Watermelon

by Marian Keyes

  ‘What!” barked Laura. “Are you serious?”

  “For God’s sake,” I raised my voice at her. “Isn’t that just what you’ve been encouraging me to do?”

  I knew this would happen. I just knew it.

  People are always encouraging each other to do things that they know the other person won’t do. And then get the shock of their lives when the person actually does it.

  I’m culpable myself.

  For years and years I encouraged Dad to get himself a pair of jeans.

  “Honestly, Dad, they’d be gorgeous on you,” I often said.

  And Dad would say, “Ah, go away. I’m far too old.”

  “No, Dad, you’re not.”

  The day that Dad actually turned up wearing a pair of board-stiff navy blue Wranglers, with a twelve-inch turn-up on the hem, smiling shyly and proudly, the shock nearly killed me.

  “Yes, I know,” Laura said, seeming a little bit distressed. “But it just seems so out of character for you. I mean, you’re always so loyal.”

  “Laura, I’m hardly being disloyal to James if I have sex with Adam, am I?” I asked her nicely. I could see how shocked she was.

  Although I had a veneer of good-time-girlness, I had pretty much always been Claire the Constant. My veneer of debauchery was paper-thin—practically transparent, in fact. I always wanted to be boring and settled down with a man, but because that was considered to be the most insulting thing you can say about someone—that is, that all she wants is to be settled down with a man—I’d done my level best to hide it.

  Few people knew my shameful secret.

  “Claire, do you like this Adam?” she asked in concern.

  I was amused to note that Adam had gone from being “the gorgeous Adam” to “this Adam” in a matter of minutes.

  “Of course I like him,” I told her, laughing at her horror. “He’s delicious—or hadn’t you noticed?”

  “Handsome, I grant you,” she said cautiously. “But what do you know about him?”

  “I know that he’s nice and he makes me feel smart and beautiful and desirable.”

  “Claire, don’t forget that you’re very vulnerable right now. You are on the rebound.”

  “No kidding?” I said. I thought I sounded very clever.

  “Anyway,” I said with great curiosity, “what are you doing, encouraging me to have a fling with him and then when I say I will you go all judgmental on me?”

  “Sorry, Claire,” she said humbly. “I really am. It’s just that I thought it might be an ego boost for you to know that he liked you. But I didn’t think for a second that you’d actually do anything about it. You’re such a one-man woman that this has come as a little bit of a shock.”

  “Laura, I’m a no-man woman at the moment,” I reminded her.

  “I know, but you love James so much that…I don’t know…I just didn’t think that you’d even consider anyone else.”

  “Things change, people change,” I said. “I don’t know how I feel about James anymore. All I really know is that being with Adam is lovely.”

  Laura suddenly pulled herself together.

  “Well, if that’s the case, you couldn’t have picked a bigger hunk to have a fling with. He’s so good-looking. And so nice. Smart too,” she added as an afterthought.

  This was good coming from Laura, who is usually more concerned with the organ between his legs than the organ between his ears.

  “And you’d better get into training.” She grinned. “Didn’t they give you exercises to do to tone yourself up? Pelvic floor exercises or whatever they’re called. You don’t want sex with Adam to be like throwing a sausage up O’Connell Street.”

  “Thank you, Laura,” I said dryly. “You make me sound like such a catch.”

  After Laura left I just couldn’t settle down.

  There was no one around.

  Anna had done another of her disappearing acts.

  Helen apparently was at Linda’s, although I was glad about that. I was feeling so guilty about Adam that I don’t think I could have looked her in the eye. I was pretty sure that Adam wasn’t her boyfriend, but it might be a good time to find out for sure.

  On the other hand, I didn’t necessarily want to find out that he was in fact her man. What would that tell me about him? That he was some sort of weirdo who got great enjoyment from wrecking homes and pitting sister against sister and tearing families asunder.

  If Adam was Helen’s man then I would back off immediately and have nothing further to do with him. That part was easy.

  But what if Adam wasn’t Helen’s man but Helen wanted him?

  Well, if Adam wanted her also, then the same principle applied. I would back off immediately and have nothing further to do with him.

  But what if Helen wanted Adam and Adam didn’t want Helen and if, delicious thought, Adam wanted me? Then what?

  That was a tough one.

  I did love Helen.

  God knows why, but I did.

  And I didn’t want to do anything to upset her.

  No, really, I didn’t.

  The best thing I could do was talk to Adam about all this. Just ask him straight out what the story was between himself and Helen.

  “My God, Claire.” Mum scowled at me as I changed the television channel yet again. “What’s wrong with you? Can’t you sit still? You’re like someone with a feather in her underwear.”

  “Sorry, Mum.”

  Just then the phone rang.

  “Jesus, Claire, my foot!” yelped Dad, like a dog with his tail caught in a door, as I raced to answer it and crushed several of his metatarsals in the process.

  “Hello,” I gasped into the phone.

  “Hello, is your daddy there?” slurred a voice on the other end.

  “Dad,” I called. “Daaad!” Auntie Julia for you.”

  Dammit, I thought. That meant Dad would be on the phone for hours; Auntie Julia was impossible to get off the phone when she was drunk. She usually called to apologize for doing something like cheating at a card game. A game that had taken place as recently as about forty-five years ago.

  Why was I so bothered about the phone’s being free anyway? I wondered, nimbly sidestepping Dad as he grumpily hobbled past me on his way to the phone.

  Had anybody said that he’d call me?

  Was I expecting any calls?

  No and once again, no.

  I sat down in the hall to eavesdrop unashamedly on Dad’s conversation with Auntie Julia. It usually made for interesting, if slightly bizarre, listening.

  “Now, Julia, listen to me,” Dad said agitatedly. Oh dear, I thought, it must have been a very important card game for Dad to be getting so upset.

  “Dampen a tea towel and throw it over it immediately!” he roared into the phone.

  Oh good, I thought, as I realized that Auntie Julia was only in the process of attempting to burn her house down and wasn’t calling up for a long, remorseful conversation.

  “No, under the tap, Julia, under the tap!” Dad yelled.

  How on earth had she been proposing to dampen the tea towel? Best not to think about it.

  “Now, Julia, I’m going to hang up the phone here and you’re to do the same,” said Dad slowly and carefully, as if he were talking to a four-year-old child.

  “And you’re to dial 999 and ask for the fire department,” he continued.

  “And then you’re to call me back and tell me that you’ve done it and that they’re on their way.”

  He slammed down the phone and leaned against the wall.

  “Christ,” he said, looking exhausted.

  “What’s she done now?” asked Mum, who had appeared in the hall.

  “Somehow she’s set the oven on fire and it’s gotten out of control,” sighed Dad. ‘God, will it ever end?”

  The phone rang.

  “That’ll be her calling back,” said Dad, as Mum reached for the phone.


  “Hello,” said Mum.

  Then her face changed.

  “Yes, she’s here. Who’s calling please?”

  “It’s Adam, for you,” she said, handing me the phone with an expressionless face.

  “Oh,” I said, taking the receiver from her, exhaling with relief.

  This was what I had been waiting for all evening, without even realizing it.

  “Hello,” I said, delighted but trying to hide it in front of Mum and Dad.

  “Claire,” he said in his lovely voice. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” I said, a bit awkwardly. Mum and Dad were still standing in the hall, both of them looking at me.

  “Get lost,” I hissed at them, waving my free arm.

  “We’ve a bloody emergency on our hands,” Dad barked. “Get off that phone!”

  “In a minute,” I told him.

  “One minute,” he said threateningly.

  But then the pair of them left.

  “Sorry about that,” I told Adam as Mum and Dad returned reluctantly to the sitting room. “A minor family crisis.”

  “Is everyone okay?” he inquired anxiously.

  “Fine,” I said.

  I was the one who felt anxious now. Was he worried because he was concerned about Helen? About his girlfriend Helen?

  “Claire,” he continued, “I hope you don’t mind my calling. I mean, I don’t want you to feel as if I’m plaguing you. Just tell me and I’ll stop.”

  Plague me all you like, I thought.

  “No, Adam, of course I don’t mind you calling me. I like talking to you.”

  “Great,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.

  I sat on the floor and started to settle in for a comfortable hour or so of conversation.

  And as I did so I heard the rattle of someone’s key in the front door.

  “Oh God,” I said as I heard Helen bellow, “I’m home. Feed me! Or I’ll report you for neglect.”

  “What is it?” asked Adam.

  “Helen’s here,” I said.

  “Oh is she? Well say hello from me.”

  “No, I won’t,” I blurted out.

  “Why?” he asked, sounding shocked.

  Helen passed me in the hall. She winked and gave me an enchanting smile.

  “Hi, Claire, your boots are lovely,” she said, and continued on. Sometimes—in fact, usually when I least expect it—she can be so sweet and so charming that I could kill her.

  “Why won’t you tell Helen I said hello?” asked Adam again.

  Now’s the time to get this thing sorted out once and for all, I decided. If Adam is messing me and my little sister around, then this is my chance to put an end to it.

  I was managing to get nicely worked up. The bloody arrogance of him.

  Just because he’s really handsome he thinks he can waltz in here and ride roughshod over all of us, I thought, mixing my metaphors and quickly working myself up into a self-righteous fury.

  “Look, Adam,” I said sharply as soon as I could hear Helen, Mum and Dad arguing in the living room and I knew that it was safe to speak. “I don’t really know how to say this. In fact, I don’t even know what I should say.”

  “For God’s sake, what?” he interjected forcefully.

  Go on, you tell him, I encouraged myself.

  You have every right to know.

  But I was already starting to lose my nerve.

  “Look, maybe it’s none of my business, but are you Helen’s boyfriend?”

  I finally managed.

  A silence followed.

  Oh God, I thought. He is going out with Helen. And he was just being nice to me because I’m Helen’s reject older sister. And now he knows that I like him. Damn, damn, damn. I should have kept my fool mouth shut.

  I’ve ruined everything because I have no patience.

  “Claire,” he eventually said, sounding stunned, “what on earth are you talking about?”

  “You know,” I said. I felt highly foolish, but even more relieved.

  “No,” he said, sounding a bit cold. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh,” I said, really embarrassed now.

  “So you think I’m Helen’s boyfriend?” he said stonily.

  “Well, I thought you might be…” I said, mortified.

  “And just what exactly did you think I was doing by asking if I could see you?” he continued, sounding almost contemptuous. “Well?” he prompted as I remained silent.

  “Either you think I’m extremely thick or extremely cynical,” he said.

  “And I’m not sure which one I’m more offended by.”

  I still said nothing.

  Mostly because I didn’t know what to say.

  I felt terrible. Adam had been nothing but decent and respectful to me.

  I had no proof that he was having anything at all to do with Helen, and now I had hurt him by doubting his motives.

  “Claire,” he said, sounding exhausted. “Claire, Claire, Claire, listen to me. I am not now, nor have I ever in the past been, your sister Helen’s boyfriend. And I don’t want to be either.

  “She’s a lovely girl,” he added hastily. “But she’s not for me.”

  “Look, Adam,” I stammered. “I’m really sorry, but I didn’t know…”

  “I’m sorry too,” he said. “I keep forgetting what you’ve just been through.

  You’ve been badly hurt. Who could blame you for thinking that we’re all a crowd of two-timing bastards?”

  My hero, I thought, melting.

  “Claire,” he continued, “I don’t know what kind of impres- sion you’ve formed of me, but it’s obviously not the one I was hoping for.”

  “No…Adam…” I protested weakly. I had so much to say and I didn’t know where to start.

  “Just give me a minute,” he said. “Just listen to me. Will you?”

  He sounded so earnest and boyish, how could I resist? “Of course,” I said.

  “I have lots of women friends but I don’t do the romance thing a lot.

  Hardly ever, in fact. Well, hardly ever compared with the other people in my year in college, but maybe they’re just especially prolific.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, anxious for him to shut up now. You don’t have to explain anything to me, I wanted to tell him.

  I had established that he wasn’t Helen’s boyfriend and that was plenty for now. Mortified by my earlier histrionics and accusations, I just wanted to forget the whole thing now. The poor guy! He only knew me a few days and already we’d had several mini-fights.

  What on earth made him think that I was worth the bother?

  But before I got to think about this, Dad reappeared in the hall with a face like thunder.

  “Claire!” he yelled. “Off the phone, now!”

  “You’ve got to go?” Adam asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t want to end the conversation until I knew that everything was all right. That Adam wasn’t annoyed with me for thinking that he was some kind of home-wrecking Lothario. I also wouldn’t have minded some kind of indication that, apart from not wanting to do the romance thing, as he so delicately put it, with Helen, he might want to do the romance thing with me.

  As Mum would say, I wanted jam on it.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot why I actually rang you,” he said.

  “Why’s that?” I asked. Tell me that you really like me. Go on, go on, I urged him silently.

  “There’s a good film on at eleven o’clock. I’m sure you’d like it. You should watch it if you’re not too tired.”

  “Oh,” I said, the wind having been surgically removed from my sails.

  “Well thanks.”

  “See you soon,” he said.

  No wait, I wanted to shout, don’t go just yet. Talk to me for one more minute. Give me your number so that I can call you. Can I see you tomorrow? Never mind tomorrow, c
an I see you tonight?

  “Claire,” Dad rumbled threateningly from the living room.

  “Okay, bye,” I said, hanging up.

  Feeling, among other things, completely exhausted.

  There was a disorderly surge from the living room the moment the phone was hung up.

  Dad and Helen scuffled at the door.

  Dad wanted to get straight on to Auntie Julia to see if the inferno was under control.

  While Helen had other plans for the phone.

  “I have to call Anthony,” she shouted. “I need a lift to Belfast on Tuesday.”

  “Well, Julia’s fire is more important,” insisted Dad.

  “Let her house burn down,” said Helen, “That’d teach her.”

  Charitable to the end, that was Helen.

  I walked away from the battle by the phone.

  I went upstairs and moved Kate’s bassinet into Mum’s room and settled down to watch the recommended film on the little television there. It was the least I could do after I had been so mean to Adam. I’ll be able to discuss it with him the next time I see him, I thought.

  If there is a next time.

  eighteen

  Time had slowed to a standstill while I had been the Alcoholic Mother from Hell (and the Alcoholic Daughter from Hell and the Alcoholic Sister from Hell, if I’m to be strictly accurate). But now that I had started living again it had started to trot briskly, and before I knew it, it had broken into a sprint.

  The days had started to fly past the way they do in films when the dir-ector wants to convey time passing quickly—i.e., the pages of a calendar turning over very speedily in a high wind. And tearing off and blowing away. With brown leaves blowing with the pages to indicate autumnal days and then a few flurries of snow to indicate winter’s arrival.

  The weekend was over before I knew it, and suddenly it was Monday morning.

  James would be back from the Caribbean. Or Mustique. Or from a small, privately owned island just off the coast of Heaven. Or wherever he’d gone to, the faithless bastard.

  So I was going to have to call him.

  But I felt quite calm about it. What must be done must be done. Of course it was very easy for me to be calm about James when I was worried sick about Adam—it was kind of difficult to be in a mess about the two of them at the one time. Transference of affection, etc., and a big hand for Dr. Freud.