Marian Keyes - Watermelon (42 page)

I went totally dumb. I couldn't speak. I didn't know what the hell to say to her.

Adam, in time-honored fashion, came to the rescue.

"Helen," he said gently, "would you mind giving me a few moments with Claire."

"Yes!" she said truculently. "I would mind."

A pause while she wrestled with her curiosity. Then she demanded, "Why?"

"I'll explain later," he said with a kindly look.

She stood at the door for a while, suspicion and jealousy written all over her exquisite little face.

"Five minutes," she said, throwing me a poisonous look as she flounced from the room.

"Oh God," I said, "you'd better go."

"No," he said, "she's already pissed off with me. I might as well stay and finish what I'm telling you."

"On your head be it, in that case," I said nervously, marveling at his courage.

"Fine," he said, unbothered. "Well, as I said, I didn't hear from her for a whole year--I was just starting to come to terms with it. And then about a month ago she turned up out of the blue. I couldn't believe it! And she brought Molly with her."

"Who's Molly?" I interrupted. "Is that your baby?"

"Yes," he said. "Isn't it a terrible name for a baby?"

"I like it," I said huffily. I suppose I'm a bit defensive because my baby's name isn't the most glamorous one you could imagine either.

"Maybe," said Adam, "but you'd have to see her. She's

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gorgeous. She should be called something beautiful. Like Mirabelle or--"

"Isn't that a restaurant?" I interrupted. I didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. Especially with Kate within earshot. I didn't want her to get a complex. God knows, the cards were stacked against her enough as it was. I was afraid that in thirty years' time when she was a drug addict and an alcoholic and bulimic and addicted to shoplifting, that I'd get the blame. That she'd say that it was all my fault for not calling her something pretty and girlie.

"Look, don't worry about your child's name," I said. "Keep going with the story."

"Okay," he said. "Well, anyway, we made up, I suppose. She said she was sorry that she hadn't involved me from the beginning with Molly. But she wanted to know was it too late to start now?"

"And?" I asked.

"Well, at first I really wanted to tell her to fuck off," he said.

Jesus! I nearly gasped. I could hardly believe that Adam was acting so normal.

Hold the front page. Shocking new headlines--"Adam holds grudge!"

"But then I realized that I'd be cutting off my nose to spite my face," he continued.

How disappointing, I thought. For a moment there I thought he was going to act immature and childish. Well, never mind. There's always an- other time.

"So we've come to a civilized agreement about Molly's custody. Hannah and I are friends again--well, at least we're working on it," he said.

"Oh!" I said, startled. "Oh."

What did "friends" mean? I wondered. Did it mean that they had sex at every available opportunity or did it really mean just "friends"?

Only one way to find out. I took a deep breath.

"Um, so does that mean that you and Hannah aren't, you know, going out with each other?" I asked, trying to sound very casual.

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"No." He laughed, giving me a "Haven't you been paying attention to anything I've been saying" look.

("Thank God!")

"No," he said. "I thought that was obvious. That's the whole point. That's why this is all so great. I can be involved in my child's life without having to be romantically involved with her mother.

"But at the same time I can be friends with Hannah because I respect and admire her," he added hastily, always anxious to be good and decent.

"Are you really happy about seeing your child?" I asked gently.

He nodded and looked as if he might cry.

Oh, please don't, I thought frantically. I think I'm sick of all this new man business. Stop being in touch with your bloody emotions. Keep away from your feminine side! If I catch you near it I'll slap you.

A little voice in my head prompted, "Ask him!"

"Fuck off," I muttered back to it.

"Go on," it said again, "ask him. What have you got to lose?"

"No," I said, feeling very uncomfortable. "Leave me alone."

"You're dying to know," reminded the voice. "In fact, you deserve to know."

"Just shut up," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to ask him anything!"

"Well, if you won't," said the voice, "then I will."

And to my horror I found myself opening my mouth and a voice came out and asked Adam, "So was that why you liked being around me? You know, because of Kate? Because I had a baby?"

I was mortified!

I couldn't believe that I had found the nerve to ask it.

You couldn't take my subconscious anywhere.

"No!" said Adam. Well, he didn't so much say it as shout it. "No, no, no. I was so afraid you'd think that. That you'd go all Freudian on me and think that I liked being with you just because I was looking for some sort of replacement for my lost child and girlfriend."

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"Well, you can hardly blame me, can you?" I asked. But not in a nasty aggressive way.

"But why would I need some kind of bait to want to be with you?" he asked. "You're wonderful!"

I said nothing. Just sat there, feeling half embarrassed, half delighted.

"Seriously," he went on. "You've got to believe me. What kind of self- esteem have you got? You're amazing. Don't tell me you didn't know that?

"Well, didn't you?" he asked again when I didn't answer.

"No," I muttered.

"Look at me," he said. He put his hand gently on my cheek and turned my face up to his. "Please listen to me. You're so beautiful. And kind and smart and funny and lovely and a laugh. They're some of the reasons that I like being with you so much. The fact that you had a child was neither here nor there."

"Really?" I asked. Blushing like a beacon and going all girlie and shy.

"Really." He laughed. "I would have liked you even if you hadn't had a baby."

He smiled.

He looked beautiful.

Oh God! I was melting.

"Honestly," he said.

"I believe you," I said.

I smiled too. I couldn't help myself.

We sat on the bed smirking at each other like morons.

After a while he spoke again.

"So you took my advice in the end," he said, gently teasing.

"About what?" I asked. "Oh, you mean about James. Well, I didn't go back to him after all, but it wasn't because of anything you said."

"Fine, fine." He laughed. "I'm just glad you changed your mind. It doesn't really matter who changed it for you. You deserve a lot better than someone like him."

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Of course," he replied.

"What does Hannah look like?"

He gave me a knowing look and laughed slightly before

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he spoke. "She's got long curly blond hair. She's about the same size as Helen or Anna. She's got brown eyes."

"Oh," I said.

"Happy now?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"That she looks nothing like you? That I wasn't trying to replace her with you?"

You had to hand it to him. You couldn't say he wasn't perceptive. I was satisfied that this Hannah was nothing like me. But now I was all jealous because she sounded tiny and beautiful.

Jesus! Was I never satisfied?

I started to laugh. I was being ridiculous. "Yes, Adam, I'm happy that you weren't trying to replace her with me. But right now, you'd better get back to Helen," I said.

I stood up.

Then he stood up, instantly making me feel tiny.

There we stood, not really knowing what to say. I just knew that I didn't want to say good-bye.

"You're a very special woman," he said. And he pulled me to him and tightened his arms around me.

And fool that I was, I let him.

Big mistake. Huge, colossal, enormous mistake.

I hadn't been too bad until we made physical contact. But the minute I was in his arms all hell broke loose on the emotions front. Longing and yearning and lust (yes, even more!) and loss and a warm fuzzy feeling. Being in his arms reminded me of how he had made me feel. I thought I had forgotten how wonderful it was to be with him. But it all came rushing back.

My head was buried against his chest. I could feel his heart beating through the thin material of the T-shirt. The same beautiful him of soap and warm male skin that I remembered.

I wanted to stay there forever, safe, pressed up against his beautiful hard body, his arms holding me tenderly.

I pulled away from him.

"You're not so bad yourself," I replied. For the life of me I couldn't un- derstand why I had tears in my eyes.

"Be happy," he said.

"You too," I replied.

I wriggled out of his arms.

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"Well, good-bye," I sniffed.

"Why good-bye?" he asked, smiling.

"Because I'm going back to London on Sunday, so I probably won't ever see you again," I said. I felt as if I was going to burst into tears. And wondered what the hell he was smiling at. Who gave him the right to look so smug and happy? Had he no sense of occasion? This was no laughing matter! On the contrary.

I couldn't believe how wretched I felt. This was so painful.

I wished he would just go!

"Won't you ever go out again?" he asked. "Can't you get a baby-sitter?"

"Of course I will," I said sadly. "But I still won't be able to see you. Not unless you jet over to London now and then for an evening out. And I can't see you doing that."

"No," he said thoughtfully. "You're right. There would be no point jetting over to London for an evening out when I'm already there."

For a moment I thought I'd misheard him. But I looked at him, at his smiling face, and knew that I hadn't.

Hope rushed through me, such a feeling of something wonderful that I thought I might burst from it.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, barely able to breathe.

I had to sit down.

"Um, I'm, er, moving to London," he said quietly. He sat down beside me on the bed. He was trying to look very serious but a smile kept breaking through.

"Are you?" I squeaked. "But why?"

And then a thought struck me.

"Hey, don't tell me. You've nowhere to stay and you were wondering, just wondering if you could sleep on my floor. Just for a couple of nights, a year max. Is that right?" I said bitterly.

He burst out laughing.

"Claire, you're so funny!" he said.

"Why?" I asked, annoyed. "What are you laughing at?"

"You!" he said, still in hysterics. "I've got somewhere to stay. I'm not stupid enough to be nice to you just so I can ask you if I can stay with you. Do you think I have a death wish? I know you'd kill me."

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"Good," I said, slightly mollified. At least he had a little bit of respect.

"Is that why you think I came up here to talk to you?" he asked, a lot more seriously. "Maybe I'm the stupid one here, but I thought I'd made it clear how much I like you and care for you. Don't you believe me?"

"Well, you can't blame me for being suspicious," I said sulkily.

"No," he sighed. "We'll just have to work on convincing you how won- derful you are and that I have no ulterior motives for wanting to be around you. I don't want you for your child. I don't want you for your apartment. I just want you for you."

"Do you want me?" I whispered, suddenly feeling very alive and sexy. So powerful, so aware that I was a woman and that he was a man and that unavoidable physical attraction pulsed between us. His eyes darkened, the blue almost turned to black, and he looked and sounded very serious.

"I want you very much," he said.

The room suddenly went quiet and still. Even Kate wasn't making a sound. You could have cut the sexual tension with a knife.

I broke the mood before one or both of us combusted spontaneously.

"Let me get this straight," I said, trying to be businesslike. "You're coming to London. What for? Why?"

"I've got a job," he said, as if it was the most reasonable explanation in the world.

"But what about college?" I asked, bewildered. "Are you giving it all up?"

"No," he said, "but it's going to be different. I'll study at night."

"Why?" I asked, still not really understanding. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I've got to work now that I've got a child to support. And there aren't any jobs in Dublin. And my dad was able to get me into some mer- chant bank in London. And I'll still be able to get my degree. It'll just take longer."

"But what about your baby?" I wailed. "You've just gotten

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to know her and now you'll have to leave her again. That's awful!"

It was his turn to look bewildered.

"But Molly's coming with me," he said, sounding a bit baffled. "I'm taking Molly to London."

"Jesus," I said in hushed tones. "Don't tell me that you're abducting her? I've heard of fathers doing that."

"No!" he said, exasperated. "Hannah wants me to take her. Hannah wants to go around the world; she's had enough of being responsible for a while. I suppose it's no coincidence that she was suddenly overcome with remorse about not letting me see Molly when she suddenly realized that she needed a baby-sitter for a year."

"Golly," I said. "It hardly sounds ideal. What about poor Molly? And why didn't Hannah's parents insist on taking care of her?"

"Oh, Hannah had a major falling-out with them when she decided that she was going off on vacation for a year," explained Adam. "And Molly will be fine, I hope. I'll get her into therapy as soon as she's able to talk.

"I'm only joking," he said when he saw my horrified face. "I know it's not the perfect upbringing for a child. To be uprooted from her home and for her mother to run away for a year and to be landed on a father who doesn't even know her. But all I can do is my best."

"And what about when Hannah comes back and wants to take Molly back to Ireland?" I said, racked with worry.