Grown Ups

by Marian Keyes

  ‘Does it have to go anywhere?’

  He paused. ‘Let’s get married.’

  ‘You loon! You’re barely divorced.’

  ‘I’ve been divorced more than a year. And the marriage was over long before.’

  The truth was, she didn’t need convincing. Life was so unpredictable, you had so little control, you might as well take your autonomy where you could. ‘If I say yes,’ she’d said, ‘and it’s an “if”, Liam, there’s to be no big ceremony. No dress, none of that. I’m not a white-dress kind of person and I couldn’t handle the waste of money.’

  ‘Got it.’ Thoughtfully, he said, ‘Something to think about. We’d only need two weeks’ notice to get married in Iceland. Hotel in the Snæfellsnes Peninsula – we could do our vows in an outdoor hot tub, with the Northern Lights in the background.’

  ‘You’ve already looked it up?’

  ‘… I’ve already booked it.’

  She raced up the stairs, so anxious to see him that she didn’t bother with the lift.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!’

  ‘It’s okay.’ He was fiddling on the computer with what looked like his cycling stats. If he was engaged in his stuff, she felt less guilty about hers.

  ‘Just lost track of time. Happy six-month anniversary!’

  Liam kissed her. ‘And they said it wouldn’t last.’ He was joking, but there had been a lot of surprise.

  ‘It’s very soon,’ her mum had said.

  ‘I’m tired of waiting for my life to start,’ Nell had said. ‘I’m sure about this.’

  ‘Yeh, but is he?’ Petey asked. ‘I mean, I like the chap –’

  ‘He’s more sure than I am!’

  ‘We’re open-minded people.’ Petey sounded anxious, because they weren’t really: they were kind but traditional. ‘Marriage is a big deal, though.’

  ‘We can always get divorced.’ She was half joking.

  Petey took a breath. ‘I suppose you can.’

  ‘You were both younger than me when you got married.’

  ‘But we felt older. I’d a job, your mother had a job and I know you have a job, love, but we had jobs we got paid for, and I’m not having a pop, I’m just saying.’

  ‘But that’s the thing, Dad. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, never mind in ten years’ time. I can only live life with the stuff I know, and I know that I want to marry him.’

  ‘Tell us why you love him,’ Angie said.

  ‘He’s done so much living, travelling. He’s had a career, a marriage. Fatherhood, twice. He’s interesting and knows stuff. Also,’ she added, ‘he’s a complete fox.’

  ‘Holy Mother,’ Petey half moaned.

  ‘He treats me like a – a queen, I’ve never had that before.’ Seeing herself through his eyes, she felt free-spirited and bohemian. A sea goddess in touch with nature, instead of someone living a shabby struggle of a life. ‘He’s literally beyond my wildest dreams.’

  ‘Ah, here, that’s jayzis codswallop!’

  ‘Dad, listen to me. Beyond my wildest dreams. He’s great in ways that I couldn’t even have imagined.’

  ‘Have you any worries about him?’ Angie asked.

  ‘That’s shut her up,’ Petey observed.

  ‘He barely sees his two little girls. That must be tough but he keeps it inside.’ She pressed her hand against her mouth. ‘Sometimes he gets narky about me not buying clothes. He likes nice things. But that’s it.’

  After a pause, Petey said, ‘Okay. Well, it’s your life. And I like the chap –’

  ‘He likes the chap,’ Angie said.

  ‘I like the chap too,’ Nell said.

  ‘We all like the chap,’ Angie agreed. ‘We’re trying our best here, Nell.’

  ‘So be happy for me.’

  Petey and Angie looked at each other and came to some mutual agreement. ‘Right so,’ Petey said. ‘We are happy for you, God’s honest. So how much money do I need to ask the Credit Union for?’

  ‘None. We’re getting married, but we’re not wasting money on a wedding.’

  ‘What do you mean? I don’t get to walk my only daughter down the aisle? Ah, here!’

  ‘We’re getting married abroad. You’re welcome to come.’

  ‘Where? It better be somewhere sunny. Iceland? In November? Ah, goodnight! You can expect a phone call from Nana McDermott. She won’t be happy!’

  Sure enough, the following day Nell’s nana rang her, raging about the foolishness of not only marrying in haste but marrying in Iceland.

  ‘But I love him so much, Nana,’ Nell had said. ‘Doesn’t that count for anything?’

  ‘I never had you down for an eejit, Nell. But there we are.’

  As they were drifting off to sleep, Liam said, ‘It’s Dilly’s first communion on Saturday. We need to give her two hundred euro.’

  ‘Is that the going rate for communions these days?’ It couldn’t possibly be!

  ‘I’m her godfather.’

  After a spell of silence, Nell said, ‘Dilly doesn’t need that kind of money …’

  ‘Oh, Christ, you’re planning something, aren’t you? You are.’

  ‘You know Perla and Kassandra? The Syrian woman and her little girl? Okay, you know about them. Instead of us giving the cash to Dilly, how about we ask her to give it to Kassandra? Sort of like sponsorship.’

  ‘I don’t know if Jessie will go for that … What if it upsets Dilly, and Jessie and Johnny are raging with us?’

  ‘We could okay it with them first. I could get some photos, maybe a letter from Kassandra to Dilly …’ Nell’s head raced with ideas.

  Cautiously Liam said, ‘Ask Jessie. See what she says.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  Ed and Tom were talking softly. Tom must have woken early and climbed into bed with them.

  ‘Lots of cultures have coming-of-age ceremonies,’ Ed was saying. They seemed to be discussing Dilly’s forthcoming first communion.

  ‘Eight is too young,’ Tom said. ‘I’m eight and I still don’t know about God. When I grow up I might be a Jedi or a scientist or a – a postman. But now I’m only a kid so how should I know?’

  She should be hung-over and exhausted from last night but all she felt was happy. It had been like being young again, but without the side-order of crushing insecurity and crippling fear of the future that had been her constant companion when she was twenty-one.

  Her red horns were still on her head – Hannah had been right: they hadn’t budged. Better get rid of them before she went to work.

  ‘In modern Western society – and that’s us, buddy – childhood is extended far longer than the norm. A hundred years ago, you’d already be out at work.’

  ‘Down pit.’

  ‘Down pit, indeed.’

  It was lovely to hear their quiet chat. Today was going to be a good day, she was certain of it.

  ‘But you’re actually correct,’ Ed said to Tom. ‘The Catholic Church doesn’t think eight is the age of reason, but maybe it’s a good idea to give kids a sense of belonging to their Church.’

  ‘Is it mind control?’

  ‘One way of looking at it.’

  Ed was so reasonable, Cara thought. Fair-minded and scientific in his approach to everything. ‘But for many eight-year-olds, being celebrated forges strong connections with their community.’

  ‘Nah. Kids only like it because they get so much money. That’s all Vinnie wanted.’

  Under the covers, Cara smiled. Tom was right. Vinnie had had the time of his life on his first-communion day, strutting around in a white suit and shaking all the neighbours down for outrageous sums of cash. If he’d felt ‘a sense of belonging’ to his Church, Cara couldn’t say she’d noticed.

  ‘What’s a pit?’ Tom asked.

  ‘A coal mine.’

  ‘Is it? We always say it, but I didn’t know what it meant.’

  Cara’s phone beeped. A text from her mum: Coffee before you start work?

  It would
be so nice to stay here with Ed and Tom. But in two weeks Ed would be starting his summer work, away from Monday to Friday, and all invitations would have to be declined. Now was the time to make the most of it.

  She swept aside the duvet. ‘Ed, you’re on breakfast and walking Baxter. I’m meeting Mum before work.’ She got to her feet, then halted. ‘Oh. Stood up too quickly.’

  When the dizziness and black dots dispersed, she clicked out, Big Hat of Coffee, 9.00

  On the landing she knocked on Vinnie’s door. ‘Up! Dad’s doing breakfast. No Sugar Puffs, no Coco Pops, no Froot Loops.’

  She hurried into the bathroom before Vinnie started complaining. ‘You heard that, Ed?’ she called.

  ‘Yep. Got it.’

  With the shower running, she got on the scales. She hadn’t put on any weight since yesterday. But she hadn’t lost any either. And she probably should have … Either way, there was going to be none of that nonsense today.

  Clean sheet. Fresh start. She promised herself.

  Pushing open the door into Big Hat of Coffee, she spotted Dorothy at a window table. Since their retirement, Dorothy and Angus went on as many sailing holidays as they could afford. As a result, Dorothy dressed as if she might be called upon to navigate a catamaran to Greece at a moment’s notice. Today, under a yellow anorak, she wore a white fleece, navy chinos and deck shoes. Her silver-grey hair curled softly around her face and her skin had the healthy glow of the outdoorsy type.

  ‘I got you a latte, but held off on the muffin, not because I’m stingy but I didn’t know if you’re on or off the sugar at the moment.’

  ‘Off. So, how’re things? How’s Dad?’

  ‘Grand.’

  Angus, a mild man, was always ‘grand’.

  ‘Vanessa might be getting a new car,’ Dorothy said. ‘An electric one.’ Vanessa was Cara’s younger sister. She lived in Stuttgart. ‘Not a Tesla. A cheap one. But I’ve my doubts about electric cars. Would they not be very slow? Like golf buggies? That whiny noise, would you be able? But,’ she adopted a sanctimonious tone, ‘“the environment”, she says.’

  Cara couldn’t help smiling. ‘She has a point, though. And your favourite son-in-law Ed would agree.’

  Dorothy’s expression softened. ‘How is he?’

  Cara took a breath. Talking about Ed gave her the same feeling as unwrapping a beautiful piece of jewellery from its cushioned box and admiring its beauty. She’d always known she was nothing special. Nor did she want to be. Those poor souls who went on reality shows, yelling that they believed in themselves, well, she worried for them. Unexceptional as she was, she’d had hopes for her life: meeting a man – the man – was one of them. She wasn’t going to settle for just anyone.

  Happy marriages existed: her mum and dad were ordinary people, but each thought the other was extraordinary.

  It. Happened.

  Now, the older she got the more she saw how clueless her younger self had been: she and Ed, their happiness was down to nothing more than sheer dumb luck.

  ‘Ed?’ she said. ‘Ed is great.’

  ‘I’d a Skype with Champ,’ Dorothy said. ‘Was it Sunday?’ Champ, the youngest of Dorothy’s children, was living in Hong Kong. ‘He’s getting itchy feet again. Might as well just sign up for Elon Musk’s Mars project.’ Then, grimly, ‘That’ll give him adventure where he’ll feel it. How are the Lovable Eccentrics? Has Vinnie set anything else on fire? No?’ Dorothy’s face fell. ‘But clearly he has spirit.’

  ‘He certainly has.’

  ‘And while he was doing it, at least he wasn’t on his screen.’

  ‘You’re right, Mum. A nice outdoor activity, setting fires.’

  ‘So.’ Dorothy’s tone was meaningfully prim. ‘Will you and Ed send him to a child psychologist?’

  ‘Ah, no. He’s just a kid, experimenting. They try to pathologize everything these days.’

  ‘If I knew what “pathologize” meant, I’d probably agree with you. And how’s Tom? Reading War and Peace yet? I don’t know where he gets that intellectual streak from. It’s certainly not from our side. So, any news at all?’

  ‘Dilly’s first communion tomorrow.’

  This perked Dorothy up. She loved stories of Jessie’s extravagance. (‘There’s a woman who knows how to do life,’ she frequently said.) ‘Well? Flying the Pope in to do the honours?’

  ‘Low-key. A buffet and an inland beach. No, don’t ask me, I’ve no idea either.’

  ‘I’d better give Dilly some cash.’ Dorothy whipped out her wallet, then looked uncertain. ‘Is twenty enough?’

  ‘Twenty’s loads.’

  ‘Is Jessie making you go to the church bit?’

  Cara shook her head. ‘We’re “welcome” to attend, but it’s not mandatory.’

  ‘Unlike the buffet and the – what did you call it? Inland beach? Ah, but she’s great.’ Dorothy could never disapprove of Jessie for long.

  Cara’s phone rang. She looked at the caller.

  ‘Work?’

  She turned it face downwards on the table. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Answer it, love! It might be something exciting. A paparazzi man might have made it into the penthouse!’

  ‘More like someone didn’t get their gluten-free toast.’

  The phone rang again and, with a sigh, Cara picked up.

  ‘Madelyn’s sick,’ Raoul said. ‘Can you get here early?’

  ‘Okay. Be with you in ten.’ She hung up. ‘Sorry, Mum, I’ve got to go.’ She said goodbye and hurried towards Fitzwilliam Square. She was almost past the Spar when she realized she hadn’t had any breakfast. Inside, there were cereal bars, apples, healthy-ish options. She bought two bars of chocolate and ate them furtively and very quickly. With the wrappers stowed in a nearby bin, she was almost able to convince herself it hadn’t happened at all.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Tejumola shifted her noise-cancelling headphones off her ears and looked up from behind her monitor, ‘I just pinged you the sales figures, Jessie.’ Tejumola was PiG’s chief financial officer. Well, she was their only financial officer. PiG had a mere seven staff at their ‘headquarters’ in the far-too-ordinary suburb of Stillorgan. Seven was all there was room for and glamorous it wasn’t. Tejumola was small, serious, and no craic whatsoever, but that suited Jessie. When it came to finance she needed someone she could depend on.

  She focused hard on the weekly sales figures from her eight stores. She took it very personally. If sales had dipped, she felt a protective sorrow, the same way she’d feel if TJ hadn’t been invited to a birthday party for being ‘weird’. But if one branch’s takings were unusually high, she lit up with a warm glow, as if they’d won a medal for Irish dancing.

  Kilkenny’s take was down. Not drastically, but it was still a worry. She never forgot that she had fifty-six employees. Fifty-six people and their families for whom she was directly responsible.

  Running a business was a big burden. At this stage, though, she’d never be able to work under another person. No choice but to carry on. As for Kilkenny, maybe she’d drive down this afternoon and show them some love. Good for morale … and, oh, Christ, Rionna had that look on her face.

  ‘Just in,’ she said. ‘Perfect Living want a spread of you and your gorgeous family in your beautiful home.’

  Jessie turned an exaggeratedly miserable face to Rionna. ‘Oh, God! My beautiful home is a total shithole.’ Between the constant traffic from five children and two dogs, the bicycles, skateboards and dozens of shoes lining the scuffed hall, the kettle bells strewn on the living-room floor where her personal trainer put her through her paces three mornings a week, the house was a monument to wear and tear. ‘I’d have to get the place painted.’

  ‘You’d have to get the place cleaned.’ Rionna was always the voice of reason. ‘One of those crack-squad teams.’

  ‘There are specialist companies that clean up crime scenes …’

  Rionna laughed. ‘They get rid of all traces of blood and gore. Grand so. I’ll fin
d you one.’

  ‘I’d have to get the dogs groomed, wrestle the kids into clothes the magazine wants to promote …’

  There wasn’t a hope of cajoling Ferdia. Quite apart from his habitual hostility, his third-year exams were starting on Wednesday week and it would be a mistake to eat into his study time.

  But most important of all was TJ. Her decision to dress as a boy would be highlighted by a photo spread. Jessie felt fierce protectiveness and almost unbearable love for TJ. At nine years of age, she understood herself enough to express her wants: she knew she was a girl but she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  She wasn’t sure if she’d like being a boy either. But she was already aware of the limitations of being female and didn’t want them. Instead of being called Therese, she wanted to go by her initials TJ (the J referring to her middle name, Jennifer). Jessie and Johnny immediately enforced this. When TJ said she wanted to have her hair cut off, Johnny promptly took her to the barber.

  Right now TJ didn’t know what was going on for her and Jessie reassured her that it was okay not to know. But commentators and strangers hiding behind social media could be horribly cruel. It cut Jessie like a knife. (Johnny thought she didn’t read the comments under any articles about her, but of course she did.)

  ‘I say you should do it.’ Mason, their intern, a twenty-two-year-old business-studies graduate, called across the office. Smart and social-media savvy, the rest of the – significantly older – staff tended to treat him as the oracle. He would go far. Not with PiG, sadly: his placement was only for eight months. Much as they’d love him to stay, Mason was bound for bigger and better. ‘I can give you demographics, percentiles, readership reach …’

  ‘No, no, you’re grand,’ Jessie said hastily.

  ‘Anyone interested in my opinion?’ Johnny didn’t even look up from his screen. ‘Considering I’ll be wrestled into some paterfamilias jumper and slacks and made to smile like a gobshite for eight hours?’