The Other Side of the Story

by Marian Keyes

  ‘Um, no. Well, he didn’t mention it yesterday evening if he has.’

  ‘OΚ.’

  ‘Can I give him a message?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ll call back.’

  The following day I called again but, to my great dismay, Hopalong was still manning the decks. And likewise the next.

  ‘You’re sure he hasn’t gone to Australia?’

  ‘No, but if you want to see him, why don’t you come in the daytime?’

  ‘Because I have to work in the daytime. He used to work evenings.’

  ‘Not any more. He only does one evening a week now.’

  I waited patiently. Hopalong continued rearranging the packets of Hacks.

  ‘And what evening is that?’

  ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘AND WHAT EVENING IS THAT?’

  ‘Oh! Sorry. Thursday.’

  ‘Thursday? Tomorrow is Thursday? You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Yes. Well, nearly sure.’

  I was clambering into my car when he called after me, ‘Don’t forget, we close at eight now.’

  ‘Eight o’clock? Not ten? Why?’

  ‘Because we just do.’

  Lily

  Jojo set the auction date for A Charmed Life a week hence but, as she predicted, there were a flurry of pre-emptives. Pelham Press offered a million for three books. ‘No,’ I said. ‘There won’t be a second or third book. This is a one-off special.’

  Knoxton House offered eight hundred for two. I repeated that this book was a stand-alone event. The weekend intervened, then on Monday morning, Southern Cross offered five hundred for one.

  ‘Take it,’ I told Jojo.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I can get you more.’

  Three days later, on Thursday afternoon, she sold it to B&B Haider for six hundred and fifty thousand. Giddy and giggly, she said, ‘We have to celebrate. Come on, meet me for a drink. Don’t worry, I won’t keep you late, I’ve got a do this evening.’

  We agreed on six o’clock in a wine bar in Maida Vale. When I arrived, Jojo was already there, with a bottle of champagne.

  After a couple of glasses she asked me – as I had known she would – ‘Why were you so insistent that you would only sign for one book? I could have got you millions.’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not going to write another book. I plan to go back full-time to copywriting. It’s steady money, I quite enjoy it and no one humiliates my efforts in the Sunday newspapers.’

  ‘You know what they say?’

  ‘A hazelnut in every bite?’

  ‘How to make God laugh? Tell him your plans.’

  ‘OΚ,’ I conceded. ‘None of us know what’s going to happen. But if I have anything to do with it, I won’t write another.’

  ‘What will you do with your advance money?’ Jojo asked. ‘Invest it?’

  That made me laugh. ‘Whatever I invest in is bound to go immediately to the wall. I would prefer to keep it in a biscuit tin under my bed, that feels safest, but I’ll be very boring and buy somewhere to live.’

  And this time, I would do it properly.

  Some time later, Jojo looked at her watch. ‘Seven-thirty. Gotta go. Meeting my cousin Becky. She’s coming with me to the Dalkin Emery author party tonight.’

  ‘The Dalkin Emery author party?’ I put my head to one side. ‘Wasn’t I one of them once? Well, I wasn’t invited to the party.’

  ‘Guess what?’ She leant in to me, laughing. ‘Neither was I, until about five minutes ago. They biked me over an invite yesterday. Thanks to you and your fabulous new book, I’m back in the game.’

  ‘How fickle of them. How rude. And you’re going to go? I’d tell them to get lost!’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, lapsing into an unexpected dark mood.

  I said nothing, but I, like everyone else, had heard the rumours. Something to do with an affair with her boss and her having to leave because he had broken up with her or some such.

  Then her cousin arrived and they left.

  Gemma

  All day Thursday I was a bit flaky at work – excitement, see? About finally seeing Johnny that evening, see? But every fecking thing conspired against it because I had to work until six-thirty, then I had to collect Dad from the day hospital. He’d had a minor operation (something to do with his prostate, I so did not want to know) and because he’d had an anaesthetic, he wasn’t allowed to drive himself home. But he took forever to leave, saying goodbye to the nurses as if he’d been there for six months and not six hours, and by the time we left the hospital it was seven forty-five. Johnny’s chemist closed at eight, so I took an executive decision.

  ‘Dad, before I drop you home, I’ve to go to the pharmacy.’

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Plasters.’

  ‘But you haven’t cut yourself.’

  ‘Tissues, then.’

  ‘Have you a cold?’

  ‘Alright, Hedex,’ I said irritably.

  ‘Have you a headache?’

  ‘I do now.’

  I parked outside and he clipped off his seatbelt. Anxiously, I said, ‘Dad, stay in the car. You’re not a well man.’

  Not a chance. He’d got wind something was up. ‘I need to buy something myself.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Er…’ he scanned the window for ads ‘… Oil of Evening Primrose.’

  Clutching his groin, he followed me in.

  Lily

  After Jojo and her cousin left the wine bar, I walked home, put Ema to bed, then braced myself. It was time to read Anton’s letter.

  I had no choice. I knew it would not go away.

  I lay down on the sofa and slid out three crumpled handwritten pages.

  My dearest Lily,

  When are you reading this? six months after we’ve broken up? A year? No matter how long it is, thank you for doing so. There is only one th I ng I want to sag in this letter and that is to let you know how very sorry I am for all the unhappiness I’ve caused you but, being me, I’llprobably take severalpages to do so.

  At the moment, you’re repelled by our time together, keen to put distance between it and you, and convinced that it was all a big, fat mistake from start to finish.

  when we first met, the choice you had to make – between gemma and me – was a terrible one. I tried to understand, I thought I understood, but at the time I was just one big, insanely happy eejit, so bowled over at our ‘rightness’, that I didn’t really get it. In retrospect, I don’t think I ever fully understood the depth of your guilt and the fear that you’d be punished. In my defence, I tried, but the happiness at our being together kept rushing in and sweeping it away.

  I don’t know if you can ever be convinced that our being together was right. But would you please try, don’t ruin the rest of your life by dragging around a big sack of shame with you. Would it help if you looked at Ema? she’s such a sparky little soul, she makes the world a better place, and we made her, you and me. Some good has come out of us.

  I would also like to apologize about losing you, and Ema your home. Words are ridiculously inadequate at conveying the extent of my shame.

  Looking back at my enthusiasm for buying the house, it looks to me now like I bullied you, which I am sick about. But can I explain how my head was working at the time? Buying the house was a risk, but as risks go, it seemed as safe as it got. All the signs were good that the money would pony up – Jojo thought so, Dalkin Emery thought so, even the bank thought so.

  I was afraid that if we didn’t buy a home for the three of us that we’d fritter away all your hard-earned royalties and end up with a load of crap (cars, stereos, Barbie merchandise) but no security (you know what we’re like), it was a stab at behaving like a responsible adult. Buying beyond our means seemed like the smart thing to do – instead of buying a smaller place for a year, then moving again and paying two lots of stamp duty, it seemed smarter to leapfrog over the intermediate process. Like the fool I was, I thought I had vision. But none o
f that matters now. I didn’t listen to your fears, it all Jell apart and I hate listening to my pathetic attempts to justify myself.

  I thought I was an optimist, you said I was a fool; you were right and if I had the chance to do it all again, I would do absolutely everything differently.

  With your homelife as a child, it was extra-important to offer you security and all I gave you was mayhem.

  I regret the mistakes I made, I bitterly regret the unhappiness I caused you but I will never regret our time together. when I’m eighty and looking back on my life, I’ll know that there was at least one good pure thing in it Fram that first time we met outside that tube station, I felt like the luckiest bastard on the planet and that feeling never went away. Every single day that we were together I couldn’t believe my luck – mostpeople don’t have in a lifetime what we had in three and a half years and I will always be grateful for that. You will go on and meet someone else and I’ll just be a chapter in your tale, but for me, you were, you are and you always will be, the whole story.

  Yours always,

  Anton

  I put down the letter and stared at the ceiling. Stared and stared.

  I had known this was coming. I had known for weeks, since before I had gone to Mum’s. It had been why I had gone.

  When I had left Anton I thought I had already made my peace with it. Then, around the time the postcards started coming, I discovered I had made peace with absolutely nothing. I had been as numb as an arm that has been slept on for a week and when I began to feel again, I fled to Mum’s, in a fruitless attempt to outrun the inevitable.

  Even then I had known that I would have to make this choice. My love for Anton had crept stealthily back; banished for a while by my heartbreak over the house, it had returned in force, clamouring for me to address it.

  And how should I do it?

  I had no idea.

  At least now I understood what had been going on inside me: I had been very angry with Anton – losing houses was a touchy subject for me. But, and I did not know why – time? distance? – I no longer blamed him. I had thought I could never forgive, but I had.

  Even before I had read his letter, I understood what he had been trying to do with the house: he had taken a risk, but as risks go, it had been quite an unrisky one. He had been unlucky.

  And what about me? I had been there too, I could have stepped in. Instead I had been complicit and passive, clinging to the position where I could blame if I needed to.

  Anton was undeniably careless with money. But I was not any better. Let she who is without debt write the first cheque.

  But was understanding where we had gone wrong any guarantee that things would not go pear-shaped again? If it were just Anton and me, we could afford to take risks with our feelings, to try again, knowing that if it, once more, did not work out, we would survive. But we had a child, who had already been through far too much in her short little life. We owed it to Ema to make our next move very carefully. A thought shot into my head: surely it would be better if her parents were together? But perhaps I was just talking myself into this, because I loved him.

  And what about Gemma? Could I ever get beyond what I had done to her? If I could have had a choice, I would never have caused her a second’s pain. But I had visited untold misery on her. It had happened, I could never undo it, not even if Anton and I remained apart for ever.

  I sighed long and wearily, still looking up at the ceiling, hoping to see answers there.

  Happiness was a rare thing and you have to take your chances where you find them. I wanted to do the right thing – but how do we ever know? There are no guarantees.

  I could rationalize until I was blue in the face but I had no idea what was right or wrong.

  I decided to make a list, as if the biggest decision of one’s life could be made by writing out bullet-points on the white margin of the TV guide. Well, it was as good as any other way…

  Ema would be better off if her parents were together.

  I felt able to get past my guilt with Gemma.

  I had forgiven Anton for the house and we would be more sensible with our flnances in the future.

  He was my most favourite person in the world. By a million miles. (Apart from Ema.)

  Hmmm…

  Well, I thought, it couldn’t hurt to talk to Anton. So, invoking the forces of the universe, I made a decision. I would ring him – right now and just this once – and if I did not get him, I would take it as a sign that we were not meant to be. Carefully I picked up the phone, hoping to convey to it how important its next mission was. I wondered where Anton was right now, what the plan for us was. Then I pressed the numbers, put the phone to my ear, heard it begin to ring and prayed.

  Jojo

  At the Dalkin Emery author party, Jocelyn Forsyth was loitering by the door, bored out of his skull. He’d been finding his retirement difficult – still hankering after the action. But perhaps asking for an invitation to this party had been a mistake. So far, it had disappointed terribly. The place was overrun with Young Turks. No fillies to speak of. Then, just coming in, he saw something that filled his heart with gladness. ‘Jojo Harvey! We’d given you up for dead.’

  She was looking particularly luscious and accompanied by a creature almost as delightful, whom she introduced as her cousin Becky.

  ‘Well done, you, on your wonderful news with Lily “Lazarus” Wright. Her career pronounced dead on the slab how many times now? Always a gamble setting up on one’s own.’ He leant closer. ‘That was a beastly business with young Gant. Delighted it’s all working out for you. Of course, if anyone could do it, it would be you.’

  Jojo shook back her hair and beamed. ‘Thanks, Jocelyn,’ then moved away. She didn’t have time to stand around chatting, she was on a mission. Of sorts.

  Becky at her side, she moved through the crowded space, accepting plaudits and praise. Her senses were on red-alert, her nerves were stretched like cat-gut and she did a lot of hair-tossing and over-animated laughing. Even when she was only talking to Becky, the show went on, until Becky hissed, ‘Stoppit, you look like you’re on coke.’

  Jojo hissed back, ‘But what if he’s here? I’ve got to look happy!’

  ‘Jojo, maybe you’re not ready for this.’

  ‘I’m gonna have to meet him some time. I can’t be sneaking around scared of bumping into him. It’s time.’

  But after twenty more minutes of being on show, she admitted to Becky, ‘I don’t think he’s here. Let’s get some chicken satays and leave.’

  Gemma

  Shadowed by Dad, limping like he had had his bollocks removed, I hurried into the chemist. I was nearly sick with anxiety. There was a man behind the counter, he was wearing the regulation-issue white coat, he had the right size body, but I couldn’t see his face.

  If he turns around and I’m looking at Hopalong, then I’m giving up, I thought. Me and Johnny the Scrip are just not going to happen.

  Then, with excruciating slowness, the man turned and – oh, thank you, God – it was Johnny!

  ‘Gemma!’ His face lit up, then he looked inquiringly over my shoulder.

  ‘Oh, that’s my dad,’ I said. ‘Just ignore him.’

  ‘Right.’

  I stepped closer. ‘I got your letter,’ I said shyly. ‘Thank you. Did you really like the book?’

  ‘Yes. Particularly the love story between Izzy and Will.’

  ‘You did?’ I’d gone the colour of a fire engine.

  ‘It was nice the way they got it together in the end. He seemed like a nice bloke.’ He flicked a slightly perplexed look behind me, at Dad. Selfish old fucker. Why did he have to come in?

  ‘Oh, Will is a nice bloke,’ I tried to focus on the job in hand, which was securing the heart or at least the interest of Johnny. ‘He’s great.’

  ‘So’s Izzy.’

  Behind me, I heard Dad exclaim, ‘Christ Almighty, you’re Will! Out of the book!’ He hobbled forward. ‘I’m Declan Nolan, the father t
hat does the runner –’

  I stopped him; this was getting way too pally. ‘And I’m Izzy.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  ‘As in Will and Izzy.’

  He finally got it. ‘I’ll, ah, leave you to it.’ He stepped towards the door and I turned back to Johnny. I had a sudden dreadful vision of us stuck like this for all eternity: the melamine counter splitting us right down the middle, me asking for stupid medical things I didn’t need and him selling them to me, kindness in his eyes. This was the moment of truth. Something had to be said to move things beyond this point.

  ‘Gemma,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’ I was holding my breath.

  ‘I was thinking.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Something you said ages ago.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘About going out for a drink.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, isn’t it about time…?’

  Yesssssssss!!!!!

  Some time later, back in the car, Dad said, ‘I can’t believe that. You drove over to a man and laid your cards on the table. What’s the world coming to?’

  ‘Come on, Dad, what’s the big deal? It’s not like I asked him to leave his wife of thirty-five years, is it?’ Did I really say that? We looked at each other, watching warily.

  Eventually Dad spoke. ‘I think we might have to go for family counselling or something. What do you think?’

  ‘Dad, don’t be ridiculous, we’re Irish.’

  ‘But this sort of bad feeling can’t go on.’

  I thought about it. ‘It’ll pass. Just give me time.’

  ‘Time heals everything, doesn’t it?’

  I thought about it. ‘No’. Then I conceded, ‘But most things.’

  Jojo

  And then, halfway through flicking her hair over her shoulder and into Kathleen Perry’s drink, Jojo saw him – at the far wall and wearing a dark suit; he was watching her. Their eyes connected and it hit her like a punch in the stomach. It was just like (those dilating-pupil novelists again) they were the only two people in the room.