‘I mean, a woman of your age. It’s pathetic. The younger girls must laugh at you!’ Or ‘You’re not half as cute as you act, Lily.’
They’d both shout and slam doors. He’d leave and cool off with his pals over a game of golf or bridge. She’d take a bath and talk herself out of crying. The truth was, she did try to be all things to all people. So what? Why is that a bad thing? Why can’t you just love me and let me be?
When Lily had got married she was not quite nineteen years old. She cooked a little but not the way she felt a wife should. Of course, she had breezed through nursing school and although she attended classes in the first year, had never had to open a book. Instead of studying she took cooking lessons. Her teacher told her she had a flair for it so she took more lessons. Now she could have competed with any gourmet cook. She ran her kitchen like a hotel’s, partly because her husband was so demanding and partly because she still wanted to be the perfect wife and mother.
She also attempted to excel as nurse and neighbour. Nursing was easy, but she had to work at her neighbouring skills. She could always be relied on to help anyone with anything, whether it was snaking out a drain, pinning up a hem or performing CPR, but she put some of her female neighbours’ backs up. ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ wasn’t always a compliment. Lily had a quick wit, she was game for a laugh, and she always got on easily with men, who all liked her – some a little too much. Petite, delicate Lily, with her shiny dark brown hair, brown eyes, soft lips and silky cappuccino skin, thanks to her absent Greek father, was always the belle of the ball. Every man in the room followed her with his eyes when she moved past; when she laughed, they laughed with her; when she spoke, they listened intently while fantasizing about what they would do to her if she’d only let them.
The women on the road noticed it, her husband noticed it, her fellow nurses noticed it, any woman she had ever tried to make a connection with after Eve noticed it, but Lily didn’t. When she looked in the mirror she saw a thirty-eight-year-old woman who could have shopped in the children’s department. She had twigs for legs, tiny breasts and big eyes. What Lily perceived as friendly banter, her husband and the rest of the world interpreted as flirting. It enraged him and estranged Lily from the other women on her road. She meant nothing by it: it was just who she was and how she related to people. Sometimes when her husband was disapproving, she’d see herself through his eyes. In a second she’d be reduced from his wife and the mother of his children to a flighty, insignificant, giddy, annoying, silly woman, who acted like one too. She’d feel less than a woman – just as she’d felt less than a daughter to her mother. Then she’d get a grip: so her mother was a bitch and she’d married a prick, she’d just have to soldier on. Lily loved her husband. He was the only man who really needed and wanted her. There were moments of great tenderness between them, and when he found her funny, which he often did, despite his comments to the contrary, his laughter lifted her to a place where her spirit soared.
Yes, Lily was the go-to person in times of trouble but the last person on the list when it came to coffee mornings or afternoon gossips. Lily wasn’t good at gossip and she wasn’t trusted around the ladies’ men – anyway, who would they talk about if she was there? Lily was popular with her work colleagues but she had no real friends. As hard as she worked to please, deep down she felt like an outsider in her own life, and the niggling voice that had always told her she was an unlovable loser grew a little louder with each year that passed.
Lily was halfway through cooking meals for the week ahead when the phone rang. It was Jim. Nancy was out of surgery: the consultant was hopeful that he could save the eye, and there was no brain damage.
‘Oh, Jim, I’m so pleased!’
‘Honestly, Lily, I’m really grateful. Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘I’m just glad she’s OK.’
He sounded like he’d been crying. He was vulnerable and tired. ‘Maybe a drink some time? You and me?’ he said.
Is he coming on to me? No. Don’t be stupid, Lily. Of course he’s not.
‘I don’t think Declan would be too happy with that.’
‘So don’t tell him.’
Oh, no. This is uncomfortable.
‘And Rachel, how is she?’
‘Giving out.’
‘She’ll get over it.’
‘Yeah, when I’m dead and buried and she’s finished dancing on my grave,’ he said. Lily laughed. ‘Seriously, I know Declan’s hard work too, so if you ever want to have a drink …’ he said.
Oh, my God. Lily didn’t respond. She knew her husband could appear aloof around the neighbours, and sometimes when he drank he got a little narky with her, especially if the other men in the room had been too complimentary. He liked to remind them he was boss and that she was his wife. She made light of it and, when she had to save face, she was smart and funny enough to defuse his annoyance and show them that she was a match for him. Jim was their first neighbour to comment on it and it stung.
‘Dylan’s fine,’ she said. ‘He’s exhausted so I’ll put him to bed, if that’s all right.’
‘It’s fine. What time should I pick him up?’
‘Well, I’ll be gone by seven but Declan will be here until eight and Scott and Daisy will be here too, so whenever suits you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Lily?’
‘Yes.’
Silence followed and she thought she heard him sniffle.
‘Thanks again.’
‘OK.’ She hung up and went back to cooking a shepherd’s pie, a lasagne, a lamb stew and a large pot of tomato and basil soup. It was after midnight when she stopped. She covered the dishes in clingfilm and left them on the counter. She fell asleep on the sofa while she was waiting for them to get cool enough to freeze them. She woke after two with a crick in her neck. She dished out the meals into plastic Tupperware tubs with Declan, Scott and Daisy’s names on them and popped them into the freezer, stacking them so that they were easy to read. She fell into bed and was grateful that her husband was sound asleep. Her shoulder still ached but at least her crotch had cooled down. She heard Scott come in and could tell that he was drunk by how long it took him to get to the fridge. Too exhausted to deal with him, she closed her eyes and hoped he didn’t burn the house down.
3. The strangest thing happened
Sunday, 8 July 1990
Dear Lily,
I’m not even going to talk about how annoyed I am that Declan is being such a dicknose, and I can’t believe you’re letting him away with it. In fact, I’m really hurt. I’d call you if we could arrange a time for you to be at the telephone box and, even though I’m so monumentally pissed off with you, I’d still do it – if, of course, Declan doesn’t mind and you can spare five minutes. Oh, and don’t worry, I haven’t said anything to precious Declan about Colm or the other one (can’t remember her name and too pissed off to fish out your letter) but, seriously, if you can’t tell your boyfriend that you’ve made friends it’s a bit sad. I mean, what does he expect? Would he be happy if all you did was work and moon over him? And don’t answer that because we both know what your answer will be and I also don’t want any excuses. As you said in your letter, you love him so that’s that. I just wish you loved me half as much (and no, not being a lesbian about it) but where was he when you were bullied in primary school? I was the one who pulled Megan Murphy’s hair out of her head and pinched her so hard she still has the marks! (Which she showed me at the disco last Easter – they were really small across her knuckles but seriously how bad is that? MORTIFIED.) I was the one who carried you home and put you in bed when you were so drunk you didn’t even know where you lived and I managed to do it unseen while your mother was still in the sitting room doing a crossword. She would have disowned you if she’d found you in that state. As a result of my efforts, you got away with something that would have seriously changed your life for the worse. I’m the one who’s there for every lit
tle drama you have with Declan. I’m the one who picks up the pieces when you fight. I’m the one who’s always on your side. I’m the one who wants nothing for you but happiness. I’m the one who really loves you and again not in a lesbian way. Although if I was a lesbian and you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t insist that you spend ALL of your money calling me because I may be a bitch but I’m not a selfish dicknose and that’s all I have to say on the matter.
Now for my news – and you are not going to believe this. Gar, Dicknose, Paul and I went to the pub the other night and guess who was there with a brand new look? GLENN MEDEIROS!!!! He’s cut off the horrible perm, and instead of one of those stupid-looking blousy shirts, he was wearing a Bruce Springsteen T-shirt and jeans and he looks really, really good. Like a different person. It’s like a fairy godmother waved a magic wand over him. I had a drink with Gar and Paul (steadfastly ignoring Dicknose but, of course, he was too up his own bum to notice so don’t worry about it) and then I went over to Glenn. He was sitting at the bar with two boys I don’t know. I know it sounds stupid, bearing in mind up until very recently I thought he was a freak, but I was really nervous and every time I caught him looking at me before I went over (which was a lot) I pretended I hadn’t but seriously you’d have to have been Helen Keller not to notice him. He’d never make it in the CIA, that’s for sure. Anyway, every time I caught him looking at me my stomach flipped and flopped so much that I felt a little sick. (I SWEAR TO GOD.) So, I went up to him and of course I was trying to act cool so I kept it short and sweet because I knew if I said too much I might actually vomit. I walked up to him just like Tom Cruise walked up to Kelly McGillis in Top Gun. (Don’t get me wrong, I still think that film is embarrassing but it’s a good reference point.) He turned around from his friends to face me and he did look a bit smug but that was OK. He deserved to feel a little smug. I looked him up and down slowly and then I said, ‘You’re welcome,’ and walked off. His friends were in hysterics. I didn’t look back but when I went over to our group Paul said he’d watched the whole thing and Glenn was grinning. Eve Hayes 15: Glenn Medeiros Love.
Anyway, I went outside with Gar when he was having a smoke. (He still refuses to smoke inside in case Mr Duffy spots him and tells his father – what a baby!) And before I had a chance to say that I thought, because I was going to London and he was going to be in Dublin, we shouldn’t get involved (exactly as you said) he told me that he was really into a girl from Bray. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? I didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. In the end I went with option 1. I wished him luck on getting together with her and he was actually really sweet about it. I’d had three bottles of Ritz by then and thought it might be a good idea to tell him not to peck, peck, peck her like a chicken (NOT A GOOSE) but then I remembered what you’d said and didn’t say a word. When he went in I said I needed some air and stayed outside just to see if Glenn would notice. He was out like a hot snot. THRILLED. Of course he was mortified because I was sitting on the wall watching him run out and look up and down the street. He sat on the wall with me and when I called him Glenn he reminded me his name was Ben Logan. I told him that no matter how cute he was now he’d always be Glenn Medeiros to me. He laughed and focused on how cute I thought he was but I changed the subject and warned him that I’d find him most unattractive if he kept standing on corners saying those poems. (I know, don’t freak out but I believe honesty is the best policy.) He didn’t take it too badly. He said, ‘Is it all right if I continue with my band?’ I didn’t even know he was in a band. I said it was fine as long as his band was a good deal better than his poetry. He told me they were and then out of nowhere he kissed me and I NEARLY DIED. He is an amazing kisser. I can’t even describe it. And it was so romantic. The moon was out and even though we were in a car park I could see it glint off the sea in the distance. And the way he looked at me as he was moving in and out for kisses. Well, let’s just say Glenn Medeiros is intense. We stayed outside for at least an hour. Paul came out to look for me, and when he saw us together, I asked him to say nothing to Gar and he gave me the thumbs-up. So I presume he’s happy to say nothing to Gar, which is nice of him but then again he is a slut so there’s probably some sort of slut code he’s obeying. Either way I’m grateful. I’ve met Glenn twice since and I’m going to his gig in town on Saturday so I’ll fill you in next Sunday – that is, if you don’t give me a telephone number and time to call you so that we can actually talk. I know it’s mad, and this time last week I thought he was weird, but I’m really into him. When he looks at me I feel like jelly, and I know there’s a serious height difference but I really don’t care. I’ve always said I’m not the kind of person who falls in love but, Lily, I think I could fall in love with him. He makes the world feel like a better place. I KNOW IT’S HORRIFYING. I’m seeing him tonight and I’m counting down the hours. It’s pathetic but I can’t wait.
Anyway, what other news do I have? Clooney dropped that yoke with the big hair. I think he’s having a fling with V Kill P, which is pretty dangerous, bearing in mind I’m totally convinced she’s a lesbian and if it doesn’t work out it could mess up their radio show. Not a massive loss to the world but he can have any girl he wants so why does he have to be stupid about it? She’s been hanging around the house a lot lately, and although they don’t make it as obvious as he was with the yoke, they do seem to have got a little flirtier. She hasn’t stayed over, but then again Dad is home, and I haven’t caught them kissing all over the house, but then again V Kill P is way cooler than the yoke so she probably wouldn’t be on for that. Watch this space.
I met Paul the other day and he was on his way into town to meet a girl. His rugby team are playing on Friday and I promised I’d go and watch. Maybe I’ll get to meet her. He’s in good form but he’s nervous about the results and whether or not he’ll get law. I told him not to worry, he’ll fly through it, but he said he’s not like you. He said you’ll get medicine without breaking a sweat, but he’d had to work his balls off and even now he’s not sure how he’s done. I told him I had no doubt you’d both be in university doing your highfalutin subjects while I’ll be in London behind a sewing machine. He laughed at that. He did say he wasn’t entirely convinced that Dicknose would get medicine (even in Cork, never mind Trinity) either. (I promise I’ll stop calling him that in my next letter. Just give me this one to vent – I think it’s the least you can do under the circumstances.) I didn’t say anything but it would be insane if you got medicine and Dicknose didn’t.
Only a matter of weeks to go before we’ll all know what lies ahead of us. Speaking of which I met Gina McCarthy in the coffee shop on Monday. She’s home from college in Galway and she asked me if I’d like to join her so I did. She was talking about living there in the college accommodation, and the balls and the students’ nights out and it all sounded amazing. So between your new friend down there having a blast in Cork, Gina loving Galway and Clooney living like a rock star, the reports on the college experience are all good. I just hope it’s as good in London. Getting a little anxious but I’ll be fine. I always am. Gina and I had a great time together and it reminded me of how much fun we had when we were younger and before she decided she was too old to hang around with us. She’s working for her dad in the bar for the summer so we’re meeting for coffee again tomorrow, and she’s thinking about going into town to see Glenn’s band on Saturday. (I’m going to have to stop calling him Glenn – I’ve got Gina at it now.)
Tell me more about your life. How is Colm? He sounds interesting and your type and, no, I’m not saying you should be with him but, having said that, it’s not like you’re married or anything so it mightn’t be the end of the world either. Just a thought.
I have to go and beautify myself for Glenn. Talk soon I HOPE.
Your best friend,
Eve
PS Dicknose does really miss you and he’s talking about you all the time – even Gar has a pain in his face listening to him.
PPS I DO LOVE YOU.
> PPPS I cannot believe your taste is always the direct opposite of mine. Christian Slater first and Emilio last just isn’t right but at least we will never fight over a boy.
Eve’s unexpected date with Ben had pepped her up. She decided, as usual, to cook and nipped to the supermarket. She bought half the shop so that she had plenty of food to work with. She’d proved to herself long ago that she was far too impatient, mistrustful and possibly arrogant to follow recipes.
Four hours? That’s ridiculous! I could be in another country in four hours. I’ll see what it’s like after two. What the hell is a fenugreek leaf? Screw it. Basil will work just as well.
She kept the menu plain and hearty but still managed to burn everything when she went online to search for a potato recipe and got caught up in a YouTube video and forgot she was cooking. As it turned out, Ben was more than an hour late so the apartment was cleaned and the smoke evacuated before he arrived. It was seven when she answered the door with takeaway leaflets in her hand. He walked in, wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up so that she was sitting on his hips with her legs curled around him. Before she knew it she was leaning against a wall and he was kissing her. He started stripping off her clothes, and then he carried her to the bedroom. They made it to the bed intact without having spoken one word. With Ben she felt safe and free, warm and beautiful. Eve could have looked into his brown eyes for ever. When he touched her she tingled, and when he held her and moved inside her she felt abandoned.
Eve enjoyed sex, and over the years she’d had many men – some she was simply attracted to, some she’d liked and a few she’d really liked – but there had only ever been one she’d thought she could love: Ben Logan. You’re just living in the past, Eve, because you just don’t want to let go, she’d tell herself, but her body wasn’t listening.
The Space Between Us Page 7