‘I better fly, I have a mask to buy. Oh, shit, you aren’t going to do a mime now I said that, are you?’ she slags me.
I shut my eyes tight and hover my hand over the door handle.
‘What are we like?’ I say.
‘Like two big bloody eejits.’ She flicks off her hazards, indicates and looks in her mirror. I get out and slam the door, and she pulls away.
I have so much work to do before I go to Amsterdam on Friday. I head into the centre and up to my office. I look at my desk – it resembles my brain: shit everywhere. I focus on tidying up my space first, recycling paper as I go, and then get to work on my city council and Arts Council applications for funding the St Andrew’s Resource Centre transport. I’ll work on the Steffi Street kids’ new learning sign language programme after that’s finished, I think.
Before I know it, it’s coming up to two o’clock. I save my work on the applications and grab my coat from the back of my chair. I look out the window. Dublin is dull and dark. Huge black clouds hang low. I make my way out of the arts centre and turn left down Moss Street towards the Pepper Palace. It’s a lovely cosy cafe run by an Australian couple, Samantha and Daisy. They were recently married and had their wedding reception in the cafe. Owen and I popped down with a card and had a glass of bubbles with them. Pretty cool ladies. The sleet is starting to come down very heavy now as I push open the door and see my husband sitting in the back far left corner beside the painted Santa window and the white, flickering Christmas tree. His head buried in a menu and he’s still wearing his coat.
‘Hiya, so cold, isn’t it?’ I slide into the white plastic seat opposite him and pull myself in. He smiles at me.
‘Yeah, a bit, I suppose. I’ve mainly been in the car, how’s things?’ He puts the menu down.
‘Yeah, grand. Sorry about the alarm, Colin,’ I offer my apology as I unwind my scarf slowly and peel off my coat. I stuff the scarf far down into the sleeve. I’m always losing scarfs. I turn and hang the coat off the back of my chair.
‘Anything good on their specials?’ I pick up the long, slim menu.
He shakes his head.
‘I’m not hungry today at all for some reason. Must be the big meal you served me last night. I’m just going to have a bowl of soup, it’s butternut squash, Daisy just told me.’
I ignore his jibe. The mention of soup springs a vivid picture of Owen into my head.
‘You badly need a haircut, Ali,’ Colin says now as he removes his coat.
‘Do I? Do I really, Colin?’ I say very dramatically, it’s all a bit Hannibal Lecter-sounding, as I lean my chin in my hands elbows on the table.
‘What is up with you lately? Honestly this PMS thing is really out of hand, Ali, you are like a psycho all the time. You jump on every little thing I say.’ He pushes the stainless steel salt and pepper pots away from my elbows towards the window. Maybe he is right, maybe this is all hormonal, because the hair comment has me raging inside and I don’t know why. I need to calm down. Right on cue Daisy approaches.
‘G’day, how are you, Ali? Getting set for Christmas?’ She pulls her small red pencil from behind her ear and takes her dog-eared notepad from the pocket of the white apron tied tightly around her slim waist.
‘Nothing even started yet, I’ve a business trip away this weekend, so I’ll be into all that when I get back,’ I tell her.
She nods. She has recently come back from a trip back home Down Under. Her skin is golden brown, her hair sun-bleached and she looks so relaxed. Oh, Vitamin D. How I need thee. I see myself do Marcel again. Horrific.
‘Just two butternut squash soups, please, with brown bread,’ I tell her.
‘Wholemeal, rye or sour dough?’ she offers, licking the nib of the red pencil and writing down our order. Samantha bakes all the bread in here the night before.
I look at Colin, he shrugs his shoulders.
‘Surprise us!’ I laugh, ‘And two tap waters too, thanks.’
Colin is on his phone now. I study him. His dimple deep and so familiar. I close my eyes and hope when I open them he has disappeared. For the second time in as many minutes I wonder whether it’s all me. Why would I want my husband to disappear? The cafe door opens and two office workers with accreditation badges swinging around their necks come in, shaking out their cold hands and take a free table. I lean in and with my index finger gently push his phone out of his hand down onto the table.
‘We need to talk, Colin,’ I say in a low serious tone.
‘OK, go on.’ He looks at me curiously as he puts the phone down.
‘Things aren’t good, Colin, … between us, I mean. Like, not good at all, are they? I think—’
‘What is wrong with you, Ali?’ he interrupts, leaning in now too in hushed tones.
‘What is going on with you? I can’t figure you out, you are so miserable all the time, you are so snappy.’
All I can hear is his accusation: YOU. YOU. YOU.
‘I’m not, Colin. You … you, you pick on me all the time … I—’
He interrupts again. ‘What are you, twelve? Jade’s more mature.’
‘I mean it. I can’t seem to do anything right in your eyes.’
He genuinely looks shocked.
‘Give me an example?’ He says.
‘Well, take Sunday for example, you had a problem with me drying Jade’s leggings in the dryer …’
He scoffs.
‘Yeah, because putting a single pair of leggings into a dryer is stupid. Sorry, but it is. It’s costly and so bad for the environment.’ He tilts his head at me. ‘Next?’
‘You tell me how to wash dishes.’
‘’Cause you really don’t know how to wash them and I know when I’m not there you put the dishwasher on for a few dishes and again that’s costly, Ali, and so bad for our environment. Next?’
Daisy is over with the soup and I lean back to let her place them down. She has brought a mixed bowl of breads. We thank her. This conversation is going nowhere fast. I don’t mean it to be tit for tat. I need to make him understand how he is making me feel but more importantly the effect it is having on our children. He dips his spoon in, raises it to his mouth and blows. I watch the liquid quiver.
‘When was the last time you said something nice to me, Colin?’ I don’t touch my cutlery. I sit still. Poker straight.
Poker face.
P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face. Mum-mum-mum-ma.
‘I tell you all the time how much I fancy you, Ali, you know I do. I honestly don’t know what you want from me any more. OK, so I’m passionate about not wasting energy and you don’t get that—’
Now I interrupt.
‘I do get that, Colin. It’s just I’m not obsessed with it and you are, it’s not my number one—’
‘Well, it should be,’ he jumps in. He just won’t let me finish a sentence. ‘You should be, it’s our children who will suffer if we don’t take care of our planet.’
‘That’s all very Maia Crowley,’ I scoff now.
His eyes dart up at me. The dimple pulsates as he pushes his long, floppy, light brown hair back from his baby-blue eyes. We look at each other before he goes back to his soup. I dip my spoon in but just swirl it around. I wish Owen was here to taste it, his lips on my spoon.
‘Look, Ali, things are tough, I get that. We are trying to hold down jobs and bring up two children; it’s never going to be a bed of roses … I really don’t know what you expect? This isn’t one of your Hollywood movies with that freak Tom Hardy, it’s real life.’
When he says ‘we are trying’ this riles me again. I’m the one working my job around the kids, and pick-ups, and dinners and shopping and gymnastics and football and art classes and weekend parties. Colin goes to work, he drops the kids on his way and that’s it.
‘It’s like you think life should be one long romantic movie. It’s not. It’s graft and hard work. That arts centre has you all full of crappy romantic notions.’ He twists an inordinate amount of black peppe
r onto his soup. Usually meaning he doesn’t like the taste.
‘Are you happy?’ I ask the question before my brain tells my mouth it’s OK to do so.
He puts the pepper down slowly.
‘Define happy, Ali. Am I happy to work to provide for my family? Yes. Is my wife giving me a hard time every second of every day? Yes. Does this make me happy? No. Do I want to lose her? No … No way.’
I’m shocked. It’s the nicest thing he has said to me since I went back to work full-time.
He puts the spoon down now and I watch the orange liquid slide from it and melt into the cracks in the old wooden table.
‘Find your smile. Go off this weekend on your holiday and enjoy yourself,’ he says.
‘It’s work. Not a holiday, Colin,’ I say, even though I know I shouldn’t, he is reaching out but I can’t help myself.
He raises a half-smile. A smirk.
‘Of course it is.’ His eyebrows raise and drop as he lifts a piece of heavy-looking brown bread and dips the bread in the bowl, bending his head over, then eats it. I bite my lower lip. His black suit from yesterday is still sharp with the grey tie; he always dresses for the office like he’s off to a very trendy wedding. He still has stubble this morning, I suppose because we overslept and it suits him. He always was the best-looking boy in the school. Colin Devlin, with that cool khaki bag.
‘Oh, I’m booking my flights today for the Irish games in June, just so you know,’ he chews.
And that’s why his humour is good. Something to look forward to. Football. The lads. I risk this one.
‘Are you taking Mark? He will be thrilled! I’ve a hectic calendar at work in June.’ I tear a piece of rye bread in half and dip it in.
He takes a few seconds to answer.
‘No, I’m not taking my five-year-old son on the Irish Man U lads’ trip to the Euros, are you mad?’
‘I am mad, Colin, mad as fuck!’ I glare at him as I raise my voice on my curse word. He thinks he can just swan off whenever the hell he likes and leave me with everything. Why can’t I swan off whenever I like? Fuck that.
‘Oh, here we go.’ He reaches for the purple paper napkin and wipes his mouth. He pushes back his chair and looks out the window.
‘Here’s Maia, saved by the job … I have to go, we can finish this later. Get some Valium, will ya?’ He grabs his coat and moves away towards the door.
I look out the window as the green Honda Fit EV 2013 pulls up. Maia rolls down the window, her blinking hazards reflecting in her eyes, and gives me a huge happy smile. Maia is early thirties; she has a dark, wild curly bob haircut, kind of ‘Scary Spice circa huge Spice Girls success’. She is always saving energy. Her car is lease only, she had told me last time at a business dinner for the company in L’Ecrivain restaurant. ‘It ranks as the single most efficient electric car you can drive out of a dealership today. You can’t buy it though, Ali; it’s lease only,’ she enthused into my face.
I wave back like a crazy lady. Smiling, waving, happy, happy, happy. I watch my husband fold himself in beside her and they drive away.
‘Will I bring the bill, Ali?’ Daisy asks as she clears the table, expertly balancing soup bowls and the mostly untouched bread plate along her left arm. Her hands, claw-like, holding up the two glasses.
‘Please, Daisy, thanks,’ I say. I rummage for my purse in my bag and realise I’ve left my phone at the office. I pay and head back to work. I bump straight into Corina at the reception desk.
‘What are you doing here?’ I say and fall into her embrace. ‘And you are unmasked, my friend!’
We laugh and hug.
‘I was calling you.’ She’s changed and now looks like something from the movie White Christmas. White coat, white bobble hat and white leather gloves.
‘Sorry, I left my phone. What on earth are you wearing since I saw you last?’ I stare at her get-up.
‘Like it?’ she twirls. ‘I got Fierce & Furry to sponsor today’s launch for the Masked app at the very last second. They do mainly kinky fur stuff, like furry handcuffs, and furry knickers, big ears, tails … For people who like the furry stuff, y’know.’
I stop her and pull her away from reception where a courier is looking at her strangely.
‘People who like the furry stuff?’ I’m totally confused.
‘Ali, where have you been? It’s all the rage in LA, on dating sites and apps … people want to have sex with people who are dressed up as furry animals. You know, Furry Dating … they are called Furries? Tell me you know what Furries are? Anyway, Colette wanted to meet me about next year’s schedule, see what PR we can drum up, I’m going to be taking over the Facebook and Twitter pages here too.’
I’m still trying to digest the Furry info.
‘I’m lost, Corina. I hope to stay that way, tell me no more about the furry shit … but that’s great news about Colette’s call. We love having you based in here,’ I tell her.
‘You have a few messages,’ Kim the receptionist informs me. It’s a shared job. Jenny B. does the mornings and Kim does the afternoons. I take the yellow Post-It from her.
‘Thanks, Kim,’ I smile at her.
‘Time for a coffee after I see Colette?’ Corina asks.
‘Mmmm … could you get a take-out from the Beans and come up to my office? I’ve a city council and an Arts Council application to finish today, if at all possible,’ I ask her and I pull my purse out of my bag.
‘I don’t want the money! Yeah, no probs, I’ll bring us up two extra hot lattés when I’m done.’ She is already moving away. I shake my head. I’d like a stiff drink but really better not fall down that road. I’m bad enough.
I go through my messages as I walk up the wooden staircase to my office. Nothing important, but one makes me laugh, a Mr A.M. Sterdam called, asking me to call him back. I recognise the number immediately: Owen’s. I crumple the Post-It in the palm of my hand. The guy’s mad.
I get straight back onto my application for the bus and then the Steffi Street sign language programme as I wait for Corina and get quite a lot done before she returns.
‘What took you so long?’ I stretch my arms high above my head and find a huge, deep yawn.
She kicks the door closed behind her, puts the lattés on the desk and sits. She removes her Polar Express outfit and pulls out a giant bag of Maltesers, pulls the bag apart and leaves them on the desk between us. She pops one in her mouth and sucks before she answers me.
‘I need chocolate so badly.’ She eats more. ‘You know how they say people in love glow? Well, people out of love grow!’ she tells me.
She holds a Malteser between index finger and thumb and nibbles the chocolate all around it. It’s like watching a small dog gnash on a bone. She pops the rest in her mouth and looks at me.
‘Ah, you weren’t in love with him … but I get it,’ I say.
‘No, I don’t suppose I was, but I wanted him to want to see me again. Is that too much to ask?’
‘No.’ I smile at her.
‘How did lunch go, then?’ She changes the subject and sucks away on the chocolate as she removes the lid from her latté.
‘Ahhh.’ I lean back in my office chair. ‘Ended in a big fight, yet again.’ I take my coffee up now and feel the warmth from the paper cup heat my cold hands. I twist it around several times in my palms. The City Arts Centre isn’t exactly centrally heated. It ain’t no Google offices, that’s for sure. We each have a small oil radiator in our offices.
I fill her in as she sips her hot drink and eats the entire bag of Maltesers.
‘I want to talk to you about Owen and your trip this weekend,’ she says when she’s finished licking her fingers.
I look at her. Then I tidy the already tidy pen tray.
‘Stay away from him, Ali, he is the disease not the cure.’
‘Ahh, come on, that’s not fair, Corina, you don’t know him.’ I’m upset with her for the first time since we met.
‘It’s not him I’m worried for, it’
s you, Ali, and you have a marriage to concentrate on, kids to think about. It’s too important to lose out to lust. Is it worth risking everything you have for a ride?’
‘You have no idea how bad things are between me and Colin, Corina.’
She moves and sits against my desk, holding onto the sharp edge.
‘I do! I really do. I know you are going through a really bad time, but it will be OK, you need to talk—’
‘That’s why I just met him for lunch. I am trying … to talk. It’s impossible.’
‘So tell me what? Do you want to end it then?’
I roll a red Bic pen beneath my hands and feel the hard groves.
‘I honestly don’t know,’ I admit.
‘I told you: you just need to go out and get some really sexy underwear – you need to feel sexy yourself – and then seduce him. Sex makes everything better,’ she says matter-of-factly.
‘I don’t fancy Colin at all any more, Corina. I have tried to tell you this. I can’t stand the thought of having sex with him. I try, but when he touches me I completely freeze, it’s awful.’
I am composed and matter of fact; she, however, is speechless.
‘But Colin’s an absolute ride, Ali, like, a total hottie. How could you not fancy him?’ She tucks a strand of loose red hair behind her ear. I know she hasn’t really understood what I said.
‘I just don’t. I don’t know why but I don’t fancy him at all any more. There is zero chemistry, Corina, it is gone.’
‘Flipping hell,’ is all she has.
‘This is what I have been trying to tell you!’ I say as the sound of my desk phone ringing brings us back to the present and I pick up. It’s Colette asking me for the proposed teacher profile for the sign language funding proposal and can she see it before I submit. I tell her it’s on the way and hang up.
‘I have to get back to work,’ I tell my best mate.
She slides off my desk and crouches down beside me.
‘I didn’t know it was this bad, Ali, I’m sorry. I just thought it would pass, that it was the usual seven, twelve-year-itch stuff. I was looking stuff up and …’ She rises and gets her phone from her bag. She taps it and the light comes alive, she taps some more.
The Week I Ruined My Life Page 12