How to Fall in Love (14 page)

At last I located the one I wanted; it was rather inconveniently not the closest lily pad, but I could swim there quickly and back. It would be over in seconds. Ten seconds max. And it
was
a life-or-death scenario, which settled my internal wavering immediately. I wasn’t sure how deep the water was, so I rooted around the trees for a branch or loose stick, and then put it in the water to test the depth.

‘You’re actually going to do this?’

The stick stopped halfway. It wasn’t deep at all. Only a few feet. I could do this and I wouldn’t have to swim, it was just a few steps away. The pond was murky, green and scummy, but I could do this. I rolled my tracksuit pants up, high above my knees.

‘Oh my God,’ Adam laughed, realising I was actually going through with it. ‘Look, there’s one right by the edge, I could reach that one.’

I looked at it. He could reach across and retrieve it with no problem.

‘Do you think she’d look at that and think, Wow, he really loves me? It’s disgusting, it’s got something furry growing on it. Oh and look, it has a cigarette butt. I don’t think that’s the message you want to send. No, we want that one,’ I pointed to the furthest one out. ‘The one untouched by the human hand.’

‘You’re going to freeze.’

‘And then I’ll dry. I’ll get over it. As soon as I’m out, we’re running to the car.’

I got into the water. It went far higher than I’d anticipated, way past my knees, soaking my tracksuit bottoms. I felt it rise all the way to my waist. The stick had lied, or had lodged itself on a rock. I gasped. I heard Adam laughing, but was too focused to admonish him. Now that I was in, there was nothing for it but to keep going. The floor felt soft and mushy beneath me; I dreaded to think of what was in there. Reeds and dead leaves clung to me as I pushed my way through the murky water. I wondered what diseases I could catch from it, but pushed on. As soon as I was an arm’s length from the lily pad I reached for it and pulled it back with me. Five giant steps along the mushy floor and I was at the edge. Adam held his arm out and pulled me up. My tracksuit clung to my body and my clothes rained stinking pondwater. Squelching to my bag, I pulled out a towel, peeled my trousers and socks off, and quickly dried myself. Adam looked away, still laughing to himself, and I peeled my underwear off. I put my new tracksuit on, all the while gritting my teeth against the icy cold. With shaking hands I put my new socks and trainers on and changed my jumper for a warm fleece. He held my coat open for me, and I put my arms in and hugged myself. He plonked his woollen hat on my head and wrapped his arms around my body in an effort to warm me. The last time we had been in that position was when we were on the bridge and my arms had been wrapped around Adam. Now Adam’s arms were wrapped right around me. His chin rested on the top of my head and he rubbed my shoulders in an effort to keep me warm. My heart hammered at being so close to him. I wasn’t sure if it was the return of the feeling I’d experienced on the bridge or if it was merely him, his closeness, his body pressed against mine, his scent overwhelming my senses.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked, close to my ear.

I was almost afraid to turn and look at him. I daren’t speak in case my voice revealed the shakiness I felt. So I nodded, and in doing so rubbed against him even more. I wasn’t sure if I imagined it, but I felt his arms wrap tighter around me.

We heard voices approaching; deep, male, not very friendly. The moment was over as suddenly as it had come. He let go of me quickly, picked up my bag and the lily pad that was lying on the ground.

‘Come on,’ he said, and we ran back the way we came.

Once in the car, Adam turned the heater on full blast in an effort to warm me up. He was concerned, my lips had apparently turned blue and I couldn’t stop shivering.

‘That was such a bad idea, Christine,’ he said, his face all dark and frowning and concerned.

‘I’m fine,’ I insisted, holding my hands in front of the extractor fan. ‘I just need a minute.’

‘Let’s go back to the flat,’ he said. ‘You can have a hot shower, and a coffee to warm up.’

‘I know a twenty-four-hour garage that does crap coffee,’ I managed through chattering teeth. ‘We’re not finished yet.’

‘We can’t give this to her now,’ he said, looking at the dripping lily pad in the back seat. ‘She’ll still be in bed.’

‘That’s not where we’re going.’

With a hot coffee inside me and another one waiting in the cup holder, I finally started to thaw.

‘Why are we driving to Howth?’

‘You’ll see.’

Another recommendation in
How to Enjoy Life in Thirty Simple Ways
, after eating and walking, had been to watch a sunset or sunrise. I was hoping the light rising would help enlighten Adam. And if it worked for me too, then I wasn’t going to complain. I drove up the coast road to Howth Summit and we were the only car in the car park. It was six-thirty a.m. and the sky was clear, the perfect setting for the sunrise over Dublin Bay.

We pushed our seats back, reached for our coffees, turned the radio on low and watched the sky. In the distance, pink was beginning to rise up from the sea.

‘And … action,’ Adam said. He opened a brown bag and held it out to me. I smelled sugar, my stomach churned and I shook my head.

He reached in and helped himself to a cinnamon roll. ‘Look how cinnamony the cinnamon is and how citric the lemon peel is,’ he said. ‘I am tasting my food and acknowledging it.’ His voice became robotic. ‘I am partaking in one of the many joys of life.’

‘At least you’re getting the hang of it.’

He bit into it and chewed, then he spat it back into the paper bag, dumped the rest of it in with it and scrunched the bag up. ‘How do people eat that crap?’

I shrugged.

‘Tell me something else funny that you did for Maria or that you did with her?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I need to know.’ It was easy for me to say that, but truth be told, I couldn’t stop thinking about the things he had done for her, the unusual gifts he got her. I longed to hear more.

‘Uh.’ He thought about it. ‘She was a fan of
Where’s Wally
– you know those books? So when I wanted to ask her out on our first date, I dressed up as him and kept appearing somewhere, everywhere she was. I wouldn’t look at her. She’d be shopping and I’d walk through the shop without saying anything. I followed her around for the day, just appearing.’

I looked at him and my eyebrows shot up as far as they could go. Then I burst out laughing.

He beamed. ‘She thought the same thankfully and said yes to going out with me.’ Then his smile quickly faded.

‘You’ll get her back, Adam.’

‘Yeah. I hope so.’

We were quiet as we watched the sky.

‘If that lily pad doesn’t get her back, I don’t know what will,’ he said seriously.

I burst out laughing. By the time I stopped the sky was bright.

‘Right,’ I said, putting the key in the ignition. ‘Feel better?’

‘Totally,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I no longer have the urge to kill myself.’

‘Thought so.’ I started up the engine and we drove home.

I was sitting on the only chair my dad had furnished the kitchen with, cleaning the lily pad first with a baby wipe and then buffing it to a shine with furniture polish. It was quite an impressive lily pad; it had a perfect ridge along the outside and I’d even tested the teapot and teacups on it for strength. I’d polished it up to perfection, and reasoned that the mild headache and cold I felt coming on was worth it. I was admiring my handiwork when at eight a.m. my phone started beeping. I battled with myself over whether to listen to the voicemail. I knew it was Barry, that it was more insults and hate, and I knew that I shouldn’t listen but somehow I couldn’t help it. I felt I at least owed it to him to listen, that ignoring his hurt would be yet another rejection.

Adam joined me in the kitchen. ‘Is that him?’

I nodded.

‘Why does he call at the same time every day?’

‘Because that’s when he’s up and dressed. Come eight a.m., he’s at the kitchen table having a cup of tea and toast and a meltdown, checking his phone and thinking of ways to bring me down with him.’

I felt Adam watching me, but I didn’t look at him, merely continued polishing the lily pad, the ridiculousness of the situation not lost on me. He was having a meltdown and I was polishing a lily pad that I’d stolen from a public park. Neither of us had gotten out of the break-up okay.

‘Are you going to listen to them?’

I sighed and finally looked up at him. ‘Probably.’

‘To remind yourself why you left him?’

‘No.’ I decided to be honest. ‘Because it’s my punishment.’

He frowned.

‘Because every horrible thing he tells me hurts me to my very core, and if that’s my punishment for leaving him, then it makes me feel like I’m earning my freedom. So once again, I am a totally selfish individual who is using somebody else’s pain as a way for me to feel better about myself.’

He looked at me, wide-eyed. ‘Jesus. You don’t half analyse shit. Can I listen?’

I put down the lily pad and nodded. I watched him as he sat on the counter and listened to Barry’s message, his face constantly changing – eyebrows lifting and lowering, forehead creasing, mouth opening in a delighted surprise – to display how entertaining he found Barry’s insults, then he hung up, eager to report back on what he’d heard.

‘You’ll love this one,’ he laughed, eyes shining. The phone beeped in his hand. ‘Hold on, he’s left another one! This guy is unreal,’ he chuckled, enjoying the entertainment snooping into my private life brought. ‘Good man, Barry!’ he teased. He dialled my voicemail again and listened. The smile froze, and the shine disappeared from his eyes.

My heart pounded.

Thirty seconds later he jumped down from the counter – not a long fall as his legs were so long – and handed me the phone. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, then awkwardly began to leave the room.

‘What did he say?’

‘Ah, nothing interesting.’

‘Adam! You were eager enough to tell me about the first message.’

‘Ah that, yeah, okay, it was something stupid about your friend. Some girl called Julie who he says is a whore – no, wait: a slut. He used to see her out with different guys all the time. He met her in Leeson Street one night and she was with some guy who he knows was married.’ Adam shrugged. ‘He had some things to say about her choice of attire.’

‘And that was funny to you?’

‘Well, his delivery was quite exceptional.’ He smiled a small smile. Then a sad smile.

I shook my head. Julie was one of my closest friends from college, the same Julie who had moved to Toronto and left her car with me to sell. Barry’s attempts to hurt me continued.

‘And what was the other message?’

He continued to walk away.

‘Adam!’

‘Nothing really. It didn’t make sense. It was more of a tirade of angry
… anger.’ He stared at me, silent, then he left the room.

The way he looked at me, full of sympathy, pity … intrigue? I couldn’t quite place it but it bothered me. I dialled into my voicemail.

‘You have no new messages.’

‘Adam, you deleted my messages!’ I followed him into the living room.

‘Did I? Sorry.’ He concentrated on his computer.

‘You did it on purpose.’

‘Did I?’

‘What did he say? Tell me.’

‘I told you: your friend Julie is a slut. By the way, I think I should meet her; she sounds interesting,’ he joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

‘Tell me the second message,’ I demanded.

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Adam, they’re my bloody messages, now tell me!’ I shouted, standing in front of him.

My shouting did nothing to change him. I thought it might provoke him but it had the opposite effect, he softened, was sympathetic, which made me all the more angry.

‘You don’t want to know. Okay?’ he said.

From the way he was studying me, it scared me to think what personal information Barry had revealed. It was obvious I wasn’t going to get any information out of him, not then anyway, so I left the room. I wanted to storm off, away from him, out of the apartment, just be alone to scream and shout or cry or rant with frustration at how my life had become so out of control, but I couldn’t. I felt tied to him, as a mother did to her child, unable to leave him even if I wanted to in that moment. He was my responsibility, all the time, constantly, night and day. I needed to watch over him even if right at this moment, thanks to whatever Barry had said, he seemed to feel it was his job to protect me.

It didn’t take me long to realise that Adam’s moods were unpredictable. One moment he would be engaged in a conversation, sometimes leading it, other times merely tolerating it, and then all of a sudden he would be gone. Completely gone. He would retreat into his mind, with a look so lost, sometimes so angry, that I dreaded to think what he was thinking. This could happen mid-conversation, mid-sentence, even in the middle of his own sentence, and it could last for hours. He would close himself off completely. This was what happened after I shouted at him for deleting my voicemails. I watched him settling into another hour of being comatose on the couch, hating life, hating himself, hating everybody and everything around him, so I stepped in to remedy that.

‘Right, let’s go.’ I threw his coat at him.

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Yes, you are. You want to disappear?’

He looked at me, confused.

‘You want to disappear,’ I told him instead. ‘You want to be lost. Fine. Let’s get lost.’

Three-year-old Alicia was sitting on the front steps of her porch with a car seat beside her. Alicia was Brenda’s youngest child and as part of my aunt duties, which I thoroughly enjoyed – with Alicia, mostly, as I couldn’t quite connect with the boys who always wanted to tie me up and chant about spit-roasting me whenever I walked in the door – I took her out for a few hours every week. Our day-trips in this current form had started four months ago, probably about the same time that I started to think about leaving my marriage. I had been driving Alicia to a play centre where I could let her off her leash in a room built entirely of sponge and watch her bouncing from wall to wall and toppling down stairs into tubs of plastic balls, and then try to hide my horrified expression when she checked to see if I was watching. On the way to the play centre, Alicia announced at the traffic lights where we would usually take a right that instead she wanted me to take a left. In no hurry to see her being squished as she crawled between two padded, turning cylinders in the name of fun, and contemplative after my previous night’s fantasy of me with another man, I had taken a left and then asked Alicia which way to go next. For an hour we drove around, taking turns at Alicia’s command. We did this every week, always ending up in different places. It allowed me to think, it passed the time, and it allowed Alicia the novelty of exercising authority over a grown-up.