by Marian Keyes
‘Oh!’ I’d remembered something. ‘While you were being interviewed this morning I did a quick visit to Dean & DeLuca and I bumped into Gilda.’
‘Gilda from last night? That was a coincidence.’
‘It was a sign – the planets are in alignment. When I come back, she’s going to be my personal trainer. We’re going to go running together. You can come too.’ Then I thought about it. ‘Or maybe not. She’s a bit young and beautiful.’
‘You’re young and beautiful.’
‘I’m not.’
And even if I was, the world was full of young, beautiful women.
‘Don’t think that way.’ He read my thoughts. ‘You can trust me.’
Could I? Well, I had no real choice but to believe him. Living any other way would just send me mad.
Back at home, as predicted, Ryan went berserk. ‘You can’t take my kids away! To another country. Another continent.’
‘Okay. They can stay with you.’
His lips twitched. ‘You mean …’ He stumbled over his words. ‘Here? All the time?’
‘For the next year or so. Until I know what’s going to happen.’
‘You want me to stay here in crappy old Ireland, taking care of your children, while you and Mannix Taylor swank up and down Fifth Avenue?’
‘They’re your children too.’
‘No, no,’ he said, quickly. ‘Am I going to be the baddy who stops my kids living in New York City? No, it’s a big opportunity for them.’
I hid my smile. It was unattractive to gloat.
‘So it’s a good school you’ve found?’
‘Similar to Quartley Daily but not as expensive.’
This, Ryan grudgingly accepted as a good news story.
‘And they can walk to school,’ I said. ‘It’s only five blocks from the apartment.’
‘The “apartment”.’ Ryan couldn’t hide his sneer. ‘Listen to you. And is Mannix really giving up his job?’
‘Yep.’ I tried to sound breezy.
‘But he’s a doctor.’
‘It’s only for a year …’ I was thinking of getting a T-shirt printed with the words.
Everyone seemed outraged with Mannix, as if he had a duty to keep curing sick people. ‘Doesn’t he feel guilty?’ Ryan asked.
‘He’s good at compartmentalizing.’
‘I wouldn’t go round boasting about that,’ Ryan said.
‘Compartmentalizing can help you survive.’
Ryan shook his head and smiled a small, mocking smile. ‘You keep telling yourself that and you’ll be grand. So you’re really getting a quarter of a million dollars? Do I get some of it?’
‘Well …’ I’d anticipated this question and Mannix had helped me prepare a reply. ‘You and I, Ryan, we’ve agreed our financial stuff …’
He shrugged; he’d only been chancing his arm. ‘You know it’s not even that much, your massive advance? You used to make forty grand a year, Mannix about a hundred and fifty, right?’
‘How do you know?’ I knew Mannix’s salary, but I’d never told Ryan.
‘I’ve been … in touch with Georgie Dawson.’
I stared at him. ‘Why?’
‘Just keeping myself in the loop. Looking out for myself, seeing as no one else bothers. So, like I was saying, a quarter of a million dollars is only a bit more than a year of your current combined income. How are you and Mannix going to share it? You’re going to give him a little bit of walking-around money every week, like he’s your bitch? He won’t go for that.’
‘This is none of your business, Ryan, but we’ve opened a joint account for our living expenses, rent and all the rest of it. Mannix didn’t want any of the advance, but he deserves it: he made the book happen. And he’s given up his job to work with me, so he should be paid.’
‘So you’re sharing everything?’
‘We still have the bank accounts from our current lives but we’re opening a new joint account and from now on we’re going to share everything.’
‘True love.’ Ryan pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. ‘Still, that money won’t last long.’
Defensively I said, ‘If things go well, we might make more. They’ve asked me to do a second book.’
‘As if that’s going to work! This One Blink at a Time thing is a freak, a black swan. There are about eight million books published every year. There’s an overwhelming chance that you’re going to fail.’
Okay, Ryan was jealous. He was the artistic one and this wasn’t how things were meant to pan out. But I was the person who was moving to New York to live with the man of my dreams so I could afford to be magnanimous.
Not everyone was as mean-spirited as Ryan. When I asked Karen if I could take a year off, she suggested that she buy me out.
I was dumbstruck. I’d thought she was going to rage at me about how inconvenient it all was.
‘You’re over it,’ she said. ‘The whole salon thing.’
She was right, and I was hit by a huge sense of relief.
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I feel relieved too.’
‘It was always yours, really.’
‘Maybe. A couple of things,’ she said. ‘Good luck with your new life and all that, but don’t sell your house.’
‘I wasn’t planning to. I know this is a massive risk, Karen; I’m only burning a few teeny bridges.’
‘Good. Like, don’t be stupid. Have a plan B. And a plan C.’
Suddenly I felt queasy. ‘Karen, am I mad? Is it crazy? Giving up my job, moving my children across the world, Mannix taking a year off?’ Nausea sloshed around in my stomach. ‘Karen, it’s all just hitting me … I think, I think … I’m going into shock.’
‘Get a grip of yourself. This is a fecking miracle, like winning the lottery. Well, in a way. Not as much money as winning the lottery. But be happy.’
I took a deep breath, then another one. ‘Listen, I’m going to sell my car. I’ve nowhere to put it.’
‘Leave it with me,’ she said, quickly. ‘I’ll do it. Another thing – I hear you and Mannix Taylor are opening a joint bank account. I think you’re crazy. I’d never let Enda Mulreid have a penny of mine. So, the money from your share of the salon, I’m putting it in a new account for you and just you. Call it your rainy day account, your running away account, whatever. One day you might be glad of it.’
‘But you just told me to be happy.’
‘Be happy and careful.’
‘Happy and careful,’ I repeated, a little sarcastically. ‘Okay, I must go, to tell Mum and Dad.’
Mum and Dad claimed to be delighted for me, even if Mum didn’t seem to fully understand what was happening. Dad, however, was painfully proud. ‘My own daughter, having a book published, in New York! I might come and visit.’
‘Do you even own a passport?’
‘I can get one.’
Next, I called on Zoe, who cried uncontrollably at the news, but she cried uncontrollably a lot these days.
‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘You deserve this. You went through hell when you were sick. Now something good has come of it. But I’ll miss you.’
‘It’s not for ever.’
‘And while you’re over there, I’ll be able to visit and stay, rent-free. Maybe I’ll even move in with you, seeing as my life here has fallen to pieces.’
‘It’ll improve.’
‘You think?’
‘Of course.’ My phone rang. ‘It’s Georgie,’ I said. ‘Do you mind if I take it?’
‘Not at all.’ She waved me away and rubbed her face with a tissue.
‘Darling!’ Georgie declared. ‘I could die with joy for you! I lived in New York for a year when I was eighteen – I had an Italian boyfriend, GianLuca, a prince, I mean literally a prince, minor Italian royalty. Shedloads of them knocking around the world. Gorgeous man, not a penny to his name and crazy as a loon. Made me iron his shirts with vetivert linen-water, and if I forgot he wouldn’t screw me. Even today the smell of vetivert make
s me weepy and horny.’
I couldn’t help laughing and Zoe stared at me woefully, hunched in on herself, clutching her tissue.
‘Mannix tells me you leave next week?’ Georgie said. ‘You’re going to miss my Separation party. I so wanted you both there. You couldn’t change your dates just a teeny little bit?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, gently.
‘Boo,’ she said. ‘Could you pop back for it? Simply jump on a plane?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘You lovely nutter. But I’ll see you before I leave. We can raise a glass of Prosecco to celebrate your separation then.’
‘Oh, darling. My bad. I always make everything about me. Congratulations on your book deal. Big kisses!’ In a flurry of lip-smacking, she ended the call.
‘How do some people split up nicely?’ Zoe asked. ‘I hate Brendan so much, I could spit. I wish every bad thing in the world to happen to him. I want him to go on holiday to Australia, and when he lands I want his father to die so he’ll have to fly straight back home. I want him to get dick-rot. You know, I Google diseases and wish them on him. There’s this awful thing you can get in your anus, a bacteria that causes constant itching –’
I had to stop her. She could keep going in this vein for hours. Quickly, I said, ‘It wasn’t always friendly with Mannix and Georgie.’
‘But it is now.’
‘Yep. Divorce paperwork filed, the house sold …’
‘Negative equity?’ Zoe asked hopefully.
‘No debt. No money in it either. But a clean break.’
Planets in alignment, just like Mannix had said.
Carmello twiddled a length of my hair around her finger and considered my reflection in the mirror. ‘You’ve great hair,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’
‘With a proper cut, it could be really something.’
‘… Er …’
Suddenly Ruben popped up at my side. ‘How much longer will you be?’ He was nervy at the best of times but he sounded like he was going to start shrieking and not be able to stop.
‘A bit more jhzuujhzing,’ Carmello said, languidly. ‘Then I’m ready for Annabeth.’
But Annabeth Browning wasn’t here. She’d been expected an hour and a half ago, and there was no sign of her.
‘Ring her again,’ Ruben told his assistant.
‘She’s not answering.’
‘So text her, tweet her, friend her on Facebook, but find her!’
I was in a suite in the Carlyle Hotel, being readied for a five-page feature for Redbook magazine. Annabeth Browning had finally left the convent where she’d been hiding out and had moved home to live with her two children and her husband, the Vice-President of the United States. Everyone in the world wanted to interview her, but she’d agreed to an exclusive with Redbook and someone, somewhere – and I’d no idea who or how – had persuaded her to make the entire interview about how One Blink at a Time had ‘saved’ her. Eventually the piece had morphed into ‘When Annabeth met Stella’.
It was a big, big deal and both Annabeth and I would benefit. Annabeth would get her chance to say all the usual rehabilitation stuff (‘I am stronger.’ ‘My marriage is stronger.’ ‘My faith in God is stronger.’) and One Blink at a Time would get tons of publicity, just when I was doing my first tour to promote it.
People were milling about the suite – as well as Carmello, there was a make-up artist, a clothes stylist, a photographer, a features editor from Redbook and Ruben, my publicist from Blisset Renown. All the main players had brought assistants. I even had one myself – Mannix, who was wearing a dark suit and leaning against a wall, watching me and looking like he was in the CIA.
‘Still no answer,’ Ruben’s assistant said.
‘So go down to the street and start looking for her. All of you! Go! You! Make-up girl. Go, go, go!’
Everyone stared at him.
‘You!’ He pointed at the photographer. ‘And … you …’ He’d turned to scream at Mannix, but whatever he saw in Mannix’s face made him step back in alarm.
Ruben’s phone pinged. He looked at the message, and said, faintly, ‘Sweet Jesus.’
‘What is it?’
‘Pack up, guys,’ Ruben screeched. ‘She’s not coming.’
‘What? Why not?’
‘Switch on the TV. Where’s the TV? Try Fox News.’
But it was on every channel. Annabeth had been arrested again. Just like the last time, she’d been driving erratically while banjoed out of her head on prescription drugs. A helpful passer-by had filmed her taking a feeble swing at one of the officers.
‘Looks like your book didn’t cure her, after all,’ someone said.
Appalled, I stared at the screen. Poor Annabeth. What was this going to mean for her marriage, her children, her life?
Silently, everyone in the hotel suite began tidying away their stuff. As they left, they swerved around me, as if my bad luck might be contagious. A little later than everyone else, I realized that Annabeth’s misfortune was also mine.
‘Come on,’ Mannix said. ‘I’ll take you home.’
‘Let’s walk back.’ I felt dazed. ‘Some air might be good.’
His phone rang. He looked at the screen and rejected the call.
‘Who?’ I asked. ‘Phyllis?’
‘Not your concern.’
It was definitely Phyllis.
He took my hand. ‘Let’s go.’
Late October and Manhattan was lovely – the temperature was mild, the trees were changing colour and the shop windows were full of beautiful boots – but I was finding it difficult to appreciate it all.
‘It’s really bad, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘Annabeth relapsing?’
‘Bad for Annabeth, sure. Bad for her family. But for you? It’s just one publicity component. Ruben has lots of other stuff up his sleeve. Hey, was there something weird going on with his hair?’
I nodded. ‘He does that thing. Puts soot on his head to cover the baldness. Not actual soot, it’s called Baldy-Be-Gone or something, but yeah, you weren’t imagining it.’
‘I wonder what’s for dinner?’
‘I wonder.’ We both laughed, because we knew it would be Mexican. It was always Mexican.
When Bryce Bonesman had said we’d be getting a housekeeper and driver, I’d assumed he meant two separate people. But it was just the one person, a brooding Mexican woman called Esperanza. And there was no car; the Skogells had given theirs back to the dealer when they left for Asia.
Esperanza worked like a dog – she did all the shopping, the cleaning, the laundry, the cooking and she babysat in the evenings if Mannix and I went out. But she barely spoke and I wasn’t sure if it was a language problem or a personality thing.
I tried making friends – on our first night, I invited her to join us for the dinner she had cooked, but she said, ‘No. No.’ And retreated to her woefully small living quarters, where she watched very loud Mexican soap operas. I felt uncomfortable about the her-and-us divide, but, as the days passed and more and more work was heaped on me, I got too tired to feel guilty.
‘How am I going to spin Annabeth’s relapse in my blog and Twitter feed?’ I asked Mannix.
‘Let’s have dinner first and then we’ll go to work on all of that.’
As soon as we came in, Betsy and Jeffrey darted to the kitchen table. ‘Hurry,’ Jeffrey said. ‘We’re starving.’
No matter what else was going on, dinner with the kids was a fixed point in every day.
Esperanza – silent as the grave – served the chilli and I murmured, ‘Thank you, thank you very much.’ She set a bowl of guacamole on the table and Mannix said, ‘Thank you, Esperanza.’ Then she set down a pot of refried beans and all four of us said, ‘Thank you.’
‘That looks delicious,’ Betsy said.
‘Yes, delicious,’ Mannix said.
‘Yes, delicious.’ I was sweating from the awkwardness.
Eventually Esperanza withdrew to her little room and her telly sta
rted bellowing in Spanish and I was able to relax.
‘So?’ I focused on the kids. ‘How was your day?’
‘Great!’ Betsy said.
‘Yes, great!’ Jeffrey echoed.
They were in high spirits – school was great, they were making friends and they loved being in New York. ‘It’s like living in a movie,’ Jeffrey said.
My heart hopped with joy. Knowing that Jeffrey was happy took some of the poison out of my horrible afternoon.
‘But I miss Dad,’ he said, quickly.
Right. ‘Of course you miss him,’ I said. ‘I mean, you were with him practically twenty-four hours a day, every day of the year. There’s a lot to miss.’
‘Stella …’ Mannix put his hand on my arm.
‘Don’t do that,’ Jeffrey said.
‘What? Touch your mother?’
‘Guys,’ Betsy said. ‘Let’s be nice.’
We ate in silence for about five minutes then Betsy said, ‘Are we all good? Because I have something to share.’
‘Oh?’ I was instantly worried.
Betsy put her fork down and bowed her head. ‘Please don’t be sad but Tyler and I have broken up. He’s a great guy, he’ll always be my first love, but it’s impossible to sustain my schoolwork and give quality time to a transcontinental relationship.’ She raised her head and her eyes were shining with tears that I couldn’t help feeling were a tad manufactured. ‘We did our best. We tried so damn hard – sorry for swearing! But we just couldn’t make it work.’
‘Oh dear,’ I murmured.
‘Are you okay?’ Mannix asked.
‘Sad, Mannix. Thank you for caring. Totally sad. He’s still my best friend but we’re transitioning to a new phase of our relationship, so I’m way sad.’
‘There’re plenty more fish in the sea,’ I said.
‘Mom!’ She widened her eyes in horror. ‘It’s like decades too soon. First I’ve got to mourn and honour my relationship with Tyler.’
‘Of course,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.’
‘You got that one right,’ Jeffrey said. ‘So are we done with this crappy dinner?’