Rachel's Holiday
Page 144

I mumbled ‘Hello, Luke,’ or something equally inane. I was barely able to believe it was him, Luke, sitting there, on the other side of the table. Close enough to be touched.
In a way it seemed such a long, long time since I’d seen him. But in another, it wouldn’t have seemed all that weird if I’d leant over and held his hand, or if he’d kissed me.
At least that was what I felt, I wasn’t so sure he did.
He sat in silence, staring at me with a hostile look. And I had to steel myself to be strong. This was going to be harder than I thought.
When the waitress came, he ordered a beer and I indicated I was happy with my water, although that was far from the case. Then, clearing my throat, I launched into my well-rehearsed apology.
‘Thank you for coming, Luke, I won’t take up too much of your time.’ I spoke rapidly. ‘This is long overdue, but better late than never, well, at least I hope that’s what you’ll think. What I’m trying to say here is, I’m extremely sorry for any pain or unhappiness I caused you when we, er, knew each other when I lived here. I was an awful bitch of a girlfriend and I don’t know how you put up with me, and you were perfectly right to be pissed-off with me.’
How I would have loved a drink! I took another deep breath. ‘I would never have behaved in the terrible ways I did if I hadn’t been addicted to drugs. But I know it’s no excuse, it certainly doesn’t lessen the bad stuff I did to you, just for you to know why I’d behaved so badly…’
I sneaked a glance at him. Impassive in the extreme. React, for God’s sake!
‘I was disloyal,’ I ploughed on. ‘Had no integrity and I betrayed you and let you down. It’s probably of no interest to you to know why I was so unreliable, but just to let you know that I’ve changed a lot and I stand by my friends now. Of course,’ I added, ‘that’s precious little use to you now; it would have come in fairly handy two years ago, when I was the terrible bitch I was…’
On and on I went, my words falling on the stony ground of Luke’s silence. At one stage he shifted himself sideways on his chair and slung his arm along the back of it. In the midst of my abjection I couldn’t help a throb of realization that he was still a complete ride.
Back to the apology. I kept my eyes downcast as I slid my glass around the wet table, as if it was a ouija board.
I eventually came to an end. There wasn’t anything else I could apologize for and still he hadn’t said anything. Before our meeting, I’d been dreading his anger. But it would have been preferable to this impenetrable passivity. At least we’d have been communicating.
Reluctant to sit in silence, I apologized for some things I’d already apologized for. ‘Sorry again about drinking Joey’s JD that time, sorry for embarrassing you, sorry for upsetting your home life with my addiction…’ Then I trailed off, there was no point going round for a second lap.
I had no option but to leave.
‘I’ll be off then,’ I said humbly. ‘Thank you for coming.’
Again, I pawed for my purse, with a view to paying and departing.
And then Luke completely threw me off my stride by saying ‘Oh come on, Rachel, get off the cross! We need the wood.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I mean, sit down, and talk to me,’ he exclaimed in a peculiar tone that I recognized as forced joviality. ‘I haven’t seen you in nearly a year and a half. Tell me how you’re getting on! How’s Ireland?’
It wasn’t so much an olive branch, as a mere olive. But it was enough. I pushed my bag away and settled back down.
Relaxed, uninhibited chat was difficult. The situation was too contrived and I hadn’t had – and wouldn’t be having – anything to drink. But I tried.
We warily discussed the Irish economy. Awkward talk of Celtic Tigers, foreign investment and per capita income. We were like two political analysts on the telly. When I got a chance to be funny, I grasped it in the hope of redeeming myself, of changing his memory of me. But there are few laughs to be got out of a healthy economy. Conversation lurched along awkwardly, stopping and starting, making no real progress. I didn’t want to leave because being with him was a million times better than not being with him, but it was knackering.
The waitress came. He ordered another beer and I ordered another water. Her arrival derailed whatever we’d been talking about and, into our silence, Luke asked, almost shyly, ‘Is that all you drink now? Water?’
‘Yes.’
‘God, you have changed.’ He smiled.
‘I have,’ I said seriously. And then we looked at each other, really looked at each other. The blinds had snapped up off his face and I could see him, the old Luke, my old Luke, for the first time. We held the look for a long time. And I was confused because I kept forgetting it was now and not then.
‘Well!’ He cleared his throat and broke the mood. ‘Thanks for your apology.’
I managed a shaky little smile.
‘You know,’ he said, pushing back the boundaries, ‘I thought you wanted to meet me so you could give out shite for what I said that day in your rehab place.’
‘Oh no,’ I breathed. I was shocked he’d thought that was my motive, but I was glad we were finally talking about why we were there. Balance of payment deficits weren’t really my forte. ‘You were right to say all you said. If you hadn’t, maybe I’d still be going around in lala denial land.’
‘I was sure you hated my guts,’ he said ruefully.
‘Of course I don’t,’ I insisted. I mean, I didn’t now, did I?
‘Really?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Really,’ I assured him. It was ironic, Luke worrying about whether I hated him.
‘If it’s any consolation it did my head in saying all those things.’ He sighed with a great rush. ‘And doing that bloody questionnaire yoke.’
‘But you had to,’ I comforted him. ‘It was for my good.’
‘Man, I hated myself,’ he replied.
‘You shouldn’t have,’ I consoled.
‘But I did anyway,’ he complained.
‘But you shouldn’t have. I was awful.’
‘Ah, you weren’t,’ he said.
‘I was.’
‘You weren’t.’
‘I was.’