Grown Ups

by Marian Keyes

  ‘You’ll see in a minute.’

  They crested a gentle hill, which dipped into a previously invisible hollow. On the far side, the land began climbing again. Hidden until now by one of those tricks that uneven ground plays was an isthmus of land. On it stood a lighthouse. The lighthouse.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘That’s where we’re going.’

  A giant metal key opened a thick wooden door. Inside, in a bare-floored entrance hall, he shut out the sound of the wind. Stone steps curved up and around, out of sight.

  ‘They’re the worst part,’ he said, unlacing his boots. ‘Eighty-seven of them. After that, everything’s golden. Andiamo.’

  A metal handrail, attached to rough stone walls, twirled up and up. She began to climb. And climb. Her thighs were turning to jelly.

  ‘Nearly there,’ he said. Then, ‘We’re here.’

  ‘Hold on, I just need to –’ She took in a lungful of air. ‘I’m …’ She stopped.

  ‘Breathless?’ he asked. ‘But we haven’t even start–’ Then he lost his nerve, dipped his head and pushed into a warm, whitewashed living room, plain but cosy. Two armchairs and a sofa were clustered around a sturdy little table. Playing very quietly was some southern Gothic-y blues she couldn’t identify.

  ‘There are other rooms.’ He pointed upwards. ‘Stacked on top of us. A kitchen, then an, um, bedroom, and right at the top, a bathroom.’ He pulled off his overcoat. ‘The bath has a view. It’s class. You’ll see. So. Can I take your coat?’ He sounded so polite she almost laughed.

  He got to her zip before she did. Holding the tab, he started sliding it down. Too slowly.

  Startled she looked at him. Sudden change of mood there. Very sudden. Maybe not so polite after all.

  Holding her gaze, he eased her coat zip down its length. The nearer he got to the end, the more leisurely his pace became.

  She needed to swallow but her throat wouldn’t work.

  When, finally, her coat fell open, something happened to them both: a shaky exhale, a repositioning of their bodies.

  Moving his hands beneath the coat, he eased it from her shoulders. His thumbs smoothed their way along her collarbones. The palms of his hands stroked down onto her arms.

  He hadn’t done anything remotely unchaste, yet her body was pulsing.

  Her coat fell to the floor, he whispered, ‘Nell’, and she went weak.

  Lifting a thick strand of her hair, he rubbed it between his thumb and fingers. ‘I love your hair.’ With his other hand he cupped her face.

  Their kissing was hot and sweet, romantic and sexy.

  ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen here,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘Not in this room. Can we …?’

  He took her hand and led her up more stone steps. On the next floor there was a circular kitchen; above that a small bedroom, with three huge windows overlooking the grey sea. ‘It’s nicer here,’ he said.

  The bed was a simple metal affair, with a plain white duvet. The only colour in the room came from a faded Persian rug and a red angora throw. He made straight for the bed and pulled her down with him. ‘Sorry for assuming,’ he said, his eyes mischievous.

  He opened the buckle of the bib of her dungarees and slowly slid the strap over her shoulder. Then the other side, running his hands along her, as if she were made of glass.

  She opened one of his shirt buttons, then another, until his chest was bare. His inkings dark against his pale, perfect skin, she remembered how she’d felt that day in Italy – the hunger she’d had for him, the shock of it all. This – right now – was exactly what she’d wanted.

  Then his hands were roaming under her top. With a sudden snap, he’d opened her bra. This reminded her of teenage snogging sessions. But she and Ferdia weren’t kids. They didn’t have to stop.

  Pulling the shirt from his body, she reached for his zip, but he gently pulled her hands away. ‘It’ll be over too fast …’

  He snapped open the row of metal buttons along her hips. Together, they tugged off her dungarees, then her underwear.

  His dark head moved between her legs, inflicting a row of gentle bites to the insides of her thighs. Using his tongue and lips, he inched closer to her centre while, from the other direction, his hand pressed down hard.

  ‘Ferdia. Can you …?’

  He looked up. ‘Is it not okay?’

  ‘But … I need you. Like, now.’

  ‘Uh. Okay.’

  Bumping against each other, he tore off the rest of his clothes, while she ripped open the condom wrapper. Hands trembling, she hurried it on, then slid herself down onto him.

  ‘Go slow.’ He sounded anxious.

  But she couldn’t.

  Within seconds, her hair tangled in his fist, he was rearing beneath her, pulling her hip bones against his, saying her name again and again and again.

  ‘Put your hand on it, Jessie.’

  ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Just for a second. Here under the table. No one will see.’

  ‘Karl, you’re repulsive. Perplexingly – that’s a hard word to say – you’re still sexy. But the repulsive bit wins. And the thing is, the thing, Karl, that I have just remembered –’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Is that I have a very sexy, non-repulsive husband.’

  ‘Forty minutes ago you could “never forgive him”.’

  ‘Time is a great healer.’

  ‘He could have been riding your woman.’

  ‘I didn’t believe that for long. I was much more upset about the cat gifs and the great fun they’d been having. No one likes me …’

  ‘Don’t they?’

  ‘Not really. I’m too pushy. So I hear.’

  ‘Mary-Laine likes you. I like you. Gilbert likes you.’ He indicated the barman. ‘We hear you coming down the stairs, all business in your clicky-clacky shoes and “It’s too early for gin.” It lifts our spirits.’

  ‘Johnny likes me. That’s what I’m trying to say.’ She sighed. ‘It was horrible, seeing him be so nice to someone who didn’t – doesn’t – want me. But it’s not his fault.’

  ‘I just told you that.’

  ‘He came to see me last night. He was … different. Very sure of himself.’

  ‘Uh-huh?’

  ‘He’s …’ She nodded thoughtfully. ‘He has brilliant upper-body strength. Always had. Still got it. Not just the upper-body strength, I’m talking about –’

  ‘Yep. Thanks for sharing.’

  She picked up her phone. ‘If I ask him to come and get me, who’ll mind the kids?’

  ‘It’s twenty-six minutes past three. In the day.’

  She blinked. ‘Seriously? This place always feels like it’s four in the morning, and I’ve just been declared bankrupt.’

  She put her phone to her ear. ‘Johnny? Could you come and get me? I’m in a terrible bar called Jack Black’s.’ She hung up and said to Karl Brennan, ‘He’s on his way.’

  ‘You want me to disappear?’

  ‘Oh, God, yes. And you’d better pay the bill – I’ve to be careful with money now.’

  She folded away her laptop, combed her hair, threw on her coat and finished her drink. It seemed like she’d spent almost no time fiddling with her phone before Johnny was jogging quickly down the stairs, his eyes searching for her.

  As he crossed the room, she was sure she’d spotted the reappearance of his habitual handsome swagger. ‘Johnny.’ She stood up.

  ‘Hello.’ He sounded cautious.

  ‘Hello indeed.’ She linked her arms at the nape of his neck. ‘Would you like to stay for a drink?’

  He cast a look around. ‘No.’ Then, ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘Correct answer.’ She couldn’t help smiling, a great, big happy beam. ‘I’m so happy to see you.’

  ‘And I’m so happy to see you.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go home.’

  Nell woke up. Her hair was spread across his chest, his arms tightly wrapped around her. Raindrops rattled against the glass,
almost as loud as hailstones. The light had almost faded from the day.

  ‘Are you asleep?’ she whispered.

  ‘No,’ he whispered back. ‘Can I turn on a light? Cover your eyes.’ A lamp clicked on and there he was, with his skin and his ribs and those eyes.

  ‘This is amazing,’ she said.

  ‘It happened too fast. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, you have me for another, about, seventeen hours. You can take as long as you like the next time.’

  Softly he laughed.

  ‘How much of a gap do you need?’ She answered her own question. ‘Oh, yeah, I forgot, you kids need zero recovery time.’

  ‘Hah! I think you’ll find I’m very much a man. But you need to eat,’ he said. ‘To keep your strength up for my manly demands. There’s stuff in the kitchen.’

  ‘I brought pyjamas. I’m putting them on. I’m shy.’

  ‘Work away.’ He pulled on his shirt and trousers. ‘I’ve seen it all already.’

  Down in the kitchen Ferdia said, ‘I can cook if you’d like. But see what’s here.’

  She wandered around the circular kitchen, so high above the sea. ‘How did you find this place?’

  ‘Usual. Online. But it’s good?’ He felt ridiculously proud. ‘For you, it had to be somewhere really special.’

  He didn’t tell her of the hours he’d spend googling ‘not-normal hotels’ and ‘most romantic place in Ireland’. How he’d dismissed dozens of them for being ‘Not Nell Enough’.

  ‘You’re not a boutique-hotel woman. You don’t do that lifestyle shizz. And you’re so not a big, glitzy Mum-style hotel person. No shade at Mum,’ he added quickly. ‘Then I started thinking castles. I could see you striding about on ramparts. Next thing, creepy Google, which knows more about us all than we do ourselves, suggested here. If it wasn’t so fucked up it would be cool.’

  ‘It is cool, though. It’s so cool.’ Nell opened a cupboard and laughed. ‘Ryvita! Hello, you blast from the past. I love Ryvita. Peanut butter – and Nutella! Those three things together are the bomb, you have to try some. Did all this stuff come with the house?’

  ‘Mmmm, yeah.’

  She poked her head into the fridge. ‘Purple cherries! More expensive than gold. I love them. Halloumi cheese! Grilled halloumi would be my literal Death Row meal.’

  He watched her notice the cans of cider, the Dairylea triangles, the chargrilled artichokes. Her body language suddenly alert, she returned to the cupboard for a more detailed look. Rummaging, she found a jar of Lotus crunchy biscuit spread, four cheese scones and a tub of teacakes – the fancy ones from Marks & Spencer.

  ‘Were you spying into my head?’ she demanded.

  He shrugged and laughed. ‘You actually told me your favourite food. I paid attention. What can I say? I’m obsessed with you.’

  ‘No, don’t say that.’

  ‘I’ve liked you – is that acceptable? – yeah, liked you for a while. I’m interested in what you like. Not just food.’

  She yanked open the freezer, to find two tubs of stem ginger ice-cream. ‘Is there anything for you to eat?’

  ‘Are you not giving me any of yours?’

  She insisted on making him Ryvita, peanut butter and Nutella ‘open sandwiches’. ‘Do you totally love it?’ She watched him.

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘Ha-ha. I’m not so sure you do. This is going to sound like the worst question but … is there Wi-Fi?’

  ‘No.’ Then, ‘You’ll be feeling panicky now. It’ll go.’

  ‘Ah, I’m grand.’ She had felt a whoosh of fear.

  ‘The panic will come back, maybe like once an hour. It got me that way this morning when I realized. But you’ll get through this.’

  ‘So no Wi-Fi, no Netflix, what are we going to do all evening?

  ‘Joking!’ she said, as his eyes flared with shock. ‘This couldn’t be more amazing!’

  She surveyed the array of goodies she’d lined up on the table. ‘Where do I start? I’ll have you.’ She selected the teacakes. ‘And you.’ A bag of Tangfastics. ‘You.’ A box of Lindt balls. ‘And you, obviously.’ She pointed at Ferdia. ‘Let’s go.’

  Back in bed, sitting up and eating, Ferdia said, ‘Tell me why you do your job.’

  ‘I’d love to! Hah. I think I’m on a sugar-and-carb well-being buzz.’

  ‘Nah. Probably just because you’re with me.’

  He was being funny but, with a plunge of fear, she thought he could be right. She felt ridiculously happy.

  ‘So I try to create feelings – the set has to convey the emotion of the piece. It usually plays out as a series of challenges. I try to produce creative solutions. Some just don’t work, others I have to compromise on, usually because of money. Sometimes health and safety. That’s frustrating. But on the opening night, when I see what I’ve designed and built becoming part of the whole, supporting the play, then I feel …’ she caught the way Ferdia was looking at her and immediately felt shy ‘… proud. So! Tell me how you’re getting on with your stuff.’

  ‘I will afterwards.’

  ‘After what?’

  ‘After you take off your pyjamas.’

  ‘First show me what you’ve got.’

  He shrugged and popped the top button on his trousers. The head of his erection peeped out.

  ‘That was quick,’ she said.

  He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s been there for, like, the last forty minutes.’

  She laughed with delight. ‘Well, let’s not keep it waiting any longer.’

  ‘We need to make sure you’re ready.’

  ‘Oh, I’m ready.’

  ‘Yeaah, I’m not sure you are.’

  ‘I am –’

  He wound his hands through her hair and kissed her. She tried to push him off and go straight to business but into her ear, he said, ‘Wait a little while.’

  She almost howled. ‘You’ve been riding-ready for the last forty minutes! I want it now.’

  But he wouldn’t do as she asked. Tender though his touch was, it was also a kind of agony. He played with her expectations, sometimes sliding himself a little way in, but always retreating.

  When, after a long time spent suspended in deferred pleasure, he finally filled her, she thought she might die from the intensity of sensation.

  ‘Told you,’ he growled into her ear. ‘I’m a man.’

  Wednesday

  Ed was in Liam’s kitchen, buttering toast, when he heard the front door open.

  It was Johnny.

  ‘It’s half seven in the morning,’ Ed said. ‘You dirty stop-out. You want coffee?’

  ‘No, I’m grand.’ Johnny disappeared into Violet’s bedroom and Ed followed him. Johnny was unplugging his chargers and flinging them into a bag.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Ed asked.

  Johnny whipped three shirts from the wardrobe and threw them into the bag too. ‘I’m forgiven. I’m out of here.’ He gave a big smile. ‘Going home to my wife.’

  ‘Nice one.’

  ‘Something you should do too.’

  ‘Stop.’

  ‘Seriously. Cop on. Go home to your wife.’

  Ed kept his mouth shut. Johnny didn’t get it. Almost nobody got it.

  The only other person who understood was Cara.

  Ed wasn’t going home to his wife. Not today. Not tomorrow.

  Not ever.

  ‘Ferdia, I need to leave in about an hour.’

  Sadness flashed across his face, then he smiled. ‘Let’s have a bath.’

  Right at the top of the house a big tub overlooked the waves.

  ‘Look at the sea,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s so fabulously dour.’

  ‘Like it’s got a grudge against us.’

  In the bath, she leant against him, her back on his chest, watching the restless switch and turns of the tides. Their mood had become sombre.

  ‘This really is just a one-off?’ Ferdia asked.

  ‘It really is. I’m repeating myself but I need to get
my head straight. I’ve done things I don’t approve of. And I don’t want to do them again. Me staying single for a long time is the right thing. Like, it’s necessary. But being with you … it’s been the best. Thank you.’

  ‘Nell, if you wanted, I could wait for you.’

  This was kind of breaking her heart. ‘One day when you’re, like, forty-seven and you’ve lived several more lifetimes, you might vaguely remember this. Same for me. The memory will be happy. But small. A tiny, shiny gem in the mosaic of our lives. That’s what we are to each other.’

  He nodded silently, his chin touching her head.

  ‘In my mosaic you can be an obsidian,’ she said. ‘That’s dark, nearly black.’

  ‘What are you? Tell me one that’s rare and beautiful. Gold-coloured.’

  ‘Citrine? Tiger’s eye?’

  ‘Tiger’s eye. I like the sound of that.’

  After further silence, he said, ‘So when you get on the train, we block each other’s number, contacts, everything?’

  ‘Yes.’

  At the small, draughty station, waiting to say goodbye felt too awful.

  ‘Ferd? It’s better if you don’t wait with me.’

  ‘I should go?’

  ‘It’s just, the whole waving-me-off thing? It feels a bit World War Two.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Bye,’ she said. ‘Thank you. You’re … you know … great.’

  ‘And you’re fucking amazing.’

  ‘But promise that you won’t “wait” for me.’

  ‘I won’t wait for you.’ He was resigned to this, she saw. It was good.

  ‘Tiny, shiny gems?’ he said.

  ‘That’s it. Tiny, shiny gems.’

  Eight Months Later

  It was a sunny June evening and a few kids were out playing football on the green. As Ed cycled towards the house he used to live in, he spotted Vinnie, sprinting towards the ball.

  … And was that Cara? Tearing up the grass, just behind Vinnie.

  God, it was.

  It was quite a while since he’d seen her so carefree.

  It was … great?

  Since he’d moved out, they’d kept to their promise of civilized co-parenting. Their only contact was a series of brief, painful intersections, always to do with Vinnie and Tom. The boys spent every second weekend with Ed. These days, he was living in a small caravan in a corner of Johnny’s giant back garden. It was an unorthodox solution to his housing problem, but it cost almost nothing and the kids – being kids – loved it.