The Woman Who Stole My Life

by Marian Keyes

‘You might know her better as Georgie Taylor.’

  After a silence I asked, ‘What are you telling me?’

  ‘That Mannix Taylor and his wife are separated. They’re getting divorced.’

  ‘Why are you telling me?’

  Her face was unfriendly. ‘I don’t know. I’m wondering if you knew about it.’

  ‘Are you insane? I haven’t seen him in …’ I counted back. ‘More than a year. Fifteen months.’

  Karen did a couple of angry clicks with her mouse. ‘That nutter Mary Carr is coming in this afternoon for a growler wax.’

  ‘There was nothing between me and him,’ I said.

  ‘Why the woman with the hairiest growler in Ireland has to pick us for a wax …’ she muttered. ‘There was, Stella.’ The planes of her face were hard in the light cast by the screen. ‘I don’t know what, exactly. But there was.’ She looked concerned. ‘You know that in real life you’d never be suited?’

  ‘I know.’ I’d never confess to a crush. Or whatever it had been.

  ‘He’s posh and cranky …’

  ‘Ryan’s pretty cranky too.’

  ‘Ryan is great.’

  ‘He is,’ I said. ‘Did you know that while I was in hospital, he went out one night and bought tampons for Betsy?’

  ‘Yeah, I did – Oh, haahaa,’ she said, sarcastically. ‘You’re gas.’

  ‘Tell me, how am I fixed today? Have I lots of appointments? Have I time to see Dr Quinn?’

  ‘What do you want to see him for?’

  ‘Because I’m always tired.’

  ‘Everyone is always tired.’

  ‘You’re not. Anyway, I just want to check I’m okay. That the Guillain-Barré thing isn’t coming back.’

  ‘It’s not coming back. It’s so rare it’s a total freak that you got it in the first place. But,’ she said, ‘it’s a slow day. Go ahead.’

  Dr Quinn took bloods. ‘You might be anaemic,’ he said. ‘But maybe you should have a check-up with your consultant in hospital. Make the appointment today because it’ll be ages before you get a slot. That’s consultants for you,’ he said, wistfully. ‘They work about half an hour a week. The rest of the time they’re out playing golf.’

  I swallowed. ‘Who should I see? The overall consultant? Or the neurologist?’

  ‘I don’t know. The overall lad, I suppose.’

  ‘Not the neurologist? Seeing as it was a neurological thing I had?’

  ‘You’re right. The neurologist.’

  I went out to the street to make the call. As soon as the number started ringing, I hung up. My heart was racing and my hands were sweaty. Fuck. What was I at?

  I rang again and this time I waited until a woman answered.

  ‘I need to make an appointment,’ I said.

  ‘With Dr Taylor or Dr Rozelaar?’

  ‘Okay … well … I was a patient of Dr Taylor’s first, then I was transferred to Dr Rozelaar. I think the best thing is if you ask Dr Taylor.’

  ‘I can’t bother Dr Taylor with an admin question –’

  I interrupted. ‘Really. I think it’s best if you ask him and he decides.’

  Something in my tone had an effect. ‘Give me your name,’ she said. ‘But be warned he has a long waiting list. I’ll call you when I know.’

  I stood in the street, in the cold March afternoon, and went into suspended animation. About ten minutes later, the woman rang back. She sounded a little bemused. ‘I spoke to Dr Taylor. He says it’s him you should see. Unexpectedly, he has an opening today.’

  ‘Today?’

  Okay.

  It was easy to get off work. All I had to do was tell Karen that Dr Quinn was concerned about a recurrence of Guillain-Barré and she was rushing me out through the door. She didn’t want me getting sick again. It had been very inconvenient last time round.

  I told Karen my appointment was with ‘the consultant’ and she assumed I meant Dr Montgomery because she smiled and said, ‘Say hello from me.’

  I didn’t feel the need to set her straight.

  The appointment was for four o’clock and I drove to Blackrock Clinic and parked and waited for myself to get out of the car. But I didn’t.

  I was astonished at what I was contemplating. But what exactly was I contemplating? And what was Mannix Taylor at?

  Maybe he’d given me the speedy appointment out of professional concern. That was the most likely explanation.

  But what if he hadn’t?

  What if there was more than that?

  There was a good chance I was being delusional. I knew how life worked – people ended up with partners with the same ‘rating’ as them: people from the same socio-economic group, with the same education level and the same type of good-lookingness. Mannix Taylor and I were from different worlds. I was considered pretty in an unremarkable, regular-featured sort of way, whereas he wasn’t conventionally handsome but he was … sexy. Yes, there, I’d admitted it to myself for the first time: he was sexy.

  Or at least he had been the last time I’d seen him, fifteen months ago.

  When I had been very sick and therefore probably not the most reliable of witnesses.

  It was five to four now, I needed to get moving. I looked up at the building. He was in there somewhere. Waiting for me.

  Even thinking those words sent a shiver through me.

  He was waiting for me.

  And if I got out of this car and went in there, what would happen?

  Nothing, maybe.

  Maybe Mannix Taylor wasn’t looking for anything. Or perhaps, when I met him again, I wouldn’t find him so …

  But what if I did?

  Then what?

  I’d never cheated on Ryan. I’d never even been close. I mean, I’d had the occasional moment when a man reminded me that I was a woman. A few weeks ago, at a petrol station, a nice-looking man had engaged me in chat about my car – a dull-as-ditchwater Toyota – and when I realized that he was hitting on me, I’d driven away a bit flustered and pleased.

  At the monthly-ish book club I was a member of, I joined in as enthusiastically as everyone else, raving about who we’d ride if we got a one-night pass from our marriage. In fact, that was all we did at the book club – none of us read the books, we just drank wine and talked about holidays we couldn’t afford and wondered if Bradley Cooper was a ‘hammer’ man or a ‘soft and gentle’ boy.

  And had Ryan ever cheated on me?

  I didn’t know. And I didn’t want to know. Certainly he’d had plenty of chances, a lot more than me. He was often away from home and there were times when I’d wondered how he’d managed his sexual impulses while I’d been in hospital …

  … and how he was managing them now, seeing as he didn’t want to have sex with me any more.

  For a moment I saw my life from the outside and I went cold with fear. Seven months without sex was a long time in a marriage. A relationship of twenty years, you don’t expect that you’d still be ripping the clothes off each other, day and night. Everyone went through dry spells but, still, seven months was a long time.

  Maybe Ryan was having an affair? There were times when I wondered about himself and Clarissa. But Ryan seemed too bad-tempered – if he was cheating on me, wouldn’t he be feeling guilty and sporadically showering me with flowers and affection?

  At the moment my radar with Ryan was way off. I’d tried with our crappy date night and it had been an epic fail.

  And here I was, still sitting in my car, and it was one minute past four. I should get moving, but I was paralysed with fear.

  There was a chance that if I got out of my car and walked into that building, I’d be walking into another life. Or at least away from the one I had.

  I let myself imagine being with Mannix Taylor, being the significant other of a neurologist and living somewhere beautiful and getting full custody of Betsy and Jeffrey and them loving Mannix and Mannix loving them and Ryan not minding any of it and all of us being friends.

  I’d have to
deal with Mannix’s mad-spendy sisters and the gambling parents, of course, and maybe Georgie would be tricky, but no one’s life is perfect, right?

  But what if I went in there, to Mannix Taylor’s office, and there was some sort of spark between us and we ended up having a fling that lasted about three weeks – short enough to mean nothing but long enough to totally destroy my family? That wouldn’t be so good.

  It was seven minutes past four. I was late now, properly late. He’d be starting to think that I wasn’t coming.

  I had to wonder what was wrong with me – was I bored? Did everyone go through something like this in their marriage? Where they want to try out being someone else?

  One thing I knew for sure: you only get one life. I remembered that occurring to me during my first night in hospital, when I’d thought I was going to die: you only get one life and you should live it as happily as you can.

  But sometimes your life isn’t your own. I had responsibilities. I was married and I had two children.

  I loved Ryan. Probably. And even if I didn’t, I couldn’t break up my home. Betsy and Jeffrey had gone through a horrible, scary time while I’d been in hospital. In the ledger of life, I was in the red with them. Maybe for ever.

  I’d have to find some other way of filling the gap that seemed to be hankering after Mannix Taylor. I’d have to … get an interest. Maybe I’d do a course in Buddhism. Or meditation. Or perhaps give crochet a try.

  I watched the entrance to the clinic and imagined Mannix coming out through the door and running towards my car and telling me that I had to be with him. Then I thought, Why would someone like him want to be with someone like you?

  Fifteen minutes past four now. I made a bargain with myself – I’d count to seven and if Mannix didn’t appear, I’d leave.

  So I counted to seven and even though plenty of people exited the building – it was Friday afternoon, lots of the staff were heading home – none of them was Mannix Taylor.

  I’d give it one more go of counting to seven, I decided. But he still didn’t appear. Okay, one more go. On my eighth or maybe my ninth round of counting, I turned the key in the ignition and I started my car and I drove home.

  The house was empty. Jeffrey was away on a school rugby trip. Betsy was at a sleepover with Amber, and she really was at a sleepover with Amber, and not off riding Tyler, because I’d checked with Amber’s mum.

  And where was Ryan? I hadn’t heard from him all day, so I could only assume he was at work.

  I opened a bottle of wine and tried to read but I couldn’t concentrate. I thought about ringing Karen or Zoe, but I didn’t know how to put my peculiar feelings into words.

  It was nearly ten when Ryan came home and went straight up the stairs. I heard him thumping about, then came the sound of the shower running. Eventually he came down and into the front room. ‘Any wine?’ he asked, staring at his phone in his hand.

  I gave him a glass and said, ‘How was your day?’

  ‘My day,’ he said, still looking at the phone, ‘was fucking shite.’

  ‘Was it?’

  Clicking out a text he said, ‘All my days are fucking shite. I fucking hate my life.’

  A slow prickle lifted the hairs at the nape of my neck. ‘What do you hate?’

  ‘Everything. I hate my job. I hate having to do fucking bathrooms. I hate the gobshites I have to deal with. I hate the suppliers who extort money from me. I hate my stupid clients with their stunted ideas. I hate –’ His phone rang and he looked at the number. ‘Fuck off,’ he said, scornfully. ‘I’m not fucking talking to you.’ He threw the phone onto the couch and the ringing stopped after a while.

  Ryan’s rant about his job was a familiar one, but today was different because today I’d relinquished my imaginary life with Mannix Taylor in order to stay with him.

  Suddenly I was light-headed – a lot of feelings had been stirred up by my visit to the Blackrock Clinic car park. I thought they’d been parcelled away, but Ryan’s sourness had set them free again.

  ‘What about the kids?’ I heard myself ask Ryan. ‘Do they make you happy?’

  He looked at me properly for the first time since he’d come home. He seemed amazed. ‘Are you mad? Jeffrey’s so narky. And Betsy’s so fucking … chirpy. Well, she was until this bullshit carry-on with Tyler started. I mean, I love them, but they don’t make me happy.’

  Then I said it. ‘What about me?’

  A sudden wariness entered his eyes. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Do I make you happy?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘No, do I? Do I really make you happy? Sit down, Ryan.’ I touched the couch. ‘And before you answer, can I say something? You only get one life.’

  He nodded, a little tentatively. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, you might as well be happy. So, I’m asking you, Ryan, do I make you happy?’

  After a long, long pause he said, ‘When you put it like that … no. You don’t make me happy. I mean,’ he added quickly, ‘you don’t make me unhappy. I don’t mind you.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have got sick,’ he said, in a sudden burst of anger. ‘That’s what’s put the kibosh on things.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  This was the most honest we’d been with each other in years.

  ‘I know you haven’t asked,’ I said. ‘But you don’t make me happy either.’

  ‘I don’t?’ He seemed amazed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You just don’t.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘I know. You’re great. And the way you stood by me all that time I was in hospital … You’re great, Ryan.’ I didn’t even know if I was being sincere. I was, in a way.

  ‘And –’ he said.

  ‘I know. The way you went out and bought tampons for Betsy. Not many men would do that.’

  Some empty moments ticked by and he said, ‘So what are we going to do?’

  I could hardly believe the words even while I was saying them. ‘I think we’re going to split up.’

  He swallowed. ‘That seems a bit … like … extreme.’

  ‘Ryan, we don’t have sex. We’re like friends … who aren’t very nice to each other.’

  ‘I’m nice to you.’

  ‘You’re not.’

  ‘Jesus, I don’t know about this, Stella. Couldn’t we go for counselling?’

  ‘Do you want to go for counselling?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  ‘But won’t I be lonely?’

  ‘You’ll meet someone else. You’re good-looking, you’ve a good job; you’re a catch.’

  A strange energy hopped up between us and this was the moment to ask if he’d ever cheated on me. But I didn’t want to know. It no longer mattered.

  ‘I’m forty-one,’ he said.

  ‘Forty-one is young these days.’

  ‘And I need a certain type of woman,’ he said. ‘Someone who knows I’m an artist. I don’t mean to sound like it’s all about me, but …’

  ‘… Don’t worry. There are millions of suitable women out there.’

  ‘What about the kids?’

  I fell silent. This was my biggest worry. ‘They’ll be very upset. Or maybe they won’t.’ Then I started to rethink things. ‘Maybe we should wait? Until they’re a bit older? Until Jeffrey is eighteen?’

  ‘More than two more years? Ah, no, Stella. They say it does as much damage to children to be brought up in a loveless marriage as to come from a broken home.’

  Loveless? We were moving further and further into uncharted territory.

  ‘Who gets custody?’ he asked.

  ‘We’ll share it, I suppose. Unless you want full custody?’

  He exclaimed. ‘Are you joking me?’ In a calmer voice he said, ‘No, no, we’ll share it. I can’t believe we’re talking about this.’ He looked around the room. ‘Is this really happening?’

  ‘I know what you mean.
I feel like I’m dreaming. But I know it’s real.’

  ‘When I woke up this morning in the hotel, I had no idea that this evening … I thought we were grand. Well,’ he qualified, ‘I never thought about it at all. How will we manage for money?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. We’ve only just decided this. But we’re luckier than lots of people. We’ve got the place in Sandycove.’ Suddenly the fact that we hadn’t been able to get new tenants seemed like divine endorsement for our separation.

  ‘When you say we’re splitting up?’ he asked. ‘Do you mean we’re getting divorced?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Fuuuuck.’ He exhaled heavily. ‘Like, this isn’t a trial thing?’

  ‘It can be if you want.’

  He thought about it. ‘Ah, no, we might as well go for it. No point in messing. I mean, everyone’s at it.’ It was true that in our circle of friends, several couples had started divorce proceedings in recent months. ‘Like the way everyone was buying a holiday apartment in Bulgaria a few years ago. Sort of a zeitgeisty thing, yeah?’

  ‘… Maybe.’ For God’s sake.

  ‘Fair play to us for being so civilized,’ he said. ‘Not like Zoe and Brendan.’ Zoe and Brendan’s separation was continuing to be very bitter.

  ‘You don’t seem sad.’ Ryan sounded accusatory.

  ‘I’m in shock.’ Perhaps. ‘The grief will come. Are you sad?’

  ‘A bit. Should I sleep on the couch tonight?’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘Will we watch Graham Norton?’

  ‘Okay.’

  We watched a bit of telly and around eleven thirty we both went to bed. Ryan undressed himself very prudily, taking care to hide his nudiness.

  When we were both under the duvet he said, ‘Should we have sex for old times’ sake?’

  ‘I’d prefer if we didn’t.’

  ‘Okay. Me too. But we’ll have a snuggle, will we?’

  ‘Okay.’

  The next morning, he said, as soon as we woke up, ‘Did I dream it? Are we really getting divorced?’

  ‘If you want.’

  ‘Okay. Will I move out?’

  ‘One of us will have to.’

  ‘I suppose it’d better be me. I’ll move into the other house.’

  ‘Okay. Today?’