Remind Me Again Why I Need a Man (24 page)

‘Oh dear. Worse than the new-car row?'

This was a famous occasion a few months back where Emma was perched on the bonnet of Mike's brand-new Mercedes with a flinty stone in one hand. She absentmindedly etched her name into the paint-work: ‘Emma'. Then she realized what she'd done and changed it to ‘Emma is a pig', so Joshua would get all the blame. When the truth was discovered, the ensuing row lasted for days.

‘God knows how they'll react to a new arrival,' Caroline goes on, patting her tummy and sitting back
down. ‘So? Aren't you dying to know how I figured the chain between us and Mr Intense? I'm not bragging, but I am particularly proud of this bit of detective work.'

‘It's been almost eighteen years and, you know, if Jamie heard we were trying to track him down, he'd still vomit.'

‘Never mind Jamie. I did this for
you
. Easy peasy, really. I did the maths and figured that after poor Tony Irwin, Mr Intense … sorry, I mean Simon was next on the hit list, so to speak. Now. Do you remember Phoebe Smyth?'

‘That you used to model with?'

‘That's the one. Well, her daughter is in Emma's class and I bumped into her this morning and we just got chit-chatting about the old days. And then I remembered that Mr Intense did a bit of modelling with the same agency as myself and Phoebe. So I asked her if she ever saw any of the old gang and casually dropped Mr Intense's name. Turns out he's still working for the same agency now, but as a bookings manager.'

‘And you have the number of the agency?'

‘Right here in my address book.'

‘Caroline, if I've said it once I've said it a thousand times: You're an angel sent from on high.'

We both look at each other.

‘Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' Caroline asks.

‘What are you thinking?'

‘Let's ring him now. It's only just gone five-thirty;
the agency would still be open. Come on, Amelia, you and Jamie and Rachel have all the fun; this would be the most exciting thing that's happened to me all day. Apart from the U-bend in the downstairs loo getting blocked.'

‘You're on. Just let me finish this glass of wine. Dutch courage is better than no courage.'

A few minutes later, the pair of us are rolling around laughing, with the speakerphone switched on. I take a deep breath and dial. It rings.

‘Hello, Catwalk modelling agency, how may I help you?'

‘Ahem. Hello. I'd like to speak to …' Shit, I'm so used to hearing everyone call him Mr Intense I have to rack my brains to remember what his real name is. ‘Oh, yes, Simon Byrne please.'

Caroline gives me the two-thumbs-up sign. If I say so myself I do sound very confident, but then, I've had quite a bit of practice over the last few weeks …

The receptionist falters a bit. ‘Is it a personal call?'

‘Yes, that's right.'

‘OK. Well, Simon actually left here some time ago, but I still have his mobile number, is that any help to you?'

‘That would be great, thanks.' I scribble the number on the back of my hand and hang up, delighted.

Caroline is on the edge of her seat.

‘Right,' I say, ‘now for the hard bit.'

‘Oh God, my nerves,' squeals Caroline. ‘Are you sure you want to do this now?'

‘No time like the present,' I answer firmly, bracing myself. I dial the mobile number. Caroline has to stuff a tissue in her mouth to stop herself laughing out loud.

It rings. And rings. Eventually a woman's voice answers. Caroline and I look nervously across at each other. Could this be his wife?

I take the bull by the horns. ‘Hello, is that Simon's phone?'

‘Ehh … yes. Who's this?'

‘Amelia Lockwood. I'm a friend of his from college. Could I have a quick word with him, do you think?'

‘Oh. You're a friend of his?'

‘Ehh … yeah.' I pull a face at Caroline. A total exaggeration, but what choice have I?

‘Well, maybe you'd like to come and visit him then?'

I think on my feet. Yes, isn't this the whole object of the exercise? ‘I'd love to, if that's all right.'

‘Great. I'll tell him to expect you. It's just that of all our patients, Simon hardly gets any visitors, you know.'

This time, Caroline and I look at each other in horror.

‘Emm, I'm sorry but … where exactly is Simon?'

‘Here in St Moluag's psychiatric home, St Killian's ward. Any time tomorrow would be great. If you come to the main reception desk and just ask for me. Nurse Sarah O'Loughlin.'

There's no getting out of it. I have to go and visit poor old Simon and that's all there is to it. It's a mad busy day for me in work, but I make up my mind to go and see him at lunchtime, when things in the office are slightly less manic. Even Caroline gently admits that it's the right and proper thing to do.

‘You have to. Especially after the nurse told him to expect a visit from you,' she says during a sneaky phone call when I'm meant to be holed up in the conference room reading scripts. ‘I'm just not very happy about you going on your own. Do you have to go at lunchtime? I have a check-up at one, but if you could wait till later in the afternoon, I'll come with you.'

‘Bless you for that, but I'm in meetings for the rest of the bloody day. It's lunchtime or never, I'm afraid. Besides, better to get it over with sooner rather than later. If I leave it till tomorrow, there's a very good chance I'll think about what I'm about to do and then
not do it and then run in the opposite direction, very, very fast.'

‘OK, well, keep safe and remember I'm only on the other end of a phone if you need me.'

I decide not to tell Jamie about this latest turn of events as (
a
) to say he never liked Simon is a big understatement and (
b
) he's got an interview for a big commercial this morning, and is up to the ceiling about it. He won't tell any of us what the ad is for on the grounds that it's bad luck; all he'll say is that, if he gets the gig, he'll be able to repay all the money he owes us. I keep my fingers crossed for him because he
needs
this. It would be so good for his self-esteem right now. Plus, with the amount of money he owes me alone, I could treat all the Lovely Girls to a five-star round-the-world cruise on the
Queen Mary
. One p.m. comes and I'm into my car and out of the station like a hot snot, when Rachel calls.

‘Well, well, well. I take my eye off you for two minutes and this is what happens.'

‘Hi, hon!'

‘Caroline told me exactly what you're up to, so don't even
attempt
to deny it.'

‘It has to be done,' I say, pulling out on to the motorway. ‘No way out of this one.'

‘Just make sure you wear a T-shirt that says “sane”, won't you? I don't have time to come and bail you out later.'

‘Ha bloody ha. When I get married, I'm making you wear lemon-yellow chiffon as my chief bridesmaid and it'll serve you right.'

‘Shit, hold on one sec.' She covers the mouthpiece with her hand but, although it's a bit muffled, I can still hear the unmistakable sound of Gormless Gordon asking her out to lunch. ‘No thanks,' she's telling him crisply, ‘I don't do wheat, dairy, gluten or any kind of meat product so there's no point really.'

‘Maybe you'd come for coffee later on?' I can hear him saying.

‘Don't do caffeine either,' she snaps back. ‘Sorry.'

‘Poor kamikaze bastard,' I say when she comes back to the phone.

‘People in glass houses. Look at what you're about to do and then judge me, if you dare.'

Point taken.

Anyway, St Moluag's isn't too far from work and about ten minutes later I'm pulling up the long, oak-lined driveway which leads to the hospital. Except that it doesn't look remotely like a hospital, more like a big, posh country hotel. The grounds are fabulous, beautifully maintained, and there's even a tennis court, I notice as I park the car in the visitors' car park. I hop out and scrunch up the gravelled driveway, taking nice, deep, calming breaths as I head for the main entrance.

Nothing scary; no one in straitjackets being chased by men in white coats; no one wandering around the
grounds thinking that they're chickens; so far, so good. I make my way inside, walk up to the main reception desk and ask a very friendly-looking nurse where I can find Simon.

‘Oh yes, he's been expecting a visitor,' she says, smiling prettily. ‘I think he's waiting in the canteen. It's just round the corner, I'll show you.'

‘Ehh … thanks,' I say, bracing myself.

‘Just one thing, Miss … emm … ?'

‘Amelia.'

‘Amelia. Would you mind if I had a quick look in your handbag?'

‘Sorry?'

‘Don't worry, it's nothing like the security checks at Dublin airport.' She grins cheerily as I hand my bag over. ‘I just need to make sure you don't have anything sharp in there.'

I obviously pass the test as she slides my handbag back to me and tells me to enjoy my visit, as if I was expecting it to be anything other than a barrel of laughs. Gulping, I make for the canteen, which is busy, naturally enough, this being lunchtime, but I spot Simon straight away. In fact, it's hard to miss him.

He's sitting at a table on his own, still outrageously good-looking, but somehow without that aloof, reserved aura he always used to have about him; that quality he had which, at aged twenty, I mistook for a nervous, passionate, highly-strung temperament but
which was actually just plain weird. The only other tiny difference the years have wrought is that he's put on a bit of weight, but otherwise there's no mistaking him. He spots me and waves over for me to join him.

‘Hey,' he says, pecking me warmly on each cheek, ‘Amelia Lockwood, as I live and breathe. You look fantastic – great outfit! Smart casual is a good look for you.' He hardly gives me a chance to ask how he is; in fact, he seems so delighted to see me that he barely draws breath. ‘I was so pleased when they said you were coming to see me. A Big Successful TV Producer like you.'

‘Oh, you knew I worked in television?'

‘Are you kidding? When
Celtic Tigers
is on, it's about the only time of the day that there's total silence in the recreation room here.'

I smile and he suggests we grab some take-out coffees and sit outside to chat, since it's such a lovely day. I buy us two cappuccinos the colour and strength of dishwater and he jokes that I'll have to pay for them as he's not allowed to have cash in here. Part of me is so relieved at how calm and relaxed he seems that, as soon as we get out to the garden, I find myself wondering, well, what's he
doing
here?

We sit on a bench in a quite peaceful spot and I sip on my coffee as he roots around in his pocket for a packet of Marlboro Lights. The silence is comfortable,
easy. We smile at each other and then … wouldn't you know it? My big mouth takes over.

‘So, Simon … I hope you don't think I'm being cheeky but I was just wondering …'

‘What in the name of God I'm in here for?'

I laugh. ‘You took the words right out of my mouth. You just seem so …' I'm about to say normal, but I check myself just in time. ‘So, so … healthy and well.'

He looks me straight in the eye. ‘I don't know that you'd understand, Amelia, because you were always very together and goal-orientated, but have you ever felt so stressed out that you just can't cope with any more pressure?'

‘Every day. And it must have been doubly hard for you, working in the modelling business. Caroline always used to say it was like a pressure cooker.'

‘The modelling business?'

‘Yeah. Isn't that where you work? At the agency? That's how I got your phone number.'

‘Amelia, Catwalk let me go, as I think the phrase politely goes, almost a year ago.'

‘Oh. I had no idea.' I'm really starting to feel sorry for him now. Who wouldn't?

‘Yeah, well, I was getting panic attacks, so I dropped out for a bit and didn't really do anything. I was on the dole for so long, I was surprised they didn't ask me to their staff Christmas party.'

‘And how are you feeling now?'

‘Much better. Greatly improved. The rest in here has done me the power of good. I've spent a long time confronting my demons and I think I'm just about ready to turn a corner. I've a fantastic psychiatrist, Dr Simpson, and he's helped me come to terms with a lot of recurring behavioural patterns I had.'

I look at him, a bit puzzled.

‘Oh, come on, Amelia, even when you and I were dating, you must have noticed some, shall we say, aberrations in my behaviour.'

I giggle nervously, not sure whether to contradict him or not. ‘Well, I suppose …'

‘There's no need to be polite.' He smiles. ‘I was insufferable back then and I'm only glad to have a chance to apologize. I don't know how you put up with me.'

‘It … was a little bit intense all right,' I say, embarrassed.

‘So I've been told.' He laughs. ‘Therapy has helped me realize that my particular obsessive compulsive disorder was my need to control others around me, particularly girlfriends. I've dated a lot of women in my time and the ones who allowed me to control them became my enablers. Not you, I hasten to add,' he says, catching my surprised look, ‘you were always too focused on getting what you wanted out of life. Plus you had very good friends around you at the time, who I don't exactly think were big fans of mine.'

I tell him that the Lovely Girls are still my nearest and dearest friends and he doesn't seem in the least surprised.

‘Just beware of getting too co-dependent, Amelia. It can happen so easily with cosy quartets like yours. You can create a defensive space around the group which others are wary of inviting themselves into.'