Paul was freaked that Eve had been in hospital alone for four days and hadn’t felt she could call him. He understood that their friendship had only recently been rekindled and he also understood her need for privacy – if anyone understood that, he did. He didn’t care that she hadn’t confided in him about Ben but he did care that she had nearly died and he wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t bumped into her brother at the ATM. I thought we were friends. As recently as the drink after their last game of tennis, he had considered confiding in her. Paul gave little of himself away but that night she had pushed and pushed. All the while she was screwing Ben Logan on the sly, the cheeky bitch! The game had been robust and they had enjoyed it. He had won but only by a point. She had noticed a cute guy at the bar and mentioned him, but Paul wasn’t keen.
‘He’s too short.’
‘Nothing wrong with short,’ she’d said.
It all makes sense now – bloody Ben Logan.
‘Are you seeing anyone?’ she’d asked, for the hundredth time, and this time he had considered telling her but once again he balked. Too many questions to answer.
Paul had spent his childhood in a house where you grew up to be a hard worker and got married, with kids and mortgage. When he was young he knew he was different, but for a long time he couldn’t work out why. He loved girls; he was tall, handsome and in a winning rugby team so he had his pick. He went outside his hometown, not because he was looking for beards as everyone had suspected when he came out, but because the only girl he was interested in was Lily and she was with his friend. Eve was beautiful but he had never felt that way about her. He could have married Lily. That night he had wanted to tell Eve he had been sexually attracted to all those girls back in the day, and the only reason he’d come out was because, although he’d great sex with them and with many boys, he could take or leave them all until he’d met Paddy and fallen head over heels in love.
Paddy was the one, as far as he was concerned. They had met at a club and the first moment he’d seen him he’d known. I love you. Paddy had long hair. He was broad, dark and, basically, the male version of Lily. He had her softness, openness and kindness. He was beautiful to look at and had the soul of a saint. He was funny, positive, free-thinking, inspirational and, most importantly, he knew who he was. Paul had never worked out who he was, but when he fell for Paddy, he was finally sure of himself. Paddy was a proudly open gay man and he demanded that of his partner. Paul came out to his parents to ensure that his relationship with the man he loved survived. They had been upset, but he didn’t care because he was in love and, as far as he was concerned, it was for ever and that meant he was gay. Except he still noticed a beautiful woman, her curves, her skin, her smell, her hair and the way she moved. He hadn’t coveted one, no matter how beautiful, for a long time but he always noticed them. After he and Paddy had been together for a few years, Paul still loved Paddy but he no longer cared to share his bed. Paddy felt the same but because they shared a home, a dog and a life neither wanted to admit it. Until one Friday night when Paddy was away at a convention in Brighton for the weekend and Paul went to a pub in Dublin where he met a girl called Simone.
With her dark complexion, brown eyes and silky brunette hair, she was Paul’s type from the start. She sat next to him sipping a beer and he watched her read an article in Vanity Fair. She was consumed by it, one moment smiling, the next shocked, then saddened. He could read every emotion on her face. He was intrigued. When she was ready to leave, she leaned down to grab the bag she’d left by her feet only to find that it was gone. She stood up and looked around disbelievingly. Paul had seen it and recognized it as a Mulberry only because Emma, the girl in the cubicle next to his at work, was a Mulberry fanatic: she had at least five and talked about them endlessly as though they were her pets. He hadn’t noticed anyone slope in to steal it because he had been focused on the story playing across her face. When she realized it was gone she looked lost. He had stood up and asked her if he could help. She explained that her bag had been stolen and was embarrassed that she couldn’t pay for her beer. Paul immediately offered to pay, then walked her to the police station to make her complaint. He insisted she use his phone to cancel her cards. Then he asked her if she wanted dinner. They had ended up in bed together at his apartment for the entire weekend.
Paddy had returned on the Monday. Paul had sat him down and told him he’d met someone. Paddy couldn’t believe his ears, especially when Paul admitted it was a woman. He was devastated, and the betrayal was all the worse because it didn’t involve a man. Paul was shattered by the pain he had caused. They had fought, screamed and cried – the most passionate they’d been in years. Before he had left Paddy and their dog Samba, he kissed them both and, grief-stricken, moved into a hotel. A week later he’d rented a house in his local town and a year later he bought it.
Simone had been a fixture ever since. She was a model, spending a lot of time abroad. She was based in London and they had met when she was spending time in Ireland on a shoot. Their weekend had been a one-off as far as both were concerned. She was returning to London and he was returning home, but something had changed during their two days together and she couldn’t forget him so she called him as soon as she arrived in London. That first year they only saw each other a handful of times. He went to visit her in London twice, she came to Ireland twice and they met in Paris once. The second year she ended up doing more work in Ireland, and they spent a month together in Cuba. That was when it became serious. Paul realized he was in love when saying goodbye became impossible. He had considered moving to London but Simone was tiring of the model scene – at twenty-nine she was considered ancient and the jobs were drying up. In five years she had taken five courses. Styling: she didn’t like it. Makeup: not for her. Hair: definitely not. Photography: boring. Then she did a dog-grooming course and loved it. She had been travelling to and from Ireland for months. She’d found the perfect location to set up her new business and she was moving in with Paul.
He just hadn’t told his friends and family. As far as they were concerned he was gay. He had confided in Simone that he was bisexual when he’d first met her, mostly because he’d thought he’d never see her again. Simone hadn’t made an issue of it – in fact, she’d admitted to having messed around with girls, although she’d never gone all the way. ‘It just wasn’t me,’ she said. She understood why he hadn’t introduced her to friends and family and didn’t care when she was living abroad because their time together was precious. But now it was different: now she was coming to live with him and they were becoming a family.
The morning she had told him she suspected she was pregnant they were sitting in a hotel in London, enjoying breakfast in bed.
‘The crumpets are really good,’ she said.
‘Aren’t they?’
‘I think I’m pregnant.’
A grin spread across his face. ‘I’d really like that,’ he said, dropping his crumpet.
‘Me too,’ she said.
They hugged and kissed, and when they parted he asked her to marry him.
‘I’d love to,’ she said, and that was it.
They bought a test in Boots, returned to the hotel and she peed on the stick. He waited anxiously, already behaving like an expectant father. The stick turned pink instantly. Simone was having Paul’s baby, and when she held it up and shouted, ‘Score!’ he cried like one.
They planned a simple wedding to be held in their favourite hotel in Westport. Simone’s family and friends had all met Paul. In fact, he had spent so much time in London in recent years that they were shocked when Paul and Simone announced that she was moving to Ireland and not the other way around. Paul had a good, high-paying, steady job and a large house in a beautiful spot while she was pretty much out of a job and broke. She did worry how Paul’s friends and family would take the news and he worried even more. How do you go back into the closet?
Paul had been in his mid-twenties before he confronted his bisexuality. He went to
the library to read about it, and when he couldn’t find anything that explained to him who he was and what he wanted, he went to a sex counsellor who told him he was a three on the Kinsey Scale, which meant he was equally attracted to men and women. From his past behaviour she concluded he was an alternating bisexual, which meant that when a relationship with one sex ended he might find himself falling for someone of the other. That was exactly what had happened. He could have fallen for a guy just as easily but Paul Doyle realized that the sex didn’t matter: it was the person he was attracted to who did.
In Simone he had found someone who accepted him for exactly who he was. She wasn’t jealous, she wasn’t possessive, she didn’t care about his past, she didn’t care that he got a hard-on for other men. He was with her and she was confident in them. Simone wasn’t a worrier. She lived in the moment. ‘When you’re happy be grateful, not greedy,’ she’d say. She understood his reticence about explaining himself to friends and family, especially as he’d made such a big deal about coming out.
He felt foolish and was worried his friends would think him a fool. As for his parents, although his father had come around in recent years, his relationship with his mother was extremely strained. They tolerated one another but she believed that all gay men and women were going to Hell in a hand-basket, and the only thing she could offer her son in terms of support was her prayers. Of course she’d see his marriage and fatherhood as a win. She’d claim the power of prayer had saved him from himself and eternal damnation. Simone laughed at the notion but then she hadn’t met his mother.
‘You can say I used to be a man if it makes you feel any better,’ she said.
‘If you weren’t pregnant I probably would.’
‘You’re going to have to do it soon,’ she’d said, when he was leaving her to return home for the final time without her.
‘I will.’
Then he’d gone back to work and put it off and put it off because he didn’t want to have to go house to house explaining himself. Paul was so private that the very idea made him feel nauseous. Now Eve was in a terrible state. She had been having an affair with Ben Logan – he, Gar and Gina would be visiting her the next night – and Lily was back on the scene. The heat was definitely off him so it was the perfect time and place to tell them he was going to be a father and invite them to the wedding.
Cheers, Eve. Hello, Lily.
6. If this is the end
Wednesday, 18 July 1990
11.30 a.m.
Dear Eve,
I’m lying in my bed writing this to you. Had a really heavy night last night – we all ended up in the club and I don’t even remember getting home. Colm dropped over at ten this morning with a few scones. He told me he’d brought me home (and, no, nothing happened) and said I was singing most of the way. We’d sat on the bridge for a while and talked. I told him about Declan and our lives at home and plans for Cork. (Don’t remember any of that conversation!) Before he left he hugged me and told me that I had no idea how amazing I was and he hoped I would see it some day. I was embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say. He said Declan was very lucky to have me and he hoped he knew it, which I thought was very cheeky, but because I couldn’t remember what I’d said I wasn’t able to answer him. He looked concerned (if that’s the right word, maybe troubled would describe it better) and the vibe was weird. I feel a bit sad now and I don’t know why. I hate this feeling. I should never have got so drunk. It’s pathetic. I’m thinking of staying in bed all day. I have a stack of books I want to read. It’s just me, my bed, music and books.
OK, to cheer myself up a bit here are my top two reasons why living on my own is amazing:
1. Independence
2. Peace
I can get up when I want. I can eat or not eat what I want. I can come and go as I please. I’m free! It’s an amazing feeling. There’s no shouting, no fighting. I haven’t been to Mass since I got here and I was thinking about going to Confession when I arrived just to confess having sex with Declan so I could promise not to do it again (at least for the summer) but I got as far as the church and didn’t go in. I know. Can you believe it? My mother was whispering in my ear, ‘If you die in an accident, have a clean pair of knickers and a pure soul,’ but I ignored her – except for the clean knickers. You’ll be happy to hear that my Catholic guilt is lifting even if it is only a little. I still bless myself when I see a coffin and this morning after Colm left I couldn’t help but say a silent prayer that I hadn’t made a complete fool of myself last night, and if I had, that everyone else was drunk enough not to remember. Of course Colm remembers. He’s playing a match today so he didn’t want to drink too much. What did I say to him? It’s really annoying me. I don’t want to ask. I’m hoping it will start to come back to me.
Top two reasons why living on my own is horrible:
1. Missing you
2. Missing you
Oh, and apparently he carried me home from the bridge. He said I fell asleep in his arms. I was really apologetic but he said I shouldn’t worry, it was no problem. In fact, I’m so small and light he managed to stop off at the chipper for a burger with the lads while I slept on his shoulder. I really am so embarrassed. Thank God I was wearing jeans. I’m never drinking again. And the weird thing is I don’t even feel that hung-over but maybe that’s because I’ve gone back to bed. I don’t know.
You should have seen this place the night I moved in. It was disgusting. The kitchen was like a grease factory and I’m not even going to talk about the bathroom because the memory alone makes me want to gag. Now it’s still a dump but it’s a clean one. I nearly lost a finger scrubbing the toilet but that’s another story. I was thinking that I could subsidize university by getting a cleaning job. It would be really handy. I could work my own hours and it’s cash in hand. Medicine is a five-year course and we only start to get paid as interns in year six. Neither Declan nor I have financial backing and I’m really starting to worry about how we’re going to live. Maybe I was talking about that last night. I don’t know.
I’ve been thinking a lot about our future lately. Declan is really worried he won’t get medicine. It’s his dream and he says if he has to he’ll repeat. I’d die if I ended up in Cork alone! And I know that everyone thinks I’ll just swan into a place but honestly I don’t know if I will, and when I think about not getting a place, instead of being upset I feel relieved. Isn’t that weird? Of course I’d never say that to Declan because he’s up the walls but five years is a long time. We’ll be in our mid-twenties before we’ll be able to earn a single penny and then we’ll have huge loans to pay back. Apparently we can only get a loan in second year and Ellen says it will depend on how well we do in our first year exams. I haven’t heard that before. Have you?
I was gutted when you weren’t there the other day but it was nice to hear Clooney at the end of the phone. He told me all about the Bushy Head – it’s awful for him. He did mention that he was thinking about heading down this way so I hope he does. It is beautiful here when the sun is shining. I can’t wait to show him around and he’s going to love the water sports. I told him where to find me so I can feed him if he needs feeding. Oh, I forgot to tell you the chef in the restaurant is showing me how to cook and I love it.
My mother’s going back to Lourdes again with the Legion of Mary. I eventually managed to speak to her on the phone yesterday and the first thing she asked me was if I was going to Mass. I said that I was fine and thanks for asking. It made me laugh. She didn’t like that because Mass is no laughing matter. She said she was going to pray for me and canvass others in her group to pray for me too because I’m going to need all the prayers I can get. She said my plan to live in sin will secure my place in Hell. I was really pissed off. I haven’t spoken to her in an age and all she could do was threaten me with damnation. She thinks I should go to Trinity and live at home and let Declan go down to Cork on his own. She says I’m too young to be tying myself to one boy. She actually said I’m too young to have
a clue about life and love, this coming from a woman who has no one in her life. And, anyway, if I’m going to Hell for having sex or living with the boy I love then everyone I know is going to go to Hell, and Heaven will be full of priests, nuns and weird spinsters who talk to themselves and smell like cat wee. I think I’d prefer to be in the fire with friends rather than in the clouds with weirdos, speaking of which I’m really happy for you and Ben. He sounds very mature and cool. I think it’s a good idea to have sex with him. He sounds like he knows what he’s doing, which is a big bonus because it took Declan and me ages to get it right, and I think it makes a lot of sense to lose it before you go to London. Plus you don’t have the burden of worrying about going to Hell so there’s nothing stopping you.
Anyway, that’s about it. Maybe I’ll go for a sleep, don’t feel like doing anything now. I really miss you and can’t wait to hear more about you and Ben.
Lily XXXOOOXXX
PS I wonder where we’ll both be in six years. It seems so far away. Like another lifetime.
Eve saw the hulking Ginger Monster with his navy-blue jumper on. He had his back to her and he was leaning over a woman on the rack. Please, not me, please, not me. She tried to look over his shoulder to see if it was her but he kept moving and concealing the person strapped to his contraption. She felt burning pain in her legs and her arm as though they were being pulled apart. Oh, crap, it is me. He raised his arm high in the air and moved a little to the left so that she could see Ben’s wife Fiona tied to the rack. She was wearing the little white-and-navy-striped T-shirt and the pair of tight pretty shorts that she had worn on their last boating trip. Eve remembered the outfit from their Facebook photos. It was cute but not too cute, with clean lines, expensive but not ridiculous. She had flowing brunette hair and a warm, friendly face. She had boobs and hips, and her skin was glowing and tanned. She was relaxed, happy and healthy. I bet she doesn’t suffer one long headache. Eve remembered studying the photograph and feeling jealous of the happy brunette, but now in her nightmare Fiona was screaming so loudly that Eve could feel herself trying to cover her ears but only with her good hand because the other three limbs were still being invisibly pulled apart. She found a button at the side of her temple and tried to press it, hoping the fire would come and engulf the pain but it didn’t. The Ginger Monster plunged his fist into Fiona’s chest and ripped out her heart. She watched it beat in his hand for a second or two before her eyes closed. He threw it into the same wicker basket that held Eve’s rotting limbs.
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