Jumping in Puddles

by Claire Allan

  Of course, being the black sheep of the group – or the black widow among the rich and wealthy men of the city – the conversation soon dried up. It was awkward and stilted. It was clear that the group was uneasy in her company and reluctant to boast about the week’s achievements when her story was so utterly depressing.

  “So how are things at the office?” she asked.

  “Busy, you know. Thank God for the claim culture in this city. And the Magistrate’s keeps us ticking over.” Kevin was red-faced with pride, before he bumbled: “Of course it’s not the same without Seán – but, you know, we cope.”

  She was tempted to laugh at his weak attempts to cover up just how quickly life had moved on for him and she probably would have laughed if she wasn’t convinced everyone thought she was slightly deranged anyway. Here she was, dressed up like Samantha from Sex and the City’s understudy drinking alone in a bar miles from home alone on a Friday night. Worse than that she was listening to Kevin and company ramble on about their big houses and their bonuses when she would have been truly happy to trade in everything she had for a man who loved her, and only her, even if it meant living in a caravan by the sea.

  Now, she thought, was just about the right time to make her hasty retreat to the ladies’.

  “If you’ll just excuse me,” she said, standing up and making to turn on her designer heels.

  “Of course, of course,” Kevin said looking at his watch. “What time did you say your friends were coming at?”

  She looked at her own watch – a reflex to buy some time. “I didn’t,” she answered, “but they shouldn’t be long.”

  Offering up a silent prayer that she would get out of there in one piece she turned to leave and heard a clatter of friendly voices calling her name.

  “Looks like they’re here,” Kevin replied, sagging visibly with relief.

  Detta, Liam and Ruth looked mildly out of place in the city-centre bar but Niamh was delighted to see them. She had to stop herself from running over and hugging them. This was crazy, she thought as she bid a hasty goodbye to Kevin and his friends, and walked across the room. A year ago she would have thrived in the company of the group she was just leaving. She would have sat enthralled by Seán’s witty banter, sipping fine wine and looking forward to getting him all to himself.

  She knew they made a very attractive couple and she knew that people were jealous of them. Shallow as it was to admit to, Niamh liked that. She liked that people would turn slightly green when she mentioned the interior-designed house in the country. She liked that when Seán talked, people listened.

  She couldn’t have imagined a year ago thinking that her previous life had all been false and fake. And it wasn’t just that her relationship with Seán had been a lie – it was that these people weren’t really her friends. They didn’t really care about her – but Detta, Ruth and Liam did care. Her eyes welled up at their gesture and she had to clench her fists not to pull them into a hug.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered.

  “We figured you might need someone to hold your hand, and before you start worrying we’re not here to talk you out of this,” Detta said.

  “I think I’m doing a fine job of that myself,” Niamh sighed. “Come on, sit down. Let’s have a drink – and whatever happens can we avoid that crowd over there? That’s a blast from the past I have no desire to revisit.” She nodded in the direction of Kevin and Co.

  46

  Liam couldn’t remember the last time he had been in a bar like this. There certainly wasn’t anything like it in Rathinch. It was all dark wood and big old prints on the walls. People in what looked like designer suits stood around drinking wine and laughing uproariously – and from what he could see, laughing at their own jokes. Smoking in pubs might well have been a thing of the past, but this place still felt stuffy. He shifted uncomfortably in his new shirt, while Niamh and Ruth ordered drinks from a harassed barman.

  “So this was your local watering hole then?” he asked Niamh and she blushed.

  “Well, once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away,” she said with a little laugh. “It’s awful, isn’t it? It’s a bit OTT.”

  Liam nodded. To be honest, he found it hard to imagine the Niamh he knew amongst these people. Sure, she kind of looked the same – he was sure her clothes weren’t from Dunnes Stores in Letterkenny – but she had more a more down-to-earth feel to her – big house and all.

  “I think it looks great fun,” Detta said with twinkle in her eye. “I couldn’t handle it all the time but it’s like a whole other world. Did you see the cocktail menu? The only ‘cocktail’ you get in Rathinch is a pint of snakebite!”

  Liam looked at her, her eyes bright with laughter, and felt his heart soar a little. She was gorgeous tonight – her hair was soft and curled, pinned up on one side. She was wearing the most beautiful maxi dress, which he hadn’t failed to notice showed off her breasts beautifully.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Detta asked as they stood huddled for shelter outside a very swish apartment block.

  Niamh nodded.

  “We can just go home, you know,” Liam said. “I’ll get the car and we’ll pile in and be home in Rathinch in an hour and we can forget all about it.” Although Niamh sounded confident, she didn’t really look it and he wanted to offer her this last chance at changing her mind.

  “Let her do it,” Ruth said. “She needs to.”

  Detta nodded. “And we’ll be waiting here for you.”

  “With the engine running,” Ruth said with a wicked wink.

  Niamh laughed – a nervous giggle – and smiled at them.

  “Thank you all, thank you so much for being here for me. It means a lot. Now wish me luck and if you hear screaming don’t worry too much.” She forced a weak smile and pushed open the large glass door of the foyer, leaving the other three standing in the cold.

  “Come on,” Liam said. “We can either wait in the car or go back into the bar. I’ll buy you a drink if you like.”

  “I’d like that very much,” Detta said, glancing to Ruth.

  “Why not? After everything I’ve been through this week, a drink is the least I deserve.”

  Ruth linked her arm to Detta’s and they walked to the neighbouring bar, each with their phones on, waiting for Niamh’s call.

  47

  “Mum’s a right laugh,” Eimear said, opening the door and letting Ciara in. “Imagine sending somebody over to mind us.”

  “I’m not here to mind you,” Ciara said, “Jesus, I can barely mind myself. I’m just here to check you are all fine.”

  “I know, sorry,” Eimear said. “It’s just sometimes Mum treats us like we’re still babies. I’m nearly the same age as you!”

  Ciara nodded. “Never mind. I’ll not stay long.”

  “Stay as long as you want,” Eimear said, softening. “Sorry I’m a bit touchy. It’s been a tough week.”

  “I bet it has.” Ciara followed Eimear through to the living room. Matthew was in his pyjamas watching cartoons on the TV.

  “Thomas is upstairs.” Eimear said. “I was just sitting here doing my nails. Do you want a drink? There’s Coke in the fridge.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “Right, well, sit down, I’ll be through soon.”

  Ciara sat down beside Matthew who was engrossed in an episode of Ben 10. “Is this any good then?” she asked.

  “It’s the best. Ben 10 turns into aliens. He has a cool watch.”

  “Sounds great to me.”

  “But I’m only allowed to watch one more episode,” Matthew replied glumly – his dark-brown puppy-dog eyes staring right at her.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Oh, Eimear has her friends coming round and I have to go to bed. If I’m good and don’t make a fuss she’s going to buy me a Ben 10 watch tomorrow.”

  “Her friends?” Ciara felt a little uneasy.

  “Yes, her friends and this pa
rt’s extra secret.” He moved closer to Ciara and whispered. “Her boyfriend’s coming too. He’s called Ben as well.”

  * * *

  Ruth couldn’t remember the last time she had been in a bar – never mind a fancy bar. She tried to remember the last time James had taken her out for an evening but she couldn’t. They used to go out for dinner for their wedding anniversary each year, but a few years back they switched to getting takeaways in the house over a bottle of wine. Then they moved to having their dinner with the kids and then it moved on to him going out and her watching a soppy DVD on her own.

  She had to admit that while she knew her make-up was covering bruises that ran deeper than the purple marks on her face, she kind of liked being dressed up for a change. Niamh had ordered a jug of Cosmopolitan when they arrived and Ruth thought she might have found a new addiction. Feck the weekly bottle of wine, she would be stocking up on cranberry juice, fresh lime and vodka and starting her very own cocktail bar in her kitchen every Friday at this rate.

  After they had left Niamh off and they returned to the bar, she hadn’t hesitated in ordering another jug and delighted in how the barman mixed up the concoction in front of her.

  So this was how the other half lived? This was life outside of Rathinch. Of course, some of the patrons of the bar looked like gobshites. That Kevin one Niamh had been talking to when they arrived looked like a Grade A asshole – all designer suit and fancy shoes. He obviously fancied himself as a big hitter but she had noticed people rolling their eyes as he babbled on about this and that.

  There seemed to be a competitiveness here that she couldn’t be coping with. Her second-hand kitchen table and chairs and 1998 Astra wouldn’t go far in this company. She laughed – she imagined it would be hard to constantly have to live up to others’ expectations. She’d rather just be her, and get on with it, and that was exactly what she was planning to do.

  “Cheers,” she called, clinking her glass against Detta’s. “Here’s to a new beginning!”

  “I’m with you on that one,” Liam said, and for the second time that evening Ruth noticed a little spark between him and Detta.

  Oh, she loved happy endings, and this one – she thought – might just end up being very happy indeed.

  * * *

  As the lift ascended Niamh closed her eyes and rubbed her temples and there it was – a flash of what life must have been like for Seán and Caitlin. The doors of this very lift closing and them grabbing each other in a fit of passion. Seán always got horny in lifts. It was, as he would say with a wicked grin, the thought of something big and powerful rising up. Then he would add with a laugh “Of course, the lift goes up too,” and they would fall into each other’s arms. Niamh imagined he did the same with Caitlin, that he had pushed her up against the wall of this very lift and pushed his hand up her top, teasing her nipples the same way he had teased hers – pushing himself against her like he had with Niamh so many times.

  She felt her resolve harden – this was about so much more than a friend’s betrayal – this was about her friend stealing her memories. “Fecking bitch,” Niamh muttered as the lift stopped at its destination and the doors pinged open.

  She walked down the corridor as steady as she could be in four-inch heels after a jug of Cosmopolitan. She walked past the tables laden with delicate arrangements of fresh flowers, and shook off the images of Seán and Caitlin that filled her head. She could see them running hand in hand down the marble hallway, kissing, bumping carelessly into the tables and sending a vase crashing to the ground. She knocked her hand against one of the vases herself, just catching it in time before it smashed to the floor.

  She could imagine Caitlin fumbling for her keys as Seán fumbled for her bra outside the dark wooden front door of her penthouse apartment.

  She could imagine him kicking the front door closed with his foot, all the while kissing Caitlin passionately before leading her to the bedroom and ravishing her – probably without even bothering to close the blinds. He wouldn’t have cared who saw.

  She could imagine it because he had been like that with her.

  It dawned on her, as she stood there ready to knock on the door, that she didn’t quite know what to say. How do you greet someone who had made the worst year of your life worse than you could have ever imagined? She would have liked to smash the door in with an axe Jack Nicholson style and shout “Here’s Ni – amh!” – instead she just took a deep breath and pressed the door bell.

  “I’m coming!“ she heard Caitlin call in a super-girly voice.

  The door opened and Caitlin stood there, proud as punch in a satin dressing gown and a pair of god-awful marabou slippers and clutching a glass of champagne with a strawberry floating on top.

  “Expecting someone else then?”

  Caitlin’s face was a picture, changing from excited anticipation to absolute horror in an instant.

  “Niamh,” she whispered.

  “Still my name, yep,” she said, pushing past her into her apartment. “So, whose husband are you expecting tonight?” She walked through the living room, a minimalist’s dream home – all creams and stonework and fecking blasted marble. Seán would have loved it.

  “It’s not like that,” Caitlin answered, her slippers clacking across the marble floors.

  “No, I bet it’s not. I bet his wife doesn’t understand him, they don’t even sleep together any more and you didn’t mean for it to happen but it did anyway. You know, one minute you were all resolve, the next he was buck-naked in your bed and your clothes just happened to fall off too.”

  Caitlin blushed, just before she turned the most sickening shade of white and sat down on the impossibly uncomfortable designer sofa.

  “Just so you know,” Niamh continued, her voice rising. “I did understand Seán and we were still sleeping together. I think it’s important you have all the facts.”

  “Look, Niamh, what’s done is done and I can’t change it.” Caitlin sounded almost bolshy and Niamh fought the urge to physically knock the bolshiness out of her.

  “So that makes it okay then? Don’t you think you owe me an apology, not to mention an explanation?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  Niamh gave a snort which turned into a belly laugh. She could read her friend like a book.

  “Oh Caitlin, don’t lie to me. I’ve known you forever and a day. I know when you’re lying and to be honest I’d have expected more from you. I’d have expected you to come up with better that ‘It’s not what you think’. You were always more creative than that. I saw your little love-note to him. I saw that he had booked a weekend away, with you. I’ve realised how blind I was and God love me, I really was the stereotypical thick blonde, because in hindsight it was all so bloody obvious it scares me.”

  Caitlin lifted her glass and took a swig of her champagne, narrowly avoiding choking on a strawberry.

  Niamh glanced around the apartment. Cold and sterile as it was, it was clearly set up for a night of romance. Candles were burning softly around the gas fireplace and soft jazz music was playing through the super-duper music system. The bottle of champagne was sitting on the work surface of the open-plan kitchen and a glass, already poured, sat beside it. Niamh lifted it and downed it in one, ignoring the bubbles that fizzed through her nose.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Niamh asked, topping up her glass from the bottle. “After all, you kind of owe me. You sleep with my husband, I drink your champagne. Seems like a good start to me.”

  “I didn’t know you would come here.”

  “Did you think I’d never find out? Is that it? Because one minute we’re best friends and the next my husband is dead and you disappear, leaving me thinking I’d done something wrong. Did you think I’d never know – never find any hint of what you had done or that I’d just chalk it all down to experience? Do you think I would just let you disappear from my life without trying to find out why?”

  “I don’t know,” Caitlin said. “I didn’
t know what to say to you.”

  “How about ‘I’m sorry for being the biggest fucking slut in Derry’ for starters?” Niamh spat, her temper flaring.

  “There’s no need –”

  “There is every need. And here you are, dressed up like a slapper again and it takes not a wrinkle out of you. How do you sleep at night? How do you live with yourself?”

  Caitlin sat her glass on the floor and stood up, her fancy fuck-me slippers clacking as she walked towards the hall of her apartment.

  “I want you to go, Niamh,” she said, in a shaky voice.

  “Well, I want you not to have slept with my husband. Shit happens. Get over it.”

  “I can’t undo it,” Caitlin said, her eyes almost pleading.

  “You’ve said that, but you can explain it. I’ve asked you before and I’m asking you now. If our friendship ever meant anything at all to you, tell me because I can’t exactly ask him. Tell me why you did this to me.”

  “It was nothing to do with you,” Caitlin said.

  “How can you say that?” Niamh felt her blood start to boil.

  “Because it’s true. It was nothing to do with you or how he felt about you and how I felt about you. It just . . .”

  “Happened?” Niamh snorted.

  “Yes, actually. Yes, it just happened. He was working late and I was about and we met for a drink a few times. You weren’t the same person you once were – you weren’t up for nights out and the socialising you knew came with his career. Life wasn’t what it once was and Seán and I just connected on some level.”