Go away, Mystery Caller. I need this sleep so badly.
But the doorbell brrrrings again and suddenly I’m energized with fury. Who the hell is it? Some pestery feck, no doubt! Looking for sponsorship for some shite or other. Or maybe one of the girls has lost her key. Clueless eejits.
I’m in the mood for a fight so I thump down the stairs, wrench the front door open and demand, ‘What?’
Hugh is standing there. Seeing him shocks me. Seeing him always shocks me: we were once so close and now we’re strangers.
I will never get over this if I keep meeting him.
‘Amy, sorry,’ he says. ‘I texted you to ask if it was okay … You didn’t get my text?’
‘My phone was on silent. Because I was having a sleep!’
‘Sorry to wake you. I just need to pick up my –’
‘Why did you ring the doorbell?’ My voice gets louder. ‘You’ve got a key to this house – the locks haven’t been changed!’
‘It feels wrong to just let myself in. I mean, I would have, if you hadn’t answered, but this is no longer my home.’
‘And don’t you forget it! For the love of Christ.’ I thump back up the stairs. ‘Not only have you ruined my marriage, you’ve ruined my power-nap.’
He looks chastened and sad and I pause on the stairs. ‘Why are you here anyway?’
‘Picking up my sleeping bag.’
‘What? Chizo’s kicking you out? Are you homeless?’
‘I’m staying in Nugent’s garage for a few weeks. There’s an airbed but no spare duvet.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! Don’t try to make me feel sorry for you.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Chizo has three spare bedrooms, she’s kicking you out, and I’m the one who has to worry.’
‘She’s got family coming from Nigeria. I’m only in Nugent’s for a couple of weeks, then I can go back.’
Wrong-footed, I accuse, ‘Next you’re going to tell me we need to talk money.’
‘Now doesn’t look like the best time.’
‘You mean because I’m so narky? I’m only narky because …’ Yes, why was I so narky?
‘Because you’re so tired.’
‘Grand. Well, I’m only narky because I’m so tired.’ And I’m only so tired because I’m so … so something else. Perhaps sad. But it’s nicer being narky.
‘Can I do anything to help?’ he asks.
I glare at him. ‘Actually, you can.’
His face becomes radiant with hope.
‘You can rewind the clock to last September and stay here with me, instead of fucking off to Thailand to fuck a hundred other fucking women.’
‘Amy,’ he whispers, ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Whatevs.’
‘Listen to me, Amy. I’m begging you to hear what I’m saying. I’m not a cheater. Until … this, I never even looked at another woman. Genuinely. Truly. And I never will again.’
‘You might want to rethink that,’ I say. ‘Because you and me are done. Beyond done.’
After a hesitation, he says, in a strangled voice, ‘I’ll just go to the shed to get the sleeping bag, then I’ll be out of your way.’
‘Your beloved shed.’ My voice is bitter. ‘Where you hatched your Great Escape.’ I thump up the rest of the stairs and slam my bedroom door behind me. I climb into the bed again and, out of nowhere, I wonder how Hugh had felt the year before last when I’d been flirting with Josh.
He’d said he’d known something was going on. That must have been hard for him. Really hard.
I don’t want to think about this. It’s making me feel uncomfortable and ashamed. Anyway, he was probably fine about it. And even if he wasn’t, it’s all in the past, and so much has happened since then that it’s irrelevant.
But something in me needs to check. I jump from my bed, hurry down the stairs and catch Hugh just as he’s about to leave. ‘Hey!’ I call. ‘I want to talk to you.’
He looks wary. ‘Okay.’
I sit on the stairs and he takes a step a couple below mine.
‘The summer before last,’ I say, ‘when I had an innocent thing, a crush, on Josh …’ How do I voice this without making it sound as if I was in the wrong? ‘How did you know?’
He stares at me. ‘You want to talk about this now?’
‘Aaah, yeah.’
‘Oh-kay. You were different. Absent. I’d be talking to you and you’d be miles away. You removed yourself emotionally.’
Well, that wasn’t so bad. That sort of thing happens in all marriages.
‘And you looked different.’
I did?
‘You bought new clothes –’
‘I’m always buying new clothes.’
‘These were different. The shoes were higher, the skirts were tighter … And your hair. You started getting it blow-dried every Monday evening.’
I hadn’t realized I was that obvious. But, looking back, I admit that he’s right.
‘You were always in good form on Monday evenings. And in bad form when you came back from London on Wednesdays.’
‘Because I was tired! I’m still in bad form every Wednesday night.’
‘You asked how I knew,’ he says levelly. ‘I’m telling you.’
‘Okay.’
‘You wanted to have sex more often.’
‘That’s a good thing!’
He presses his lips together and shakes his head. ‘You know something? It wasn’t.’
My skin flames. I don’t like this but, in fairness, I did ask. ‘How did you feel, though, that time?’
‘How d’you think I felt?’ He touches my knee and his voice is soft. ‘Amy? I was scared. Shit-scared. Terrified. I love you, loved you, you’re my life, the idea of losing you –’
‘So why didn’t you say anything?’
‘It would have made it real. I didn’t want it to be real. So I hoped it would run its course.’
‘Which it did.’
‘Which it didn’t.’ He sounds unexpectedly angry.
‘It did. I stopped seeing him.’
‘You’re with him now.’
‘Only because you went away.’
For a moment I think Hugh is going to lose it. His eyes darken and he swallows the hot words he visibly wishes he could unleash.
‘That’s not why you left, is it?’ I ask. ‘Because of Josh? It was because of your dad? Then Gavin?’
‘Yes, but –’
That’s all I need to know. Stiffly I say, ‘I appreciate you talking to me about this. Let yourself out.’
I go back to bed. That conversation with Hugh hadn’t gone exactly the way I’d have liked. It hasn’t dispersed my guilt, not entirely, and I don’t like being saddled with it.
But everything ebbs and flows – something I’ve learnt over the years. No emotion stays constant. Anything that increases eventually decreases. At some point, this niggly flame of shame will be snuffed out.
I squeeze my eyes shut and desperately try to resume my slumber but my phone rings: Maura.
‘What?’
‘Are you and Hugh getting back together?’
‘No.’
‘I was afraid of that.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Sorry.’ She sounds humble. ‘I know I’m controlling. I’m trying to stop.’
There’s a danger she’ll launch into her well-worn speech about her painful childhood and I’m too irritable to hear it. ‘Good luck with that,’ I say.
No sooner have I ended the call than the front door opens and slams shut and someone thunders up the stairs. ‘Mum? Mum?’
It’s Neeve. She bursts into my bedroom and declares, ‘My advertisers have offered me a new package. More money!’
‘That’s great.’ My voice is flat.
‘You okay? Was Hugh here?’
‘How did you know?’
‘Because you’re always narky after he calls round.’
‘I was narky before he called round.’
‘Oh, God, it’s spreading. You’re going to be narky all the time now. You over at Granny’s yesterday, eeeesh.’
‘Only because Alastair was being a clown. And Granny a selfish –’ I stop.
‘So how about that Alastair?’ she says, with a sly smile. ‘Would he be open to a hook-up? Asking for a friend?’
‘You don’t have any friends.’ This isn’t even true.
She creases with mirth. ‘So funny to see you pissed! Anyway, I could be talking about Derry. Too cute how she totally blanked him.’
Oh, whatever. Neeve and Alastair, Derry and Alastair, Neeve and Derry – the three of them can become a thrupple for all I care.
‘About your new offer, Neevey. Don’t sign anything until a lawyer has looked at it.’
She should go to the firm that Hatch uses, they’d take good care of her.