Untouchable Things (12 page)

He sighs slightly as he arrives at her restaurant of choice. Another new Conran place, indistinguishable from all the others. Deep breath before plunging down into a huge, echoing cavern where clattering cutlery puts paid to meaningful conversation. He winces as he takes his seat. Anna is late, of course. José watches her make her way towards him, broad shouldered and beaming, already talking before she is properly in earshot. Cheeks are kissed, wine poured, contents of bag spilled, cigarette lit, ‘only while I’m cutting out carbs,’ olives requested. Her maroon blouse gapes when she sits, revealing a fold of midriff over her skirt waistband. José sits up straighter, can’t help feeling smug about his own flat stomach. For such an irresistible person she’s terrible with clothes, tries to dress ‘corporate’ without any instinct about what suits her. Maybe he’ll take her shopping one day, tactfully of course. He smiles and lets himself get swallowed up in her energy, her complaints about ‘bastard’ colleagues and the rules of her new diet. Halfway through the main course she starts to slow down, as she always does. Today it’s partly to do with the thickness of the steak she’s devouring. José eyes his own pious plate of chickpeas and couscous with relief.

“So, darling,” she sputters through a mouthful of food, “how are things with you? What gorgeous men have you been seeing?”

“Nothing much to report from the weekend. Bit of a quiet one.”

Anna snorts. “Not allowed. You gay young things have to have enough fun to compensate for the rest of the population’s heterosexual misery.”

“Sorry not to be able to amuse you. What?”

She is looking at him through narrowed eyes, waving a bloody, serrated knife at him.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Who?”

“Who? The man you’re besotted with. Mr Two-houses.”

“Seth. What about him?”

“That’s why you’re not seeing anyone else, isn’t it? You still want him.”

He can’t help looking down for a fraction of a second, then back up at Anna’s face which is now triumphant. “Look, it’s not going to happen. Yes, I might want it to but it’s clear he doesn’t.” Even since getting his own flat, when everything between them was straightforward again, Seth has given no sign of wanting more than the friendship they have crafted.

“When are you seeing him again?”

“Tonight, as it happens.”

“Perfect. Keeley just cancelled on me, silly bitch. I’ll join yous. I need to meet him. Then I can tell you what his game is. If there’s any hope or if you should cast your wand in another direction, so to speak.”

He tries to protest but he knows the game is up.

“Look, if I stay in I’ll only eat a bag of Kettle Chips and a pizza and then I’ll have to phone you to confess and I’ll ruin your night anyway.”

He smiles, beaten. Maybe it’s a good thing anyway. If anyone can figure Seth out, it’s Anna.

Tell me about that meeting.

They took an instant shine to each other. Anna was her no-holds-barred self, surprised and then delighted by her new sparring partner. They argued, bantered and shouted each other down, attracting disapproving glances for Anna’s volley of ‘fuck you’s across the table.

After a couple of hours he switched to vodka mixers while Anna and Seth matched each other on pints. Anna was in her element, holding forth about the conflict in Ireland with copious mentions of ‘terrorist Catholic bastards’. José was far from being an IRA sympathiser, but having been raised a Catholic he found himself looking round and motioning for her to keep her voice down, as if God might be sitting in the alcove behind them. Seth threw in the odd question or observation like a missile, looking delighted when the inevitable explosion came. José tuned out and started eyeing the surrounding talent, or lack of it. He didn’t know the details of the Irish situation and, frankly, couldn’t be bothered just now.

When he tuned back in they were talking about sex, which was no real surprise. At least he might have a chance of contributing to the conversation. They were debating sex in fiction: who did it best. Anna was jabbering about a new series of erotic novels aimed at women and how they had become ‘more fingered than her vibrator’. Anna had to mention her vibrator at least once over the course of an evening. José now knew more about it than he did her family. Or anything else in her past.

Sorry to cut over you, but we’re running a little short of time. Did Miss Carmel give her verdict on what she thought of Seth Gardner?

Even now he winces at the memory.

“He’s straight, José.” This was after an emotional scene the next day.

José had scoffed at first. “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you think I wouldn’t know? I’ve had crushes on straight men before but this was different. We had sex, for a start.”

Anna pointed her fork at him. Roast potatoes today. “I’m telling you, he was flirting with me. Not just me, every female he came into contact with.”

“Anna, Anna, what kind of fag hag are you if you don’t know that all gay men flirt with all straight women?”

“Not that sort of flirting. The real sort. Where you feel stripped down to your underwear.”

José laughed. “Do you mean he was looking at your tits? He’s gay, of course he was. And it’s hard to avoid it with you.”

For once she shunned the bait. “Listen, José, I’m telling you there’s something strange going on with him. How much do you know about him? How do you know he’s not into women too?”

Was it possible? Would that explain his hot-cold behaviour?

“Watch him next time you’re out. I’m never wrong about these things.”

Scene 16

Would you like to tell us how you first met Seth Gardner, Miss Carmel?

Just a second while I fetch my coffee. Okay, but I’m not sure it’ll help you much. I’d rather talk about now. Is there any news?

We’ll get to that. Please answer the question.

Okay. Let me think. I’ve known Seth for three years so it must have been 1994. It was cold. February, I reckon. It was just a few drinks. Well, quite a few. My friend José was infatuated with Seth and I wanted to check him out.

Poor José, he’d looked lost as she and Seth went off on their own tangent. He wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She’d let him have it with both barrels, expecting to send him scuttling, but he’d laughed and come back for more. She hadn’t had such a kick out of meeting someone in a long time. But, Seth and José? She couldn’t see it, somehow. There was something jarring. She usually had a sense for these things.

What did you make of Seth Gardner?

The friendship equivalent of love at first sight. She lay in the bath the next morning giggling like a naughty toddler, dialogue from their night out floating piecemeal into her head. She’d even gone for a swim afterwards, 40 lengths straight. Afterwards the café and a post-exercise glow she’d always pooh-poohed as a figment of deluded imaginations. The tingle of coffee on her tongue. She sat back and sighed, wondering when she’d last had such a perfect Saturday.

By the time she got back home she was shaking with hunger, cursing herself for not having a snack in the café. She fell on the new loaf of bread, cutting a thick slice and smearing it with butter and Marmite. She knew she should sit at the table so that her body registered what it was eating (according to something she’d read in some tabloid newspaper), but it would hardly be worth it before she’d have to get up again to cut another slice.

Then the phone started up. No question of answering it; she was still way too hungry. Her older brother’s voice. Gentle, sounding hesitant to leave a message. Saying he knew how she’d be feeling and wishing she could be with them today. She stopped mid-chew, cheeks stuffed like a hamster’s. What was the date? All the energy drained from her so rapidly she thought she might faint. March 12th. Her ma’s birthday. For the first time she’d forgotten.

Miss Carmel?

It was March, actually. I’ve just remembered.

She was seventeen when her mother died. She knew she was ill, but not that ill. Her fathers and brothers protecting her from the truth so that when it happened she was stupefied. How could her ma no longer be there? Standing over the cooker in a frilly white apron; speaking to someone in soft, soothing cadences; saying grace before the meal. A quiet and constant backdrop, a canvas for the rest of them as they played out their noisy dramas. Her mind is awash with technicolour memories of her father: making them cry with laughter at the dinner table; roaring through a megaphone at some rally or other; flying kites with them on Sunday morning. But when she thinks of her mother it’s just gentle, wordless murmuring. And a feeling: a feeling of being safe. A feeling she had lost thirteen years ago.

Anna sank onto one of her new Ikea chairs. The day had been blown apart. She yearned for the warmth of her brother’s voice but couldn’t face the inevitable questions about going home. Her pa had betrayed her, betrayed them all and, as far as she was concerned, that was that.

The phone trilled again, each blast drilling into her skull. In the end she picked up. It was only fair to speak to Conor.

“Anna! Can’t believe you’re out of bed already. So, what did you think?”

José. “I, yeah, I really like him.” Her mind felt blank.

“Are you okay?” José’s tone switched to concern. Anna felt something loosening inside her. Her shoulders started shaking with mute sobs.

“It’s my ma’s birthday. I forgot.” The last word was almost shouted as a sob forced its way out.

“I’m coming over.”

* * * * *

They sat on the sofa drinking hot chocolate – Anna’s idea, something her ma made her as a child. Anna’s legs were tucked under her and she held the mug with both hands as if it were a baby animal. Now that José was here the tears seemed to have dried up. She felt a bit of a fraud for bringing him over.

“So, Mr Two-houses.”

José shook his head. “Not now. That stuff doesn’t matter. Have you spoken to your brother yet?”

Anna shook her head.

“Why don’t you ring him now? I’ll pop out and get some stuff for dinner.”

Anna sighed. “Later. He’s okay, he’s with his family.”

José touched her hand. “You’re his family, Anna.”

She nodded, looked at the photo above the fireplace. Conor and Daniel, her adored older brothers. Nothing could ever touch her with them around. They felt half a world away now.

“You all look so close.” José had followed her gaze, watching Conor and Daniel waving to camera while an eight-year-old Anna nestled between them, showing off a missing front tooth.

“We were. We fought amongst ourselves but if anyone gave me grief at school, I’d just threaten to get my brothers on them.”

José smiled. “Handy.”

“Yeah, I strutted round that playground like I owned the place. Thought I was so cool, so tough.” It seemed to her now that she’d spent her childhood under a giant canopy, sheltered by her family without even noticing. She pointed at the photograph. “At that age I had my own business. Selling set squares and stuff.”

“Selling what?”

“Maths stuff we needed for school – rulers, compasses, that sort of thing. If anyone lost theirs and didn’t want to tell their parents, then I was your man.”

José laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Where did you get your…”

“Supply? My brothers, of course. I never asked where it came from. Gave them a cut. They always said I had the real business head. That’s why pa pushed me to come over here. Said Ireland was a mess and I had the ‘ability to make something of myself’.” She boomed the last bit in a Northern Irish accent more pronounced than her own.

“Your dad sounds like quite a character.”

“Ah, that he was. A local councillor. We’d go and watch him speak. He could turn a room full of men into jabbering wrecks. Ma used to say he should have been a priest.”

José snorted. “She’s right there.”

“She also said he could charm the birds from the trees when it suited him.”

“Could?”

Anna twitched her eyebrow. She did talk about her father almost as if he was dead. “Can, I suppose. He certainly charmed Mrs Warwick out of hers.” She laughed without humour. The first time she’d come home after her ma had died, maybe three months after the funeral, there she was, Mrs Warwick, sitting in her house, making tea, doing the things her ma should have been doing. For some reason her brothers seemed to go along with it, saying it had given Pa back the glint in his eye. Anna had hardly been home since.

“Is that your father’s new wife?”

“Yes.” She hadn’t gone to the wedding, claimed a last-minute work crisis. “She was a neighbour from a few doors down. Gave Pa a shoulder to cry on, very kindly.” She chewed her bottom lip, looked out of the window. “It’s history now. I was just caught off guard today.” She sat up straighter. “Let’s go to the pub. Come on, it’s Saturday afternoon. What the hell else is there to do?”

José raised his eyebrows. “I had planned to go to the gym.”

“Gym-shmym. Come on, let me sink a couple of pints and you can nurse your half a shandy and we’ll dissect the life and times of Lord Setheric Two-houses.”

José shook his head and reached for his coat. “Sometimes, woman, there’s no arguing with you.”

Are you okay, Miss Carmel?

Sorry, yes. Can you repeat the question?

Scene 17

When did you first notice something odd in Seth Gardner’s behaviour?

Three days into her new temping job, Rebecca came home to find a large white envelope in the mailbox, hand-addressed in loopy, sloping writing that looked familiar. She dropped her bags in the hallway and ripped open the envelope. It was an invitation to dinner from Seth, addressed to
The lovely Ophelia and her lucky suitor
. She found herself wanting to squeal with delight – apart from the fact that Jason was invited too and would no doubt hate the whole thing.