Marian Keyes - Lucy Sullivan Is Getting Married (11 page)

"I mean, `fine.'"

"Don't you mind?"

"No, of course I don't mind."

"Oh. I mind."

A little pause.

"Can we stop talking about her now, please?" I asked. "It's making me feel depressed."

"But we were miserable anyway." lucy sullivan is getting married / 123

"I know, but it was a different kind of miserable. A nice miserable. I liked it."

"Okay. Will we talk about the fact that we're all going to die anyway and that none of this matters?"

"Oh yes, please. Thanks, Dan, you're an angel."

"But first," declared Daniel, "more drinks. What color haven't we tried?"

"Green?"

"Kiwi fruit?"

"Perfect."

More drinks came and I know we both ate a lot, but afterward I was at a complete loss to actually say what I'd had. I believe I liked it though. Daniel said that I kept saying that it was delicious. And we had a wonderful conversation. I can't really remember much of it now, but I know that it had something to do with everything being pointless and meaningless and that we were all doomed and at the time it made perfect sense to me. I was completely at peace with myself and the universe and with Daniel. I can vaguely remember Daniel thumping the table and saying fervently, "I couldn't agree more" and stopping one of the waiters (Gregor? Dmitri?) and shouting, "Listen to this woman, she speaks the truth."

It was a wonderful evening and I probably would still be there shouting "Purple! Have you any purple ones?" if Daniel and I hadn't noticed at some stage that we were the only customers left and that a row of short, bulky, dinner-jacketed waiters were lined up behind the bar staring at us.

"Lucy," he hissed, "I think it's time we left."

"No! I like it here."

"Really, Lucy, Gregor and the rest of them have to get home."

I felt very guilty then. 124 / marian keyes

"Of course they do. Of course they do. And it'll take them hours to get back to Moscow on the night bus, the poor things."

Daniel shouted for the bill--the reverential behavior we had assumed on our arrival had long disappeared--and the bill came, very promptly. Daniel looked at it.

"That national debt of Bolivia?" I inquired.

"More like Brazil," he said. "But what does it matter?"

"Exactly," I agreed. "Anyway, you're loaded."

"Actually, I'm not. It's all relative. Just because you get paid a pittance, you think anyone who earns above a pittance is loaded."

"Oh."

"All it means is the more you earn the more you can owe."

"Dan, that's wonderful! That's such a profound economic truth--in the midst of life we are in debt. No wonder you have such a good job."

"No, Lucy," said Daniel sounding hoarse with excitement. "That's won- derful, what you just said, it's so true--in the midst of life we are indeed in debt. You must write that down. In fact we should write down everything we've talked about tonight."

My head was spinning slightly with how wise both Daniel and I were. I told him how wise and wonderful I thought he was.

"Thanks, Daniel," I said. "This has been fabulous."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"It's been great. So much makes sense now."

"Like what?"

"Well it's no wonder I never felt like I belonged anywhere, because I'm obviously Russian."

"How do you figure that?"

"Because I'm miserable but I'm happy. And I feel like I belong here."

"You might just be drunk."

"Don't be silly. I've been drunk before and I've never felt like this. Do you think I could get a job in Russia?"

"Probably, but I don't want you to go."

"You can come and visit me. You'll probably have to anyway, when you run out of girls to go out with here."

"Smart thinking, Lucy. Should we go to this party Karen told us about?"

"Yes! I'd forgotten about that."

17 "Did you give them a big tip?" I hissed at Daniel as we finally left The Kremlin, waved off by the assembled staff.

"Yes."

"Good. They were nice."

I laughed all the way up the stairs out of The Kremlin and I laughed even more when we got out into the cold night air.

"What a laugh. That was great fun," I said, leaning against Daniel.

"Good," he said. "Now behave, or we'll never get a taxi."

"Sorry, Dan, I think I'm a bit drunk, but I feel so happy."

"Good, but please shut up for a minute." 126 / marian keyes

A taxi stopped. It had an angry-looking man driving it.

"Smile," I sniggered. Luckily he didn't hear me.

In I clambered, Daniel pulling the door behind us.

"Where to?" asked the man.

"Anywhere you like," I said dreamily.

"Eh?"

"Wherever you want," I said. "What does it matter? Because in a hundred years' time you won't be here, I won't be here and your cab certainly won't be here!"

"Stop it, Lucy." Daniel elbowed me, trying not to laugh. "Leave the poor man alone. Wimbledon, please."

"We'd better stop at a liquor store and get some booze for the party," I said.

"What'll we get?"

"Vodka? It's my new favorite drink now."

"Fine."

"No, I've changed my mind."

"Why?"

"Because I'm drunk enough."

"So what? Aren't you enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, but I think I'd better stop."

"Don't."

"No, I must. We'll get something else, something not so strong."

"Beer?"

"I don't mind."

"Or will I get a bottle of wine?"

"Whatever you like."

"How about Guinness?"

"It's up to you."

"Lucy, for God's sake. Stop being so meek and tell me what you want! Why are you always so self-effacing and..." lucy sullivan is getting married / 127

"I'm not being meek and self-effacing," I laughed. "I really don't mind. You know I'm not much of a drinker."

The taxi driver gave an outraged snort. I don't think he believed me.

We could hear the music as soon as the taxi turned into the street.

"Sounds like a good party," said Daniel.

"Yes," I agreed. "I wonder if the police will come--the true mark of a great party!"

"Oh no. The neighbors are bound to call the local cop shop, so we'd better get in there and start enjoying ourselves fast before the whole thing is closed down."

"Don't worry," I said soothingly. "Many cop shops are called but few parties are closen."

Daniel laughed.

A bit too much, I thought.

The vodka was obviously still doing its job.

Then there was a little scuffle while both Daniel and I tried to pay the taxi driver.

"I'll get it."

"No, I'll get it."

"But you paid for dinner."

"But you didn't want to come."

"All the same, fair's fair."

"Why can't you ever relax and let someone be nice to you? You're so..."

"I don't have all night!" said the driver, who was quick to interrupt Daniel's thumbnail psychoanalysis of me before it got into full flight.

"Pay him," I muttered. "Quick."

Daniel paid the man who grumpily accepted Daniel's no doubt lavish tip. 128 / marian keyes

"You take too much lip from that lady," was his parting comment. "I hate a lippy woman." And the taxi roared away.

I stood shivering, staring balefully at the back of the disappearing taxi.

"The audacity of him! I'm not lippy."

"Lucy, relax."

"Oh, all right."

"Actually though, he had a point. You are quite lippy sometimes."

"Oh shut up."

I tried to be annoyed with Daniel, but I couldn't help laughing.

That was unusual behavior for me, but, all in all, it had been an unusual night.

We rang the doorbell of the house where the party was, but no one came.

"Maybe they can't hear the bell," I said, as we stood shivering in the misty night air, our cans of Guinness under our arms, listening to the sounds of music and laughter behind the heavy wooden door. "Maybe the music is too loud."

And still nothing happened and we remained where we were, shivering and expectant.

"At least let me give you half of it," I said.

Daniel looked at me like I'd gone crazy.

"What are you talking about?"

"The taxi. At least let me pay for half."

"Lucy! Sometimes I could happily sock you! You drive me..."

"Shush! Someone's coming."

The door opened and a young man in a yellow shirt stared at us.

"Can I help you?" he asked politely. lucy sullivan is getting married / 129

It was then that it dawned on me that I had no idea of who was having the party.

"Er," said Daniel.

"Um, John invited us," I muttered.

"Oh right!" said yellow shirt, grinning, suddenly a lot friendlier. "So you're John's friends. Crazy bastard, isn't he?"

"Er, yes," I agreed brightly, throwing my eyes to heaven. "Crazy!"

That was obviously the correct thing to say, because the door swung wide and we were admitted to partake of the festivities and merriment within. I noticed, with a sinking heart, that there were an awful lot of girls there. About a thousand to every man, which seemed to be par for the course for London parties. They were all eyeing Daniel with interest.

"Who's this John?" hissed Daniel as we pushed into the estrogen-sodden hall.

"Didn't you hear? He's a crazy bastard."

"Yes, but who is he?"

"No idea," I whispered furtively, making sure we were out of yellow shirt's earshot, "but I thought there was a good chance that someone called John either lived here or was a friend of the people who live here. Law of averages and all that."

"You're amazing," said Daniel admiringly.

"No, I'm not," I said. "You've just gone out with too many stupid wo- men."

"You're right, you know," he said thoughtfully. "Why do I always pick dumb ones?"

"Because they're the only ones who'll have anything to do with you," I said kindly.

He threw me a bitter look. "You're very mean to me." 130 / marian keyes

"No, I'm not," I said reasonably, "It's for your own good. It hurts me more than it hurts you."

"Really?!"

"No."

"Oh."

"Now, no sulking. It'll ruin your manly jawline and you'll scare the girls away."

Our fledgling fight was interrupted by a bright, vivacious, Scottish voice shouting, "Great, you're here!

Karen made her way toward us, through the crowds of people standing around in the hall with cans of beer in their hands. She must have been watching the front door all evening, I thought uncharitably, and then im- mediately felt guilty. It wasn't a criminal offense to find Daniel attractive, it was just a terribly unfortunate lapse of taste and judgment. Karen looked lovely--very much Daniel's type--all blond and vivacious and glamorous. If she played her cards right and toned down her sharp intelligence I was sure she was in with a very good chance of being Daniel's next girlfriend. She, very gaily, told us how delighted she was to see us and threw questions at us with the speed of raindrops hitting the ground in a thunderstorm. How was the restaurant? Was the food lovely? Were there any famous people there?

For a few moments I was foolish enough to think that it was a real con- versation and that I was part of it. Until I noticed that Karen received my would-be hilarious stories of Gregor and Dmitri with stony silence and that every time Daniel opened his mouth she collapsed with squeals of laughter. And whenever I caught her eye she gave me very energetic, meaningful frowns--her eyebrows ricocheted from her hairline to her cheekbones and back again--and then I noticed that she was mouthing something at me. I squinted, following the shape of her mouth, lucy sullivan is getting married / 131

trying to make out what it was. She did it again. What was it?...What could it be?...First letter? Sounds like? Two syllables?

"Fuck off!"

She leaned over and hissed it into my ear while Daniel was momentarily distracted taking off his coat. "For God's sake, fuck off!"

"Oh, er, righto."

My conversational seed was falling on barren ground and I was definitely excess baggage. It was time for me to go. As it was, I knew that I was probably in for it the following day. Karen would read me the riot act.

I knew when I wasn't wanted. In fact, I was usually exceptionally good at it, very often knowing it even before the other person did. I had been uncharacteristically thick-skinned that evening.

My face reddened with embarrassment--I hated feeling like I'd done something wrong--and murmuring "I'll, er, be over here," discreetly shifted away from the pair of them and stood by myself in the hall.

Neither of them objected. I felt the faintest flicker of disappointment that Daniel hadn't tried to stop me, or at least asked me what I was doing but I knew that if the situations were reversed, I wouldn't appreciate him being around.

But then I felt a bit mortified--I was alone and I couldn't see anyone that I knew and I was still wearing my coat and I was sure that everyone was looking at me and thinking that I had no friends. The earlier euphoria had worn off and my usual acute self-consciousness had returned. Suddenly I felt very, very sober.

I had spent most of my life feeling that life was a party to which I hadn't been invited. Now I really was at a party to which I hadn't been invited and it was almost 132 / marian keyes

reassuring to discover that the feelings I'd had for most of my life--isolation, awkwardness, paranoia--were indeed the correct emotions to have had.

In the confined space I managed to inch off my coat. I fixed a bright smile on my face, hoping to convey to the noisy, happy people around me that they weren't the only ones who were having a good time. That I too was happy and that I had a fulfilled life and lots of friends and that I was only alone because I had decided to be, but that I could be in the middle of a huge crowd of people any time I liked. Not that it mattered because no one paid the slightest bit of attention to me. From the way one girl bumped into me and stood on my toe while she was excitedly running to answer the door and the way another girl tipped her glass of wine on me when she tried to look at her watch, I felt as if no one could even see me.

It wasn't so much my wet dress that upset me, it was the way she tisked at me like it was all my fault, because then I felt like it really was all my fault, that I shouldn't have been standing there in the first place.

I seemed to spend my whole life oscillating between feeling horribly conspicuous and then feeling totally invisible.

Then, through a parting in the crowd, I spotted Charlotte and my heart lifted. I gave her a big smile and called to her that I was on my way over. But she gave me an infinitesimal, but nevertheless quite definite shake of the head. She seemed to be talking to a young man.

After what seemed like ages of grinning like the village idiot, I finally thought of something I could do--I could put the beer in the fridge! I was delighted to have a purpose. A use. A function. In my own tiny way I mattered!

Thrilled with myself and my new-found worth I fought