by Marian Keyes
We both had a little laugh at that.
“Daniel, you’re asking the impossible,” I said. “Stop building failure into your expectations of me.”
“Now listen,” he shouted. “I have a car, you have a long way to go, you’ll have to stop at your apartment to get clothes and things. I’m not doing anything else this evening, I will drive you to Uxbridge and I want to hear no more about it!”
“Woooh!” I said, amused and slightly impressed, despite the awful circumstances. “It’s my hero! Check your thighs, I bet they’ve gotten all muscular.”
He didn’t really know what I was talking about.
It was odd, I’d never thought about Daniel’s thighs before. I had a vague suspicion that they were already muscular. I felt a bit funny, sort of nervous, so I stopped.
“Thank you, Daniel.” I gave in. “If you really don’t mind, then it would be a help if you could take me.”
The awfulness of Mum leaving Dad hadn’t overridden my fear of Karen, and what she would do to me if she found out that Daniel was escorting me to Uxbridge. But luckily she hadn’t come home from work by the time Daniel and I left my apartment.
We stopped at a supermarket on the way to buy supplies for Dad. I spent a fortune, buying everything I could possibly think of that he had ever liked—hobnobs, tarts, alphabetti-spaghetti, minitrifles, sugar puffs, coloured polo mints and a bottle of whiskey. I didn’t give a damn about what my mother had said about him being an alcoholic. I didn’t believe it. And even if I did, I didn’t care. I would have given him anything, to help him feel better, to feel that someone still loved him.
I would create a loving home for him, I thought with missionary zeal. I was looking forward to it. I’d show my mother how it should be done.
When Daniel and I arrived, we found Dad slumped in his armchair, drunk and crying. I was shaken to see how upset he was because, in a way, I’d thought he would be pleased that Mum had gone and left him in peace. I had almost expected him to be relieved that it was just me and him.
“Poor, poor Dad.” I dumped the bags on the table and rushed to his side.
“Oh Lucy,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Oh Lucy, what will become of me?”
“I’ll take care of you. Now, have a drink, Dad,” I urged, gesturing at Daniel to bring the bottle of whiskey.
“I might as well, Lucy,” agreed Dad, sadly. “I might as well.”
“Are you sure, Lucy?” asked Daniel quietly.
“Don’t you start,” I hissed quietly. “His wife has just left him, let him have a bloody drink.”
“Calm down, Lucy,” he said, picking up an empty bottle of Jameson from the floor beside Dad’s chair and thrusting it at me. “I just don’t want you to kill the man.”
“One more can’t hurt him,” I said stiffly.
Suddenly I felt very sorry for myself and Dad. Before I knew what was happening I was in the midst of throwing a mini-tantrum. “Oh for God’s sake, Daniel,” I screeched.
Then I marched out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind me.
I shoved open the door of the “good” front room and flung myself in a tantrumy rage on the “good” metal and brown corduroy couch. The room had always been kept for visitors. But as we had never had many visitors, it was in pristine, 1973 condition. It was like being in a time warp.
I sat and cried, at the same time feeling daring for sitting on the good furniture that only priests and visitors from Ireland were permitted to sit on. And, in a few moments Daniel came in as I had known he would.
“Did you give him a drink?” I asked accusingly.
“Yes,” he said, and skirted the smoked glass coffee table. He sat beside me on the fossilized couch. He put his arm around me as I had known he would. Daniel was good at that kind of thing, Daniel was nice and predictable, I could always rely on Daniel to do the right thing.
Then he pulled me onto his lap, one hand around my shoulders, the other under my knees. I hadn’t been expecting that, but I was quite happy to go along with it. Lots of affection was just what I needed.
I indulged myself and snuggled up to him and cried a little more. Daniel was a great person to cry on, there was something very reassuring and protective about him. I really got into it and snuffled around with my face on the shoulder of his suit, while he put a hand up and gently stroked my hair and said comforting things like, “Shush, Lucy, don’t cry.” It was very nice.
He smelled lovely—my nose was stuck in his neck, his scent was overwhelming. Manly and sweet. Quite sexy, actually, I thought in surprise—at least it would have been sexy if it wasn’t Daniel’s.
Idly, I wondered what he tasted like. Lovely, probably.
In fact, I was so close to him that all I had to do was stick out my tongue and touch the smooth skin of his neck with it.
Quickly I stopped myself. I couldn’t just go around licking men, not even if they were Daniel.
He continued caressing my hair with one hand and slipped the other under the hair at the nape of my neck, where he did some kind of funny manipulation with his thumb and index finger. I sighed and relaxed closer to him. It felt really soothing.
Mmmmm, I thought, soothing in a shivery kind of way. Soothing and sort of…
Suddenly I became aware that I was no longer crying. I panicked, realizing I had to extricate myself from Daniel’s arms immediately. I was only allowed to cuddle up to men if we were romantically involved, or if one of us was comforting the other. As neither was the case with Daniel, I was in his arms under false pretences, my tenancy had run out with my tears.
Hoping that he didn’t think I was ungrateful, I tried to jerk away from him.
He smiled at me, his face close to mine, as if he knew something that I didn’t. Or perhaps something that I should know. Sometimes his clichéd good looks really get on my nerves, I thought, annoyed. And surely his teeth looked whiter than usual, he must have just been to the dentist. That annoyed me too. I felt hot and uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure why.
It must have been because we had reached the awkward stage of an emotional outburst. The flash flood of happiness or misery had passed, and the hand-holding or hugging or tear shedding or whatever suddenly became excruciatingly embarrassing. That was probably why I felt as if I had to escape from him, I thought, scrambling around for a reason. I wasn’t at my most comfortable with displays of affection.
At least not sober ones. But Daniel didn’t seem to realize I wanted to break up our clinch. I tried to push myself out of the circle of his arms but nothing happened. Another wave of panicky fear swept over me.
“Thanks,” I sniffed up at him, hoping that I sounded normal. As, once again, I made another attempt to wrench myself free from him. “Sorry about that.”
I had to get away from him, I thought, frantically. I felt embarrassed and awkward in his arms, but it wasn’t the usual sort of embarrassed and awkward.
He was disturbing me. I was aware of all sorts of things about him that I hadn’t noticed when I’d been busy crying. Like, he was so big—I was used to small men. It felt funny to be held by someone as big as Daniel.
The scary kind of funny.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said.
I waited, expecting him to flash me his usual slightly mocking smile, but he didn’t. He stared down at me, his eyes dark and serious, and didn’t move. I stared back at him. A stillness settled on us. A waiting. Moments before, I had felt safe, now I felt anything but. And I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, it wouldn’t go the whole way down.
Daniel moved slightly, and I jumped. But he was only stroking my hair back off my forehead. The touch of his hand sent a little thrill through me.
“But I have to be sorry,” I managed to blabber nervously, unable to look him in the eye. “You know me—I love to feel guilty.”
He didn’t laugh.
A bad sign.
And he didn’t let me go either.
A worse sign.
To my horror, I felt a
powerful rush of sexual attraction for him which nearly knocked me off his lap. I made another attempt to scramble away from him. I suppose it wasn’t a very diligent effort.
“Lucy,” he said, putting his hand on my chin, and gently moving my face, so that I had to look at him. “I’m not going to let you go, so stop trying.”
Oh God, I thought. The gloves were off. I didn’t like his tone. Well, actually I liked it very much. If I hadn’t been so scared of what it meant, I would have loved it. Something very weird was going on—why was Sexual Attraction calling to see if Daniel and I were coming out to play? Why now?
“Why won’t you let me go?” I stammered up at him, trying to buy time. I was vaguely distracted by his eyelashes—they were so long and thick it was indecent. And had his mouth always been that sexy? He was such a lovely colour, slightly tanned against the whiteness of his shirt.
“Because,” he said, staring down at me, “I want you.”
Fuck it! My insides lurched with a scary thrill. We were approaching a border, about to cross into unknown territory. If I had any sense, I would stop us. But I didn’t have any sense. I couldn’t stop myself. And, even if I had wanted to, I certainly couldn’t stop him.
For a long time before it happened, I knew he was going to kiss me. We hovered in space, our mouths almost touching, moving infinitesimally closer.
For years his face had been so familiar to me, but now he looked like a stranger, a very attractive one.
It was horrifying.
In a very nice way.
Finally, when my nerves were stretched to the screaming point and I was sure that I couldn’t wait another second, he bent his head and put his lips to mine and kissed me. His kiss flooded through me like a sparkling drink.
I kissed him back. Because—shameful admission—I wanted to kiss him back.
I hated it because it was perfect.
It was the nicest kiss I’d ever had in my entire life and it was from Daniel. How awful—if he ever found out, his ego would go into orbit. I had to make sure that he never knew, I thought urgently.
I noticed all kinds of things that I’d never noticed before. How big and hard his back felt as I ran my hands along the grown-up-person’s fabric of his suit.
No wonder he’s such a good kisser, I thought, trying to make myself disgusted, he’s had so much practice.
But then he kissed me again and I thought, well, the damage is done, might as well have another one.
He was delicious. He had such a perfect mouth and the smoothest skin. He tasted musky and sexy.
He was a man, a real man.
Oh Christ, I thought, I’ll never, ever live this one down. He’ll never let me forget this. The shame! After all the abuse I’ve hurled at him and his philandering ways. If I hadn’t been so turned on, I might almost have laughed at myself.
Karen would kill me, I realized. I was as good as dead. How could I do this? I asked myself in shock.
But how could I not?
All these thoughts rushed through my head, and then out the other side as I became overwhelmed with desire for him.
Every now and then a little voice would say, Do you know who this is? This is Daniel, in case you hadn’t noticed. And have you noticed where you are? Yes, exactly, you’re in your mother’s good room. On Father Colm’s couch.
I was shaking because I was so attracted to him. I wanted to have sex with him there and then, on Father Colm’s couch, with Dad in the next room. I didn’t care.
And all he was doing was kissing me. Kissing and caressing me in totally chaste places. I didn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed that he wasn’t trying to grope me, that he hadn’t tipped me back on the couch and inched his hand up my skirt.
Finally he pulled away from me and said, “Lucy, you don’t know how long I’ve waited to do this.”
I had to hand it to him—he was good. He sounded intense and passionate. He looked great. His pupils were dilated. His eyes were nearly black and his hair was all messy and sexy, very different from its normal well-groomed look. The expression on his face was the best—he looked like a man in love, or in lust, at the very least.
No wonder so many women fell for him.
“Yes, Daniel,” I said, in a shaky voice, trying to smile, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“I’m serious, Lucy,” he said in a serious voice with serious undertones, looking at me seriously.
“So am I,” I said lightly.
Sanity, such as it was, had started its reluctant return to my wayward head. Although my whole body still shook with unsated desire.
I looked at him, wanting to believe him, knowing I couldn’t.
We sat beside each other, close but separate, him looking sad, me looking sad, me still in his arms, having overstayed my welcome but loath to leave.
“Please, Lucy,” he said, and put both hands on my face, holding it as gently and carefully as if my head was a brimming bucket of sulphuric acid.
Then the door opened. Dad shambled in. Even though Daniel and I sprang apart with the high-jump ability of spring lambs, he still saw what was in progress and looked shocked and annoyed.
“Good God,” he roared. “You’re all doing it! It’s like Sodom and Begorrah around here.”
Chapter 64
My life changed very quickly in the following days. Suddenly I had a new home, or an old one, depending on how you looked at it. I was keen to hand in the notice on my apartment immediately, eager to begin my new life, anxious to show how committed I was to it.
Someone had to move in to take care of Dad. I was the obvious candidate.
If Chris or Peter had offered to, I would still have insisted on doing it myself. Not that they did offer, the lazy bastards. They were both appalled at the prospect. It wasn’t as if they’d have been any good at it either—my mother had done everything for both of them since the day they were born, so they hardly knew how to run a bath, never mind run a house. It was a miracle that they’d ever even learned how to tie their own shoes. Not that I was much better myself at housekeeping, but I knew I’d manage somehow. I would learn how to cook fish fingers, I thought passionately, it would be a labour of love.
Everyone tried to talk me out of going back to live in Uxbridge. Karen and Charlotte didn’t want me to leave—and not just because of the hassle of having to find a suitable new roommate either.
“But there’s nothing wrong with your dad,” said Karen, puzzled. “Lots of men are on their own. Why do you have to go and actually live with him? Can’t you just visit him every couple of days, you know, get a neighbour to look in on him, get your brothers to take turns, that kind of thing?”
I couldn’t explain why to Karen. I felt that nothing less than the whole hog would do. I had to do it right. I would move back and take care of Dad, as he’d never been taken care of before, as he should always have been. I was glad, glad to have him to myself, that it would be just the two of us. I was bitter and angry with my mother for her fickleness, but it was nothing more than I expected from her. I was relieved that, finally, she was out of the picture.
“But how awful for you, moving back home to live with your parents,” said Charlotte, sounding horrified. “Parent, I mean,” she added quickly. “Think about it, Lucy—when will you be able to have sex with boys? Won’t you be afraid of your dad bursting in and catching you at it, telling you that you can’t do that kind of thing under his roof?
“And will he tell you what time you must get home by?” she chattered on, not noticing me squirm. “And say ‘You’re not going out in that’ and ‘You look like a prostitute with all that makeup’ and things like that?” she exclaimed. “You’re bonkers!”
Charlotte’s problem was that she had made her escape from her familial home too recently. The memory of being under her father’s thumb was very fresh in her mind. She still revelled in her newfound freedom. On the days that she wasn’t suicidal with guilt about it, that was.
“Or what if your d
ad gets a new girlfriend?” she demanded. “Won’t it be disgusting if you burst in and catch him having sex?”
“But…” I tried to interrupt. The idea of poor Dad having a girlfriend was laughable. Almost as funny as the idea of me having a boyfriend.
A boyfriend was not in the cards. Daniel’s kiss had been a one-off. A never-to-be-repeated, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Hurry now, while stocks last.
After Dad had caught us, he glared at us both for a little while. We cringed, as befitted us, under his disapproving look. Then he withdrew from the room and Daniel and I rearranged ourselves. I waited for my heartbeat to slow down and my breathing to return to normal. Daniel waited for his erection to subside and his gait to return to normal (I found that out some time later).
We sat side by side on the couch, a vision of mute sheepishness.
I wanted to die.
It was all so awful.
Kissing Daniel! Kissing Daniel. Kissing Daniel. And getting caught by Dad—the mortification! There was a part of me that would always be fourteen.
I was in a state of shock anyway, what with Mum having left Dad. And, in a way, I was beyond being shocked by Daniel’s kissing me.
It was too weird to think about.
I didn’t know why he’d had such an effect on me—I decided I was probably feeling vulnerable because of the disintegration of the familial unit.
And as for Daniel’s motive, well, who knows? He was a man, I was a woman (well, sort of, more of a girl, really, I felt). Basically, I had been there.
Everything was topsy-turvy. I’d had enough upheaval for one day and I wanted Daniel and me to be back to normal. And the best way to do that was to act normal. So I insulted him.
“You took advantage of me,” I grumbled.
“Did I?” he asked in surprise.
“You stupid bastard,” I added, just for insurance.
“Yes,” I said. “You knew I was upset about poor Dad. And then you insult me by feeding me your usual smoothie lines and kiss me.”
“Sorry,” he said, sounding horrified. “That wasn’t my intention….”