silence. Although it felt more like a vow of silence was taking me.

14 The apartment was in a terrible mess. The kitchen was in a shambles, with dirty dishes and pans piled higgledy-piggledy in the sink. The trash needed to be taken out, the radiators were covered with drying clothes, two pizza boxes were flung on the living-room floor, perfuming the air with onion and pepperoni, and there was a funny smell coming from the fridge when I opened it to put in my bottle of wine.

Although the state of the place made me more depressed than I already was, I couldn't summon the strength to do anything more than put the pizza boxes in a trash bag.

But at least I was home.

As I foraged gingerly around in the kitchen for a cleanish plate to put my chips on, the phone rang. And before I had realized what I was doing I had answered it.

"Lucy?" said a man's voice.

At least, for a moment, I thought it was a man. But then I realized that it was just Daniel.

"Hello," I said, trying to sound polite but cursing myself for answering the phone. He was obviously calling to gloat over the fortune-teller marriage nonsense.

"Hello, Lucy," he said in a friendly, concerned tone. "How are you?"

I had been right. He was definitely calling to gloat.

"What do you want?" I said coldly. 90 / marian keyes

"I called to see how you are," he said, doing a passable imitation of a surprised voice. "And thank you for the warm welcome."

"You're calling to laugh at me," I said huffily.

"I'm not," he said. "Honestly!"

"Daniel," I sighed. "Of course you are. Whenever something bad happens to me you call to rub it in. The same way as whenever something bad happens to you, I laugh myself hoarse. It's the rule."

"It's not actually," he said mildly. "I can't deny that you seem to get great enjoyment whenever I have bad luck, but it's not true to say that I laugh at any of your misfortunes."

A pause.

"Let's face it," he said kindly. "I'd spend my entire life laughing if that was the case."

"Goodbye, Daniel," I said coldly, pulling the phone toward me.

"Wait, Lucy!" he shouted. "It was a joke. Good lord," he muttered. "You're so much nicer when you have your sense of humor plugged in."

I said nothing, because I wasn't sure whether or not to believe that he had been joking. I was very sensitive about the seemingly disproportionate amount of disasters that befell me. I was terrified of being ridiculed and, even more so, of being pitied.

The silence continued.

What a waste of a phone bill, I thought sadly. Then I tried to pull myself together. Life was bad enough, I thought. There was no need whatsoever for me to go into a total slump about the tragedy of unspoken words on a telephone call. To pass the time I flicked through my magazine. I found an article on colonic irrigation. Ugh, I thought, that looks disgusting. It must be good. lucy sullivan is getting married / 91

Then I ate two Rolos. One on its own wasn't enough.

"I hear you're not getting married," Daniel finally said, after the silence had stretched taut.

"No, Daniel, I'm not getting married," I agreed. "I hope I've made your weekend. Now I want to go. Goodbye."

"Lucy, please," he begged.

"Daniel," I interrupted wearily, "I'm really not in the mood for this."

I didn't even want to talk to someone, let alone bicker with him.

"I'm sorry," he said apologetically.

"Are you?" I asked suspiciously.

"I am," he said. "Really."

"Fine," I said. "But I really want to go now."

"You're still pissed off with me," he said. "I can tell."

"No, Daniel, I'm not," I said wearily. "But I just want to be left alone."

"Oh no," he said. "Does this mean that you're going to disappear until next weekend with a box of cookies?"

"Maybe." I laughed slightly. "See you in a week."

"I'll stop by every so often to turn you," he said. "I don't want you getting bedsores again."

"Thanks."

"No, look, Lucy," he said. "Why don't you come out with me tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night?" I asked. "Saturday night. That's the night for going to parties and trying to meet men, not for going out with old friends. That's what God invented Monday nights for."

An alarming thought suddenly struck me.

"Where are you?" I demanded suspiciously.

"Er, at home," he said, sounding shamefaced.

"On a Friday night?" I asked in astonishment. "And 92 / marian keyes

you want to go out with me on a Saturday night? What's wrong?"

Then I knew. And my spirits lifted perceptibly.

"She's dumped you, hasn't she?" I said, coaxingly. "That woman Ruth has come to her senses. Although I have to admit that up until now I didn't actually think she had any senses to come to."

I always made unkind remarks about Daniel's girlfriends. I thought that any woman stupid enough to become involved with someone so obviously flirtatious and commitment-shy as Daniel deserved to have disparaging things said about her.

"Now aren't you glad that I called?" he said nicely. "Aren't you glad that you didn't just pawn me off on the answering machine?"

"Thanks, Daniel," I said, feeling slightly better. "You're very thoughtful. A trouble shared is a trouble doubled. So what happened?"

"Oh," he said vaguely. "Just one of those things. I'll tell you all about it when I see you tomorrow night."

"Daniel," I said gently, "you're not seeing me tomorrow night."

"But Lucy," he said reasonably. "I've made a reservation for dinner."

"But Daniel," I said, equally reasonably, "you shouldn't have done that without consulting me. You know how unpredictable my moods are. And at the moment I'm no fun at all."

"Well, you see," he explained, "I had the reservation weeks ago and I was supposed to go with Ruth, but with me and her no longer being an item..."

"Oh, I see," I said understanding. "You don't specifically want me to go with you. You just need someone. Well, that should be no trouble at all to organize consider lucy sullivan is getting married / 93

ing how women love you. Although, quite frankly, it's beyond me why..."

"No, Lucy," he interrupted. "I do specifically want you to come with me."

"Sorry, Daniel," I said sadly. "But I'm just too depressed."

"Hasn't the news that my girlfriend has left me cheered you up?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," I said, starting to feel guilty. "But I just couldn't face going out."

Then he played his trump card.

"It's my birthday," he said hollowly.

"Not until Tuesday," I said quickly.

I had forgotten that it was his birthday, but, quick as a flash, I had my excuse in place. I'd had a lot of practice in getting out of things I didn't want to do, and it showed.

"But I really want to go to this particular restaurant," he said wheedlingly. "And it's so hard to get a table."

"Oh, Daniel," I said, starting to feel despairing, "why are you doing this to me?"

"You're not the only one who feels miserable, you know," he said quietly. "You haven't got a monopoly on it."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Daniel." I felt both guilty and resentful. "Are you heart- broken?"

"Well, you know how it is," he said, still sounding all quiet and defeated.

"And have I ever abandoned you when you've been upset?" he asked, sealing my fate.

"That's blackmail," I said heavily. "But I'll come with you."

"Good," he said gleefully.

"Are you very miserable?" I asked. I was always interested in other people's despair. I would compare and con 94 / marian keyes

trast it with my own just to make me feel like I wasn't such an oddity.

"Yes," he said sorrowfully. "Wouldn't you be? Not knowing when you'll next get laid?"

"Daniel!" I said outraged. "You bastard! I might have known that you were only pretending to be upset. You haven't got a sincere emotional bone in your body!"

"A joke, Lucy, a joke," he said mildly. "That's just my particular way of dealing with unpleasant things."

"I never know when you're joking and when you're being serious," I sighed.

"Neither do I," he agreed. "Now let me tell you about this wonderful restaurant that I'm taking you to."

"You're not taking me to it." I felt uncomfortable. "When you say it like that it sounds like we're going on a date--which we're not. You mean this restaurant that you've forced me into going to."

"Sorry," he said. "This restaurant that I've forced you into going to."

"Good," I said. "That's better."

"It's called The Kremlin," he said.

"The Kremlin?" I said, sounding alarmed. "Does that mean that it's Rus- sian?"

"Well, obviously," he said, anxiety in his voice. "Is that a problem?"

"Yes!" I said. "Won't it mean that we'll have to wait in line for hours and hours and hours for our food? In subzero temperatures? And that although there'll be delicious food on the menu, the only thing that they'll actually be serving is raw turnip?"

"No, no, honestly," he protested. "It won't be anything like that. It's pre-Bolshevik and it's supposed to be wonderful. Caviar and flavored vodka and very plush. You'll love it." lucy sullivan is getting married / 95

"I'd better," I said grimly. "And I still don't understand why you're in- sisting that I come. What about Karen or Charlotte? They both like you. You'd have much more fun with either of them. Or both of them, now that I think of it. Wouldn't you like a little flirtation with your borscht? A threesome with your blinis?"

"No thanks," he said firmly. "I'm a bit battle-scarred. I'm off women for a while."

"You?" I hooted. "I don't believe it! Womanizing comes as naturally to you as breathing."

"You have such a low opinion of me," he said, sounding amused. "But, honestly, I'd much rather be with someone who didn't have a crush on me."

"Well, I mightn't be much good for most things, but at least I can oblige you in that respect," I said, in an almost cheerful tone.

I seemed to have perked up a little.

"Great!" he said.

There was a small pause. Then he spoke.

"Lucy," he said awkwardly, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Well, it's not really important, or anything," he said. "I'm just slightly curious, but, er, why don't you have a crush on me?"

"Daniel!" I said in disgust. "You're pathetic."

"I just want to know what I'm doing wrong..." he protested.

I hung up.

I had just managed to get my lukewarm chips onto a plate when the phone rang again, but this time I was smarter. This time I switched on the answering machine.

I didn't care who it was, I wasn't speaking to them. 96 / marian keyes

"Er, ah, hello. This is Mrs. Connie Sullivan ringing for her daughter Lucy Sullivan."

It was my mother.

How many Lucys did she think lived in my flat, I thought in irritation. But at the same time joy at my narrow escape ran through me! I was so relieved that I hadn't picked up the phone. So what did the old bag want?

Whatever it was, she wasn't too comfortable sharing it with the answering machine.

"Lucy, love, er, um, eh, it's, um, Mammy."

She sounded a bit humble. Whenever she called herself Mammy it was a sign that she was trying to be friendly. She was probably calling to grudgingly apologize for being so nasty to me earlier that day. That was her usual pattern.

"Lucy, love, I, er, think I might have been a bit hard on you on the phone today. If I was it's only because I want the best for you."

I listened with curled lip and disdainful expression.

"But I had to call you. It was on my conscience," she went on. "I got a bit of a shock, you see, when I thought you might be...in trouble..." She whispered "in trouble," doubtless as a precaution against anyone else in- advertently listening to her message and hearing such a filthy notion being uttered.

"But, I'll see you on Thursday and don't forget that Wednesday is a Holy Day of Obligation and the start of Lent..."

I threw my eyes heavenward, even though there was no one there to see me do it, and walked back to the kitchen to get some more salt. It would have killed me to admit it, but, you know, I felt a bit better now that my mother had rung, now that she had kind of apologized.... lucy sullivan is getting married / 97

I ate my chips, I ate my chocolate, I watched my video and I went to bed early. I didn't drink the bottle of wine, but maybe I should have, because I slept badly.

All night there seemed to be people coming in and out of the apartment. The doorbell being rung, doors opening and closing, the smell of toast being made, "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria" coming from the front room, stifled giggles coming from the kitchen, bangs and thumps of falling furniture from someone's bedroom, more giggles, not so stifled this time, rattling in the silverware drawer while someone was probably searching for a corkscrew, male voices laughing.

That was one of the downsides of having an early night on a Friday in an apartment where the two other occupants went out and got drunk. Very often I would be one of the ones giggling and banging and thumping so I wouldn't mind anyone else doing so either.

But it was a lot harder to put up with when I was sober and miserable and wanted oblivion. I could have gotten out of bed and marched down the hall in my pajamas, my hair all messy, my face bare of makeup and begged Karen and Charlotte and whatever guests they had to keep the noise down, but it wouldn't have done me any good. Either they would have drunkenly ridiculed me and my pajamas and my hair, or else I would have been forced to drink half a bottle of vodka in a "If you can't beat them, join them" exercise.

Sometimes I wished I lived by myself. I had been thinking that a lot lately.

I eventually got to sleep and then, what seemed like a little while later, I woke up again. I didn't know what time it was but it was still pitch dark. The house was quiet and my room was cold--the heat must not have come on yet. Outside I could hear that it was raining and the wind 98 / marian keyes

rattled my bedroom's shaky Victorian windows. The curtains moved slightly from a stray draft. A car passed, its wheels hissing on the wet road.