Desperately Seeking... Part 2

We moved out to the conservatory, already drenched in the afternoon sun. Draping myself across one of the loungers I felt sure I was going to fall asleep. It seemed that so much had been accomplished and even more set in motion that I needed to sleep off the effects of the exertion. I felt I needed to sleep for a very long time. But with my mother in the room there was no chance of that.

'You know that Virginia's Bridalwear is closing down? I was talking to Eleanor Fitzmorris at the concert hall the other night and she told me there were some irregularities with the accounts. It's all since the son took over. I mean, I don't know what kind of a job that is for a man. No wonder he wasn't any good at it. And I said to Eleanor was he gay and she said, no, he definitely wasn't, he just wanted to give the business a go. Out of respect for his mother. Well, she'll be turning in her grave now.'

Lucy topped up her gla.s.s but said nothing.

'You know, Mum,' Marion said, 'that's just gossip. Eleanor Fitzmorris is a nosy bint who likes nothing better than to slag off her neighbours. You should know better than to listen to what she says.'

'Don't you tell me who I shouldn't listen to, lady. She's a good friend of mine and I know for a fact that every word she says is true.'

'Oh, whatever!' Marion also topped up her gla.s.s.

'I've heard that Top Man is the best place for men's dress hire.'

This was Keith. I'd forgotten he was still there.

'Not any more, Keith, dear. The whole thing has been taken over by a franchise and the service is not the same. No, the only place to go now is McGinty's. It's shabby, but they know how to treat you.' She sighed as she said this, and shot the rest of us a dirty look. As usual, she was the only one willing to keep the conversation going.

I must have actually fallen asleep because the next thing I remember is Daddy putting all the furniture back in place and nudging my shoulder. 'I think you should go and see to your boy,' he said.

I wandered off into the house but n.o.body seemed to be anywhere. Still sleepy, I decided my old bedroom was as good a place as any to look for people. To give Mum her due, she's never been one to go turning your bedroom into a library or a gym just because you haven't lived there for a decade or so. She's kept our rooms ready for use. Maybe some part of her wishes we'd return, tails between the legs we should have kept together. Anyway, it's a comfort to know that even if I can't find clean underwear in my flat, there's always a freshly made bed waiting for me at Mum and Dad's.

I've always loved my room, even when I had to share it with Ruth. Luckily she was the kind of child who had to be always in the middle of everything so I was often able to spend whole afternoons alone there. Of course, there was the odd occasion when I chose to share my room with somebody else. Somebody like Bobby O'Gorman who lived across the road. I might feel ashamed now of the things we did together (oh, just doctors and nurses when we were about fifteen, but still fairly innocent), if it weren't for the fact that I was deeply in love with him. He had jet black hair and inky blue eyes and the roundest, softest, sweetest smile I've ever seen on a boy. He was also extremely reticent but curiosity carried him just far enough to satisfy mine, for a while.

I was about to enter a very comfortable reverie when there was a knock at my door. It wouldn't be Mum, she was well past the cursory I'm-pretending-to-respect-your-privacy-but-we-both-know-I'm-coming-in-anyway knock, and Dad would never bother you if you were in your bedroom. If it was Keith he could join me for a little sleep. However, it was Marion and Lucy who barged in before I could finish my thought.

'Hey, honey.'

'Hey, Luce.'

'You doing OK?' asked Marion, as she sat beside me on the bed.

'I'm fine, sweetie. I'm a little drunk but, hey, what's new?'

'Are you sure you're OK?' said Lucy.

'Look, there really wasn't any need for the two of you to come over today. Mum and Dad are absolutely fine. We're absolutely fine. I know I probably went on a bit last night but everything's fine. Honestly!'

The two girls said nothing for a minute, then Marion took my hand. 'Look,' she said, 'there's another reason we came over today.'

'Oh!'

'Yeah. We heard a bit of news yesterday we thought we should tell you. Well, Lucy heard it first and then I was able to confirm it.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah, aahhm...'

'Daniel O'Hanlon's wife is pregnant,' Lucy blurted out.

'Oh.'

'We're sorry. But you're better hearing it from us. It'll be all over the place soon. Apparently, they're thrilled. It's sickening, I know.'

'I'm really sorry, sweetheart. You could do without this.'

I was genuinely unable to speak.

'Will we leave you alone for a while?'

'No,' I said. 'Stay. I think I might be sick.'

3.

You always believe there will be one person in your life who will make the difference. The person who makes sense of everything you, the world, your family, love. The person for whom you would do anything because anything you do for them is something you do for yourself. The person with whom you fall wholly in love. For me, that person was Daniel O'Hanlon.

We met through work. I used to say that finally I understood why G.o.d had made me a lawyer. He's with one of the other big firms in town in fact, he's a partner and his firm is the biggest. Apart from being strikingly good-looking, he's one of the most admired men in his profession. Everybody knows who he is; everybody wants to know him. For a green young apprentice who had only just managed to pa.s.s her Blackhall Place exams (third attempt) and was contemplating a change of career, he was a symbol of the unattainable. In every sense of the word for, of course, he was married.

When he first started paying me attention I was merely flattered. It wasn't unusual for men, particularly older men, to find me attractive. I'm a natural flirt and I've always found older men to be so much better at the game than those my own age. Perhaps it has something to do with older men not feeling threatened by a younger woman. And most married men who flirt do so playfully at least, that's what I'd always believed. So I didn't think there was any harm in his phoning me up after the Law Society dinner at which we had been introduced. I didn't think it was unusual that he asked me to join him and a few of his colleagues for a drink after work. Or that all of his colleagues disappeared after two quick drinks. I only thought how fabulous it was that Daniel O'Hanlon had so much to say to me and found my chatter so fascinating. That first evening we sat in the snug of the Merry Widow until near closing. We didn't even drink much, we just talked and talked and talked. I can't remember anything about our conversation; I was starstruck and he was well, I still haven't worked it out. Why does anybody start an affair? Sure, loads of people stumble into it, but he seemed to set out to do it. And why did he target me? Was it so obvious that I was easily impressed, slightly lost and of dubious moral character?

He walked me home that night. I do remember feeling that the streets had never seemed so alive with possibility. This was my city and anything could happen. All future events were mine to lay claim to. The sodium lamps seemed to be lighting the way into something that, for the moment, there was no good reason to turn away from. He brought me to my building and said he'd really enjoyed our talk. He hoped we might do it again. I said I hoped so too and kissed him briefly on the lips.

Over the next couple of weeks I kept b.u.mping into him. He'd be in our building meeting one of the partners. He'd be having lunch at the same place I was. Or there he'd be, on the street, just a few feet away. And each time I saw him my body would contract, my mind would paralyse; I would be rendered a fool. Yet he never seemed to notice me. I thought it a little odd that someone who had appeared so besotted could now behave as if I was a n.o.body. But I didn't think it was odd enough to pin him as a jacka.s.s and move on. Perhaps if I'd been better at my job I would have been too busy to obsess about a jumped-up lawyer who thought he was G.o.d's gift.

I hadn't had a boyfriend in a while. Philip was still sort of on the scene but we both knew it wasn't going anywhere. We had fallen heavily in l.u.s.t with each other while working on a portfolio together. But when we had had time to get to know each other we realized, as you do in these situations, that we had nothing in common. He was quite boring with little interest in anything other than his job, and sport. He was immature, a bit mean and far, far too fond of himself. It was while I was realizing all this that it dawned on me I'd been doing this sort of thing for too long. After I'd got over the notion that I might marry every man who excited my interest I gave up on the idea of serious relationships altogether. After all, a girl has the right just to want to have fun. But for a while now it hadn't been fun. I was bored and a little tired. However, a hot and heavy affair with a married man was not what I needed.

We met again by accident one night at a party. It was somebody's fortieth. I hadn't been planning to go but Colette persuaded me. She and I have been friends for years, as far back as schooldays when we were in the same cla.s.s, had the same hairstyle, liked the same boys and told each other everything. But we went to different universities and followed different careers. We liked different boys, and by our mid-twenties we had little in common. She got married and had kids and I didn't. Then we ended up back in Limerick and there seemed to be enough between us for a rekindling. I admire Colette: she's so together and sure of herself. On that particular evening she fancied a night out and wanted me along for company. I owed her one. The person turning forty was some friend of her husband's but she reckoned she needed the night out more than he did.

We arrived together but soon drifted into disparate groups. Colette and I always work a party well. We give each other breathing s.p.a.ce but we'll still be there for the other if needed. I was having a very good time. I had fallen upon a group of young men who were delighted to find even one attractive woman under thirty. I flirted with them and we decided collectively that it was better to shoot yourself than to turn forty in your own living room with a bunch of even older old farts. The house was a big, sprawling affair in the suburbs so we were able to drift off into some side room that might have been an office, or a gift-wrapping room. We had requisitioned a bottle of vodka and were about to begin an elaborate drinking game when Daniel O'Hanlon appeared at the door.

He seemed drunk. 'Can I join you?' he asked. 'Or is there an age limit?' he added a little sourly.

I said nothing.

I didn't need to. One of my junior companions hopped up and launched a near obscene licking-up session: 'Oh, hi, Mr O'Hanlon! We were just taking a break from all the craziness next door. Great party! Do you know the hosts? Smashing house. Do you live around here?'

He went on and on, but n.o.body was listening, least of all Daniel, and his mates were about to make off with the vodka. Daniel came further into the room and sort of shoved the sycophant out with the others. Then he closed the door. 'I've missed you.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, you were doing a pretty good job of ignoring me.'

'I wasn't ignoring you, I was resisting you.'

'Resisting me! Give me a break, Mr O'Hanlon.'

'You are gorgeous, you know.'

'Yes, I know. Thanks!'

Suddenly his look changed and he seemed less drunk than disoriented. There was something vulnerable about him, something that suggested he needed help.

'Look, Kate, I know I've messed you around since that night in the Merry Widow but I've been thinking about you constantly. I didn't tell you this before, but I'm married.'

'I know you are.'

'Oh!'

He took a step back and leaned against the edge of a table. He was about to say something, but changed his mind. He covered his face with his hands and let out what could only be described as a cross between a sigh and a howl. I felt as if I'd been watching him for eternity. Then he glanced at me and said he was sorry. He looked sorry. He looked like the sorriest, saddest man I'd ever seen. So I went closer to him, close enough to smell the fresh sweat on his body. Our heads touched first, temple to temple, then our cheeks, then our lips. It was one of those kisses that is born somewhere deep inside you and grows as it moves to the surface, then bursts out of you. Then there is aftershock after aftershock as your whole body trembles. It's what an o.r.g.a.s.m used to feel like before you knew what an o.r.g.a.s.m was.

As we kissed I was convinced that I loved this man and that I wanted to be with him, no matter what. His touch seemed to be the touch my body was crying out for. If there were danger signals I couldn't hear them for all the noise in my head. When we finally let go of each other I knew there was only one thing I wanted to happen next. I told him I was leaving the party. I asked him if he wanted to leave with me. He said nothing, but bundled me out of the back door. A few minutes later he reappeared carrying our coats and fumbling for his keys. Suddenly I remembered Colette. I couldn't leave without telling her. I told Daniel I'd only be a minute and rushed back inside.

It took me ages to find her, but eventually I saw her sitting at the top of the stairs, smoking a cigarette.

'Look, Colette, I'm going, OK? Will you be all right to get a taxi home?'

I was hoping this would be enough and I could slip away without further explanation, but Colette knows me too well. 'Wait a minute!' She scudded down the stairs. 'You're going home with somebody?'

I hadn't told her, or anyone, about my first evening with Daniel. 'No. Yes. I'll tell you tomorrow.'

'You're going home with someone you shouldn't be going home with?'

'Look, I'll tell you tomorrow.'

I didn't want to be impatient with her but I didn't want her to persuade me out of anything either.

'It's important. It's big.'

'OK, then. I'm sure you have no idea what you're doing. I'll talk to you tomorrow.'

I touched her arm and walked out of the back door.

Daniel was waiting in the car. I asked him if he was all right to drive. I don't know if I was worried about him losing his licence or about him killing the two of us. He leaned over, took my hands in his and said he was fine. Then he kissed my cheek so softly and asked if I was all right about this. I still had no full idea what 'this' was but I knew I wanted it.

All the way back to my flat we said nothing. He parked on the street and held my hand in the lift. As soon as I closed the door behind us we fell upon each other, kissing wildly, even biting. We were naked in seconds. The way we made love that first time was furious, as if neither of us had ever done it before and might never do it again. It was profoundly physical, yet I felt as though I couldn't separate my mind from what was going on. I felt as though something terrible would happen if he were ever to leave my body. And he, also, seemed to find less pleasure in that first time than a necessary relief. Our lovemaking would become more relaxed, but that night we were both exorcizing something.

Of course he couldn't stay the night. We both slept and when we woke it was almost three o'clock. He had to get up and leave. As he walked out of the door, with one last hurried but pa.s.sionate kiss, I should have felt something like guilt or remorse. But I didn't. I had either had a one-night stand with a married man or was about to begin a long-term affair with one, and everything in me hoped it was the latter. I had never felt pa.s.sion like that before and I desperately wanted more. All I could think of was him, his touch, his smell, his body. All I wanted was to have him again.

The following day was Sunday so I slept in. I stayed in the bed we had made love in, replaying our night over and over. If my memory was to be wiped of everything but that, it would have been enough.

Some time late in the afternoon, after I had finally dragged myself out of bed and taken a shower, my door buzzed. It was Daniel. I let him up.

'I want you to know,' he said, 'that last night was amazing. I love you. I want to keep seeing you.'

I guess I had my answer.

Since we had been engaged for more than thirty-six hours and I still had no ring, Keith decided we were taking Monday afternoon off to go shopping. I was less than useless at work that day so my boss had no problem letting me go. In fact, everybody at work was still bemused by my announcement. Most people in the office didn't take me for the marrying kind, especially those who were privy to my recent romantic history. But everybody wished me well; some of them meant it, others looked forward to another crisis. You know the sort those who lead monumentally boring lives but take unnatural delight in the messes other people make.

I skipped down the beautifully restored staircase of our carefully preserved Georgian building and lunged into the pink light of a warm April afternoon. I felt positively buoyant.

We had arranged to meet for a coffee first in Lily's Cafe. It had become a regular spot for the two of us. It was central, offered good coffee, great cakes, friendly service and was always open. It was one of my favourite places. It occurred to me one day when I was sitting there waiting for Keith (I was early for once) that this was something I hadn't done in a long time. I hadn't dated. I hadn't simply gone out with somebody to the cinema or to restaurants or to the pub. And I liked it. There was something pure about meeting your boyfriend at a cafe, then going to the cinema. Or getting dressed up for dinner in a special place, then going home to fall asleep watching a video. When you have an affair with a married man in a small city, you spend a lot of time behind closed doors.

Keith was waiting for me, and he had ordered me a cappuccino. It was all falling into place. Here was the man who would look after me for the rest of my life. He would open doors, order drinks, remind me when the bills were due, fix the washing-machine, cut the gra.s.s, talk to my parents, program the remote control, and buy me jewellery. I could live with this. As he sat by the window, illuminated by the afternoon sun and the pale pink shirt he had changed into on leaving work, he was the very picture of connubial bliss.

As soon as he saw me approaching the table he stood up and kissed me somewhat formally on the cheek. 'Hey, honey,' he said, holding out a chair for me.

'Hey,' I said, with what I intended to be warm emphasis.

'I don't know if you've thought about what you'd like,' he began immediately, 'but I was looking in McDermott's window and they have some lovely stones.'

'No,' I said, surprised, 'I haven't thought about it. I'm sure all the rings are lovely.'

'Oh, sure, they might look nice but you have to know what you're getting. An engagement ring isn't just any piece of jewellery.'

'Oh!'

'Well, not only will you have it for ever but you'll wear it for ever and probably hand it down to your children and grandchildren.'

'Yeah... I suppose so...' I'd never thought of it like that.

'I want it to be the right one for you.'

'I'm sure I'll like them all.'

'I don't want you to rush it now, I want you to be sure.'

'It's fine, Keith. Let's go and pick a ring.' I wished he wouldn't make such a big deal of it.

'Right, we'll go so,' he said, pushing away the last of his coffee. 'We want to give ourselves plenty of time.'

'Sure. Fine.'

By the time we made it to McDermott's and entered their richly carpeted emporium, the euphoria I had been feeling at the start of the afternoon had almost dissipated.

Unlike many of my peers, I had never had a particular interest in engagement rings. I had never pored over the fingers of my engaged friends or sisters, I had never cruised the windows of jewellery shops, I had never held my left hand in the air and fantasized about diamonds.

Neither had I ever asked the price.

I was astounded.

I had no idea that these tiny pieces of stone and metal could cost so much. Frankly, I felt a little nauseous. Was I really going to let Keith pay out several thousand euro of his money to buy me a ring, symbol of our love, hopeful indicator of our future together? As far as he was concerned, no ring was big enough or expensive enough, and he knew what he was talking about. He kept asking about carats and clarity and other things I'd never heard of. I tried on several: a solitaire so big it made my wrist hurt, a clump of three diamonds, a clump of five that dazzled so much I had to look away, then an emerald cl.u.s.ter that would have been useful in a street fight. They looked like interlopers on my hand. The jeweller detected something of my discomfort and a.s.sured Madam that many young ladies are unsure at first which ring suits them best. I found Sir's consideration even more suffocating and finally I turned to Keith and asked if we could leave.