James suddenly got to his feet. He just stood there for a few moments looking lost. He was obviously planning how to get the mortgage docu- ments and all that stuff sent over from London, I thought. He must be mortified that he'd been so inefficient.
"I'd better go," he said.
"Right," I said. "Fine. Why don't you go back to your hotel [hotel! what a joke!] and organize the deeds of the apartment to be sent over? And then we can meet up later."
280
"Fine," he said, still being very quiet.
I couldn't wait for him to leave.
This was too much.
It was finally happening.
It really was really, really over.
We'd dealt with it like civilized human beings. Too civilized, in my opinion. The whole thing had a dreamlike quality, and it was horrible.
"I'll call you this afternoon," he said.
He said good-bye to Kate, and although he looked as if he was explaining her child support entitlements to her, at least he seemed to be making an effort to bond with her.
Finally I managed to get him to leave.
He looked as exhausted as I felt.
281
twenty-seven
I barely managed to close the door behind him before I started to cry.
As though they instinctively knew that he had left--hey, what am I talking about, because they had been lying on the floor in the bedroom above the dining room with their ears pressed to a glass trying to hear everything that was being said--Anna, Helen and Mum magically emerged from the woodwork, wearing their Concerned Expressions.
I was distraught.
As though she sensed my grief, Kate started to bawl.
Or maybe it was just because she was hungry.
Either way it was a bit of a cacophony.
"The bastard," I managed to say between sobs, tears stinging my face. "How can it be so easy for him? He's like a fucking machine, with no feel- ings at all."
"Wasn't he upset, even slightly?" asked Mum anxiously.
"The one thing, the only thing, the fucker is worried about is how sordid it's going to be when we have to split up our possessions."
"But that's not so bad," said Helen soothingly. "Maybe then he'll just leave everything to you. And you'll get everything."
Nice try, Helen.
Not quite what I needed to hear though.
"So there was no mention of a reconciliation?" asked Mum, her face white, her eyes worried.
282
"None!" I burst out, prompting a fresh bout of wailing from Kate, who was being held by a miserable-looking Anna.
"Reconciliation!" screeched Helen. "But you wouldn't take him back, would you? Not after the way he's treated you."
"But that's not the point," I sobbed. "At least I wanted the choice. I wanted the chance to tell him to fuck off and that I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole. And the bastard didn't even have the decency to do that."
The three of them nodded in sympathy.
"And he was so smug!" I burst out. "I remembered how he likes his bloody coffee!"
There was a sharp intake of breath from all three of them. They stood shaking their heads sadly at my foolishness. "That's bad," said Anna. "Now he'll know that you still care."
"But I don't," I protested violently. "I hate his guts, his uptight, unfaithful, accountant's guts!
"And the bloody nerve of him!" I continued, tears pouring down my blotchy face.
"What?" asked the three, moving forward slightly to hear yet another of James's misdeeds.
"He was upset about the dividing of our things and I, I, me! was the one who ended up trying to make him feel better about it. Imagine it! Me comforting him. After all that's happened."
"Men," said Anna, shaking her head in weary disbelief. "Can't live with them, can't live with them."
"Can't live with them," continued Mum, "can't shoot them."
There was a pause. Then Helen spoke.
"Says who?"
"So what's the outcome?" asked Mum.
"None yet," I said. "He's calling this afternoon."
"What are you going to do until then?" Mum asked, her anxious glance straying inadvertently in the direction of the liquor cabinet, even though it had stood empty for many's the long year, but old habits die hard. It might have been more appropriate if her glance had strayed inadvertently out into the garden and under the oil tank, but never mind.
"Nothing," I said. "I'm so tired."
283
"Why don't you go to bed?" she said hastily. "It's been an ordeal for you. We'll take care of Kate."
Helen looked as if she was about to protest. She opened her mouth mutinously. But then she shut it again.
Nothing short of miraculous, I must say.
"Okay," I said. I dragged myself up the stairs and got into bed still wearing the lovely clothes that I had been decked out in that morning. There was no trace of the smiling, well-made-up, attractive woman I had been then. Only a red-faced, puffy-eyed, blotchy-skinned wreck.
Mid-afternoon, Mum woke me by gently shaking me by the shoulder, whispering "James is on the phone for you. Will you talk to him?"
"Yes," I said. I stumbled from the bed, clothes all crumpled, half-blinded from sleep in my eyes, drooling like a lunatic.
"Hello," I mumbled.
"Claire," he said crisply, all authority and efficiency. "I've tried to get our deeds faxed over to me but there's no fax shop in this bloody city."
Instantly I felt guilty. He made me feel as if it was all my fault. As though I had personally gone around and shut every fax shop in Dublin just to spite him.
"Oh sorry, James," I stuttered. "If you'd mentioned it I would have suggested that they could have been faxed to Dad's office."
"Well, never mind." He sighed, sounding irritable and exasperated and conveying that, if he wanted something done, he was better off doing it himself and not involving me or any members of my immediate family. "Anyway it's too late now. They're being mailed and should arrive in the morning."
You'll be lucky, I thought, thinking of the relaxed attitude of the Irish postal system, compared to the English one. But I said nothing. Doubtless when the time came and the documents didn't, I would somehow be made to feel that that was my fault also.
"I'd better go," he said.
"Right," I said. "Fine. Why don't you go back to your hotel [hotel! what a joke!] and organize the deeds of the apartment to be sent over? And then we can meet up later."
280
"Fine," he said, still being very quiet.
I couldn't wait for him to leave.
This was too much.
It was finally happening.
It really was really, really over.
We'd dealt with it like civilized human beings. Too civilized, in my opinion. The whole thing had a dreamlike quality, and it was horrible.
"I'll call you this afternoon," he said.
He said good-bye to Kate, and although he looked as if he was explaining her child support entitlements to her, at least he seemed to be making an effort to bond with her.
Finally I managed to get him to leave.
He looked as exhausted as I felt.
281
twenty-seven
I barely managed to close the door behind him before I started to cry.
As though they instinctively knew that he had left--hey, what am I talking about, because they had been lying on the floor in the bedroom above the dining room with their ears pressed to a glass trying to hear everything that was being said--Anna, Helen and Mum magically emerged from the woodwork, wearing their Concerned Expressions.
I was distraught.
As though she sensed my grief, Kate started to bawl.
Or maybe it was just because she was hungry.
Either way it was a bit of a cacophony.
"The bastard," I managed to say between sobs, tears stinging my face. "How can it be so easy for him? He's like a fucking machine, with no feel- ings at all."
"Wasn't he upset, even slightly?" asked Mum anxiously.
"The one thing, the only thing, the fucker is worried about is how sordid it's going to be when we have to split up our possessions."
"But that's not so bad," said Helen soothingly. "Maybe then he'll just leave everything to you. And you'll get everything."
Nice try, Helen.
Not quite what I needed to hear though.
"So there was no mention of a reconciliation?" asked Mum, her face white, her eyes worried.
282
"None!" I burst out, prompting a fresh bout of wailing from Kate, who was being held by a miserable-looking Anna.
"Reconciliation!" screeched Helen. "But you wouldn't take him back, would you? Not after the way he's treated you."
"But that's not the point," I sobbed. "At least I wanted the choice. I wanted the chance to tell him to fuck off and that I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole. And the bastard didn't even have the decency to do that."
The three of them nodded in sympathy.
"And he was so smug!" I burst out. "I remembered how he likes his bloody coffee!"
There was a sharp intake of breath from all three of them. They stood shaking their heads sadly at my foolishness. "That's bad," said Anna. "Now he'll know that you still care."
"But I don't," I protested violently. "I hate his guts, his uptight, unfaithful, accountant's guts!
"And the bloody nerve of him!" I continued, tears pouring down my blotchy face.
"What?" asked the three, moving forward slightly to hear yet another of James's misdeeds.
"He was upset about the dividing of our things and I, I, me! was the one who ended up trying to make him feel better about it. Imagine it! Me comforting him. After all that's happened."
"Men," said Anna, shaking her head in weary disbelief. "Can't live with them, can't live with them."
"Can't live with them," continued Mum, "can't shoot them."
There was a pause. Then Helen spoke.
"Says who?"
"So what's the outcome?" asked Mum.
"None yet," I said. "He's calling this afternoon."
"What are you going to do until then?" Mum asked, her anxious glance straying inadvertently in the direction of the liquor cabinet, even though it had stood empty for many's the long year, but old habits die hard. It might have been more appropriate if her glance had strayed inadvertently out into the garden and under the oil tank, but never mind.
"Nothing," I said. "I'm so tired."
283
"Why don't you go to bed?" she said hastily. "It's been an ordeal for you. We'll take care of Kate."
Helen looked as if she was about to protest. She opened her mouth mutinously. But then she shut it again.
Nothing short of miraculous, I must say.
"Okay," I said. I dragged myself up the stairs and got into bed still wearing the lovely clothes that I had been decked out in that morning. There was no trace of the smiling, well-made-up, attractive woman I had been then. Only a red-faced, puffy-eyed, blotchy-skinned wreck.
Mid-afternoon, Mum woke me by gently shaking me by the shoulder, whispering "James is on the phone for you. Will you talk to him?"
"Yes," I said. I stumbled from the bed, clothes all crumpled, half-blinded from sleep in my eyes, drooling like a lunatic.
"Hello," I mumbled.
"Claire," he said crisply, all authority and efficiency. "I've tried to get our deeds faxed over to me but there's no fax shop in this bloody city."
Instantly I felt guilty. He made me feel as if it was all my fault. As though I had personally gone around and shut every fax shop in Dublin just to spite him.
"Oh sorry, James," I stuttered. "If you'd mentioned it I would have suggested that they could have been faxed to Dad's office."
"Well, never mind." He sighed, sounding irritable and exasperated and conveying that, if he wanted something done, he was better off doing it himself and not involving me or any members of my immediate family. "Anyway it's too late now. They're being mailed and should arrive in the morning."
You'll be lucky, I thought, thinking of the relaxed attitude of the Irish postal system, compared to the English one. But I said nothing. Doubtless when the time came and the documents didn't, I would somehow be made to feel that that was my fault also.
