He interrupts me with a deep breath and goes on. “We were never married. Bernie, that’s Phoebe’s mam, and I met on one of those eighteen-to-thirty holidays in Lanzarote, in an Irish bar no less. Scruffy Murphy’s. We had a holiday fling, I suppose you’d call it. No strings attached. We were both young and single . . . and very burnt!”
I nearly spit out my white wine on that one.
He goes on. “When I got back from the holiday I never really thought much about her, if I’m being brutally honest. She’d given me her address and I’d given her mine; we lived at opposite ends of St Ives. There were no mobile phones or Facebook or any of that stuff in those days. We passed in the street a couple of times but didn’t stop to chat. We both knew it was just a holiday romance. As you do, I went to back to work, where I’d just started as an apprentice with me dad on the building sites, and three months later she arrived on my doorstep and told me she was pregnant with my child.” He lifts his shoulders and shirt high to his ears and then drops them slowly.
“Shit,” I say, dragging my vowels again and rubbing my thumb along my fingernails.
“Correct . . . Well, shit or get off the pot, basically.”
“Wow, that must have been so tough . . . on both of you . . .” I acknowledge poor Bernie in all of this. What must it have been like to return from a fun summer holiday only to find out you were expecting a baby with a stranger? My heart went out to her.
“I was only twenty-two years old and she was only nineteen . . . I had nothing really to offer her but my total and utter complete support. Takes two to tango and all that. So we tried . . . She moved in with me and the folks. While I saved for a house for us, Bernie sat around with me mam all day drinking tea and knitting booties, and when Phoebe was born at sixteen minutes past ten on the night of my twenty-third birthday, it was love at first sight. Hook, line and sinker. I knew there and then I couldn’t live without her, not for even one day.” He looks back to the door.
“But you never married Bernie?” I am more and more drawn to this man. He’s like no one I have ever met before. This feeling is totally discombobulating.
“I never tell people I don’t know all my private business. I think, like Phoebe, you have me under your thumb too.” Without me probing any further, he goes on. I get the impression he hasn’t talked about this in years. “Anyway, where was I . . . Oh yeah, so we tried to make a go of it for a while, but we couldn’t stand one another! Bernie is very highly strung, has absolutely no listening skills. I’m just the complete opposite, and on this occasion opposites did not attract. I guess the ‘Fields of Athenry’ was so loud in Scruffy Murphy’s we couldn’t talk too much, so I never knew!” He laughs, and his handsome face is beautiful. “We were like chalk and cheese. Bernie was a great mam – still is, don’t get me wrong, a fabulous mam – but one night we had a big fight over a frozen chicken Kiev if ya don’t mind . . . and I didn’t come home. I stayed at my brother Steve’s, and the next morning when I got in, my mother, God rest her soul, told me they were gone. Bernie had packed up all their stuff and taken Phoebe back to live with her parents.” He exhales slowly and takes a drink. I don’t push for more.
“Basically I followed them, demanded shared custody, which she didn’t contest, worked my ass off and saved all the money I could, and started on building my own house nearby. I became a full-time dad, more or less. Because I lived so close by, I could give Bernie a break and take Phoebe overnight. Anyway, we never got back together, but Bernie, in fairness to her was always okay with me being full-time in Phoebe’s life – in fact, I’d go so far as to say we more than equally shared out the sleepless nights and teething days.” He lifts his thumb and digs it into his chest, raising his eyebrows high at me.
“That’s brilliant, Tony. Not many men would do that,” I say in awe.
“Oh, I dunno about that. I met a whole lot of men who were doing exactly what I was doing!” He chews his thumbnail, his tanned hand covering his mouth. “I think fathers get very bad press, Courtney. I think family law treats fathers very badly.”
“Maybe,” I acknowledge. “So she got married today then? Bernie?” I ask.
“Yes, she did. I have to go back there later too. Just for Phoebe, really.” He drinks more. Suddenly there is vulnerability about him I haven’t seen before. “I gotta go pop my head back in . . . but would you . . . Well, maybe can you wait and we can have another drink?” he asks sheepishly.
“Marina’s not in there waiting for you, is she?” I’m only half joking.
“No! Marina hasn’t ever been anything other than a really good friend to me. She’s honest and we enjoy each other’s company. She jokes that one day I will marry her, but that’s all it is, Courtney: a joke.” He stands and runs his hand down his shirt.
“I’ll wait for you, Tony.” I take up my bag. “I have a point to prove to myself more than anything. I should be able to sit alone at any bar in any place in the world and not be intimidated, as should both of our daughters. I hope that asshole comes back, I really do! Now I’m going to use the ladies’.” I put a beer mat over our glasses and I walk away, well aware he’s watching me.
When I come out of the cubicle, I’m met with a sea of white lace. The bride, Bernie, stands in front of the mirror fixing her veil. Hairpins are scattered all around the sink. A pair of sky-high white stilettos sits on top of the sink area also.
“Have you had a good day?” For some reason I want to know. For some reason, instantly I just like the look of Bernie very much.
“Just the greatest day of my life! Well, apart from the birth of my daughter, obviously.” She looks so happy and clutches the lace of the veil lying on her shoulder.
“Need a hand there?” I ask.
“Oh please, would you mind? My bridesmaid is fairly pissed. I warned her, not too much prosecco, but we’ve had to put her upstairs to lie down for an hour.” She squeezes her shoulders up under her ears but laughs warmly.
“No problem.” I help pin the delicate lace back into place.
“I know I’m probably a bit old for the veil, but I always wanted to wear one,” she tells me. “Are you married?” she asks me now.
“Separated,” I say. Like I told her daughter.
“Mr Right is out there for you, you know . . . Believe me.” She gives me a big glistening smile as she waves her diamond ring at me.
“I guess maybe.”
“How old are you?” she asks.
“Thirty-eight!” I tell her.
“Not too bad . . . Still an open window to get a ring on it.” She giggles, waving her diamond in the air again and pressing her lips to it now.
“You know what, I’m not too pushed on getting married again,” I tell her honestly.
“I’ve never been married before. I wanted to be, but he didn’t. He was a quiet one. I think I was too . . . alive for him!” She laughs very loudly. It is high-pitched and unique. There is no mistaking Bernie’s laugh.
“There you go.” I spin her around to look in the mirror.
“Thank you!” She narrows her brown eyes at me questioningly.
“Courtney,” I say.
“Courtney! Wow! What a beautiful name. You know, I was going to call my daughter Courtney! I was bit obsessed with Friends. Courtney Cox was my favourite as Monica, but Phoebe was more like me in personality, so I called my baby Phoebe. I know her real name was Lisa Kudrow, but my best friend in school was called Lisa and then we fell out big time when I got pregnant on a holiday we went on to Lanzarote – she was pissed off I couldn’t go out and party any more. With friends like that . . . Right?” She laughs really loudly again and I like it. I like Bernie. She is right. She is very, very alive.
“That’s mad,” I say in answer to all she has just told me. She climbs into her shoes and suddenly we are eye to eye.
“You are absolutely beautiful, Courtney,” Bernie says as she steadies herself.
“God, so are you, Bernie,” I say.
“Be happy, love.” She winks at me.<
br />
“I will, thanks. And you,” I tell her as I hold the door open for her. Tony stands in front of us, a glass of champagne in each hand.
“I’m guessing one of those isn’t for me, Tone?” She laughs again.
He stares at us both.
“We were just getting acquainted, me and Courtney ’ere,” she says with a tickle in her voice.
“Is that so, Bernie?” Tony says, handing me a glass.
“That is so, Tone” she says. “Can I get a hug? We haven’t had a hug yet today. I’m officially off your back!” There is warmth in her voice that tells me she is very fond of this man. I hold his glass and Bernie steps into his arms. I feel a huge lump in my throat. They were never meant to be, but look what they created. How can any part of Phoebe’s existence be wrong?
“Phoebe is a very lucky girl,” I tell them as Bernie steps out of the embrace.
“Oh, she is. And this man worships her.” She fixes her veil and pats Tony on the back.
“As does this woman,” he says, taking the glass back from me.
“Ya know, Tony, obviously we’ve had our few ups and downs . . .”
Tony pretends to choke on his champagne.
“Shut up! Let me go on, will ya? I can never get a word in with you. I don’t think I have ever properly said thank you for all you did for us . . . I mean, you’ve been amazing. I know I get on your nerves sometimes, but I don’t mean to. I . . . I just am who I am, and you are who you are, and sometimes I—”
“There you are!” A small, robust man in a light-blue tuxedo approaches with a skip in his step. “The band are about to play our song, my love.” He reaches for Bernie’s hand. “Hi, Tony. Thanks so much for coming today,” he says.
“Of course, Barry. Congratulations, a beautiful day.” Tony extends his hand.
“Oh, don’t I know it! Most beautiful day of my life!” Barry says, and kisses Bernie hard on the lips. When they part, he wipes his mouth and continues. “Is there lippy? You can never take the chance: once my father played an entire round of golf with bright-red lips! My aunt Tara had met him in the back car park, that’s his sister-in-law by the way, and she’d kissed him hard on the lips . . . Maybe you guys could come around to ours one night for a barbie and some beers? I cook a mean steak on the barbie, don’t I, Bern? And I do vegetarian too. Are you a veggie?” He looks at me.
“Erm, no,” I say and sip my bubbles. These two are a match made in chatty heaven.
“Come on!” He tries to drag Bernie away as the first line of Take That’s “A Million Love Songs” belts out.
“Can we have Mr and Mrs Gough to the stage please?” we hear the DJ ask.
Bernie doesn’t register.
“Oh! Oh! That’s me! I’m a Mrs!” she screams, and they take off to the ballroom, her hand clutching her veil as she goes.
“Bye, Courtney!” she shouts back over her shoulder of lace.
“Good luck, Bernie,” I say as the doors shut.
“Want to sit on the decking?” Tony asks, and I nod and follow him.
“What about our drinks at the bar?” I ask.
“The barman is keeping an eye on them,” he reassures me.
We make our way out into the Cornwall night. “Here, you’re shivering.” He takes off his wedding suit jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. It dwarfs me. “Careful where you walk; these pathways can be a bit dangerous,” he says as he takes my hand and leads me down towards the beach.
And then it happens. It happened a bit back in the Ploughboy when he unbuttoned his shirt. That thing people talk about. That bolt of lightning shoots through my entire body. My palms are sweating. I feel like the teenager I never was. All thoughts about Susan, David, Tom and Mar-nee ebb away. I’m completely in the moment and I’m loving it. This man excites and thrills me, I admit it. We walk hand and hand in the darkening night in wondrous silence. Only the crashing waves of the sea in the background. Right in this moment, I don’t want to be anywhere else but here or anyone else but me.
“I have something I need to tell you,” Tony says.
“What?” I ask as we perch on the sea wall. I can smell his familiar heavy aftershave. He lays his free hand on my leg. So aware am I of his hand on my leg, my right foot immediately goes dead with the shock.
“I . . . Well, look, Courtney, I’m not good at dating. I had disastrous relationships when Phoebe was younger, and I just stopped. You see, she will always have to come first for me, and any women I met before just didn’t like that. I’m telling you this because . . .” He breathes deeply and knocks back the dribble of champagne left in his slim glass, which is dwarfed by his large hand. “Because I really fancy you. I haven’t actually fancied anyone in years and it’s incredible and I’d like to . . . to ask you out on a date . . . but if you were to say yes, I have to be honest with you.”
I take my moment. I feel the heat from his hand on my leg. Could what he said be any more perfect?
“Ditto,” is all I say.
“Ditto?” He looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind.
“Ditto,” I say again.
I can tell by his expression he is lost.
“You know in Ghost when Sam tells Molly ‘Ditto’?”
“Ghost? Molly? ‘Ditto’? Are you drunk?” He makes a face at me.
I laugh. “It’s a movie, Ghost . . . When they agree with one another, they say ‘Ditto’. I agree. I’d love to see you for a date, or go out for dinner with you, however it’s said . . . But for me, Susan will always come first too. It might not seem like it now that I’m living here without her, but—”
“You are a fantastic mother. It’s space she needs and you can acknowledge that. And to be a good mother, you need to be happy yourself.”
“You’re right,” I say, but my voice comes out as a whisper.
“I’m always right.” His breath is heavy now and his free hand moves and lifts my chin up so we are staring into each other’s eyes.
“This is crazy.” I am barely audible. My lips are dry. My heart is racing. I feel unbelievably alive.
“Yeah, that’s the right word, Courtney Downey . . . crazy. I am crazy about you . . . The second you walked into the foyer of the town hall I felt all kinds of crazy. It’s a feeling I haven’t had in years . . . unsettling . . . The first time I heard your voice on the phone, I felt it. I have had crazy thoughts and dreams about you ever since, and now I find myself here sitting with you in the dark. If that’s not crazy, I don’t know what is.”
He is so close his mouth brushes off mine. It’s not a kiss exactly. It’s just contact. I can’t help myself any longer. I drag him closer and I kiss him like I’ve never kissed anyone before. It’s hard, and the want in me is the definition of crazy.
He pulls back and holds my face in his hand. “Crazy.”
“Crazy,” I agree, and we fall into one another.
14
One week later and I’m still walking on cloud nine. My phone rings and I answer it.
“How’s my girl?” Tony Becker’s lilting Cornwall voice asks. It should sound silly and oh-so dated and cheesy, but it doesn’t. It sounds bloody wonderful.
“Your girl is doing okay, actually. I’m just leaving the office now,” I tell him, closing the laptop and moving to lock the office door.
“I really can’t wait to see you tonight. Billy is going out for the night, so we have the place to ourselves,” he jokes, but his voice is heavy with desire.
“Me either. But I’m scared too, Tony,” I admit. To my lover. To the man I literally cannot keep my hands off. I tremble a little despite the heat.
“Of what?” he asks.
“Oh, I dunno. That this is all so perfect, I guess. Life isn’t like this.”
“But it is,” he says quietly.
“I know, but you know what I mean,” I say.
“I just live in the moment, Courtney. I’ve no intentions of pushing us into anything . . . Let’s take it all day by day.” He calms me down instantly.
“Yeah,” I say. “Taking our time. That’s the most important thing.”
“Well, no,” he says now.
“It’s not?” I say, making my way up the stairs, trying to fold a jumper and hold my phone at the same time.
“You are the most important thing,” he tells me.
“I am?” I say quietly.
“Jesus, Courtney, I’m in love . . . Probably for the very first time in my entire life and I feel so alive. Every song on the radio reminds me of you . . . I get butterflies when I hear your voice, and when I am with you I’m truly happy.”
“I feel the same,” I tell him as I lean back against my bedroom door and chuck the jumper onto the bed. The bed we made love in. The bed that I can’t wait to get him into again. We listen to each other breathing for a while. Conversation unnecessary. Then he talks.
“Why does Spiderman not have a cape?” he asks me and I crumple over laughing and fling myself face-down on the bed.
* * *
As I’m getting ready to head over to Tony’s house, Claire comes back in, flushed and breathless.
“That must be some exercise class you’ve signed up to,” I say.
“It’s not that, Courtney,” she pants. “I’ve got some news . . .”
Alarm bells start ringing. “Oh God, Claire, what is it? Have you had some test results back?”
Her panting turns into heaving laughter. “No! It’s not bad news, just the opposite. Our house has sold.”
“Claire!” I say.
She starts doing a celebratory dance, clapping her hands and spinning. “Three hundred thousand euros, Courtney!” she cries. And then she stops and looks me in the eye. “And I know exactly what I want to do with it.”
* * *
“We have something to discuss with you,” I say.
“Go on?” Tony sits back at his kitchen table. If he was surprised when he found Claire with me at his front door, he did a good job of hiding it.
“Ready for that threesome now, T?” she’d said and laughed.
“Sorry, Claire. I only have eyes for Courtney.”
“Oh please . . .” She’d rolled her eyes at him as we crossed over the threshold and I led the way to the kitchen. But she’d smiled over her shoulder at me, and I knew she was over the moon for me and Tony.
The Importance of Being Me Page 19