“Hmmm, let me see… George Clooney or you and a dog?”
“What’s the movie?” Mary asked.
“Who cares? I just want to look at something pretty,” Penny answered, true to form.
“And I’m supposed to be the sad one!” Mary shook her head in mock-despair.
“Yeah, well, ‘Penny of the Sorrows’ doesn’t have the same ring to it. Besides, there’s nothing sad about wanting to watch that sexy bastard get up to a few tricks.”
“I used to love him in ER. He was so great with kids…”
“Yeah, that’s what’s so appealing!” Penny giggled.
Silence followed – they had reached an impasse. Mary wanted to stay within her four walls and Penny to break free of hers.
“Come on, I have a deep need to be shallow and a desperate need of distraction. If you drive, I can have a drink,” Penny pleaded.
Mary thought about it. “You always need distracting.”
Penny would have pushed, but she knew how Mary felt about crossing the mountain in the rain and also that, despite what Mary had said, her head probably felt like it had just been kicked.
“I have a bottle of wine in the fridge,” Mary said, knowing that would be the deciding factor in whether her friend chose her over a movie star.
“All right,” Penny conceded. “What’s the DVD?”
Mary grabbed it from the coffee-table. “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?” she read off the label.
“What’s eating what?”
“It’s directed by Lasse Hallstrom.” She knew her friend hadn’t a clue or a care as to who he was.
“What?”
“He directed Once Around,” she read on.
Penny remained unimpressed.
“Which was a Sundance favourite apparently,” Mary continued pathetically.
“Sundance means worthy and worthy means complete crap.” Penny’s capacity to imbue her voice with disdain was quite theatrical.
Mary smiled. “Yeah, well, this one mentions nothing about Sundance, it’s about…” She read on silently.
Penny was busy weighing up her options. “An eating movie directed by a man who sounds like a weather system or George Clooney?” It was an unfair contest – but she didn’t feel like facing the mountain alone either and she had to get out of the house. Still, she needed more information before she committed to a night in – after all, she could always go to the pub.
Mary hadn’t noticed the actors’ names and, when at last she did, she knew the deal was sealed. “Hah! Starring Johnny Depp and Leonardo DiCaprio!” She heard Penny stand up.
“Open the wine, I’m on my way.”
2. Who is who?
Penny pulled a bottle of wine from the rack, reminding herself to replenish the dwindling supply. She was pulling on her coat when the phone rang and, thinking it would be Mary, attempting to put in a post-migraine chocolate order, she picked it up.
“Penn.” It was Adam.
Oh, God, no – go away. “What do you want?” she asked, pissed off that he’d caught her off guard.
“You,” he said, and she sensed his sheepish grin. She wanted to punch his face in.
“Is that what you told your wife?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm and just a hint of bitterness.
“Don’t.” He sighed, and she wanted to cry.
She remained silent. There was nothing left to say. He’d said it all the night before. He had to end it. He could never leave his wife. And, in fact, she had known this. Although she loved him – and she truly did – he wasn’t hers. He had three kids and ran his father-in-law’s business. He belonged to his wife. She’d earned him – at least, that was how he’d put it when he’d broken off their affair for the last time. It didn’t matter that Adam was her first love or that Penny was his passion. It didn’t matter that they had loved one another for more than half their lives. It didn’t matter that he had married his wife on the rebound. It didn’t matter that he didn’t love the woman. It didn’t even matter that they had turned into some soap-opera cliché. He was married to someone else and that meant Penny was leftovers and destined to remain on the periphery in the shadow of another woman’s marriage. But no more. She was well and truly sick of it.
“You were right to end it. I don’t want to be alone any more, Adam,” she said, tears tumbling again, much to her chagrin.
“I don’t want that for you either. I… I…” Clearly he didn’t know what to say – there was nothing to say.
She could hear him breaking down and now she wanted to hug him but she couldn’t. She was determined to be strong. “I have to go,” she said.
“Don’t,” he begged.
She hung up and sank to the floor, crying for the fifth time that day. She was going to cancel the stupid DVD evening, but then she became terrified that Adam would turn up at her door, and if he did, she would most certainly let him in, and once he was inside she wouldn’t be able to say no. But first she’d have a drink, just to settle her nerves.
Afternoon had passed into late evening and then to night. The town was silent, with few venturing out. Penny drove past the pubs, restaurants and shops, all brightly painted and featuring window-boxes, whose colourful contents absorbed the falling water thirstily. She had stopped crying, instead allowing the rain that coursed down the windscreen to do it for her. Sinéad O’Connor’s rendition of “Nothing Compares To You” had been playing on the radio and she’d broken a fingernail in her hasty attempt to change the station. Still, everything was fine now. She would go to Mary’s and they’d watch a DVD and she’d talk rubbish and forget about the sad, sorry, pathetic mess that was her world. Although she had often worried that her friend had given up on love, it was days like these that made her wonder if Mary was right. She wouldn’t admit it, though, not yet – she might be heartbroken but she still had hope.
At the window Mr Monkels stood up and barked hello to Mossy Leary from number three who had stopped to help Penny – she was battling to open her umbrella although she had to walk just ten paces from her car to the door. Mossy was in his late thirties with long dark hair in a pony-tail. He was skinnier than Kate Moss and had saucer eyes that Penny often joked made him look like a cartoon character. He was a part-time fisherman, part-time house-painter, part-time sculptor and full-time stoner.
Mary opened the door and waved at him. He gave her the thumbs-up, then headed off towards town on a quest for a few free pints. She smiled at her friend, who was cursing the umbrella and attempting to shield her head with a hand.
Mary had woken to Penny’s knock. Her watch revealed that hours had passed since her friend had agreed to come over. “I thought you were on your way?”
“I’m here, am I not?” Penny asked, with a playful grin.
“You live ten minutes not six hours away.”
“Sorry.” Penny pushed past her. “I got held up.” She didn’t elaborate.
Mary poured a glass of white wine from the bottle she’d had chilling in the fridge. Penny drank, then turned off Simon and Garfunkel’s ode to the sound of silence, which had been on repeat for most of the evening. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Are you maudlin?” Penny narrowed her eyes and adopted the pose of interrogator.
“No,” Mary said.
“Liar. Still, at least it wasn’t Radiohead. I swear I’d have left.”
Mary smiled. “I’m fine.” She topped up Penny’s glass.
“Good. I can’t do depressing tonight,” Penny said, as she slumped into a chair. She wrinkled her nose as Mary disappeared into the kitchen. “What’s that smell?”
“Shit in sunshine,” Mary said, returning. She handed Penny a plate of brown bread and smoked salmon. She had mouthed “shit” rather than saying it aloud – she had stopped swearing soon after she became a mother.
“Dyeing your hair?”
Mary nodded.
“Nice job.” Penny put her feet up on the sofa and made herself co
mfortable, with the plate on her lap.
Mary disappeared into the kitchen again.
“Hey!” Penny shouted.
“Yeah?”
“Mossy mentioned that Lucy Thomas was in next door earlier.”
Mary came back with some chilli nuts, which she placed on the table. “Oh, yeah?” she said.
Penny knew her too well to be fooled by her nonchalance. “I wonder if you’re due a new neighbour.” She smiled as she sipped and began to read the blurb on the DVD box.
Meanwhile Mary struggled with the curtains. “No way,” she mumbled, more to herself than to her friend. “She’s probably just checking the house for flooding.”
Penny was grinning. “She’s come all the way from Mallow to check for flooding? Yeah, that must be it.”
Mary looked out of the window at the boat that had docked earlier that week, slapping against the pier wall. “What’s it like in town?”
“Wet, windy, ghostly.” Penny was reading the back of the DVD with an expression of confusion on her face. “‘A prisoner of his dysfunctional family’s broken dreams in tiny Endora, Gilbert (Depp)’ – I love him! – ‘serves as breadwinner and caretaker for his mother and siblings following his father’s suicide, his older brother’s defection… Momma (Darlene Cates)’ – who’s she? – ‘is a morbidly obese shut-in’ – Oh, my God! – ‘who hasn’t left the house in seven years and her children include retarded Arnie…’ Wait a minute – DiCaprio’s retarded? You are taking the piss!”
Mary couldn’t help but enjoy Penny’s disgust. “Ivan said it was funny in parts,” she said.
“Funny? Yeah, it really sounds hilarious!” And then it dawned on Penny. “Jesus, it was filmed in 1993! DiCaprio’s retarded and his balls hadn’t even dropped! What am I supposed to do with this?” She was holding the DVD in the air like a demonstrator in a supermarket.
“I don’t know – what would you have done with it if DiCaprio wasn’t retarded and his balls had dropped?” Mary grinned.
“Good point,” Penny agreed. “Still, this does not sound remotely shallow.” She sighed, laying the DVD on the coffee-table.
“Are you OK?” Mary asked, concerned. She seemed OK but she was a master in the art of masking. Mary had often thought what a great actor she would have made, but Penny had joined an acting class one summer and hated it, calling those around her a bunch of jumped-up talent-free tossers. Then she had made what could only have been described as a grand exit. Now she was smiling but Mary sensed a problem. Maybe the dream was about Penny.
“I’m fine. It’s just the endless rain,” Penny lied. She wasn’t ready to admit that she and Adam had ended their relationship, first because she wanted to forget but also because she wasn’t sure that either of them would be able to stick to their guns. After all, they had broken up many times before. “Just put the film on and pass the bottle.”
Mary was suspicious but she didn’t say anything. When Penny was ready to share her problem, she’d be there to listen. She knew what it was like to have people stick their noses in.
They were halfway through the film and Penny was finishing off the wine. Mary seemed to be enjoying the sad tale. Crispin Glover as the undertaker made her laugh and Darlene Cates prompted an “Aaah!”
By contrast Penny mumbled, “Kill me!” several times while she downed her wine and played with her broken fingernail.
“If I didn’t know DiCaprio was an actor I’d believe he was retarded,” said Mary. “He’s really pulled it off.”
“Yeah, it’s great,” Penny said.
“Like that Down’s syndrome kid – you know, the one on that TV show with the blonde girl who did Romeo and Juliet with DiCaprio. What’s his name?”
“Corky,” Penny said, perking up.
“Yeah, Corky. He was great.”
“He was. Wrong girl, though – you’re thinking of the blonde who went out with the HIV-infected teenager.” Penny was looking for the corkscrew.
“Rob Lowe’s brother?”
“Yes.”
“I thought she went on to play Juliet?” Mary said.
“No, that was the redhead from that other show. She was in love with the dyslexic rebel and had a gay best friend.”
“Funny – I could have sworn Juliet was Corky’s sister,” Mary said.
“The guy who played her boyfriend is a lead singer with a rock band now,” Penny said, still searching for the corkscrew.
“Rob Lowe’s brother?”
“No, the dyslexic rebel.”
“Oh. Any good?”
“Haven’t a clue,” she said, finally locating it. She opened the second bottle and poured a glassful.
Meanwhile, on screen, DiCaprio was being left to freeze to death in a cold bath overnight, forgotten by Depp, his horny brother.
“Kill me!” Penny repeated.
“We can turn it off,” Mary offered, battling the urge to cry for the boy, shaking and blue-lipped, on the screen.
“No. It’s fine. Seriously, it’s not that bad,” Penny conceded, but then Depp ended his affair with the married Mary Steenburgen, and Penny broke down in tears.
“Do you need a break?” Mary asked, and Penny nodded, unable to speak.
“OK.” Mary switched off the TV.
Penny wiped her eyes, mumbling something about how pathetic she was.
“Do you want some coffee?” Mary asked.
“No. I’ll finish my wine.”
“Do you want a hug?”
“That would be lovely.”
They hugged.
“I’m such a sap,” Penny said. “But, Mare?”
“Yeah?” Mary pulled away while Penny composed herself.
“Do you think it’s better to be alone?” Penny asked.
“No.” Mary shook her head. “But possibly safer.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“So you’re fine?” Mary asked, with a raised eyebrow, while Penny blew her nose.
“I will be.”
Mary leaned over and kissed her forehead to comfort her, much as she’d once comforted her son. “Yes, you will,” she said. Once a mother, always a mother.
Penny was too drunk to drive home so Mary fixed up the spare bedroom when the film finally ended. She wasn’t usually a crier, unlike Mary, for whom hiding emotion was a constant battle. Mary wasn’t sure if her friend had ended her affair with the only man she had ever loved and she didn’t know how desperately heartbroken she was – but she didn’t know much when it came to love. She didn’t have a clue what it was like to feel anything other than ambivalence towards the men who had crossed her path since Robert had died. She had little understanding of Penny’s heartbreak.
And yet Penny believed that she understood Mary’s lethargy towards love. To her mind, Robert had been Mary’s first and only love. Even now she couldn’t forget the one who had tied her up in knots, as she faced her thirties. Mary’s first love had died, leaving her a son who had followed his dad. Of course, Penny thought that Mary couldn’t let herself fall in love because love had only brought her suffering. But Penny’s view of Mary’s pain was simplistic. Penny was a diehard romantic. She liked to think that Robert was the Romeo to Mary’s Juliet. In reality, Mary’s reasons for being alone were far more mundane than that.
That night Mary tucked Penny in, while Penny made a drunken, silent pact to be more like her friend. She vowed to close off, to shut out the world and all its rubbish. It occurred to her that maybe then she’d have half a chance of being happy.
Mary stood at the bedroom door, watching Penny who was stirring. “You need to go to the loo again, don’t you?” She wondered what the hell was going through her friend’s mind.
“I can go myself,” Penny slurred.
“I know,” Mary said, hoisting her from the bed.
And as they walked to the bathroom arm in arm, Penny asked her why life was so hard.
“Because God is a spoilt child and this world is just a game He plays to amuse Hims
elf.”
“We’re prawns,” Penny agreed.
“Pawns.”
“That’s what I said – prawns.”
Mary helped her to sit on the loo, Penny’s pants around her ankles, not shy – they had been sharing toilet stalls since they were in their early teens.
“Mare?”
“Yeah.”
“He loves me.”
“I know.” Mary steadied her on the seat. She might not have been sure what was going on inside her friend’s head but she knew she was suffering. She’d watched her suffer for years, the victim of love.
Penny and Adam had fallen for one another at fourteen, six months before Mary and Robert had become an official couple. Back then, everything had been possible, and love, rich and fulfilling though it was, was deemed puppy-like. Deep down, they all knew that there would be life after their pubescent passion. It was a pity for Robert that he wouldn’t live past secondary school and it was a pity for Adam that Penny would move on to a college in Dublin to study journalism while he stayed at home and worked in his dad’s restaurant. After her first year, Penny had yearned for city life and he was a content country boy. Initially he had felt left behind but he was young and as keen as she was to explore other loves. Besides, he’d never wanted to be anything other than a restaurateur and there was no better place for that than Kenmare. It was a beautiful place to live, and profitable.
The father of the woman who would later become his wife was a Dutch millionaire and had spotted the town’s potential on a visit in the late eighties. He had invested in a small seaside hotel on the outskirts and, while Penny worked as a journalist in Dublin, her first love found a new life as husband, father and hotel manager at a quaint manor house. It was just a shame for Penny that the reality of city living didn’t match the fantasy – worse still that no other man could replace Adam in her heart. She had believed that love would come again but it didn’t and she was left empty and rattled. As for Adam, it was a shame that in losing Penny he had lost his belief in romance. Maybe it had ensured that he would rush into a relationship of convenience. But the greatest calamity was that, in the end, when Penny came home, it was too late.
No Way to Say Goodbye Page 2