Marian Keyes - Watermelon (21 page)

It looked so gorgeous, my little girl and this beautiful man, that I thought my heart would break.

Why can't James be here to do this? I wondered.

Even when I was happy, the sadness was only a moment away.

"And this is Claire," he continued.

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"Hi." I smiled gamely at the girls with their young translucent skin and their outrageous clothes, trying not to feel like an old hag.

"And these are..."

And he said three names that might have been Alethia, Koo and Freddie. Or could have been Alexia, Sooz and Charlie.

Or then again might have been Atlanta, Jools and Micki.

Odd names. Cool names.

And, I was prepared to take my oath, made-up names.

The three of them kind of looked the same.

They all had short hair.

And I do mean very short hair.

Sooz/Koo/Jools was nearly totally bald.

And Atlanta/Alexia/Alethia looked like a very unugly duckling, with her little cap of blond fluffy hair.

She looked a bit like Kate, to be honest.

Which means that Adam, the suspected pedophile, is probably mad about her, I thought sourly.

I was feeling a bit jealous.

All four of them talked away about some party that had been on the previous evening. I really wished that they would leave, so I could have Adam all to myself and Kate again, but I tried to be grown-up and adult about these three gorgeous young women clamoring for Adam's attention.

My face hurt from trying to look as if I was good fun too, that I didn't mind being ignored as they chattered and laughed charmingly and effort- lessly. It looked as if the three of them were settling in for a long stay.

My heart sank to my (new) boots as all three pulled over chairs and gathered around our tiny little table, each of them practically sitting on Adam's knee.

They hadn't even bought a cup of tea among them.

But, really, I wasn't being judgmental.

I knew what it was like to be a poor student.

They had to save their money for beer and drugs.

Of course I understood.

But when Freddie/Charlie/Micki started to eat one of the pastries, one of my pastries, I nearly burst into tears. I wanted

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to stamp my foot and shout hysterically, like a child throwing a tantrum, "That's mine. Adam bought it for me!"

I swallowed hard.

I was totally out of place here. It was silly to think that someone like me could have any place in someone like Adam's life. He was young and handsome and had a full and happy life.

And I felt tired and old and silly and foolish.

As Adam continued to talk animatedly to the girls, I stood up and put Kate's sling back on. Then I leaned over and took Kate rather brusquely from Adam's arms (Give me back my child!), interrupting a lively conver- sation about someone named Olivia Burke, who apparently had given Malcolm Travis a blow job at the party last night in full view of the guests.

Even through my self-pity and misery I was pleased to hear that Adam wasn't being in any way judgmental about Olivia Burke's behavior. His censure was reserved for Malcolm because apparently Malcolm had a steady girlfriend named Alison. And Olivia didn't know about her.

"That guy is so low," Adam said. "He's being disrespectful to the two women at once by behaving that way."

Right on, brother!

Kate started to cry when I took her from Adam's arms. I didn't blame her.

Adam turned and looked at me with a surprised look on his face.

"You're not going, are you?" he asked.

"Yes, I think so," I said, trying to sound casual. "Kate's tired and she'll need a change soon."

I turned to the gorgeous girls.

"Bye." I nodded. "Nice meeting you."

At least I could never be accused of being rude, I thought self-righteously.

"Bye," they chorused. "Bye-bye, Kate."

Then I felt ashamed.

They were nice girls. I was the one with the problem.

Jealous and insecure.

Childish and overly sensitive and spoiled.

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Off I struggled, loaded down with a baby, bags and huge quantities of feeling sorry for myself, trying to look dignified and unconcerned as I battled through the unyielding crowds toward the door. I could feel Adam's eyes on me, but I refused to meet his look.

He caught up with me before I had gone two yards.

If I was to be perfectly honest--not always an easy thing to be--I'd have to say that was exactly what I had wanted him to do.

"Claire," he said in surprised tones, "where are you going?"

"Home," I mumbled.

I was hoping desperately that he hadn't realized how jealous I was.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, looking into my eyes. "Were they really getting on your nerves?"

"No," I protested. "No, they were nice."

"You don't have to be polite," he said, looking at me with a concerned expression. "I know they must have seemed like silly little girls to a woman like you."

"No Adam, honestly, they were fine," I insisted.

I felt really awful.

I didn't enjoy being with Alexandria, Zoo and Gerri or whatever their bloody names were because I was jealous of them, not because I was terribly mature and disdainful.

"Honestly, they're lovely girls," he said. "I just wanted to be with you and Kate but I didn't know how to keep them from sitting down with us without seeming rude," he explained.

"It's really fine," I insisted. "Look, I'd better go," I said as yet another person with a tray bumped into me and tisked at me for standing in the middle of an aisle.

"Are you sure?" he asked, standing very close to me.

"I am," I promised him.

"Really?" he asked, his face moving nearer to mine.

"Really," I promised him.

But I didn't move.

I wanted to stay there, close to him.

Just for a moment.

I wanted him to kiss me.

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But there was very little chance of that happening with several thousand people milling around us. Not to mention the fact that Kate would probably suffocate in her sling if Adam pulled me manfully into his arms.

"Can I walk you to your car?" he asked.

"No, really Adam, there's no need."

"I'll see you soon," he said gently.

"Yes." I gave him a little smile.

A nice smile.

A real one.

And he put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me to him (but with the utmost regard for Kate's comfort) and gave me the lightest little kiss on my forehead.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment.

And I caught my breath because I could hardly believe that this was happening.

His mouth felt warm and firm.

He smelled of soap and warm smooth skin.

Through the din of voices that surrounded us in the caf� I heard someone say, "Look, it's those two again."

A voice said, "Which two?"

"You know, the two who were having the fight outside Switzer's yester- day."

The voices belonged to the girls who had taken great comfort in witness- ing the little exchange between Adam and me yesterday.

My God, was it really only yesterday?

They continued to loudly discuss us.

"Oh yes, them. Well, it looks as if they've made it up."

I opened my eyes and looked at Adam. We both started to laugh.

"In that case I really am going," I told him.

I passed the girls on the way out.

"I'm sure she didn't have a baby yesterday," one of them said.

"Would you say it's his?" the other wanted to know.

I carried on.

My forehead didn't stop tingling until I was a hundred yards from home.

Yes, yes, I know.

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A kiss on the forehead hardly qualifies as raunchy sex. I couldn't name you even one Swedish film that was made about a kiss on the forehead. But it was so yearning and so tender and in its own chaste way so erotic that it was lots better than raunchy sex.

Well, as good as, I suppose.

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Laura came out on Sunday afternoon and we lounged around drinking tea and playing with Kate.

Playing with Kate involved, for the most part, feeding her, burping her and changing her.

Laura wore a filthy paint-stained T-shirt, which I presumed belonged to her teenage lover. She looked young and contented and happy.

And well she might.

She had had sex four times the previous night, stories of which she at- tempted to regale me with except we kept being interrupted by Mum or Dad.

"Any word from James?" she inquired, having given up on the idea of spending the afternoon talking dirty after Dad had left the room for about the twentieth time.

He'd come in, nodded at Laura and started lifting cushions off the couch and moving armchairs, muttering something about not having read the Independent, if Helen had taken it he'd kill her. And how he was the one who paid for the papers so why was he always the one who didn't get to read them.

Then he was back about three minutes later to see if the fire was lighting properly and had a big discussion, mostly with himself, about the merits of anthracite coal ("There's great heat in it, even if it does cost more.")

Laura and I just sat there, curled up on the couch, Kate on Laura's lap, all of us, even Kate, looking bored as we waited for him to finish his tirade and leave.

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He was no sooner gone than Mum paid a visit.

"Any word from James?" Laura asked again as the sitting room door closed yet another time.

"He's away," I said shortly. "But I'll call him tomorrow." I didn't want to talk about James, not then anyway. I was sick of hashing it and rehashing it and trying to make sense of it and worrying about what to do.

As they say in New York, "Get over it, and if you can't get over it, get over talking about it."

Sound advice.

Laura was in the house for a good hour before she broached the subject of Adam. I was amazed that it took her so long. "So what's the story with yourself and young Lochinvar?" she inquired ultra casually as she rubbed Kate's back with circular motions.

"Who?" I asked. Deliberately obtuse.

"The gorgeous Adam," she said in slight exasperation.

"What about him?" I asked.

"Well, for one thing he's crazy about you, and for another thing he's absolutely beautiful-looking. If he was five or six years younger, I might even be interested myself."

"Laura, he's not crazy about me," I protested. Of course I only said this so that Laura would insist that Adam was indeed crazy about me so that I could get that warm feeling of delight in my stomach again.

"He is crazy about you," she told me. "And what's more, you know it."

"But so what?" I said. "Even if he is crazy about me--and we have no proof that he is--what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Sleep with him," she said.

She hadn't an ounce of shame, that one.

"Laura! For God's sake, I'm married," I yelled at her.

"Oh yes?" she said smugly. "So where's your husband?"

I was silent.

"Claire," she said kindly, after we sat saying nothing for five tense minutes, "all I'm saying is that he's a lovely man and he seems to really like you and you've had a rough time and even if things do eventually work out with James, maybe you should have a little bit of fun in the meantime."

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"What is it around here?" I asked. "Everyone's encouraging me to have a relationship with Adam. Even my own mother!"

"Your mother told you to sleep with Adam?" screeched Laura in aston- ishment.

Well, not exactly in those words, I suppose," I said. "But that's what she meant."

"So what's stopping you?" asked Laura in delight. "You've got your mother's blessing. What a brilliant omen."

I thought for a few moments.

"Yes," I sighed. "I suppose I should."

`What!" barked Laura. "Are you serious?"

"For God's sake," I raised my voice at her. "Isn't that just what you've been encouraging me to do?"

I knew this would happen. I just knew it.

People are always encouraging each other to do things that they know the other person won't do. And then get the shock of their lives when the person actually does it.

I'm culpable myself.

For years and years I encouraged Dad to get himself a pair of jeans. "Honestly, Dad, they'd be gorgeous on you," I often said.

And Dad would say, "Ah, go away. I'm far too old."

"No, Dad, you're not."

The day that Dad actually turned up wearing a pair of board-stiff navy blue Wranglers, with a twelve-inch turn-up on the hem, smiling shyly and proudly, the shock nearly killed me.

"Yes, I know," Laura said, seeming a little bit distressed. "But it just seems so out of character for you. I mean, you're always so loyal."

"Laura, I'm hardly being disloyal to James if I have sex with Adam, am I?" I asked her nicely. I could see how shocked she was.

Although I had a veneer of good-time-girlness, I had pretty much always been Claire the Constant. My veneer of debauchery was paper- thin--practically transparent, in fact. I always wanted to be boring and settled down with a man, but because that was considered to be the most insulting thing you can say

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about someone--that is, that all she wants is to be settled down with a man--I'd done my level best to hide it.

Few people knew my shameful secret.

"Claire, do you like this Adam?" she asked in concern.

I was amused to note that Adam had gone from being "the gorgeous Adam" to "this Adam" in a matter of minutes.

"Of course I like him," I told her, laughing at her horror. "He's deli- cious--or hadn't you noticed?"

"Handsome, I grant you," she said cautiously. "But what do you know about him?"

"I know that he's nice and he makes me feel smart and beautiful and desirable."

"Claire, don't forget that you're very vulnerable right now. You are on the rebound."

"No kidding?" I said. I thought I sounded very clever.

"Anyway," I said with great curiosity, "what are you doing, encouraging me to have a fling with him and then when I say I will you go all judgmental on me?"

"Sorry, Claire," she said humbly. "I really am. It's just that I thought it might be an ego boost for you to know that he liked you. But I didn't think for a second that you'd actually do anything about it. You're such a one- man woman that this has come as a little bit of a shock."

"Laura, I'm a no-man woman at the moment," I reminded her.

"I know, but you love James so much that...I don't know...I just didn't think that you'd even consider anyone else."

"Things change, people change," I said. "I don't know how I feel about James anymore. All I really know is that being with Adam is lovely."

Laura suddenly pulled herself together.

"Well, if that's the case, you couldn't have picked a bigger hunk to have a fling with. He's so good-looking. And so nice. Smart too," she added as an afterthought.

This was good coming from Laura, who is usually more concerned with the organ between his legs than the organ between his ears.

"And you'd better get into training." She grinned. "Didn't they give you exercises to do to tone yourself up? Pelvic floor

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exercises or whatever they're called. You don't want sex with Adam to be like throwing a sausage up O'Connell Street."

"Thank you, Laura," I said dryly. "You make me sound like such a catch."

After Laura left I just couldn't settle down.

There was no one around.

Anna had done another of her disappearing acts.

Helen apparently was at Linda's, although I was glad about that. I was feeling so guilty about Adam that I don't think I could have looked her in the eye. I was pretty sure that Adam wasn't her boyfriend, but it might be a good time to find out for sure.

On the other hand, I didn't necessarily want to find out that he was in fact her man. What would that tell me about him? That he was some sort of weirdo who got great enjoyment from wrecking homes and pitting sister against sister and tearing families asunder.

If Adam was Helen's man then I would back off immediately and have nothing further to do with him. That part was easy.

But what if Adam wasn't Helen's man but Helen wanted him?

Well, if Adam wanted her also, then the same principle applied. I would back off immediately and have nothing further to do with him.

But what if Helen wanted Adam and Adam didn't want Helen and if, delicious thought, Adam wanted me? Then what?

That was a tough one.

I did love Helen.

God knows why, but I did.

And I didn't want to do anything to upset her.

No, really, I didn't.

The best thing I could do was talk to Adam about all this. Just ask him straight out what the story was between himself and Helen.

"My God, Claire." Mum scowled at me as I changed the television channel yet again. "What's wrong with you? Can't you sit still? You're like someone with a feather in her underwear."

"Sorry, Mum."

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Just then the phone rang.

"Jesus, Claire, my foot!" yelped Dad, like a dog with his tail caught in a door, as I raced to answer it and crushed several of his metatarsals in the process.

"Hello," I gasped into the phone.

"Hello, is your daddy there?" slurred a voice on the other end.

"Dad," I called. "Daaad!" Auntie Julia for you."

Dammit, I thought. That meant Dad would be on the phone for hours; Auntie Julia was impossible to get off the phone when she was drunk. She usually called to apologize for doing something like cheating at a card game. A game that had taken place as recently as about forty-five years ago.

Why was I so bothered about the phone's being free anyway? I wondered, nimbly sidestepping Dad as he grumpily hobbled past me on his way to the phone.

Had anybody said that he'd call me?

Was I expecting any calls?

No and once again, no.

I sat down in the hall to eavesdrop unashamedly on Dad's conversation with Auntie Julia. It usually made for interesting, if slightly bizarre, listening.

"Now, Julia, listen to me," Dad said agitatedly. Oh dear, I thought, it must have been a very important card game for Dad to be getting so upset.

"Dampen a tea towel and throw it over it immediately!" he roared into the phone.

Oh good, I thought, as I realized that Auntie Julia was only in the process of attempting to burn her house down and wasn't calling up for a long, remorseful conversation.

"No, under the tap, Julia, under the tap!" Dad yelled.

How on earth had she been proposing to dampen the tea towel? Best not to think about it.

"Now, Julia, I'm going to hang up the phone here and you're to do the same," said Dad slowly and carefully, as if he were talking to a four-year- old child.

"And you're to dial 999 and ask for the fire department," he continued. "And then you're to call me back and tell me that you've done it and that they're on their way."

He slammed down the phone and leaned against the wall.

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"Christ," he said, looking exhausted.

"What's she done now?" asked Mum, who had appeared in the hall.

"Somehow she's set the oven on fire and it's gotten out of control," sighed Dad. `God, will it ever end?"

The phone rang.

"That'll be her calling back," said Dad, as Mum reached for the phone.

"Hello," said Mum.

Then her face changed.

"Yes, she's here. Who's calling please?"

"It's Adam, for you," she said, handing me the phone with an expression- less face.

"Oh," I said, taking the receiver from her, exhaling with relief.

This was what I had been waiting for all evening, without even realizing it.

"Hello," I said, delighted but trying to hide it in front of Mum and Dad.

"Claire," he said in his lovely voice. "How are you?"

"Fine," I said, a bit awkwardly. Mum and Dad were still standing in the hall, both of them looking at me.

"Get lost," I hissed at them, waving my free arm.

"We've a bloody emergency on our hands," Dad barked. "Get off that phone!"

"In a minute," I told him.

"One minute," he said threateningly.

But then the pair of them left.

"Sorry about that," I told Adam as Mum and Dad returned reluctantly to the sitting room. "A minor family crisis."

"Is everyone okay?" he inquired anxiously.

"Fine," I said.

I was the one who felt anxious now. Was he worried because he was concerned about Helen? About his girlfriend Helen?

"Claire," he continued, "I hope you don't mind my calling. I mean, I don't want you to feel as if I'm plaguing you. Just tell me and I'll stop."

Plague me all you like, I thought.

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"No, Adam, of course I don't mind you calling me. I like talking to you."

"Great," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.

I sat on the floor and started to settle in for a comfortable hour or so of conversation.

And as I did so I heard the rattle of someone's key in the front door.

"Oh God," I said as I heard Helen bellow, "I'm home. Feed me! Or I'll report you for neglect."

"What is it?" asked Adam.

"Helen's here," I said.

"Oh is she? Well say hello from me."

"No, I won't," I blurted out.

"Why?" he asked, sounding shocked.

Helen passed me in the hall. She winked and gave me an enchanting smile.

"Hi, Claire, your boots are lovely," she said, and continued on. Some- times--in fact, usually when I least expect it--she can be so sweet and so charming that I could kill her.

"Why won't you tell Helen I said hello?" asked Adam again.

Now's the time to get this thing sorted out once and for all, I decided. If Adam is messing me and my little sister around, then this is my chance to put an end to it.

I was managing to get nicely worked up. The bloody arrogance of him. Just because he's really handsome he thinks he can waltz in here and ride roughshod over all of us, I thought, mixing my metaphors and quickly working myself up into a self-righteous fury.