by Marian Keyes
I was well aware of that.
“Come over tomorrow, then. It’s far too late now.”
“Late! Lucy Sullivan, when did the time ever matter to the both of us? You’re like me—a free spirit who is not bound by time, as issued to us by that crowd of meanies in Greenwich. What’s happened to you? Has your soul been stolen by the goblins of clock watching?”
He paused for a second and then said in tones of hushed horror, “Jesus, Lucy—you haven’t gone and bought a watch!?”
I laughed—the little swine. How could I scare him if he made me laugh?
“Come over tomorrow morning, Gus.” I tried to sound crisp and authoritative, “and we’ll talk then.”
“No time like the present,” he said cheerfully.
“No, Gus. Tomorrow.”
“Who knows what tomorrow will bring, Lucy? Tomorrow is another day and who knows where we might be?”
Whether or not he meant it as one, I knew a threat when I heard it—he might not call me tomorrow, I might never hear from him again, but right then, at that very moment, he wanted to see me. He was mine, and I would be well advised not to look a gift horse in the mouth, to catch the ball on the hop, and to learn the difference between birds in the hand and birds in the bush.
Do you really want him on these terms? asked a little voice in my head.
Yes, I replied wearily.
But, haven’t you any self-respe…?
No, I haven’t! How many times do I have to tell you?
“Okay, Gus.” I sighed, pretending that I had just given in, although, of course, the outcome had never been in doubt. “Come over.”
“I’m on my way,” he said.
That could have meant anything from fifteen minutes to four months, and my dilemma was should I put my makeup on or should I just stay as I was.
I knew about the dangers of tempting fate—if I put my makeup on, he wouldn’t come. If I didn’t put my makeup on, he would come, but would be so shocked at what I looked like that he would immediately leave.
“What’s going on?” whispered a voice. It was Karen. “Was that Gus?”
I nodded, “Sorry for waking you.”
“Did you tell him to go and fuck himself?”
“Er, no, you see I haven’t heard the full story yet. He’s, er, coming over now to tell me it.”
“Now!? At two-thirty in the morning?”
“No time like the present,” I said weakly.
“In other words, he was at a party and didn’t score with anyone and he’s in the mood for sex. Nice one, Lucy, you certainly put a high price on yourself.”
“It’s not like that….” I said, my stomach lurching.
“Good night, Lucy,” she sighed, ignoring me. “I’m going back to bed.
“With Daniel,” she added smugly.
I knew she was going to tell Daniel all about it, because she told him everything about me, well, all the embarrassing and shameful stuff, at any rate. I had no privacy, and I hated him knowing so much about me and being smug and judgmental.
He was always in the apartment, I almost felt like we lived together. Why couldn’t the pair of them go to his place and leave me alone in peace?
“I wish they’d split up,” I thought fiercely.
I decided that I’d hoodwink Fate; I was sick of it having all the power. So, while I did put on some makeup, I didn’t get dressed.
And, in no time at all, the sound of the buzzer boomed through the flat in a manner that would wake the dead. It stopped and gave some welcome peace for a few seconds before starting again and continuing for what seemed like hours—Gus had arrived.
I opened the door of the flat and waited for him to appear, but he didn’t. And then I could hear raised voices from a few floors below. Eventually he stumbled up the stairs, looking cute, sexy, disheveled and drunk.
I was lost, hopelessly, completely lost. It was only when I saw him that I realized how much I had missed him.
“Jesus, Lucy,” he grumbled, as he wriggled past me and into the flat, “that neighbour of yours has a ferocious bad temper. It was a mistake anyone could make.”
“What have you done, Gus?” I asked.
“I rang the wrong bell,” he said sulkily, clumping straight into my bedroom.
Now, now, wait a minute, I thought. He’s being too forward altogether. He can’t just waltz up here after no contact for three weeks and expect to jump straight into bed with me.
Apparently he could. He was already sitting on my bed, taking off his boots.
“Gus…” I said tentatively, about to embark on my lecture. You know, the usual—how dare you treat me like this, who do you think you are, who do you think I am, I’ve too much respect for myself (a lie), I’m not putting up with this (another lie), etc., etc.
“And I said to him, Lucy, I said, ‘I only woke you up, it’s not like I invaded Poland.’ Ha, ha, I knew that’d give him something to think about. German, isn’t he?”
“Sorry, Gus, no. He’s Austrian.”
“Sure, it’s all the one. Aren’t they all big and blond and always eating sausages?”
Then he focused his bloodshot eyes on me, seeing me for the first time since he had barged in.
“Lucy! My darling Lucy, you’re looking beautiful.”
He jumped up and ran over to me and the scent of him triggered a longing and lust that surprised me with its intensity.
“Mmmmmmm, Lucy, I’ve missed you.” He nuzzled my neck and slid his hand under my pajama top. The touch of his hand on my bare skin made me shiver with lust that had slumbered undisturbed for three weeks, but with supreme self-control I pushed him away.
Get off! I thought—I haven’t given you my lecture yet.
“Oh, Lucy, Lucy,” he murmured, as he relaunched his attack. “We must never be apart again.”
He slid one arm tightly around my waist and opened the top button of my pyjamas with the other. I fumbled with it, trying to close it again, but it was merely a symbolic gesture.
I couldn’t help myself—he was too sexy. Beautiful and dangerous and roguish. And he smelled so nice, so like Gus.
“Gus!” I wrestled with him as he tried to get my top off, “you didn’t call me for three wee—”
“I know, Lucy, I’m sorry Lucy,” he said, tugging hard. “But I never wanted it to be that way. Jesus, you’re beautiful.”
“I deserve an explanation, you know,” resisting hard as he pushed me toward the bed.
“Indeed you do, Lucy, indeed you do,” he agreed vaguely, as he pushed down on my shoulder, trying to get me to buckle at the knees. “But can I do it in the morning?”
“Gus, do you solemnly promise that you have a good excuse and that you’ll tell it to me in the morning?”
“I do,” he said, staring sincerely into my eyes and at the same time tugging hard, trying to get my pajama bottoms down.
“And you can give me hell. You can even make me cry,” he promised.
So we went to bed.
I remembered what Karen had said, but I disagreed with her—I didn’t feel used. I wanted Gus to want to have sex with me. That would prove that he still liked me. But I had forgotten that Gus was a bit of a wham, bam, thank you ma’am kind of guy—the sex was over almost as soon as it started. As in the past, Gus came in a matter of minutes. Which left plenty of time to hear his excuses. But he fell sound asleep immediately afterwardss.
And eventually I fell asleep too.
Chapter 48
The following morning Gus wasn’t any easier to pin down for his lecture.
Considering how drunk he had been the previous night, he was surprisingly full of energy. By rights he should have been flat on his back, begging for a bucket and swearing never to drink again, like any normal person. Instead he was awake at the crack of dawn, eating cookies.
And when the mail arrived, he bounced out to the hall to get it, and then, with much rustling of paper and ripping of envelopes, opened mine and told me what was in it.
“Oh, good girl, Lucy.” He sounded proud. “I’m glad to see that you owe those Visa lads lots more money. Now all you have to do is move and not tell them.”
I lay in bed and wished bleakly that he would calm down. Or at least stop reminding me how much money I owed.
“What’s going on at Russell and Bromley?” he asked. “Is it your old trouble again?”
“Yes.” A pair of black suede knee boots and a pair of sexy, snakeskin sandals, to be precise. “Now, Gus!” I tried to be firm and get his attention. “We really must—”
“What about this one, Lucy?” He waved an envelope at me. “It looks like Karen’s bank statement. Should we…?”
God, it was tempting. Charlotte and I suspected that Karen had thousands salted away and I would have loved to know.
But I had work to do.
“Never mind Karen’s bank statement, Gus.” I tried again. “You said last night that you had an excuse and that…”
“Can I have a shower, Lucy?” He interrupted. “I think I smell a bit.”
He lifted up his arm and put his nose to his armpit.
“Pooh,” he said, making a disgusted face. “I stink, therefore I am.”
He smelled fine to me.
“You can have a shower in a little while. Give me that envelope.”
“But we could steam it and she’d never know…”
It was obvious that, despite his passionate promises the previous night, he had no intention of explaining anything to me.
And I was so delighted he was back that I didn’t want to scare him away by pushing for explanations and apologies.
But, at the same time, he had to realize that he couldn’t get away with treating me badly.
Of course, he could get away with treating me badly, in fact, he just had. But I had to, at least, lodge my protest, go through the motions of acting as if I had self-respect. In the hope that, even though I couldn’t fool myself, perhaps I could fool him.
I would have to trick him into having the Serious Talk. It would have to be coaxed out of him, wheedled out of him, so that he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it. He wouldn’t cooperate if he was approached full-frontal, as it were. I would have to be very, very pleasant, but with an undercurrent of firmness. I turned to Gus who was stretched out on the bed, reading a pension offer thing from my bank.
“Gus, I’d like to talk to you,” I said, striving to sound pleasantly firm, or failing that, firmly pleasant.
I must have overdone the firmness because he said, “Oh-oh,” and made an “Oh-oh” face. And he jumped off the bed and huddled, cringing, in the space between the dresser and the wall. “I’m scared.”
“Come on now, Gus, there’s no need to be afraid.”
But he wasn’t taking it seriously at all. He kept poking his head of black curls out and I’d catch a glimpse of his bright eyes, before he’d whisk his head back in and I would hear him muttering, “Oh, no, I’m done for, she’s going to make mincemeat of me.”
“Gus, come out, please, there isn’t anything to be afraid of.”
I tried to laugh to show how good-humoured I was, but
it was hard work being patient. It would have been great to shout at him.
“Come on, Gus, I’m not scary, you know that.”
“The only thing I have to fear, is fear itself, is that it?” asked his disembodied voice.
“Exactly.” I nodded to the wardrobe.
“But, the thing is, Lucy,” it continued, “I actually fear fear an awful lot.”
“Well, you must stop. There’s nothing to be afraid of with me.”
He slunk out, looking cute. “You won’t shout at me?”
“No.” I was forced to agree with him. “I won’t shout at you. But I do want to know where you’ve been for the last three weeks.”
“Has it been that long?” he asked innocently.
“Come on now, Gus. The last time I heard from you was the Tuesday night before Karen’s party. What have you been up to?”
“This and that.” He was vague.
“You can’t just disappear for three weeks, you know?” But I said it very gently so that he wouldn’t get annoyed and tell me to get lost and that he could disappear for as long as he liked and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
“All right then,” he said. I leaned toward him eagerly, hoping to hear stories of natural disasters and acts of God. That neither I nor Gus were responsible for the three-week severance.
“The brother came over from th’Emerald Isle and we had a bit of a drinking spree.”
“A spree that lasted three weeks?” I asked disbelievingly. I didn’t like the fact that I kept calling it three weeks, I should have been vaguer about it. I didn’t want him to think that I’d counted the days since he’d been gone, which is of course, exactly what I had done.
“Yes, a session that lasted three weeks,” he said sounding surprised. “What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with that?” I echoed mockingly.
“I’ve often been missing in action for lots longer than three weeks,” he said, sounding confused.
“You’re trying to tell me that you’ve been out drinking for three weeks?”
And suddenly I was appalled at myself. I sounded just like my mother, the tone of voice, the accusation, even the words.
“Och, I’m sorry, Lucy,” said Gus. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I forgot about Karen’s party and by the time I remembered I was too afraid to call you, because I knew you’d be furious.”
“But why didn’t you call the next day?” I asked, cringing with pain as I remembered the agony of waiting that I had endured.
“Because I was in a state about missing the party and annoying you, so Stevie said to me, ‘There’s only one thing that’ll straighten you out, and that’s…”
“…Another drink, I’m sure,” I finished for him.
“Exactly! And the next day…”
“…You felt so bad about not ringing me the previous day that you had to go and get drunk to feel all right about it…”
“No,” he said, sounding surprised. “The next day there was a big party in Kentish Town that started at eleven in the morning and we went along to that and got good and hammered, Lucy. Hammered! You never saw anyone so drunk, I hardly knew my own name.”
“That’s no excuse!” I exclaimed, and then shut up abruptly as, once again, I heard my mother. “You know
I don’t mind you getting drunk.” I tried to sound calm. “But it’s not okay to simply disappear and then come back and act like nothing is wrong.”
“Sorry,” he exclaimed. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
Then I braced myself for the hardest question of all.
“Gus, who’s Mandy?” I stared hard into his face so that I could draw conclusions from his reaction.
Was it my imagination or did he look alarmed? It could just have been my imagination. After all, his jaw didn’t drop open and he didn’t bury his face in his hands and sob, “I knew this day would come.”
In fact all he did was look sulky and say “No one.”
“She can’t be no one. She’s someone.” I smiled tightly to convey that I wasn’t accusing him of anything, that my fire was strictly friendly.
“She’s no one special. She’s just a friend.”
“Gus,” I said, my heart beating fast. “There’s no need to lie to me.”
“I’m not.” Aggrieved, pained.
“I’m not saying you are. But if you’re seeing someone else, I’d rather know.”
I didn’t say, if you’re seeing someone else you can go and fuck yourself, which is what I should have said. But I didn’t want to commit the cardinal sin of seeming to care. Popular myth has it that women are desperate to trap men, that men are afraid of being trapped, so the best way to trap them is to pretend that you don’t want to trap them. However, that had backfired more times than I’d care to mention, with me saying, “I don’t own you.
But if you are seeing someone else, I’d like to know.” And then meeting my so-called boyfriend at a party wrapped around another woman and wanting to throw a drink at the two of them. And then being told, “But you said you didn’t mind.
“Lucy, I’m not seeing any other girls,” said Gus. He had lost the defensive look and there was the light of sincerity in his green eyes.
He looked as if he cared about me. And although I was afraid of seeming ungrateful, I pushed ahead.
“Gus, were you seeing someone else, you know, before, when we were, er, you know, seeing each other?”
He looked puzzled for a moment while he translated my question into his vernacular. Then he got it.
“Was I two-timing you?” He sounded horrified. “I was NOT.”
There was always the chance that he was telling the truth. In fact he probably was because he didn’t have the organizational skills to live a double life. As it was, it was a triumph that he remembered to keep breathing when he woke up every morning.
“How dare you?” he demanded. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
The combination of his passionate denials and my desperate desire to believe him, meant that I did. Relief made me joyous and slightly lightheaded.
Then he kissed me and I felt even more light-headed.
“Lucy,” he said. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”
I believed him. It would have been churlish to bring up the fact that he had hurt me. The important thing was that he hadn’t meant to.
“Now can I hose myself down?” He asked meekly.
He went and had his shower and I thought about my mother. It had scared me a lot to hear me sounding like her. I would try even harder to be more and more liberal, I promised myself.
I heard Daniel and Karen greet Gus, as Gus came out of the bathroom.
“Morning, Gus,” said Daniel. Was there something amused in his tone, I wondered defensively.
“Morning, Danny Boy,” said Gus jovially, as if he’d never been away.
“Morning, Paddy O’Paddy,” said Karen to Gus.
“Morning, Heather McShortbread,” said Gus to Karen.
“Morning, Pisshead O’Bricklayer,” said Karen to Gus.
“Morning, Skinflint McSeanConnery,” said Gus to Karen.