Marian Keyes - Watermelon (40 page)

Men.

Ah, yes, men. I suppose the issue was bound to rear its ugly head sooner or later.

Now look, I want to make one thing clear. I didn't like this Andrew guy. It's just that he sounded nice (apart from the public flogging sentiment). And I was officially a single woman again and there were some thought patterns that I just slipped back into. I couldn't help it! It was obviously genetic. Or hormonal.

Anyway, I was only curious. It didn't hurt to wonder about these things. I wasn't planning on acting on it.

And it didn't mean that I was going to jump into bed with the first man who gave me the eye.

I mean, if I was that desperate for a man, wouldn't I have stayed with James?

Although I realize that after the way I behaved with Adam there's a good chance you won't believe me.

Okay, fine, you don't have to believe me, but Adam was an exception.

Adam was special.

So you heard that Adam had a girlfriend and a baby. Well, what do you think of that? Pretty sensational, eh?

I suppose it made sense. There was always a hint that there was more to him than met the eye. But I was kind of expecting his Terrible Secret to be something like a drug habit, or a minor prison sentence, or something with a little bit of notoriety, even

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glamour, to it. I certainly wasn't prepared for the news that Adam was a Family Man.

It was a shock. I'd go so far as to say that it was an unpleasant shock. But when Helen broke the news to me, I wasn't able to give it my full atten- tion and indignation. I was a bit distracted, what with being on my way out to catch a plane to London to end my marriage and all that. No, it was definitely not good news, but I was too preoccupied to look it in the face and think about how I actually felt.

And I tried not to think about it in the following weeks.

Well, I had an awful lot of things to sort out and I couldn't afford to waste time daydreaming. And Adam and I, such as it was, had been over even before I found out about his baby, so there was nothing to be gained by thinking about him. Adam was the past.

Anyway, to be perfectly frank I didn't like thinking about Adam. It didn't make me happy. It was painful. If he accidentally strayed into my head, he didn't last five seconds, a bit like an overboard sailor in the icy waters of the Antarctic. Alarms would go off and a couple of burly security guards would be sent to throw him out double fast.

If he even crossed my mind, I was lucky enough to have some kind of incredibly complicated, tedious legal document to immerse myself in.

And Helen was around a lot. She was studying for her exams and causing no end of disruption, complaining bitterly and asking questions and talking about having to have sex with all her lecturers if she hoped to pass. So she took my mind off Adam. She took my mind off everything except slowmo- tion fantasies of brutal murders.

But it was June and the weather had suddenly become beautiful and hot. And sometimes when I was alone with Kate in the backyard, half asleep, the sun on my face, feeling so relaxed, when maybe I should have been thinking of James, instead my mind would accidentally drift Adam-ward and I would remember how sweet he had been and how lovely he had made me feel.

And at times like that, when my guard was down, I allowed myself to miss him, to feel sad that he wasn't there. But

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only for a moment. I didn't like to miss him. I didn't really like to think about him at all.

Let's face it, I didn't like what Helen had told me. It was not news that gladdened my heart. Or any other of my internal organs. It's not that I felt he had two-timed me. I was hardly in any position to object, what with me being married. And from what I'd managed to piece together from Helen's garbled narrative, I was fairly sure he was estranged from his girlfriend while he had his little fling with me.

If it's even worthy of being called a fling.

If I hadn't found it so unpleasant I'd probably call it the one-night stand that it so obviously was.

I think I felt a bit, oh, I don't know, set up, I suppose. Fool that I was, I had been flattered by all the attention that Adam had paid me. It had been wonderful to feel so desired and admired. Especially after what had happened with James.

And now I felt that he'd only wanted me because of Kate. Not that he wanted Kate, or anything sick like that. But he wanted me because I was a mother. I probably reminded him of his girlfriend. I didn't know what the setup with Adam and his girlfriend was, but if she had run off with the child, it must have been really hard for him and maybe I was some sort of replacement.

I felt, I felt...a bit mortified, I suppose. I had been thrilled that Adam had chosen me. But it wasn't really me that he had chosen at all. It was my cir- cumstances.

I was hurt.

And I felt foolish for thinking that someone as gorgeous as him could seriously be interested in someone as ordinary as me. What could I have been thinking of?

The only thing I could say in my defense was that I wasn't myself. I'd been through a lot and my sanity was an infrequent caller.

But while we're on the subject of Adam I should admit that I was angry with him.

Not very. But a bit. I was pissed off with him for playing with my feelings. For making me feel special when I wasn't. And then for giving me that sanctimonious speech about going back to James. He had no business doing that if he didn't care about me. People have to earn the right to make me feel guilty.

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It was something that I really should try not to give away as easily as I used to.

But as time passed and I spent more time dozing in the sunny garden, my feelings began to change. I started to see the other side of the coin. In fact, I started to feel downright metaphysical about it. Not something I was normally prone to.

It might have been the excess of sun.

Maybe Adam was sent to me for a reason, I thought. Adam made me feel so good about myself, Adam restored my confidence so much, that it probably gave me the strength to stand up to James. Maybe Adam's judg- mental speech was even instrumental in helping me to make the right de- cision about James.

It would have been nice to think that Kate and I helped Adam to deal with the pain of being separated from his child and his girlfriend. Maybe we'd helped him to realize how important they were to him, depending on whether he had left them or whether they had left him.

It was so lovely to feel the bitterness leave me. I began to feel happy that I had met Adam. I felt that Adam and I had met for a short time for a special reason. It had to be short lived. And I liked to think that both of us benefited from it.

This might well be a load of mystical, superstitious nonsense. But I wasn't normally the kind of person who sees signs and portents and reasons and explanations in events. On the contrary. As I said earlier, I was always making fun of people who claimed that everything happens for a reason. Of course, I wasn't as unkind as Helen, but at the same time I was far from indulgent. Oh, existentialism, thy name is Claire.

My usual approach would have been to say something like "Adam and I had sex because we both were horny. Nothing else to it." But I just couldn't be so cynical, hard as I tried.

Very worrying, of course, but what was I to do?

But it meant that lying out in the back garden was a lot more pleasant now. Every time I thought of Adam I didn't feel as if a knife had been twisted in my gut. Some kind of peace stole over me. I didn't need to feel let down, or lied to, or humiliated or foolish. It had been a pleasure to know him for the short time that I had. Perhaps it was better that way.

You know what it's like. Sometimes, you meet a wonderful

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person, but it's only for a brief instant. Maybe on vacation or on a train or maybe even in a bus line. And they touch your life for a moment, but in a special way. And instead of mourning because they can't be with you for longer, or because you don't get the chance to know them better, isn't it better to be glad that you met them at all?

There was a very discernible feeling that a chapter had ended in my life. I started preparing myself, both emotionally and sartorially, for the return to London.

I began to pack clothes. I gathered enthusiastically and spread my net widely, visiting all wardrobes in the house, especially Helen's, and leaving no drawer unopened, no hanger unexamined.

Although I continued to bicker with everyone in the family, I knew that leaving them would be awful. It would be especially hard leaving my mother. Not just because she was so handy to have around Kate. No really, I mean it. I knew I was going to miss her terribly. It would be like leaving home all over again. Worse, in fact, because when I'd first left home seven years before, I was delighted to be going, couldn't leave fast enough in my haste to capitalize on my imminent freedom.

It was different now. I was seven years older and wearier. I knew that there was no novelty in ironing my own clothes, paying my own bills.

But I had to go back to London.

After all, my job was there. And I hadn't noticed anyone in Dublin breaking down my front door to offer me a job. Although I hadn't applied for any jobs, to be fair.

But more importantly, Kate's father was in London. I wanted her to see lots of him, to know that she had a father who loved her (well, I was sure he would when he got to know her better), and to grow up with a man in her life. Because if she was looking to me to provide her with a live-in father figure, I wasn't sure that I would be able to oblige. Maybe I would meet another man someday, but I didn't feel very hopeful.

And now that I thought of it, that threw up another entirely new set of worries. What if Kate didn't like the new man?

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What if she got all jealous and threw tantrums and ran away from home? Oh God!

Well, I wasn't going to worry about that yet. It was jumping the gun slightly when I already had my hands full worrying about never meeting a man again.

I didn't mean it really. I wasn't agonizing about never having a man again.

Just mildly concerned.

I decided that I'd go back to London on the fifteenth of July. I could move into my new apartment and give myself and Kate a couple of weeks to settle in and find a babysitter before I went back to work.

Then, in time-honored fashion, I discovered an entire new set of worries. How would I take care of Kate when I was all on my own? I'd become very dependent on having my mother around to suggest reasons why Kate wouldn't stop crying, or eating, or puking or whatever.

"You can always call me," promised Mum.

"Thanks," I said tearfully.

"And I'm sure you'll be fine," she said.

"Really?" I asked pathetically. Even though I was nearly thirty I could still behave like a child when I was around my mother.

"Oh yes," she said. "No one knows how strong they are until they have to be."

"I suppose you're right," I admitted.

"I am," she said firmly. "How about you? You haven't managed too badly in spite of all you've been through."

"I suppose," I said doubtfully.

"Really," she said. "Remember, if it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger."

"Am I stronger?" I asked faintly, in my most childish voice.

"Jesus," she said, "when you put on that voice, I do actually wonder."

"Oh," I said, annoyed. I wanted her to be nice to me and tell me that I was wonderful and could cope with anything.

"Claire," she said, "there's no point asking me if you're stronger. You're the one who knows that."

"Well, I am then," I said belligerently.

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"Good." She smiled. "And remember. You said it. Not me."

The Wednesday before I was due to go back, Anna, Kate and I were out in the garden. The weather was still beautiful. Anna was, um, how can I put it, between jobs, so the pair of us had spent the last week lounging around the garden dressed in an assortment of bikini tops and cut-off shorts, trying to get a tan.

I was winning.

I tanned easily, and Anna didn't. But then again, Anna was tiny and dainty and looked lovely in a bikini and I felt like a huge heifer beside her. I wasn't fat anymore. But she was so petite and delicate that she made me feel huge by comparison. I liked being tall. I just didn't like feeling like an East German Olympic athlete.

So if I was winning in the tanning war, it was really only right and just.

When the genes were distributed she got the cute little body. I got the smooth, golden skin.

She got thin legs. I didn't.

I got breasts. She didn't.

Fair is fair.

Our attention was drawn to the kitchen window. Mum had lifted the curtain and was gesturing and knocking.

"What does she want?" said Anna sleepily.

"I think she's saying hello," I said, slowly raising my head from the lounger to look at her.

"Hello," we both said languidly, and waved our arms limply. Mum continued to knock. The gestures that she made seemed to be a lot more frantic and vulgar.

"You go see what she wants," I said to Anna.

"I can't," she said. "You go."

"I'm too sleepy," I said. "You'll have to go."

"No, you go," she said, closing her eyes.

Mum came marching into the garden.

"Claire, phone!" she roared. "And the next time I knock on the window you're to come in. I don't do it for the good of my health, you know."

"Sorry, Mum."

"Keep an eye on Kate," I told Anna as I ran into the house.

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"Mmmmm," she mumbled.

"And put some more sunblock on her," I shouted over my shoulder.

I stumbled into the kitchen, almost blinded by coming into the dim house after the blazing sunlight of the garden.

I picked up the phone. "Hello," I said.

"Claire," said James.

"Oh hello, James," I said, wondering what the hell he wanted. If he hadn't called to tell me that he'd sold our apartment, I didn't want to talk to him.