Friends Like Us (29 page)

Nora laughed. ‘I'm like that. By the way,' she said, ‘will you come to our fortieth? Walt and I are having a joint one. You know, before the baby comes… there'll be cheese and onion crisps,' she added winningly. ‘And cocktail sausages. I'll text you the details. But please come and you'll get to meet Erica.'

‘I would love to meet Eric. I mean
Erica
,' said Melissa. ‘I could show her a few of my yoga moves. It involves balancing a crisp on my nose and then letting it drop into my mouth. Takes years of practice
that
does. I had to go to India to learn it.'

They said goodbye, with Melissa promising to be there but not knowing if she would or could. After all, she and Cormac weren't friends, anymore, were they? They were officially over, even though they were never officially under.

She wandered along to work, deep in thought. Who was this Erica? She was lucky, that's who she was. She had Cormac and Melissa didn't. She was the one who received funny little texts from him during the day, went to the cinema with him, ate ice creams on the pier with him. She missed him, so dreadfully.

She was struck by how selfish she had been. She had tried to section Cormac off and claim him as hers and no one else's. And it had worked for a time, but it hadn't been fair on him, keeping him close but not too close and now he had slipped his moorings. And he was right to do it, to get away from her. And he might be happy with this Erica. She might be the most wonderful person in the world and he might be ecstatically happy. Didn't she want that for Cormac?

Yes, she thought. I want him to be happy. Whoever this Erica is, then please let her be the most amazing woman on earth, that's what he deserves.

I wish it was me, she thought. I want to be his and I want him to be mine. I want to hold his hand, put my arms around him and feel his body close to mine. I want to love him, but I had my chance and I blew it. So, please, make Erica amazing. For Cormac, even if it broke Melissa's heart.

‘Earth calling Smelissa!' It was Jimbo. ‘Too dazzled by the brilliance of the new-look paper to connect with real human beings?'

She plugged back in and deployed the indignation button. ‘You're a real human being?' she said, shocked. ‘Is that right?'

Jimbo took a slurp of tea. ‘I bet you did it, though.'

‘What?'

‘The quiz. I bet you completed the quiz.'

‘Of course I fecking did! On Saturday. It was the first thing I did! But that's not the point.'

‘And?'

‘And what?'

He sighed patiently. ‘And
just
how EU are you? Which are you?'

Melissa mumbled her reply. She had done it.

‘What was that? I can't hear you.'

‘Fionnuala.'

Jimbo laughed. ‘I
knew
you'd been the Irish colleen. And there you pretend to be a woman of the world.'

‘Melissa!' It was Liam, calling from across the office. ‘A word, please!'

She rolled her eyes at Jimbo, walked over and knocked on the door.

‘Come in! Come in! Sit yourself down.' Liam was in a particularly ebullient mood. ‘So who are you?'

‘Excuse me?'

‘Heidi or Amelie? Which one?'

‘What?' Melissa pretended to look utterly perplexed.

‘The quiz! Our weekend splash! Our new fun-loving weekend paper!' He was laughing now he had seen through her bad acting.

‘Neither.' Melissa spoke quietly. It was a bit bloody disappointing to be Fionnuala, whoever she was. She would, however, have been quite pleased to be Amelie, nice and French.

‘You're Fionnuala?' laughed Liam. ‘Ha! Dublin 4, my arse. You see, we've all got a bit of the West of Ireland in us, there's a bit of Connemara in you, I can tell.'

‘It's hardly scientific, though, is it?'

‘Exactly. That's the fecking point. It is what you might call a bit of fun.'

Melissa tried to look bored and began studying a picture on the wall. It was a framed yellowing page from the
Farmer's Journal
. The headline was: ‘Cow gives birth to triplets'.

Liam followed her gaze. ‘My dad,' he said. ‘1984 that was. We were famous.'

Melissa nodded. ‘Triplets. Impressive. Did you name them?'

‘Myself and my sister called then Keren, Siobhan and Sara.'

‘Nice names.'

‘Bananarama, you see.'

‘I too was around for that golden age of music, you know.'

‘We were fans, you see.'

‘Obviously. And did your dad like the names?'

‘No. But eventually he began calling them Keren, Siobhan and Sara. Persuasive we were, my sister and I.'

‘I bet you were.' He hadn't called her in to talk about calf triplets, had he?

‘She's worse than I am,' he said. ‘In Silicon Valley now. Making millions with some start-up.' He shrugged. ‘But I wouldn't swap grimy old Dublin for the sunshine of California for anything.'

‘Really?'

‘I'm lying, of course. I would sell my own mother for a bit of Californ-i-a.'

‘Of course.'

‘I've yet to receive the invitation. But it's imminent. I can feel it. It's in the post.'

‘Don't hold your breath,' said Melissa. ‘Anyway, you're the type that just goes lobster in the sun. You wouldn't blend in with the beautiful people.'

He pretended to look hurt. ‘Melissa! Ouch.'

She rolled her eyes.

‘So,' he said. ‘Back to the quiz. Now, let's move on from last week's edition, diverting and fascinating as it was, there are some changes on the horizon.'

‘More changes? What's next? Knitting patterns? Free relic of the True Cross for every reader? Cut out and wear mask of Colin Farrell on one side, the Pope on the other, depending on age and preferences?'

‘Now,
those
are ideas,' said Liam. ‘Why on earth don't you come up with good ideas like those at the editorial meetings, instead of all that worthy shite?'

Melissa threw her eyes to heaven and tutted while Liam, blithely, carried on. ‘Now, I wanted to talk to you about the paper… and our direction.'

‘Is this quiz where we are going?' asked Melissa. ‘Okay, so I get your point about fun but it's not exactly
journalism
. What about my Breadline Lives? They are getting some amazing reactions. They are illuminating the real issues in this country.'

‘Melissa, sweetheart, we work in a business. No one pays us to write worthy fucking articles that no one reads. Your last Breadline Life thing was, dare I say it, a little bit dull. Worthy, yes. Important, undoubtedly. Well-written. Of course. But, let's face it? A fun read over the old cornflakes it maketh not.'

He ignored her eye-roll of irritation. ‘Right! So, I have news. The feature section is reducing in size. We are going to be a tabloid pull-out every Saturday. There will be no room for worthiness on the paper, I'm afraid. I like your work and we want opinions and strong arguments. But I don't want any of that soft shite anymore. Well, not on the front page. Okay?'

‘What exactly do you mean by
soft shite
?'

‘We're changing, Melissa. We have to. Our circulation went down seven whole per cent last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. We are losing readers big time. This is serious. No one wants worthy stuff about hermaphrodites or multi-sexuals or whatever. But we do know what people do like and what they want to read; fun, gossip, food, cakes, what's on TV, who is shagging who, who has the fattest dog, who ate too many pies, who doesn't eat enough, that kind of thing.'

Melissa said nothing.

‘So,' said Liam, ‘I can see that you are overwhelmed by the brilliance of all this. So, are you in?'

‘Or what? Out?' asked Melissa.

‘Don't say anything now,' he said. ‘But is this part of your future? Are you willing to change?'

‘Do I have a deadline?'

‘See, what I love about you, Melissa. You are a born journalist. Just mull it over, take your time. Try writing differently. Melissa, what about “Me and My Dog – celebs and their pooches”.'

Melissa was speechless. ‘Pooches?'

‘What would you like to write about? What's this week's fascinator?'

‘It's… it's about a woman…'

‘Of course!' He punched the air.

‘…who is suffering from mental health issues.'

‘And?'

‘She's deaf.'

‘And that, my dear, is exactly why you won't be on page one of features this Saturday because no one wants to read about deaf, depressed, un-famous lesbians.'

‘She's not a lesbian!'

‘She, my dear, very probably is,' said Liam. ‘I'll bet my house on it.'

‘Jesus!'

‘Yes?' He smiled maddeningly.

‘I'm going!' Melissa pulled the door of his office in a half slam which she thought better of and caught her fingers in the handle.

She stood there. Oh My God, the man was an idiot. A total eejit. But from inside the office, Liam was whistling. Melissa could have sworn it was ‘Robert De Niro's Waiting'.

At last the holiday had arrived. Two weeks away, in the sun, just the two of them. Since the garden club, she had done quite well in banishing all her silly fantasies of Charlie from her head and instead dedicated herself to thinking lovingly of Rob, how good he was and how lucky she had been to have such a steadfast companion all these years. He may be spreading his wings and socializing more but then so was she, meeting up with Melissa and Steph, and her solitary gardening sessions. But just that morning her good intentions had slipped and she had driven past O'Malley's Garden, simultaneously peering out while trying to slide down in the seat. It was a miracle she wasn't arrested. Charlie was nowhere to be seen. A sign, she thought, a sign that I have been foolish in my fantasies. Right, she thought. Greece, here we come.

She spent the afternoon getting ready; washing, ironing, packing, loading up her Kindle. She allowed herself to feel excited. However, Rob was acting as if it wasn't happening, as though he had all the time in the world.

‘Have you got everything ready, Rob?' she said. ‘I can wash things for you. I need to put another load in.'

‘I'll sort it later.' He sounded tetchy. But this was becoming normal. The middling of age, perhaps?

‘I can't wait for the holiday,' she said, trying to get him to smile and soften. ‘It's just what we need. A break from everything, from work and…'

‘Yes,' he said shortly. ‘It should be nice.'

‘A bit of sun… and some good books, I can't wait.' She pointed to her tower of paperbacks. ‘I can't remember the last time I read a whole book. I think I might have forgotten how to read.'

‘No, I don't think you have, Eilis. People don't just forget how to read,' he said.

‘I know, I was just joking…'

‘Anyway,' he said. ‘I'm going out. Have a good evening. And I'll see you…'

‘Whenever.' It was early to go out, she thought, but he was a big boy, she wasn't in charge of him.

‘Whenever, right!' he laughed.

‘So, where're you going?' She wondered when he was going to pack. The flight was at two the next afternoon. She supposed he would still have time.

‘Into town, with Michael. A last night before the holiday.'

‘That sounds nice.'

‘We all need friends. You have yours and I have mine.'

‘Absolutely.' But, she thought, I don't see mine as much as you see yours.

‘So… I'll be off.'

‘Okay…' She leaned over to give him a kiss but it was awkward as he didn't realize she was going in for one and he put his arms up and they got into a bit of a tangle. It was like he was pushing her away.

They laughed. ‘That went well, didn't it?' she said.

‘I didn't know what you were doing.' Rob was smiling. ‘Next time give me a warning.'

‘Will do. I'll send you a text.' They laughed again.

Even though the kiss had gone very wrong, the warmth between them had returned a little bit. Eilis felt better, as though everything was okay again or had the promise to be. And they had Greece to go to… that would sort everything out. Holidays always did.

‘Mam,' she said out loud to the photo in the kitchen, ‘everything's going to be okay, isn't it?'

There was no answer.

‘I wish you hadn't died, Mam,' Eilis. ‘I wish you were here.'

The house was empty and quiet. Brigid was nowhere to be heard.

She had to stop thinking about her mother. She
had
to get over it. She wanted to live a life without the death of her mother always there.

‘How do I say goodbye to you, Mam,' she spoke out loud again. ‘How do I move on?'

Just let go
… she thought she heard a voice.
Just let go.

‘But I can't let go. I don't want to let go. You're all I have.'

Just let go. Let go.

Rob didn't come home that night but reappeared at ten o'clock the next morning. She was getting anxious by then and was already wondering what to do when the police rang and said they had found his body.

She heard his key in the door and raced into the hall.

‘Where have you been?' she demanded. ‘We've got to be at the airport in two hours.'

He held up his hand to silence her. ‘I'm not going,' he said.

‘What?' She looked at him but he refused to make eye contact. ‘What Rob? What are you trying to say?'

‘I… I don't want to go on holiday.' He walked into the kitchen, with Eilis hot on his heels, heart thumping.

‘Since when has someone not wanted to go on holiday? How is that even possible? What do you mean? You don't want to go? To Greece? With me? What's wrong? Is it me, you don't want to go with me?' She could hear herself beginning to screech.