The Woman Who Stole My Life

by Marian Keyes

  Ryan opened his door wearing a sheepish smile. He was so relieved that the kids were leaving that he’d forgotten to be furious with me.

  ‘So! Kids!’ He waved from the door. ‘See you soon!’

  ‘Whatevs.’ Betsy trundled her luggage to the car and got into the passenger seat.

  In silence, Jeffrey hoisted his case into the boot, then got into the back of the car.

  Ryan had already shut his front door.

  ‘I’m saying this now,’ Betsy said, staring straight ahead. ‘And I don’t mean it because, obvs, I’m like mad with him, but he’s a really crap dad. Sorry for swearing.’

  ‘Saying “crap” isn’t swearing.’

  ‘Mom! Role model, please!’

  When we got home and into the house, Betsy pulled me aside. ‘I’m totally fine, but you might want to try re-bonding with …’ She widened her eyes in the direction of the stairs that Jeffrey had disappeared up. ‘Go, Mom.’ She gave me a little smack on the bum – this was obviously my week for it – then she said, ‘Sorry! Total boundary-invasion!’

  For God’s sake.

  I gave it a few minutes then I went and knocked on Jeffrey’s door. He was already in his pyjamas and in bed.

  ‘Can I sit down?’

  ‘Go on, then.’ He sat up in bed and pulled the duvet to his chest. ‘Is Dr Taylor your boyfriend?’

  ‘I … ah, I don’t know.’

  ‘You were having an affair,’ Jeffrey said. ‘That’s why you and Dad split up.’

  ‘I wasn’t having an affair.’ I could say that honestly.

  ‘But what about that book? He did that ages ago.’

  ‘I wasn’t having an affair.’ I was like a politician. ‘I hadn’t heard from him in a long time, over a year.’

  ‘Does he have a wife?’

  ‘He did, but they’re getting divorced.’

  ‘Does he have kids?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So that’s why he’s with you. Because you have kids.’

  ‘It’s not why.’

  ‘Do we have to meet him?’

  ‘Would you like to?’

  ‘We’ve met him. In the hospital.’

  ‘But that was long ago. Different.’

  ‘So he is your boyfriend?’

  ‘… Honestly, Jeffrey. I don’t know.’

  ‘But you should know. You’re the grown-up.’

  He was right. I should, but I didn’t.

  ‘You and Dad?’ Jeffrey asked. ‘You’re never getting back together?’

  A million thoughts zipped through my head. In theory, anything was possible – but it would be really, really unlikely. ‘No.’ I settled for. ‘No.’

  ‘That’s very sad …’ A tear trickled down his face.

  ‘Jeffrey.’ His grief was like a knife in my stomach. ‘I wish I could protect you from all pain, ever. I wish I could always tell you just happy things. This is a tough lesson for you to learn so young.’

  ‘You think Dr Taylor likes you. Maybe he does. But he’s not my dad. He can be your … boyfriend. But you can’t make us into a new family.’

  ‘Okay.’ Even as I said the word, I realized I shouldn’t make promises I couldn’t keep.

  ‘But if he’s going to be your boyfriend, we should meet him.’

  I hadn’t been expecting that. ‘You mean, you and Betsy?’

  ‘And Grandma and Grandad. Auntie Karen, Uncle Enda, Auntie Zoe, everyone.’

  Jeffrey gave Mannix a cold stare. ‘My dad has a Mitsubishi pick-up truck. It’s the best car ever.’

  Jeffrey’s opening salvo at his first meeting with Mannix wasn’t exactly friendly.

  ‘It’s, ah, yeah, you’re right.’ Mannix nodded vigorously and visibly forced his limbs to look loose and sprawly. ‘It’s probably the best car ever. Pick-ups are … yeah … great.’

  ‘What car do you have?’ Jeffrey asked.

  I watched anxiously; a lot hinged on this.

  ‘It’s a … yeah, another Japanese car. Not as good as a Mitsubishi pick-up but –’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A Mazda MX-5.’

  ‘That’s a bit girlie.’ Jeffrey’s scorn was savage.

  ‘Technically, it was a girl’s car,’ Mannix said. ‘My ex-wife – my soon-to-be ex-wife, Georgie – it was hers. She got a new car.’

  ‘What did she get?’

  ‘An Audi A5. And she wanted me to take the Mazda.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get a new car too?’

  ‘Because, ah … the Audi cost a lot …’

  ‘So she gets a new Audi and you get a second-hand Mazda? Man, you’re lame.’

  Mannix eyed Jeffrey. He took a while before he spoke. ‘… Sometimes it’s easier to just give in. I’m sure, as a man who lives with women, you’ll appreciate that.’

  Surprise whipped across Jeffrey’s face. Suddenly he was realizing that he might have an ally in Mannix.

  But later, when Mannix had gone home, I found Jeffrey sobbing in his bedroom. ‘If I like Dr Taylor?’ he choked. ‘Am I being mean to Dad?’

  Over the next few weeks I introduced Mannix to my family and friends and their reactions varied. Karen was breezy and civil. Zoe didn’t want to be charmed, but she was. Mum was nervous and giggly. Dad was chummy and tried to engage Mannix in book-talk and was amazed that Mannix wasn’t much of a reader. ‘But with all your education …?’

  ‘I’m more of a science person.’

  ‘But Stella is a great reader. What do you two have in common?’

  Mannix and I flicked a glance at each other and it was as if a hidden voice had started whispering, SexSexSex.

  Dad blushed and muttered something and hurried out of the room.

  It was impossible to tell what Enda Mulreid thought of Mannix, because it was impossible to tell what Enda Mulreid thought of anyone. As Dad often said, ‘Plays his cards close to his chest, that fella.’ Then he always added, ‘Although he probably doesn’t play cards at all. There might be a small chance he might start enjoying himself.’

  Betsy declared that she liked Mannix and that Tyler liked him too. ‘And Tyler’s got like a great instinct for people,’ she said, earnestly. ‘Sometimes I feel really bad that you and Dad have split up. Sometimes I wish I could go back to being a kid and for us to be the way we were. But this is life. Like you said in your book, it can’t all be bubbles and lollipops.’

  I nodded anxiously: could she really be as grounded as she sounded?

  ‘She’s in love,’ Mannix said. ‘Everything is hearts and bunny rabbits for her, right now.’

  ‘Okay …’ Maybe it was as simple as that.

  ‘You remember what that was like?’ Mannix asked. ‘Being in love? I do. Because I’m in love –’

  ‘Stop!’

  He recoiled and said, ‘Oooookay.’

  ‘Don’t say you’re in love with me. You don’t even know me. And I don’t know you.’

  ‘We got to know each other in hospital.’

  ‘A few blinked conversations? That counts for nothing. That’s not the real world. I don’t know the name for the feelings I have for you. The only thing I know for sure is that you scare me.’

  ‘How?’ He sounded shocked.

  ‘I’m terrified you’re going to overwhelm me.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  But it was already happening.

  ‘Once upon a time, I loved Ryan and then I got sick and we didn’t survive it. Once upon a time, you loved Georgie, then you couldn’t have children and now you don’t love her. That tells me something.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘That you can’t call something love until everything goes wrong and you manage to survive it. Love isn’t hearts and flowers. And it’s not good sex. Love is about loyalty. Endurance. Soldiering on, shoulder to shoulder. The snow blowing into your face. Your feet wrapped in rags. Your nose rotting with frostbite. Your –’

  ‘Right, I get it. Bring on the disaster.’

  ‘I just mean –’r />
  ‘Really, Stella, I get it. The ball’s in your court now. I will never mention the word “love” again until you do.’

  Mannix set up a reunion for Roland and me. As he came into the restaurant, togged out in an outlandishly patterned shirt and hip, thick-framed glasses, I felt a great wave of warm feeling. He already felt like an old, much-loved friend. We hurried towards each other and he swept me into a huge big squashy hug. ‘I’ve so much to thank you for,’ he said. ‘Going to rehab has been the saving of me.’

  ‘Oh, Roland, I did nothing! You’re the one who went.’

  ‘You talked me into it.’

  ‘I didn’t, Roland. You talked yourself into it.’

  Then it was time to meet Mannix’s sisters. ‘It’s my nephew’s birthday. Philippe. He’s ten. Just a family thing, Saturday afternoon. If you bring Betsy and Jeffrey, it’ll be a nice, low-key way for them to meet. And to meet Roland too.’

  I drove us all there because Mannix was still driving Georgie’s ex-two-seater.

  On the journey, Mannix briefed Betsy on the people she was about to meet and she, very sweetly, put the details in her phone, so that she’d remember everyone’s names.

  Rosa and Jean-Marc lived in a McMansion in Churchtown, but as we drove through the gateway I saw that a stone lion on the left pillar had had its head knocked off. ‘Philippe and Claude did that with a cricket bat,’ Mannix said. ‘It always makes me laugh.’

  Rosa, a small, neat little creature, hurried down the hall to greet us. I recognized her top; I owned an identical one, and it had cost me eight euro. This was cheering.

  ‘Hello, Stella, hello! I’m Rosa.’ She welcomed me with a hug.

  ‘And I’m Hero.’ Another woman appeared behind Rosa and she too gave me a hug.

  It was uncanny how similar they were. Rosa had dark hair, Hero had blonde, but their faces and bodies, even the intonation of their voices, were identical.

  ‘You’re Betsy?’ Rosa asked.

  ‘Totally!’ Betsy squealed and flung herself first into Rosa’s arms, then Hero’s.

  Rosa and Hero seemed all set to move their hugging convoy onto Jeffrey, but one look from him had them backing away and giving Mannix a quick kiss.

  ‘Come in, come in.’ Then Rosa said, to me, ‘Stella, we feel like we know you already.’

  ‘Mannix talked about you when you were ill,’ Hero explained.

  I felt Mannix tense, then colour flooded Hero’s face.

  ‘Not by name!’ she said.

  ‘Not by name, of course,’ Rosa said.

  ‘Of course, not by name,’ Hero said. ‘Mannix is entirely professional.’

  ‘Entirely professional.’

  ‘As silent as the grave.’ That made both Rosa and Hero giggle.

  ‘But he told us about your condition –’

  ‘– and how courageous you were.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Mannix said.

  ‘Let’s get some drinks,’ Rosa said. ‘And we’ll smooth over this faux-pas.’

  In the kitchen, there was a big, lopsided cake that said: ‘Hapy Birthday Phiilippe’.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Rosa said. ‘I did it last night. I’d had a few drinks. Wine, Stella? Or would you prefer gin?’

  ‘… Wine is fine.’

  ‘Betsy? A glass of wine?’

  ‘Oh no. I totally don’t drink. OJ for me.’

  ‘Jeffrey? A beer?’

  ‘I’m only fifteen.’

  ‘Is that a yes or a no?’

  Rosa dissolved into light-hearted laughter and Jeffrey said, very coldly, ‘It’s illegal for me to drink.’

  He was going to be sixteen in six weeks’ time and he already drank whenever I said he could, so either way it was a technicality. But it was an opportunity for Jeffrey to be rude and he wasn’t going to pass it up.

  ‘In that case, OJ it is!’

  There was a clatter of feet at the back door and a small crowd of boys ran in. ‘Is it Uncle Roland?’

  ‘Not yet. But it’s Uncle Mannix.’

  The boys identified themselves as Mannix’s four nephews: Philippe, Claude, Bruce and Doug. They all hugged Mannix, which I found touching, then Philippe tore open his present – the new season Chelsea kit. ‘Sick!’ he said. ‘You’re the best!’

  The four boys had little interest in Betsy or me but they were very focused on Jeffrey. ‘What team do you support?’ Philippe asked him.

  ‘Team?’ Jeffrey asked. ‘Football?’

  ‘Or rugby …’ Philippe was losing his nerve.

  ‘I don’t support any team. Group sports are for idiots.’

  I was mortified. ‘Jeffrey, please.’

  ‘Well, I know I’m only a girl!’ Betsy declared. ‘But I totally love Chelsea! Come on, guys. Let’s go out the back and kick some ball!’

  ‘Will you come too?’ Philippe humbly asked Jeffrey. ‘So we’ll have even numbers?’

  But Jeffrey ignored him.

  ‘I’ll come,’ Mannix said.

  ‘Hurray!’

  The husbands came in to say hello – Jean-Marc wasn’t as good-looking as his name conjured up and Harry had quite a belly on him, but they were friendly and welcoming.

  ‘Have some sausage rolls and things.’ Rosa thrust food at me. ‘And we’ll have the birthday cake when Roland arrives.’

  A short time later, the nephews set up a clamour. ‘Here’s Roland, here’s Uncle Roland.’

  In he came, in an elaborately lapelled jacket and a faceful of smiles. His present to Philippe was the away kit for Chelsea and Philippe nearly combusted with the serendipity of it all. ‘Uncle Mannix gave me the home kit and you’ve given me the away kit! Isn’t that lucky?’

  ‘Amazing,’ Mannix said gravely.

  ‘You’d nearly think we’d collaborated on it,’ Roland said. And he and Mannix exchanged a little smile that was so connected it almost shocked me.

  ‘Hello, sir!’ Roland advanced on Jeffrey. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’

  ‘No …’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘You too.’

  I almost laughed. Before my eyes, Jeffrey was softening.

  ‘And you must be Betsy?’

  Betsy’s eyes were out on stalks at Roland’s hipster look, but she was polite and charming.

  Then Roland turned his attention to me. ‘Stella.’ He gathered me to him in a huge hug, then he pulled back to inspect me. ‘Looking great, Stella. You get more beautiful every time I see you.’

  ‘You look great too, Roland.’

  ‘I do?’ Sinuously he ran his hand over his belly. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’ And suddenly we were both doubled in two, yelping with laughter.

  On the drive home, Betsy was wildly positive. ‘Those kids are super-cute. Adorbs!’

  ‘So what are they to us? Step-cousins?’ Jeffrey was obsessed with this sort of thing.

  ‘Friends, hopefully.’

  ‘In theory, they wouldn’t be step-anythings unless Stella and I got married,’ Mannix said.

  ‘That’s not going to happen.’ Jeffrey glared.

  Mannix opened his mouth. I flicked him a look and he clamped it shut again.

  ‘Does Uncle Roland have a girlfriend?’ Betsy asked.

  ‘Don’t call him that,’ Jeffrey snapped.

  ‘Okay, does Roland have a girlfriend?’ Betsy asked. ‘A special friend?’

  ‘No special friend right now,’ Mannix said. ‘But even if he did, it wouldn’t be a girl.’

  ‘He’s gay?’ Betsy said. ‘I am so totally cool with that.’

  I pulled up at the house and we all piled out.

  ‘There’s your girlie car,’ Jeffrey said to Mannix. ‘Off you go home.’

  ‘He’s coming in,’ I said. ‘He’s having dinner with us.’ I’d been gently but firmly trying to shoehorn Mannix into our lives.

  ‘This is our weekend with our mom,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Next weekend we’ll be with Dad and you two can do what you like.’ He swallow
ed at that bit. ‘But for now, goodbye.’

  He shooed Mannix with his hand. ‘Go on. We did what you asked: we met your nephews, who, incidentally, are a crowd of saps, we met your sisters and their drinking problems, and your so-fat-he’s-going-to-die brother.’

  ‘Jeffrey!’ I said.

  ‘Go home. My sister and I have got places to go and we need our mom to drive us.’

  ‘Georgie wants to meet you.’

  ‘Mannix, I don’t want to meet Georgie. I’m afraid of her.’

  ‘You’ve got to meet Georgie. If we’re doing this thing properly, we’ve got to meet everyone.’

  So a table was booked at Dimants. For two.

  ‘What do you mean, for two?’ I asked Mannix, in a panic. ‘Why aren’t you coming?’

  ‘She wants to see you alone,’ Mannix said.

  ‘We don’t have to do everything she wants.’

  ‘We do. Meet her. You’ll see.’

  The table was booked for eight o’clock, so I got there at eight o’clock.

  ‘You’re the first to arrive,’ the hostess said.

  I sat at the table and the minutes ticked by, and at eighteen minutes past eight I decided to leave, just to protect the last few remnants of my self-respect.

  Then I saw her.

  Karen would say there’s no such thing, but she was too thin. Even thinner than that time at the hospital. She was carrying a handbag the size of a Nissan Micra and was dressed entirely in black, except for a fascinating-looking scarf-cum-necklace thing that featured a green stone.

  She rushed towards me and kissed me on both cheeks, giving me a whiff of a strange, spicy perfume, then sat down opposite me, and although she was a bit sunken-looking around the eye sockets, she was beautiful.

  ‘Please don’t scold me for being late,’ she said. ‘You know how it is. Traffic, parking …’

  I too had engaged with traffic and parking and had managed to arrive on time but I already understood that different rules applied to Georgie.

  She looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘You are not to feel guilty about Mannix.’

  ‘… I …’

  ‘Let me explain,’ she said. ‘We weren’t good for each other, Mannix and I. He’s a bit of a nightmare. And so am I.’

  I demurred, anxious to not give offence.

  ‘I truly am,’ she insisted. ‘I’m moody and pessimistic and given to incredible darkness. I fly off the handle. I’m deeply sensitive.’