In My Sister's Shoes (29 page)

‘There are no jobs in Dublin,’ I said.

‘What do you mean? You did that live show with Peter.’

‘Yes, and that was it. One show.’

‘Have you called him and asked him for work?’

‘I rang him a few weeks after the broadcast and he said he’d be in touch if anything turned up and I never heard from him again. That was about four months ago so, clearly, there’s nothing out there.’

‘So – what? You’re going back to London?’

‘I have to go back and try to salvage my career. I’m living with my father here and sponging off him. I need to get my independence back.’

‘Jesus, I don’t believe this!’

‘I’ll fly back whenever I’m not working and you can come over. It’ll be fine. Loads of people in relationships commute. We’ll work it out.’

‘Why can’t you try to get a job here so we can give this relationship a proper chance?’

‘I’ve just told you – there are no jobs here.’

‘How many producers have you contacted apart from Peter?’

‘I’ve been in touch with everyone who deals with light-entertainment shows, quiz shows, travel shows – you name it, I’ve covered it. The slots are filled, there’s no chance of work here for me. It’s much easier for me in London. I have a profile over there and a really good agent.’

‘I thought you’d changed,’ he said angrily. ‘It’s still about your bloody career.’

‘Why can’t
you
move to London? Your editor told me you’d been offered jobs there, so why not come over for a while and see if you like it? What’s the big deal about staying here?’

‘I like my job and I don’t need to work for an English broadsheet to feel I’m succeeding. I love living in Ireland and I have no interest in moving to London now or ever.’

‘What are you so scared of? Why is success abroad so distasteful to you?’

‘I’m sick of seeing the Irish run away to other countries because they don’t feel validated unless they make it elsewhere. What’s wrong with staying at home and being the best at what you do? Why is it not enough to be successful in your own country?’

‘God, you’re impossible! You just don’t get it. Some people find Ireland claustrophobic and insular. It’s liberating to go away and reinvent yourself.’

‘Is that what you did?’

‘In a way, yes.’

‘Was it all that you thought it would be?’

‘Some of it was fantastic and some of it was really hard. But I’m glad I went. I’ve learnt how to fight my own battles without leaning on Dad or Fiona. I proved to myself that I can survive on my own and I’ve had some of the success I craved.’

‘OK. So you’ve proved you can do it, why not stay at home now?’

‘How am I supposed to live if I can’t get work?’

‘You’ll find something.’

‘What? Where? There are no jobs for presenters here. Too many presenters and not enough shows.’

‘So do something else for a while.’

‘Like what?’

‘Childminder?’

‘Hilarious, Sam.’

‘Look, Kate, you’re the most content I’ve ever seen you. Why go back?’

‘You’ve never seen me in London. I’m content there too, and I’m fulfilled. I’ve been here for eight months looking after the twins, while my career flounders. And you know what? I’m not happy and I’m not fulfilled. I have no identity. I may not have the perfect career, but at least when I’m presenting I’m a person in my own right. Not just filling in time until Fiona gets better and looks after her own kids.’

‘A job doesn’t define you. It’s just a job.’

‘So give up yours and move over with me.’

‘I have no desire to move.’

‘Well, I have no desire to stay. So why don’t we commute?’

‘Because it doesn’t work like that.’

‘Why not? If you’d stop being so pig-headed and accepted commuting it’d all be fine.’

‘It’s always been about you. You do what you want to do and everyone else is expected to slot in. You decided to break up with me and go to London and I had no say in the matter. Then you came back, just when I was getting over you, told me you missed me, and disappeared for another seven years. And now you want to get back together but on your terms.’

‘It’s not always about me. Haven’t I just spent eight months doing everything for everyone except me? Jesus, is it too much to want some kind of a life for myself, an identity I can call my own? Can you not understand that I can’t give up everything on the hope that this relationship works? If in a year’s time we’re still together, well, we can re-evaluate the situation.’

‘So you’re not willing to stay here and give it a go?’

‘I want to be with you, Sam, but I want to work and I can’t here. Please commute and let’s see how it goes.’

‘I’m not getting into another relationship with someone unless I really think it’s going to work. If you go back there’s no point. It won’t work.’

‘I’m going back and it could work.’

‘Nothing’s changed, after all. I was wrong. You’re still the same,’ said Sam, bitterly.

‘No, I’m not but you’re too blind to see it, and if you weren’t so bloody set in your ways we could make this work, so don’t blame me. I want to try.’

‘On your terms.’

‘There’s no talking to you.’

‘I hope the job’s worth it. You’re giving up a lot.’

‘No, you’re giving up a lot.’

‘Have a nice life,’ he said, and stormed out the door.

I couldn’t believe it. We’d got back together for precisely one hour and we’d broken up again over the same stupid argument. Why the hell couldn’t he give commuting a go? I couldn’t keep living with Dad and not working. Granted, my job hadn’t been the most amazing, but I was proud of what I’d achieved, and I wanted to see if I could get the presenter slot back or else another show, maybe a better one. Was it so selfish to want a career, to want to do something I enjoyed? Was I mad? But I loved Sam. Should I stay and give it all up? What if it didn’t work out? If I stayed in Dublin much longer I’d never get back into presenting. I had to go to London as soon as possible to let people know I was still alive and available for work. Why the hell couldn’t he compromise? Wasn’t that what relationships were about? Oh, God, I thought, slumping into the chair. Back to square one. My life is a joke.

I couldn’t face going home, so I drowned my sorrows in another bottle of wine. The rest of the evening is a blur.

When I woke up the next morning I could hear breathing beside me. We must have patched things up. How fantastic, I thought, through my fuzzyhung-over brain. He must have come back and apologized. I don’t remember it, but never mind, it’s all sorted. God, I hope I didn’t pass out before we had sex!

I looked down. I was naked, good sign. I must remember not to drink so much the next time, though. I’d like to remember the first bit of passion I’d had in a year.

I rolled over to give Sam a kiss.

‘Dude, how drunk were you last night!’ said Gonzo, grinning at me.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck
.

34

‘
Get out
!’ I shouted, as Gonzo jumped ten feet in the air.

‘That’s not what you said to me last night,’ he said, put out.

‘How did this happen? How on
earth
could it have happened?’

‘Simple. You jumped my bones,’ said my little brother’s friend, as I put the pillow over my head and stifled a scream.

‘How drunk was I?’ I asked, coming up for air.

‘On a scale of one to ten, I’d say fifteen.’

‘You shouldn’t have taken advantage of me.’

‘I was the one who was taken advantage of,’ said Gonzo, scratching his emaciated hairless white chest as I winced.

How in God’s name could I possibly have let this happen? No matter how many drinks I’d had, there was no way I could have done it. There’s a survival instinct in all of us, and sleeping with Gonzo was akin to self-mutilation.

‘But I was an emotional wreck – I’d just broken up with Sam,’ I said, trying to make sense of it all.

‘Yeah, yeah, I know all about it. You went on for hours about him and how he won’t commute and he doesn’t understand that you’ve changed, ya-di-ya. If you ask me, you’re well shot of him. He’s a tosser. I want you to know right now that I have no problem commuting to London. In fact, I’d be happy to move over there with you.’

Oh, God, what had I done? Now Gonzo wanted to move in with me.

‘I’m not looking for a boyfriend,’ I said firmly.

‘Unlike your journalist friend, I’m flexible. I’ll settle for being your sex slave.’

‘Gonzo, what exactly happened last night?’

‘You staggered in all boo-hoo about the guy and Derek and I tried to calm you down, but you were ranting and raving about commuting and careers and all that stuff and you kept banging into the furniture and falling over. After telling us about the fight you’d had – like twenty times – you passed out and Derek went to bed. I was on my way home but I put a blanket over you before I left and you woke up and saw me leaning down and grabbed me and started kissing me. Man, I thought all my Christmases had come at once.’

‘Did I? Really?
I
kissed
you
?’ I couldn’t believe I’d done that. I was never, ever drinking Pinot Grigio again. ‘And then?’ I asked, feeling ill at the thought, but needing to know.

‘I carried you upstairs, kissing all the way, and when we got to your bedroom you took all your clothes off and jumped under the duvet. So I thought, Fuckin’ A, it’s finally going to happen, and I ripped my kit off and jumped in beside you.’

My hand flew to my mouth. I was beginning to panic. Sex with Gonzo? What was wrong with me? How desperate was I?

‘And when I turned around to get me some lovin’, you’d passed out. What a let-down! But now you’re awake, I reckon we can pick up where we left off,’ he said, leaning in and breathing stale cigarettes all over me.

‘I passed out?’ I screeched. ‘Oh, thank God for that. I knew it couldn’t have happened. There’s no way I could have slept with you, no matter how drunk I was. Hurrah, nothing happened.’

‘Jeez, there’s no need to lay it on so thick. I know I don’t have pecs like Justin Timberlake but I’m big where it matters. Besides, if the thought of shagging me is so offensive to you, you shouldn’t have kissed me first. It’s called prick-teasing and it isn’t cool.’

I felt a surge of affection for him – of the sisterly kind. ‘I’m sorry, you’re right. Gonzo, thanks for being a gentleman last night, and I promise I never meant to lead you on. I was drunk and emotional and I’m sure lots of girls want to jump your bones, but it wouldn’t have been a good idea for us to have sex. You’re my little brother’s friend. You need to be with someone your own age.’

‘You’re right. There are a lot of chicks out there who’d jump me, but I dig the older more mature woman.’

‘OK, well, I’m sure you’ll find one who appreciates you soon.’

Gonzo got up and began to stride about the room, putting on his clothes. I didn’t know where to look, but I opted to keep my eyes down.

‘So I’ll be seeing you,’ he said, as he opened the door. ‘Now you know what you’re missing, you might change your mind.’

And with that my knight in shining armour strolled out the door – and bumped straight into Dad.

‘Well, well, well,’ said Dad, taking in Gonzo’s dishevelled clothes and my open bedroom door.

‘Morning, Mr O’B.’

‘Good morning, Frank,’ said Dad, who refused to call him Gonzo. ‘Good night?’

‘So-so,’ shrugged the rap artist, as he slunk off down the corridor.

Dad came into my room and sat on the bed. ‘Would you like to explain exactly what’s going on under my roof?’

‘Nothing is going on.’

‘If I’m not mistaken, young Frank just came out of your bedroom half dressed at eight in the morning.’

‘True, but it was all very innocent.’

‘Did he stay the night?’

‘Yes, but I wasn’t aware of it.’

‘Not aware there was a fella in the bed with you?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I didn’t come down in the last shower, Kate.’

‘I know, Dad. Look, I had too much to drink and I came home and passed out. Gonzo carried me to bed and ended up crashing out.’

‘So there was no funny business?’

‘I can assure you there was none.’

‘How can you be sure, if you didn’t even know he was there?’

‘Trust me, nothing happened. Come on, Dad – Gonzo?’

‘Stranger things have happened. Anyway, I’m confused. What happened to Sam? I thought you were meeting him last night.’

‘I did. We got back together for an hour, had a blazing row and broke up,’ I said, feeling a bit weepy. The elation of finding out I hadn’t slept with Gonzo was wearing off.

‘I see. Did you get a chance to ask him about those Hurley tickets before the row?’

I rolled over and buried myself under the covers.

Half an hour later I dragged myself out of bed and stood under the shower with the worst hang over of my life. I felt as if I was going to die. I had promised to take the boys to the zoo as it was Fiona’s first day of radiation treatment, and although the procedure only took a matter of minutes, I wanted to give her the house to herself for the day, so she could rest afterwards.

I threw on some clothes and walked gingerly down the stairs, each step making my head pound even harder. I went to grab some coffee and Panadol. Derek and Dad were having breakfast.

‘Gonzo?’ said Derek, accusingly.

‘Nothing happened.’

‘Find a guy your own age.’

‘Hello! Are you deaf? Nothing happened,’ I said.

‘That’s not what Dad said.’

I glared at Dad. ‘Well, Dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’

‘All I said was I saw him coming out of your room.’

‘You expect me to believe he stayed and nothing went down?’ sneered Derek.

‘I wouldn’t touch Gonzo with a barge-pole. I passed out and he stayed the night.’

‘You shouldn’t get so drunk. It’s not pretty. You were a state last night, falling all over the show. It was embarrassing.’

‘Embarrassing? That’s rich coming from you who spends most of his life stoned and speaking in riddles.’

‘I’m not a thirty-something chick. It’s just…’ Derek searched for the appropriate word.