She tilts her head at me and lowers her voice.
‘Now what kinda best mate would I be if I started ranting and raving about a keeper of a fella I’d met and you going through such a bad patch with Colin?’ She raises that perfectly arched eyebrow again.
‘Are they HD brows, Corina?’ I simply have to ask at this inappropriate moment.
‘They are. Vanity Rooms in Stepaside, amazing beauty salon, and I can get yours done for free if you want them: I organised the opening for the two Jennifers, Butler and Swaine, the owners, of their newly revamped rooms the weekend before last. It was so much fun, one girl had been growing her leg hair for two years for charity and got waxed … it was like Toni & Guy at the end of a busy Saturday. Hairtastic.’
‘This guy from Manchester … he lives here, right?’ It hits me.
‘No … just over on his brother’s stag, the Pimple they call him, he bought me a shot … Trevor, that’s his name, not the Pimple … I was about to ask him back to mine and then something happened.’ She leans forward and takes a long, slow sip of her wine.
‘Hang on, I’m confused: is Trevor your guy?’
‘Yes! Keep up! Or as my old auntie Betty used to say: shape up or ship out.’ She rolls her eyes at me, then she reaches up to her bun, pulls her hair free, throws her head over between her legs and scoops her red locks and redoes her bun.
‘Well? What happened!’ I throw my hands up at her.
‘Well, Ali, I decided to make him wait. Fo’ dis.’ Corina stands up and starts to do what I think they call twerking. Her bottom is extended and she is shaking it around. It’s a cross between looking like she really, really needs the loo or she’s just spilled boiling hot coffee all over her lap.
‘“Dis” is worth waiting for, no?’ Her two index fingers point at me as she is half on the ground now.
‘Er … yes … it is?’ I am starting to shake with the laughter as she is now actually on the ground.
‘Giv’us a hand up, will ya?’ She winks at me and I pull her up.
We are in stitches as she sits and goes on.
‘Think I pulled a muscle in my lower back there. So anyway, I didn’t sleep with him on the first date, or on the second or on the third, and I tell you one thing, Ali, this man is falling for me big time! He’s like a little puppy who knows there are cooked sausages in my pocket but he has to be patient and keep sniffing around until I pull them out.’
‘You have had three dates with him and never told me?’ I’m shocked.
‘I didn’t want to jinx it … that sounds so pathetic, I was all geared up to tell you about our fourth date on Saturday night but then you were in such a bad place I thought it wasn’t appropriate.’
‘You saw him four times in one week?’
‘True dat.’ She rolls her shoulders.
‘Why are you talking like that?’ I ask her.
‘Isn’t it hip?’
‘Not really, just confusing. Now go on … Saturday night, what happened?’ I drink a sip.
‘Oh, OK, sooooo …’ She picks up her glass.
There is a knock at the window and we both jump out of our skins.
‘Ffffuuucckkkiinnnggnnnoorraaabatttyyyyy!’ Corina spills red wine all down the front of her cream velour tracksuit.
‘Who the hell is that?’ I turn to the window.
‘Are you expecting someone?’ She grabs the kitchen roll from the glass table and wipes herself down.
‘No!’ I stare at my watch. ‘It’s half nine at night!’ I tiptoe to the window and pull back a tiny inch of fabric from the heavy curtains and there, his perfect nose pressed up against the glass, is Owen O’Neill.
I snap the material back. It waves and ripples before falling still.
‘Well?’ Corina is heavily breathing down my neck. ‘Will I ring the guards? I know a detective in Store Street very well … very, very well – too well, the naughty boy.’
I go red from the tip of my toes to the top of my messy bun.
‘No … It’s … it’s a … well … a work colleague of mine.’ I open the sitting room door and then stand at the front door. Corina is on my shoulder again.
‘You can stay inside.’ I urge her, holding out my hand to touch her elbow.
She eyes me up.
‘No … no, you know, I think I’ll stay with you, just to be on the safe side. You never really know that your work colleagues aren’t serial killers for sure, do you? I mean, look at Jeffrey Dahmer. Who’d have guessed looking at him across the office that that sandy-haired boy could—’
‘Shuuuush!’ I silence her with a long hiss as I slowly open the door.
‘Hey there.’ I release the word on my breath.
‘Hey, sorry, I was just …’ He stands directly under the porch light.
‘Well, hello there!’ Corina pops her head out from behind my body.
He jumps.
‘Oh, shit … Sorry, I didn’t know you had company. Hey … hello there to you too.’ He has moved from under the light now, three paces back into the front garden.
‘Come back! Sorry, I’d frighten a blind postman looking like this.’
He moves towards us and then I smell it. Whiskey. Now I know a lot about Owen and I know that he only drinks whiskey when he’s tortured. Either finishing a painting or desperately hung-over and looking for the cure. Neither of which I feel are the causes this evening.
‘Aren’t you coming in?’ Corina literally hits me with her hip bone out of the way and pulls Owen inside.
‘It’s brass monkeys out there.’ She winks at him and it’s then he knows who she is.
‘A-ha, Corina Martin, I presume.’ He’s chemically relaxed as she nods at me to close the front door and shows him into the front room. I can see Corina can’t take her eyes off him either. He’s incredibly sexy. Too sexy to be calling to my door at Gogglebox Hour with my husband on an overnighter. He’s like the Milk Tray man, all dressed in black, black jeans, his black biker jacket and black beanie hat. And apparently dangerous.
‘Yes, it is! I’m in your life drawing art class actually. I painted the basketball hoop lady? You said it was wonderfully abstract. I was legitimately trying to draw what I saw, but whatever …’ She raises her perfectly plucked, high-definition eyebrows at me in a way that tells me I need to cop myself on. A what-the-fuck look.
‘Huh? Oh, of course, you have met Owen at the City Arts Centre … in the drawing class …’ I say as I spot an imaginary fly and swipe it away.
She knows me well enough. She mutters under her breath. ‘Idontbelievethis.’ He won’t be able to decipher the mumbled words but I do.
Her words waltz around my mind.
We both stare at him as he removes his beanie hat and runs his hands over his head.
Corina makes a small noise like a mouse is caught at the back of her throat.
‘I wasn’t aware you guys were so pally-wally,’ she winks at me.
Cow.
‘Stop, Corina … Eh, can I get you a drink, Owen?’ My palms are sweaty.
Corina moves to the couch and is patting the place beside her for him to join her.
‘I don’t want to intrude …’ He is reluctant to sit until Corina pulls him down.
‘Have a glass of wine with us, sure the bottle’s open.’ She leans forward and grabs the bottle.
‘Another glass, Ali, if you will? And a damp cloth for my wine-stained tracksuit.’ Corina wants the goss.
I make my way into the kitchen and get another glass from the shelf. I cannot believe he’s sitting on my couch. He looks taller, bigger, more real. Big presence. I look at my distorted reflection in the silver oven hood. I lick my index finger and run it under both my eyes. I smooth my hair down, grab a wet cloth and I return like this is a perfectly normal situation and hand Corina the cloth and the glass. It’s Colin’s wine glass, a Waterford crystal one with big bubbles in the glass.
Suddenly the front room door opens quickly and Jade arches her head in.
‘
What’s going on?’ she rubs her sleepy eyes and then she focuses on Owen and backs out of the room.
‘Sorry, boo— sorry, Jade, did we wake you?’ I follow her out quickly and shut the door behind me, leaning my back against it now. My breathing heavy and fast.
‘Who is he?’ she asks. ‘And why is yer woman Corina drinking from Dad’s special wine glass? Dad hates her.’ Jade purses her perfect rosebud lips together.
‘Shush! Thank you, Jade, that is enough! Owen is a work colleague dropping over the itinerary for Amsterdam this week … and Corina is my best friend, and she happens to be very good to you. Please have some respect. Didn’t she take you to Miley Cyrus last year?’
I move away from the door and put my hand on the small of her back. It’s a few hours’ bed-warm so I quickly remove my cold hand. We walk back up the stairs.
‘She, like, spent the entire gig on her cell phone, Mom!’ She heaves her chest out.
We walk into her room and I turn her pillow over and hold back the duvet. She slides in. I gently cover her up.
I whisper now.
‘That’s because she can’t stand Miley … but she went just to bring you.’
I can’t stand what Miley preaches myself, or that tongue!
‘She’s so fake.’ She curls up.
I exhale a slow, long, in-labour-type breath.
‘She isn’t … just because Daddy says that about her—’
She interrupts me.
‘Like, she’s so old and isn’t even married – that’s just weird.’
‘You should always take people as you find them, Jade,’ I whisper and I kiss her head. ‘I love you. They’re both leaving soon, so I won’t be long.’
She closes her eyes and wraps her left elbow over her face and I leave the room.
Owen and Corina are in full flow as I re-enter the room. They both give me a secretive look as Corina hands me my glass. I sit on the black leather armchair opposite them.
‘Just telling him about Jade on the bloody iPad … I’m so glad I grew up in the eighties: I did so much stupid shit and there is no record of it anywhere! Here … he’s never had an exhibition! Like, come on. I am the event exhibition queen – I know all the coolest spaces … Tell him, Ali, tell him he should exhibit!’ Her words all blurt out and I can tell she’s not so much flirting but giddy in his presence. Can’t blame her for that.
‘You really should, your work is brilliant.’ I take a long gulp of red wine and it’s oh so welcome.
‘Ah, sure, we’ll see … listen, I only popped in as I was passing … to say, er, I won’t be back in work this week. Colette’s sending me to Belfast tomorrow to an auction of the concept art room at the Belfry Centre. They are closing down, so I’m gonna fly from Belfast on Thursday evening … I’ll just see you in Amsterdam.’ He sits forward, wine glass cupped, resting on his two knees.
Corina is like a spectator at a McEnroe vs. Connors tennis final; her head is sweeping from side to side, studying our faces. Back and forth. She is onto me.
‘Oh, right, that’s good, is it?’ I hold the wine glass over my face.
‘Uh-huh, should be. Should be able to buy some good supplies.’ He is starting to look less merry, more twitchy.
Corina now has her nails in her mouth nibbling. Nibbling and staring.
‘So have you ever been to Amsterdam before, Owen?’ she asks, leaning in to him. I can tell he wants to leave now but she is like a dog with a bone.
‘I was there once actually, about five years ago now, a stag, I don’t remember that much to be honest.’ He laughs, wiping his knuckles slowly across his brow.
‘Classic!’ she says. ‘I’ve never been, I’d love to go, some amazing things to see I hear.’
‘Oh, there are … I was gutted I never went to see Anne Frank’s house!’ He hits his head with the palm of his hand. ‘Idiot!’
‘Oh, I’d absolutely love to see that!’ I butt in. ‘It’s somewhere I have always wanted to see ever since I was in school.’
‘We’ll go Friday—’ he answers me immediately, enthusiastic, and then stops himself. The word we hangs heavy in the air and as I look to Corina her mouth is hanging open, hand about to go in to nibble on a nail, all her actions seem frozen in time. Frozen in our moment. Her expression is one of absolute puzzlement. Like one trying to work out the word conundrum on Countdown with that annoying music in the background.
Owen stands now and says, ‘Thanks for the wine but I better be going – early train.’ He drags his beanie hat over his shaven head.
‘Really great to finally meet you, Corina, properly, I mean. Takes me a while in new classes to get to know students – so many of you, so few of me, you know – but Ali never stops talking about you.’ He puts out his hand and she rises slowly and takes it.
‘My pleasure, Owen, let me know about finding an exhibition space. Honestly I’d love to help … and listen … enjoy Amsterdam, don’t do anything that isn’t illegal.’ She winks at him.
I will kill her.
He turns to me. ‘Thanks again, for the wine, Ali.’
‘Fine … anytime.’
‘You just made a rhyme.’ He laughs.
‘And now I’ll do a mime.’
Ridiculously I start to do my Marcel Marceau window piece across the room and now Corina is literally paling. Horrified expression.
I stop.
He’s laughing. Hard.
‘Most excellent!’ he says and claps lightly, four fingers to bottom of palm.
‘OK, then … see you in Amsterdam, so.’ I am having an out-of-body experience and now I am feeling faint.
‘Lovely.’ He imitates my last move, still laughing at my mime.
Corina slowly zips up her wine-stained tracksuit to the very top. Tight to her neck.
‘Oookkaayyyy … Thank you for that, um, fine performance, Ali, and goodbye then, Owen, again. Till our next class.’ She offers her hand, again.
‘Cool, yeah OK, good luck.’ He shakes it briefly and turns and opens the sitting room door.
Should I walk him out or stay here?
An awkward pause ensues.
‘I’ll show you out, Owen, shall I? I better be heading myself soon too, it is a school night after all.’ Corina steps in.
They leave the room and I drop like the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz onto the couch and my hands rise to support my face.
‘Arrghhhhhh!’ I moan into my hands.
I hear the Chubb lock close with a sharp click and she returns. I stay the way I am. I hear her knees crack as she sits on the leather chair opposite me and I hear her take her glass from the table. The liquid slides down her throat. Still she waits. Still I wait. She sips again and then replaces the glass. A rattle of glass meeting glass. I take a breath in through my nose.
‘What the actual fuckity-fuck was that?’ she asks. It’s a reasonable enough question.
At last.
‘I don’t know.’ I pull my hands down the skin on my face. Eyes straining from their sockets. Showing the red blood in my veins.
‘Ali!’ Corina slowly shakes her head.
‘It’s nothing … There is nothing …’ My voice doesn’t even sound like my own.
‘Eh, excuse me? That was like being a bed sheet on the set of Mr and Mrs Smith … the sexual tension was off the radar. I want to know everything and I want to know it all right now!’
And then I start to cry.
‘Oh no, Ali … What’s wrong?’ She is off the leather chair and has her arms around me. I smell Jo Malone and Rancheros.
‘Sorry, I don’t know, Corina, it’s Colin … Things are really shit and he’s just so nice …’
‘It’s OK, it’s all going to be OK … I promise.’ She makes soothing noises and rubs my hair gently. I inhale her and I stay cocooned in the comfort of her arms until I stop crying. I’m crying for loads of reasons and they all swim into each other around my brain. Like those fucking sperms for years trying to penetrate my goddamn egg. I’m crying
because I’m a fake, I’m not being honest with my best friend; I’m crying because I don’t think I want to be married to Colin any more; I’m crying because I don’t want my marriage to fail; I’m crying because Jade is slipping away from me, I miss my little girl, I miss the little girl who wanted me and only me; I’m crying because of how I feel about Owen and it’s all wrong. I’m crying because I don’t want to be a failure. Corina reaches for the kitchen roll again and tears off another sheet. It’s well-earned its more expensive cartoon endorsement option this evening that kitchen roll. Allegedly wood-chipped though it is.
She gets up and pours us both another full glass of wine. She sits beside me and when I’ve finished blowing my nose and wiping my stinging eyes I stuff the sodden piece of kitchen roll up my sleeve and take the wine she’s offering. We sit side by side on the couch.
‘I’ve never been married, I’ve never been in a relationship that lasted more than three months and I’ve never been the one to finish a relationship ever. By process of elimination, I am not the one to give you advice, love. However, I am worldly, I have opinions and morals and ideals.’ She puts her wine to her mouth and beckons for me to do the same. We both drink. She carefully places her glass back down. ‘But, Ali, this is a dangerous game. This isn’t wise or clever or even fair on anyone – never mind, Colin – I’m thinking about Jade and Mark.’ She puts her hand on my knee.
‘There is nothing going on, though …’ I break off, there is no point in pretending. I’ve gone there in my mind so many times now it feels like I have cheated already.
‘But you would dearly like there to be, right?’
‘But yeah … you’re right,’ I manage the truth.
‘And so would he, right?’ she questions.
‘I don’t know and that’s being one hundred per cent honest. I have never discussed it with him, but I get the impression … that maybe … yeah.’ My voice is small.
‘OK, well, at least nothing has happened yet. Thank God I came here tonight – this is our grannies helping with this intervention. What would have happened if I wasn’t here?’ She blows out air slowly and glugs her wine.
‘Nothing!’ I hiss at her.
The Week I Ruined My Life Page 8