The following day is just as bad – an emotional hangover from the previous night. It feels as if everything’s dying.
I fly back to Dublin, go home, and I’m wearily removing the remnants of my make-up when Neeve sidles into my bedroom. Instantly I know that another ending is happening. ‘Mum,’ she says. ‘Promise me you won’t cry.’
‘You’re moving out?’
She nods, almost as if she’s afraid she’ll burst with happiness.
I fake excitement. ‘Oh! Neeve! That’s great! Well, I’m heartbroken, but tell me.’
‘It’s Daddy,’ she confides gleefully. ‘He owns an apartment.’
All of a sudden Richie seems to be a lot more involved in Neeve’s stuff. It would be nice if it isn’t connected to her recent change in profile but that’s delusional thinking.
‘Wait till you hear where it is.’ She pauses dramatically. ‘Riverside Quarter.’
‘Wow.’
Riverside Quarter is a development of luxury apartments on the Liffey. It’s very high spec, has its own gym and viewing room, and is right in the city centre.
‘Well, he actually owns four apartments there. He bought them just after the crash for, like, nothing and now he lets them out.’
Oh, Christ, I absolutely hate him. Rents in Dublin are at an all-time high, and people are crippled with the payments. There are no properties available for first-time buyers because vultures like Richie Aldin swoop in and take advantage of the insolvency of others. His own daughter – Neeve – is a victim of this: can’t afford to rent and can’t afford to buy. Sofie and Kiara will be too. Even Hugh.
‘So he’s letting you live in one of them?’
‘Yep.’
It’s hard to ask the next bit but I must. ‘For free?’
‘Not free! Mu-um! Like, he has to cover the mortgage payment on it.’
But interest rates are low, his mortgage payments must be fuck-all.
‘He’s only charging me half the market rate.’
‘Well. Great.’
‘And he’s going to help me find a place to buy. We’re going to go scouting together. He says he can’t actually come into the places because as soon as the estate agent sees him the price automatically goes up by twenty per cent. It’s a Richie Aldin tax!’ Her tone is upbeat.
Okay, so this is capitalism. But he is loathsome. Worse, Neeve admires it.
‘So he’ll check out the area, see if the neighbours are scumbags, all that.’
Scumbags! If Kiara heard her, she’d literally cry.
‘When are you going?’
‘Saturday.’
‘This Saturday? Three-days-away Saturday?’
‘That’s the one. Daddy’s hired me a van.’
No, no, no, no, no. It’s too soon.
108
Saturday, 11 February
At nine thirty a.m., Neeve’s removal van parks outside and I feel as if my heart has been smashed, as fragile as an empty eggshell.
I’ve wanted Neeve to be independent and to live a fun, single life. Not like this, though. Not having crossed over to the dark side under the sway of Richie Aldin. I’ve no right to dislike her choices, and I can’t wish for her independence but only on my terms. My head is well aware of the facts, but no one has told my heart.
All day long, the girls and I are up and down the stairs, carrying boxes of Neeve’s clothes, moving her equipment, emptying her room. It feels almost as if I’m experiencing her death. Finally everything is in the truck.
‘Right!’ Neeve is super-cheery. ‘Well, I’m off!’
‘You won’t forget about us, will you?’ I’ve managed not to cry all day, but now my face is wet with tears.
‘Oh, Mum, you giant douche! I’m only four miles away.’
How can I tell her that I’m afraid her move is more than merely geographical? As I stand and wave her off, I have a ridiculous fear that none of us will ever see her again.
Sunday I spend in bed crying, mourning Neeve’s absence, and Monday morning is a disaster – it takes me ages to get up and I’m thirty-five minutes late for work. I put in a half-baked performance and it’s a relief when the day ends so I can leave Tim’s gimlet-eyed stares. Monday night won’t be any better, though – Hugh is coming over for a grown-up talk. He’s been back in Ireland for six weeks, it’s time to grapple with our problematic finances and formulate a plan so that we all have a place to live.
Life feels like one ordeal after another after another. My only relief was Josh and I’m ominously aware that we’re about to sputter into an ignominious ending. I really hope that Hugh will cancel but, exactly at the agreed time, the doorbell rings. Shite. There’s a very real chance this conversation might get ugly, so I’ve sent Sofie and Kiara over to Derry for a couple of hours.
I open the door, and there he is, looking forlorn and even thinner. He’s starting to become gaunt.
‘Come in,’ I say. ‘We could probably do with wine to help us get through this, but we need to have our wits about us so we’re having tea. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
The box file of documents is waiting on the kitchen table. Face to face, we take our seats, warily watching each other. We’ve only been alone with each other a couple of times since he came back.
I hate having to do this. Being with him, even just catching a glimpse of him every time he drops the girls home, makes me tired to my bones.
‘Before we start crunching numbers,’ he says, ‘can I say something else?’
‘What?’ My stomach shrinks. What is it?
‘It’s less than a month before my six months is up. You and I, we need to talk about telling the girls.’
‘Oh, God.’ It’s going to be so difficult. Neeve won’t care but Sofie and Kiara will be devastated. I’m too beaten down to come up with any great plan, so I say, ‘I think we have to be honest with them.’
‘Me too.’
The biggest worry is Sofie, she’s sitting her Leaving Cert at the end of May. Yes, the timing is bad but Hugh can’t move back in with us, I simply couldn’t endure it. Nor can we string the girls along for another three months.
‘They’re young women,’ he says. ‘Not kids any more.’
‘They are young women, but it won’t be easy for them. We’ve got to be really there for them.’
‘Especially Sofie.’
‘How do you think she is?’ I’m interested in his opinion, it’s been difficult carrying the worry all by myself.
‘Good. Maybe better than she used to be. Less anxious.’
‘Does she speak to you about the abortion?’
‘Sometimes. She seems at peace with herself.’
‘And why wouldn’t she be?’ My tone is sharp.
He looks surprised. ‘I wasn’t saying anything.’
But a ball of rage that I didn’t even know was there is bursting out of me, like the thing in Alien. ‘You left me alone!’ I blurt. ‘Sofie was pregnant! I had to take her to London.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
My face is hot and suddenly tears of fury are spilling from my eyes. ‘While you were shagging your way around South East Asia, I was handling a medical crisis!’ I’m almost spitting with emotion. ‘One that could have had me arrested!’
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers.
I’m worried I might hit him again, the way I did the night I got back from Serbia, so instead I thump my fist hard against the table. ‘You fucking bastard!’
‘Amy …’ He stands up.
‘Don’t fucking touch me. Sit down!’
He obeys, watching me cagily.
Angry sobs erupt from my gut and I cry and cry and cry. I cry until my eyes feel swollen and my face is sore with salt.
Long minutes pass. Now and again, he makes a move to come to me and I shriek, ‘Don’t come fucking near me!
‘You’re selfish,’ I hurl at him, needing to hurt him, insult him, shame him. ‘You’re weak. And pathetic!’
‘I know.’
‘The sex I have with Josh, it’s waaaay better than anything I ever had with you.’
He blanches.
‘It’s fucking fantastic!’
That Josh and I are going to finish tomorrow night suddenly becomes clear. But I’m not telling Hugh.
A fresh bout of bitter tears heaves up from my gut. ‘I only slept with one person, while you slept with hundreds.’
‘You can sleep with more people,’ Hugh says. ‘As many as you want.’
‘Were there hundreds?’ I ask thickly.
‘Two and a half.’
‘What’s the half?’