alexandra, gone

by Anna McPartlin

  “Sophie.”

  “Well, Sophie, if I wanted to be insulted I’d sing for Simon Cowell. As it is, I just want my hair restyled.”

  “Fine,” Sophie said curtly.

  “And Sophie?”

  “Yes?”

  “No talking.”

  “So you don’t want me to tell you what we’re going to do?”

  Leslie could tell that Sophie wanted to slap her.

  “After that,” she said.

  The first woman walked away, leaving Sophie to it. Sophie explained to Leslie that she could no longer get away with black hair because of her age and the pallor of her skin, but she could give her a nice copper tone. Leslie was fine with that. Sophie called over two young girls, Esther and Julie, and explained what she wanted them to do. Then she walked away and they got to work. As instructed, they didn’t address Leslie. Instead they chatted about an apartment block that had gone up near the salon and whether or not one of them should buy a one-bed apartment in the inner city with her boyfriend, Joseph, for €390,000, especially as it was possible only with a 100 percent mortgage.

  “You should just go for it,” Esther said.

  “Yeah, I mean, what have I got to lose?” Julie said.

  “Are you insane?” Leslie asked, and the two girls looked at her in the mirror.

  “What do you mean?” Julie asked.

  “How long have you been with Joseph?”

  “A year.”

  “What age are you?”

  “Twenty-one. I’ll be twenty-two in April.”

  “What rate are you buying your mortgage at?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “How much will you be paying back per month?”

  “No clue.”

  “What’s your rush?”

  “I need to get on the property ladder.”

  “You’re twenty-one. You’ve got another ten years to get on the property ladder.”

  “Yeah, well, I want to do it now.”

  “Look, it’s none of my business, but around here, well, let’s be honest, it’s a dump. You don’t want to pay three hundred and ninety K for a one-bed apartment in a dump, especially when you’re paying back a one hundred percent mortgage, no doubt on a noncompetitive rate, and with a boy you’ve been with for only one year. It’s madness.”

  “It’s not a kip around here,” Julie said indignantly. “I grew up around here. My ma lives around the corner.”

  “What happens if you can’t afford the mortgage?”

  “But we can.”

  “What happens if mortgage rates go up and you can’t afford the mortgage?”

  “We’re going for a fixed mortgage,” Julie said, delighted she could answer at least one of the annoying woman’s questions.

  “What if you lose your job?” Leslie asked.

  “I’m not going to,” Julie said, looking around uncomfortably.

  “What if you split up with your boyfriend?”

  “We’re happy.”

  “Happy now, but in six months’ time, with a ridiculously large mortgage to pay, in an apartment the size of a box of matches, you might not be. In fact, if I was a betting woman I’d put a hundred euros on it not lasting the year.”

  Julie started to cry.

  “What is wrong with you?” Esther asked, and she took Julie into the break room.

  Sophie reappeared and silently resumed dyeing Leslie’s hair.

  “Is Julie okay?” Leslie asked. “I was only trying to help.”

  “No talking,” Sophie said.

  Leslie nodded her head. Fair enough.

  When the dye was finally washed out after what seemed like an eternity, the girl who’d originally consulted with her returned with scissors in hand. She worked quickly and silently, and Leslie relaxed. She blow-dried it and fixed it with a little gel. Then she stood back, and Leslie looked at herself.

  Despite being forty and having a few age spots on her face and chest, she still had a tight jawline and protruding cheekbones, and the copper worked against her brown eyes and the short elfin style suited her facial features. The girl was smiling. Some other girls, not Julie, came over and all agreed they had done a fantastic job, and Leslie agreed.

  Not bad. Not bad at all.

  Bolstered by her new look, she stopped at a makeup counter in Brown Thomas. The girl did her makeup while highlighting to her what she was doing and using to cover up her troublesome areas. She’d asked for something natural, and the girl did as instructed: dark eyes, light lips, flawless skin. By the end of it she looked and felt like a new woman and was so impressed she ended up spending more than €200 on the products the girl recommended despite knowing that she was never going to be able to re-create the look at home.

  It was after five. She decided to grab something quick to eat upstairs in BT’s before she headed to the pub where Jim would be waiting. When she’d invited Jim to Elle’s opening she’d felt good about it, but now that the time had come she felt slightly regretful. It had been so long since she’d seen him, a lifetime had passed, and they had never really been that close to begin with. What the hell am I at? she asked herself as she queued for a table.

  Jane spent the day running around. She started by picking up boxes of wine at the wine merchant’s. She dropped the wine off at the catering company and then went to the gallery and hung the paintings. After that she went to a music shop and picked up some music she deemed appropriate for the theme of Elle’s exhibition. As the theme was Angels and Demons, most of whom were copulating, the music she picked was a mix of metal and classical.

  After that she got her hair done, and after that she returned to the gallery to set out tables and to load the CD player. When the place was spic-and-span, the paintings secure on the walls, and the tables ready for the caterer, she drove home to shower and change.

  She heard Kurt laugh in the kitchen, and then she heard Dominic’s voice, and then he was laughing too, and she couldn’t remember the last time she and her son had laughed together. She entered the kitchen, and Dominic stood up and surveyed her before hugging her.

  “You look great.”

  She smiled and told him he didn’t look so bad himself. She inquired as to what was so funny, but neither her son nor his father was willing to share the joke. In-joke bastards.

  “Are you hungry?” Dominic asked.

  “I’m not cooking for you. I’m too busy.”

  “I know. Kurt told me you have the exhibition tonight, so I brought pizza.”

  “Ah, thanks but no, I’ll just have a coffee.”

  Kurt checked the pizza, which was heating in the oven. It was ready, and he plated up. Dominic and Kurt ate their pizza, and Jane drank her coffee.

  “So Elle’s gone fishing?” Dominic said.

  “Afraid so. Still, it’s probably for the best. I’ve heard a rumor that Pat Hogan is coming.”

  “Who’s Pat Hogan?” Kurt said with his mouth full.

  “Don’t talk with a full mouth,” she said. “He’s a critic Elle threatened to stab when she was at art college.”

  “Yeah, well, that wasn’t yesterday,” said Dominic. “I’m sure it’s all forgotten.”

  “No. It’s funny—he loves her work but, my God, she hates him.”

  “Dad, tell Mum about your new bike,” Kurt said, and then he opened his mouth wide to show his mother that his mouth had been empty of food before he had spoken.

  “Funny,” she said. “What’s this about a bike?”

  Dominic was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “It’s a Harley.”

  “A road king,” Kurt said.

  “Black cherry.”

  “And black pearl.”

  “It’s a real beaut.”

  “I’d swap my dick for one,” Kurt said.

  Dominic laughed and Jane covered her ears and smiled.

  “How’s Bella?” Jane asked.

  “She’s not talking to me,” Dominic said.

  “Because you’re a selfish prick who nearly kille
d himself on a motorbike a year ago and, having promised faithfully that you would never get on a bike again, you’ve gone behind her back and bought a Harley?”

  “Got it in one.”

  “Jesus, Dominic, what is wrong with you?”

  He grinned at her. “Ah, come on, Janey, Bella’s already giving me hell. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

  She smiled at him. “Okay, I’ll be happy for you. Congratulations on your new bike. Please don’t cripple or kill yourself.”

  “Ah, thanks for worrying.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.” He winked at her.

  She smiled and blushed a little. Oh grow up, Jane.

  “Jane, Jane, Jane? Are you there? Jane?” Rose’s voice came over the intercom.

  Dominic stood up and pressed the button. “Hi, Rose.”

  “Who let you in?” Rose asked.

  “My son.” Dominic smiled.

  “I want Jane.”

  “I’m sorry. Jane is currently not available. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “You can go back under the rock you’ve climbed out from.”

  “I miss you too, Rose.”

  “I want Jane.”

  Jane stood up and pushed Dominic out of the way. “Yes, Rose.”

  “Have you heard from Elle?”

  “No.”

  Rose hung up.

  Dominic turned to Jane. “So are you going to invite me to this shindig or what?”

  “Don’t you have a home to go to?”

  “Maybe tomorrow when she’s cooled down.”

  “Nice one, Dad. I’ll make up the spare room,” Kurt said.

  Dominic reached into his pocket, took out a twenty-euro note, and handed it to him. Kurt pocketed the money and headed out the door and toward the spare room.

  “You don’t mind?” Dominic said.

  “I don’t seem to have a choice.” But she was smiling, indicating that she didn’t mind. In fact, it was obvious she was really happy.

  Get a grip, Jane, he married someone else, she thought as she made her way up to the shower.

  Leslie walked into the bar, and despite the fact that it had been at least ten years since she’d seen him, she recognized him immediately. His head was down and he was reading a newspaper, and when she tapped him on the shoulder he managed to appear slightly surprised that she’d shown up. He stood, and he was shorter than she remembered. They hugged awkwardly.

  “You’re taller than I remember,” he said.

  “Heels,” she said, and she pointed to her brand-new black wedge heels.

  “Jeepers, the last time I saw you, you wore nothing but sneakers.”

  She didn’t tell him that this was the first time in years she had worn anything but MBTs, which basically were posh sneakers that made her work harder when she walked.

  They sat down, and he asked her if she wanted a drink, and she said a white wine would be lovely, and he went to get one, and she was alone waiting for him to come back, and her heart was racing and her palms were sweating. He had aged around the eyes, and he’d shaved his head. He was thinner than she remembered, but he still had his dimples, the ones that had made Imelda go weak at the knees, and that warm smile she had loved so much.

  What do we talk about? I hope I don’t make him cry. That last time I saw him I made him cry. Why did I do that? What’s wrong with me?

  As it turned out, they had little trouble finding things to talk about. He came back with her wine and she asked him what he had been reading, and he told her and they talked about it, and then they moved on to books, and they shared a taste in books and so that gave them at least another hour of great conversation. Neither liked the cinema, so they discussed why they didn’t like it and then Leslie attempted to persuade Jim of the benefits of broadband. She couldn’t believe he was not yet converted.

  “So you’ve never sent an e-mail?”

  “No.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “Is it?”

  “And you’ve never surfed the Net?”

  “I wouldn’t even know how to. Besides, I don’t have the knees for it.” He laughed at his own joke.

  “If only that were funny, Jim.” She shook her head. “You’re a dinosaur, my friend.”

  “Sorry, I’ll try to do better.” He smiled. She had called him a friend. Imelda would be happy.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Still thinking about surgery?”

  She nodded. “I’ve been to three specialists since we last spoke, and I’m doing it.”

  It was strange that Jim was the only one she had told, but then again, it wasn’t that strange. After all, who would understand better than he? She was hardly going to tell her new friends, and she didn’t have anyone else in her life.

  “When?” he asked.

  “July. The first of July.” She nodded. “That’s the date they’ve given me.”

  “It’s going to be hard. You’re going to need help.”

  “I’m going from the hospital to a hospice,” she said, smiling. “It’s a really nice place. It’s going to be fine. I’m a big girl.”

  “You’re not as strong as you think you are. They’re going to take your womb and your breasts”—he hunched his shoulders—“and that’s not fine.”

  For the first time since Leslie had decided on surgery she felt her eyes fill. It had been such a relief to think that she would no longer be burdened by an imaginary time bomb ticking loudly in her head. She would be free, and that was bigger than a pair of breasts and a womb she was almost done with anyway. And still, those words and the way Jim said it—They’re going to take your womb and your breasts”—struck her; she’d never really let herself focus on that before. A fat tear dropped from her eyelid onto her cheek and slid down to her chin. She stopped it with her hand before it made its way to her neck.

  Jim saw her single tear and made no apology for causing it. He needed her to understand the gravity of what she was doing because, although he agreed with her decision, knowing her of old it had occurred to him early on that she wouldn’t allow herself to think or talk about the pain it caused her. They sat in silence and sipped their drinks.

  After a while Leslie looked Jim in the eye. “Do you remember your wedding day?”

  “Like it was yesterday.”

  “Imelda insisted I be bridesmaid, and even though I kicked and screamed she got her way. She made me wear peach, which is a color I detest, and the hairdresser piled my hair so high on my head that I looked like Marge Simpson.”

  “I remember.” He smiled at the memory.

  “We got dressed together, we got our makeup done together, we drank a glass of champagne, and we laughed at my dress even though she swore that she loved it. We talked about the future and all the babies she was going to have.”

  “Oh, don’t,” he said, and he closed his eyes.

  “I wrote her a poem, and she laughed so hard she held her ribs.” She smiled at the memory. “‘Imelda sighed, Imelda cried, the day she met Jim the Ride / He was short, she was tall, he took her up against the wall.’” She thought for a second. “‘She had style, he had wit, he really thought he was the shit!’” She laughed a little. “I can’t remember …”

  “‘Love is blind, that’s what they say, it must be, it’s her wedding day!’” Jim said, grinning.

  “I can’t believe you remembered!” Leslie laughed.

  “She repeated it often enough.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m no poet laureate, but you must admit it has a kind of bawdy charm even if I do say so myself,” she said. “And after the church we all walked through a wood to the reception, and it was such a hot day—do you remember how blue the sky was?”

  “Not a cloud in the sky.”

  “And the band played all the best songs and we all danced all night.”

  “It was a great day.”

  “It was my sister’s wedding, and I can honestly say it was my best day. They may be taking my breasts and
my womb, but for the first time I feel like I have a chance of having my own best day.”

  Jim nodded and raised his glass and she raised hers.

  “I’ll drink to that!” he said, and they clinked glasses. “And, Leslie, when you need someone, and you will, promise you’ll call me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of a promise I made a long time ago.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  On the walk to the gallery they talked about relationships, and Jim told Leslie about the women who had been in his life after Imelda. There was Mary, a librarian from Meath. She was a fan of musicals and Shakespeare, and according to Jim she was passive-aggressive. They had lasted eight months, but it had been only a year after Imelda, and although she was a great cook and looked like a slightly chunkier and seriously paler Sophia Loren, his heart hadn’t been in it. Then there was Angela. She was funny, smart, attractive, and kind. She also had a psycho ex-husband and four kids under the age of ten so, after he’d been punched in the face on the street and warned to leave her alone or he’d be joining his wife in the ground, he had decided he needed space. She and the kids had moved to the UK a month later and he hadn’t heard from her since. Then the Russian woman he had told her about on their first phone call.

  “I really thought we might have a future,” he said. “So what about you?”

  Leslie laughed as he followed her across the street.

  “Well?” he said.

  “No one.”

  “No one! In ten years there has been no one?”

  “Eighteen years, but who’s counting?”

  “Simon was your last relationship?” Jim was aghast and wasn’t too shy to reveal his astonishment. He slowed his pace and took her arm. “I know nuns who get more action than you.”

  “That’s funny, because my hairdresser knew some Trappist monks with better haircuts. Coming up short against religious orders seems to be the theme of the day.”

  “I like your hair,” he said.

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  They entered the gallery and were met by Jane, who was surprisingly calm and collected despite her sister’s absence. Leslie introduced her to Jim, and they shook hands, and Jane complimented Leslie on looking stunning, which embarrassed her, and then she insisted they have a glass of wine and some savory snacks. The place was packed with people, and many were crowded around the paintings, so they decided to wait until the herd thinned. They sipped wine and chatted in the corner. Jane was doing a lovely job playing host. She was polite and pleasant to the three critics who came, and she made time for all five collectors who had been supporters of Elle’s since the beginning of her career. She made excuses for Elle and no one seemed to mind particularly, apart from the photographer, who was clearly high on cocaine and annoyed that he hadn’t been informed of Elle’s absence, despite the fact that plenty of other minor celebrities were there ready to pose for him.