Angels (16 page)

“Okay, where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

“Everywhere. Okay, let's fix everywhere.”

I was afraid I might have to take some clothes off, but it turned out it was only my feet he was interested in: reflexology. I'm not proud of my feet. Whenever I'd had reflexology before, shame about my calluses and my second toe being longer than my big toe had interfered with my enjoyment. But the great thing about feeling as if I wanted to die was that the state of my feet didn't seem to matter.

And Troy was right. Truly, Justin was the master.

As he pushed and kneaded with pleasurable firmness, my pain gradually receded farther and farther until, to my great surprise, I was restored to myself.

I sat up. The birds were singing, the world was shiny and bright and bearable. The sun was no longer a malign yellow goblin, but once again a dearly loved friend. I could even look at Justin's shirt.

ANGELS / 119

“You,” I said in awe, “are a miracle worker. You could do that for a living. Is that what you did before you became an actor?”

“Nah, it's just a hobby. I learned how to do it to try to get a girlfriend.”

“Did it work?”

“No.”

“Not yet, you mean.”

“Nah, I've given up. I'm not just the fat expendable guy at work, I'm the fat expendable guy, period. Now I live just for Desiree.

“Although,” he added, cheerfully, “I only got her so as I could meet women. I though I could hang around the dog parks and look for a girlfriend, but that didn't work either.”

“It's IMPOSSIBLE to find love in this town,” Emily interjected.

“Everyone is so into their work. And there's no place to meet anyone.”

“What about bars? Or clubs?” I was sure I'd heard my sisters and friends in Ireland telling millions of stories about going out to a club and waking up the next morning with a strange man in the bed. It seemed to be worthy of comment on the rare occasions that it
didn't
happen and used to make me wistful for the single life.

“Friends of friends is how you usually meet people in L.A.” Emily gave Troy a meaningful look. But if she was hoping he'd spill the beans about the night before, with Kirsty, she was disappointed.

He loped over to me. “Okay, feeling better now?”

Flat on my back again, I nodded up at him. “Great. Ready for my ten-mile run.”

“I wouldn't joke about that kind of thing around here,” Emily's disembodied voice said. “Come on, are we going to work, or what?”

They gathered around the kitchen table like a council of war.

Even Desiree was sitting on a chair, paying rapt attention. I later discovered she'd been in a couple of movies.

The door and windows were all open, bringing the smiley 120 / MARIAN KEYES

day into the house. At midday Emily rang for brunch from a nearby restaurant and half an hour later enough food to feed an army arrived.

“D' you want any?” she called to me. “Or would you throw up?”

“I suppose I could manage a couple of mouthfuls.” My head pains were gone, but I still had the vestiges of hangover nausea.

Troy brought me a plate, and when I tried to sit up, he said, “No need to,” and carefully tried to balance it on my chest. But on account of having breasts and on account of them being, by their nature, wobbly, the plate wouldn't come to rest.

“Maybe you'd better hold it,” he decided with an embarrassed half smile. “Got it?” Then he flashed a direct hit with those greeny eyes and, all at once, he didn't seem a bit embarrassed—and suddenly I was.

When he'd gone I tried a few cautious mouthfuls and marveled as they stayed down. Some time later Troy reappeared. “You done?”

I don't know why, but I waited a beat, looking into his face, before saying, “Yeah.”

Then he lifted the plate from my chest, somehow managing to glance the edge of it off one of my nipples. Instantly both of them contracted and hardened, leaping 3-D-like under my T-shirt, toward him.

He looked at them, then met my eyes. I knew I should laugh but couldn't. Then I was watching his retreating back as he returned to the others.

I stayed on the couch, half flicking through what I thought must be
Daily Variety
but actually turned out to be the
Los Angeles Times
.

All the news seemed to be about the movie world. Nothing about wars or massacres or natural disasters—only innocuous articles about opening weekends and weekly grosses…My eyes closed.

Emily was improvising her pitch, and now and again a remark floated over to me.

ANGELS / 121

“…Emily,” went Troy's gentle singsong, “you're not convincing me…”

“…Don't compare it to
Drop Dead Gorgeous
…”

At some stage the phone rang, and then Emily was looming over me.

“Are you awake?” she asked. “Phone call from home.” Something in the way she said it immediately alerted me and, too quickly, I sat up. It was Garv, right?

Except it wasn't, it was my dad. I'd been about to attempt getting to my feet and walking to another room for privacy, then decided to spare myself the trouble. It was only Dad. But I should have realized something was wrong—Dad hated the phone, he normally behaved as if it gave off noxious gases, so why was he ringing me?

He had something to tell me, he said, halting and mortified.

“Though it mightn't be news to you at all.”

“Go on.” My heart was still pounding from the expectation of talking to Garv.

“Tonight we were coming home in the car…”

“Tonight?” Oh yes, Ireland was eight hours ahead. “Go on.”

“…and I saw Paul…er…Garv. He was with a young woman and the pair of them, they looked…” Dad stopped. I was holding my breath and I wished I'd taken the phone into the bedroom. Too late now, dread had paralyzed me.

“They looked, um, fond of each other,” Dad went on. “Your mother said it wouldn't achieve anything by telling you, but I thought you'd prefer to know.”

He was right. In a way. The idea of being made a fool of isn't one that appeals to me. And I'd known anyway, hadn't I? But suspecting very strongly wasn't the same as knowing for sure.

“Are you all right?” he asked awkwardly.

I said I was, but actually I had no idea how I felt.

“Did you recognize the girl?” My heart rate increased dramatically.

122 / MARIAN KEYES

“No, no, I didn't.”

I blew out a stream of air. So at least it wasn't one of my friends.

“I'm fierce sorry about this, pet,” he said miserably.

You fucker, Garv
, I thought. Doing this not just to me, but to my poor dad.

“Don't worry, Dad, it was probably his cousin.”

“Do you think?” he asked eagerly.

“No,” I sighed. “But it doesn't matter anyway, it really doesn't.”

Punch-drunk, I hung up. What the hell did “fond” mean? What were they doing? Making out in the street?

I turned to see a frozen tableau of stares. Even Desiree's head was tilted to one side in compassionate inquiry. “What's happened?” Emily asked.

I was too shocked to dissemble, and the response from all of them was immediate and steeped in kindness. Lara poured me a drink, Emily lit me a cigarette, Justin rubbed some pressure points in my temples, Troy recommended deep breathing, and Desiree gave me a consolatory lick.

“You had already split up?” Lara asked.

“Yeah, but…”

“I know. Yeah, but…” she repeated with understanding. “We've all been there.”

In the middle of the fuss, the phone rang again and Emily answered it. Her face was a picture of reluctance. “It's your mum.”

I took the phone and made for my bedroom.

“Margaret?”

“Hi, Mum.” I closed the door behind me.

“It's Mum.”

“I know.” And I know why you're ringing.

“How are you getting on? Is it still sunny?”

“Yes. And I still haven't fallen into the San Andreas Fault.”

“I've something to tell you and I'm going to give it to you ANGELS / 123

straight. No point beating around the bush, if someone's got something to say, they might as well say it…”

“Mum…”

“It's that Paul you were married to,” she blurted out. “We passed him tonight in town. He was walking along Dame Street and he was with a…a…girl. They looked quite enamored of each other.”

So it's “enamored” now. “Fond” was bad enough. I swallowed with effort.
The bastard
, I thought.
The bastarding bastard
.

“Your father was all for keeping it from you, but you're like me, you've your pride, you'd rather know.”

True perhaps, yet it still made me angry.

“I'm very sorry.” She sounded suddenly teary. “And I'm sorry I didn't understand when you said you'd left him. If there's anything I can do…?”

Abruptly I remembered how, a couple of times, I'd had the urge to phone him; I was transported with insane gladness that I hadn't.

Could you imagine if she'd been there? If she'd
answered
? I'd have been so humiliated.

“Did you recognize her?”

“No. No, I didn't.”

When I emerged, Troy observed, “Your mom? Good news travels fast.”

Emily squeezed my trembling hands, trying to stop the tremors while a flurry of comforting platitudes rained down on me. I'd get over it. The pain would pass. It's horrible now, but it would get better…

The phone rang again. We all looked at each other. What now?

“Helen,” Emily said, giving me the phone.

“Her sister,” she explained to the others.

Once again I found myself in my bedroom. “Helen?”

She sounded uncharacteristically halting. “You're probably wondering why I'm ringing, and in a way, so am I. Something has happened and Mum and Dad said that under 124 / MARIAN KEYES

no circumstances was I to tell you, but I reckon you should know.

It's that prick you were married to. I know I've made things up about him before, but I'm telling the truth this time.”

“Go on.”

“We saw him in town tonight. He was with a girl and he was all over her like a bad case of poison ivy.”

“In what way?” I
was
curious to know what they'd been up to.

“He had his hand on her waist.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, lower down, actually,” she admitted. “Sort of on her arse.

He was squeezing it and she was giggling.”

I closed my eyes. Too much information. Yet I wanted more.

“What was she like?”

“Disfigured.”

“Really?”

“Well, no, but I can arrange it.”

“For God's sake, Helen, it's not her fault.”

“Okay, him then. I can get someone to hurt him badly. It could be my birthday present to you. Or I'll swap it for your handbag.”

“No. Please.”

“We could burn his house down.”

“Don't do that. It's half mine.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Promise me you won't do anything. I can live with it, I swear.”

“I'm very sorry,” she said, sounding it. I was touched.

“You could at least let me organize to have his legs broken,” she added.

Within seconds of my putting the phone down, it rang again.

Anna.

“Another sister,” I heard Emily say to the assembled listeners as, for the third time in ten minutes, I closed the bedroom door behind me.

ANGELS / 125

“Hi, Anna,” I said briskly, keen to preempt her pity and awkwardness; I'd had enough of it. “Thank you for calling, but I know all about Garv and his new girlfriend.”

“
What
?”

“I know all about Garv and the girl. Mum, Dad, and Helen have all called me separately about it. What took you so long?”

“Garv has a new GIRLFRIEND?” She sounded appalled.

“You didn't know?”

“No.”

“Oh.” I remembered she'd never been the sharpest knife in the drawer. “So why were you ringing?”

Big long pause, then an audible gulp. “I crashed your car.”

Another big long pause, then an audible sigh.

“Badly?” I asked.

“What does badly mean?”

“Did you kill anyone?”

“No. I drove into a wall, no one else was involved. The front is a bit mashed but the back hasn't a scratch on it.”

I took time to digest all this. I should care, but I didn't, it was only a car.

“But, Anna, what were you
doing
?”

“Uh,” she said, sounding confused, “driving.”

After a few expensive seconds of cross-continental silence I said,

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes.”

Concern halfheartedly flared in me. “Is something broken?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“My heart.”

Right. Shane. But as much as I loved Anna, I'd no comfort to give, I was too messed up myself. Time for a platitude. Luckily I had several at hand. “Just hang in there, it'll get better,” I lied. “And with the car, I've got insurance. Can you sort it out?”

126 / MARIAN KEYES

“Yes, yes, I will. Thank you, sorry, I won't do it again. I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay.”

This sort of serious situation called for more of a response than that, but the best I could manage was, “Anna, you're twenty-
eight
.”

“I know,” she said wretchedly. “I know.”

THE NEWS ABOUT
Garv had devastated me, there was no getting away from it. And the others wouldn't let me call him.

“Not when you're sore,” Emily said firmly.

A bit wild in myself, I wanted answers. How had this happened?

Where had it all gone wrong?

“Had you any idea about this other girl?” Lara asked.

“Yes.”

“But you hoped it would burn out and you two'd get back together?” Troy suggested.

“No.” In all honesty, I hadn't been holding out for a reunion—but there was a big difference between a strong suspicion that something was going on and knowing
for definite
. And knowing for definite meant that I was destroyed, distracted, lost to myself.

I began reconstructing my last visit to the house—when I'd been picking up clothes and stuff for Los Angeles. I hadn't noticed any evidence of torrid passion. Mind you, I'd told Garv I'd be coming, so he'd had time to clean the Häagen-Dazs stains off the sheets.