Part 15 (1/2)

'I know you're right,' I said at last, 'but I feel incapable of truly knowing what I want. Oh, G.o.d, I'm so bored with myself. I want to run away and start all over again. I want to '

She stopped me. 'Well, you can't. Deal with what you have here. You don't have it bad, you know.'

'I know.'

'And besides,' she continued, 'you are are starting over again. You're finally chucking in your job and doing something new. Grow up. Stop being so melodramatic and just get on with it.' starting over again. You're finally chucking in your job and doing something new. Grow up. Stop being so melodramatic and just get on with it.'

'OK.'

That was it. There was no way now that I could talk to her about the thing I couldn't talk about. And she was right. It was was time I grew up and behaved like an adult. I knew I could be happy with Keith. I was even beginning to see that I could make him happy too. Life time I grew up and behaved like an adult. I knew I could be happy with Keith. I was even beginning to see that I could make him happy too. Life could could be simple. be simple.

Our main courses arrived and we spent the rest of lunch talking about former cla.s.smates. Many were married, and two were separated. The girl who had had a baby in Fifth Year had just had her fourth with the same guy, and the girl who had had a baby in Sixth Year had a high-powered job with the UN. There was one confirmed lesbian and one pending. (There was a story doing the rounds that she had left her husband for her husband's secretary but it was still only a rumour.) Of the three other girls who had done law with me, one was at home with the kids, one was travelling in South America and the other was starring in Fair City Fair City. Ironically, she was playing a lawyer.

Colette was the only one I was still in touch with, but she had a way of finding out about everybody else. It was always weird hearing about them because I couldn't picture them as anything other than the schoolgirls they used to be. How can somebody in a dull grey skirt and a black blazer do anything like work for the UN or appear on television? In a way I couldn't stop seeing myself as the c.o.c.ky schoolgirl who always thought she knew more than everybody else. Colette was right: it was time to get over my teenage angst angst and get on with being a grown-up. and get on with being a grown-up.

I hadn't been particularly happy in my teens, yet it seemed I wasn't able to let them go. I remember Mike saying to me one day that I should slow down and enjoy the innocence of schooldays. He'd said I had the rest of my life for everything else but I would never experience true simplicity again. I laughed in his face. Oh, hindsight, and all of that.

As we were swallowing the last of our wine, I suggested to Colette that we cry off the beauty parlour. I wasn't in the mood to prostrate myself on the beautician's table while she smathered my face with some gunk, all the time tut-tutting about too many late nights. And all to the painfully relaxing sound of the Pan pipes. I thought it might lead me to violence. Colette didn't mind; she said she might fall asleep anyway so it was better we did something active. I suggested clothes shopping. That big family wedding of Keith's was coming up and I still had nothing to wear. I needed to do him and all the Dohenys proud, so something cla.s.sy and expensive was called for. Colette agreed, and we headed towards some of the more up-market boutiques in the hope of finding something cla.s.sy and expensive at half price. It was while we were trudging from one to another that we pa.s.sed a bridal shop. We looked at each other at the same time with exactly the same idea.

'Well, you are getting married', she said, with a cheeky grin, 'and you know what? I think it might be time Brian and I renewed our vows.'

We rang the bell and asked to see what every bride desired for spring/summer.

It took longer than it should have for the girl to open the door. She was in her mid-twenties and wore an expression of superiority that was much too old for her. Her outfit was in keeping: a pale green pencil skirt and white blouse with pale green piping round the collar and sleeves. It was like something my mother would have worn in one of her frivolous moments. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Do you have an appointment?'

I was tempted to say that we had and turn the superior tables on her for her sloppiness but I wasn't thinking quickly enough. 'No,' I said, in a tone of grave dejection. 'Do we need one?'

'Well, it's usual to make one. We can get very busy and we like to be able to give our customers our full attention.'

The shop was empty.

'Could you possibly make an exception for us?' I asked, most insincerely. 'You have come highly recommended to us and we're only in Limerick for the day...'

She gave us an unsubtle sweep with her disapproving little eyes and decided that, well, maybe she could let us in. Colette and I have an unspoken principle: we never go into places that let us in only reluctantly, but we also surmised that we might have a bit of fun and it would be a shame to miss out on that for the sake of a principle.

Once inside, we could see the second part of the 'we' she had mentioned: a woman, probably in her late forties, dressed in black and wearing the same withering expression as her young a.s.sociate. As it turned out, the pale green girl was the daughter of the shop owner and the woman in black was the owner's friend, who wished she owned the shop. They were no nicer to each other than they were to us.

We gave our respective stories I was to be married next August and wanted something a little different; Colette's ceremony was to be at Hallowe'en and she wanted something quickly. As we stood in the middle of the poky shop, I was briefly amazed, given my love of clothes and shopping, that I hadn't done this before. But once they started bringing out the dresses I realized that maybe, at a subconscious level, I had known all along what a horror it would be. Because I had asked for something different, I got the dresses that weren't white or off-white. There was a gold monstrosity with a bodice that would have strangled me, a beige creation that looked like a cup of cold coffee, and a red and white strappy number that resembled something one of the Ugly Sisters might have worn. There were dresses with blue bits and dresses with green bits (the bridesmaids' dresses could be ordered to match the blue bits and the green bits). They were all horrible. I couldn't imagine going to a fancy-dress party, let alone getting married, in any of them.

Colette was having more luck. They had last season's sample dresses on sale and she looked quite good in nearly all of them. There was a long, flowing chiffon dress that looked particularly dreamy, which I thought she should buy anyway. It was the kind of thing I could imagine wearing round the house when I felt blue. She wasn't tempted, though. She told the girl she'd keep it in mind but she still had a lot of looking to do. The two women glanced at each other as if they'd expected as much.

I was beginning to feel that this wasn't as much fun as I'd thought it would be, but since I was there, I thought I might as well try on one of the dresses. The gold was pushed forward. It took me for ever to get into it it was constructed of three bits that had to be wound intricately round each other and some very complicated lacing at the back but when it was on and I could view myself in the flatteringly lit and ever so slightly elongating mirror, I was glad I'd made the effort. I looked as hideous as I hoped it was possible for me to look. The gold drained my face of colour and even imparted to it a sickly s.h.i.+ne. The shape did something frightening to my figure it made me look like a cross between a prep.u.b.escent girl and a woman in the late stages of pregnancy. Surely no bride, no matter how deranged, wanted to look like this?

'It's beautiful on you,' said the young girl, gravely. 'It's really different.'

'Yes,' I said, equally gravely. 'It's very different from the sort of thing I usually wear.'

'You're a picture,' Colette chimed in. 'Keith would die if he saw you.'

'Oh, is Keith your fiance?' the girl asked.

It was too tempting to say that, no, he wasn't my fiance, he was my fiance's brother, with whom I was having an affair. But I didn't. 'Yes,' I said, 'and he'd love to see me in this.'

Colette insisted I try another, even though I was rapidly losing my taste for this particular game, and pulled out a fake Vera w.a.n.g that was all satin and s.h.i.+ny bits and yards of material flowing in every direction. There was a veil to go with it, which rested neatly on my head and brushed lightly against my bare shoulders.

'You look gorgeous,' gasped Colette, when she saw me in the ensemble. 'You're absolutely stunning stunning.'

There wasn't a note of insincerity in her voice.

I did did look gorgeous. That was the amazing thing. I looked like those brides you see in magazines with their airbrushed smiles and their perfect hair and the to-die-for dress. Those brides who fill page after page of expensive glossy magazines so that young women in love can imagine how they'll look on their big day. Those brides who, not for one minute, not for one second, do you believe in. Those brides you know are faking it for the camera. look gorgeous. That was the amazing thing. I looked like those brides you see in magazines with their airbrushed smiles and their perfect hair and the to-die-for dress. Those brides who fill page after page of expensive glossy magazines so that young women in love can imagine how they'll look on their big day. Those brides who, not for one minute, not for one second, do you believe in. Those brides you know are faking it for the camera.

'Come on,' I said to Colette. 'Let's get out of here. I don't feel well.'

13.

It was the end of July and it had been raining all day. I hadn't anything to do, so I'd stayed at home watching, listening, feeling the rain. It was soothing. I had a lot to think about and the rain was a gentle accompaniment to my disjointed thoughts. I had the notion that if it didn't stop raining, I might never go out again. It seemed as good a way as any to spend the rest of my life.

I was still wearing my pyjamas but I'd taken the time to shower and even put on a little makeup. My hair was in a style that looked much the same whether I was just out of bed or had spent an hour rubbing half of Boots through it. If someone called to the door unexpectedly I wouldn't have to pretend I wasn't there or make a mad dash to the bathroom. I didn't see why I couldn't continue like this for several days, whether it stopped raining or not. The phone was off the hook, but that had been an accident. My mobile was out of battery and my charger was somewhere under the couch or behind a chair. But n.o.body was likely to call.

Jean had moved out, although she was offering to come back for a little while. I was doing my utmost to a.s.sure her that there was no need. She was sharing a flat with a girl she used to work with and so far she was delighted. It was in a new development of luxury apartments with high ceilings and balconies facing the river. She was considering buying one if the opportunity arose. Her friend had been single for years, had no desire to be otherwise, and Jean found her easy company.

At the moment I couldn't conceive of sharing my s.p.a.ce with anyone. It was necessary that the air around me remained empty of other people's thoughts and opinions. Even the physical presence of another person would have been too much. I couldn't remember when I had last spent so much time on my own. Usually I can't wait to fill every available corner with noise. Perhaps this quiet was timely.

However, I was running out of food and I wasn't sure that my stomach was up to the sort of thing I could order in. All the cereal boxes were empty, the last consumed without milk. Bread was long gone. The last of it had been consumed with a side of mould, which I chose to ignore. Cheese, eggs, cold meat had disappeared in a rather tasty omelette the night before. There was some pasta but the only sauce was a year out of date. I'd have to make a decision on that soon. Two tins of tomato soup looked likely to be my lunch. When I remembered that I could enliven it with a dash of vodka, it seemed more appetizing. I was rather enjoying the sense of being under siege and testing myself to find out how long I could survive without the outside world. It was a game, though, and like so many other games, I was too old for playing.

Of course, there were good things to think about. Lucy had called over one evening and announced casually that she was pregnant. She wasn't in the least bit fazed by it. Even before she and Iris had decided they wanted to do it together, she had been happy to have the baby on her own. She was simply thrilled to be pregnant. The father was Luke, the sculptor, who had remained friends with Lucy after their sort of relations.h.i.+p sort of broke up, but he had no interest in being involved with the child. He told Lucy he was delighted if that was what she wanted, and sure, he'd probably like to see the baby when it was born, but he was thinking of going to Australia and he mightn't come back. Lucy knew that even someone as laid back and out of it as Luke might get himself sorted in a few years' time and want to be part of their baby's life, but she said she'd deal with that if and when the time came. 'And besides,' she had said, 'I'm not going to pretend to my child that she doesn't have a father. I'll tell her everything. In fact, it would be nice if he did want to be part of her life later on. I know Luke. He won't stay in Australia. Either he'll never go in the first place because he won't be able to find the money, or he'll go and be back within six months due to some minor crisis.'

When I asked Lucy how this fitted in with her being a lesbian, she smiled. 'Well,' she said, 'you know the way you have to be sure. It seemed that one of the ways to try to be sure was to sleep with a nice guy. After Luke, I was fairly sure I didn't want to sleep with any more men. I mean, whenever I slept with a guy before, I didn't think I might be gay, so I didn't think that was the problem. I just thought I wasn't all that into s.e.x... yet I knew I was.'

When I asked her why she hadn't used a condom she said she hadn't had one.

'Well, I hadn't needed one in ages and Luke isn't the kind of guy who carries them in his wallet. Yes, I know it was irresponsible, but I knew Luke was healthy and I didn't even think about getting pregnant.'

It didn't seem to matter how it had happened: Lucy and Iris were moving in together and they were having a baby. They were as happy as any expectant parents would be.

Mum and Dad were taking the news very well. Dad said it was always a blessing to have another grandchild and even if the father wasn't going to do the decent thing he would ensure that Lucy and the baby had every support they needed. Lucy knew he meant it. When we were growing up and Mum did her no-s.e.x-before-marriage routine and warned us of the evils of becoming pregnant without a husband, Dad took us aside afterwards and told us that, no matter what happened, we could always come home. Over the years Mum had softened; I had heard the lecture a lot less frequently than Jean and Marion, and now, when Lucy told her she was pregnant, she said that with six daughters, it was surprising there hadn't been more children born out of wedlock. We all agreed that she was delighted with the news. The fact that Lucy was moving into Iris's house went uncommented on.

And then there was Iris. Of all my brothers-in-law, only Mike could rival her for looks or conversation. Lucy was keen that we meet her formally and that Iris meet us and realize we weren't all latent h.o.m.ophobes preoccupied with doing up our kitchens. (They had b.u.mped into Ruth in town.) So I volunteered to play host to the select few Lucy, Iris, Jean, Marion and me. Keith said he'd leave us girls alone for the evening he had to work late anyway and he'd spend the night at his place.

I was quite pleased to be doing the party thing as it had been ages since I'd entertained at home. Keith and I had kept meaning to have dinner parties where we would mingle our friends over some good food and wine, but we'd never got round to it. We could never decide which friends would go with which. I think each of us was privately afraid it would be a disaster. It was easier to order a takeaway and talk about it.

I was, therefore, in the mood to make a bit of a fuss. There was no worry with the liquor part of the evening, I knew I wouldn't disappoint there, but I wasn't much of a cook. People kept telling me that all you needed were good ingredients and a simple recipe, but somehow that wasn't enough to turn me into a domestic G.o.ddess. I did have one idea but I wasn't sure if it was entirely above board. However, by the evening before the proposed dinner I'd had no further ideas, so I decided to risk it. I rang Mike to ask for his help.

He was at home. If he hadn't been I'd have put the phone down without leaving a message. It was one thing to be cheeky in person, quite another to leave a cheeky message.

When he answered I almost hung up. Mike was very busy and our family was always pulling and dragging out of him. But he'd said we could still be friends. And friends called on one another when they needed help. I could probably muddle through on my own, but it wouldn't be half as good and it was certainly cheeky to ask him to help prepare a meal I couldn't invite him to. Or could I? No, it wasn't my place. I was only the nominal host. It was Lucy's party and, besides, they would probably prefer if it was just the girls. Oh, what the h.e.l.l? I thought. I'll just ask him.