The Bright Side (52 page)

“Jackie …
”

“Did she?
”

“She said she did, yes.
”

“So much that she just
had
to –
”

“All right, I think that’s as far as we should go with this. You can guess the rest.
”

“I want to hear you saying it.
”

There was a tentative knock, the door opened and Stephanie stuck her head in. Gerry turned to face her. I turned away
.

Stephanie’s voice was shaky. She’d obviously heard us raising ours
.

“Eh, sorry to … Sorry. Gerry, Mrs Gogan’s on the phone about –
”

“Tell her I’ll call her back.
”

“I already tried that, but she’s called three times and she’s really angry, she said she’s getting a sol–
”

“Stephanie,
please
.”

“Okay. Okay.” She retreated, closing the door as if she expected it to explode halfway through the manoeuvre
.

I faced Gerry again. “You were saying?
”

He put his hands on his forehead and let them slide down his face, dragging his lower eyelids
.

“I don’t know how to describe it, other than to say … it just happened. We were talking about the picture and next thing I knew, she had her … hands … on my waist. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to say. And then she kissed me. And that’s all I’m saying about it.
”

“I think you’re leaving a bit out.
”

“Of course I am! What do you want, details?
”

I tried to swallow but found that I couldn’t. “Did this happen because I’m going to be turning forty soon?” In truth, I’d never thought that it had anything to do with my age. I just wanted to make him feel even worse
.

“
What
? Jackie! No. No.
”

“She’s always fancied you. Obviously. Did she tell you that?
”

He nodded. “Yes.
”

“And had you always fancied her?” “No!
”

“Liar.
”

“Jackie, what do you want me to say? I can’t pretend I hadn’t noticed the way she looks. But I wasn’t … after her.
”

“It just happened.
”

“
Yes
. It sounds pathetic, but it’s the truth. I didn’t plan for it to happen and I was already regretting it as soon it started. And I’m sorry, I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been for anything in my life. I know an apology is as much use to you as a chocolate teapot, but it’s –
”

“As much use as a
what
? You’re making
jokes
?
”

“No! That wasn’t a joke, it’s just an expression. Please, Jackie …
”

I tried to think of another question, but nothing came to mind. So I walked away, going through the staff door and the shop at speed, hoping Stephanie would be too mortified to even say goodbye. She was
.

CHAPTER
22

When
I
screeched
into
the
driveway
in
Ashbourne,
I suddenly
became
convinced
that
I
was
going
to
bump
into
Lisa,
home
to
pick
up
her
laptop
charger
again.
But there
was
no
one
around
apart
from
Keano,
the
Raffertys’ Jack
Russell.
I
got
out
of
the
car
and
stormed
in
to
the
house, keeping
my
eyes
dead
ahead,
never
so
much
as
glancing
at next-door.
Inside,
I
hit
1985
–
the
year
of
our
wedding,
the year
of
the
twins’
birth
–
on
the
alarm
panel.
The
kitchen looked
pretty
much
as
I’d
expected
to
find
it
–
tidy
enough, but
hardly
clean.
There
were
a
few
dishes
in
the
sink
and
the bin
needed
to
be
emptied.
The
microwave
door
was
hanging open
and
inside
I
could
detect
the
remnants
of
several
poorly covered
soups.
There
were
crumbs
and
tea-stains
on
every surface
and
the
air
was
horribly
stale
.

I stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, breathing heavily, then grabbed a pair of scissors and went upstairs. The bedroom was a real mess. There were socks and boxer shorts strewn all over the place and the bed looked as if it hadn’t been made all week; it looked as if it hadn’t been made
ever
. I threw the door open on Gerry’s side of the wardrobe and started throwing armfuls of his clothes onto the floor. When I thought the pile was big enough, I went at it with the scissors, slashing and gouging and ripping and chopping, working extra hard on the suits and the more expensive-looking shirts. My attack was what news reporters call “frenzied” to begin with, but I soon began to fear for the safety of my left hand and adopted a more methodical approach
.

Ten minutes
or
more went
by
before, exhausted
and sweaty,
I
finally
dropped
the
scissors.
As
soon
as
it
hit
the floor,
I
started
surveying
the
room,
looking
for
something else to
destroy.
The
only
real
candidate
was
Gerry’s
old
CD
Walkman,
which
was
on
his
bedside
locker.
He’d
recently upgraded
to
an
iPod,
but
that
was
nowhere
to
be
seen.
I pulled the
Walkman to
the floor
and
jumped on
it with
both feet.
Nothing.
It
looked
as
good
as
new.
I
jumped
on
it
again
still
nothing.
Cursing
Japanese
production
standards,
I picked
it
up
and
hurled
it
against
the
wall.
A
small
piece
of debris
flew
away
from
the
point
of
impact
and
for
a
moment, I
felt
as
if
I’d
achieved
something
important.
On
closer inspection,
however,
I
realised
that
the
debris
was
a
piece
of plaster;
the
Walkman
was
still
in
perfect
shape.
I
picked
it
up again
and
started
trying
to
wrench
the
CD
door
off.
But
my
fingers
were
too
weak.
I
looked
around
for
a
blunt
instrument.
None
was
available.
Last
resort
,
I
thought
and went
into
the
en-suite.
I
filled
the
sink
with
water,
tapping my
thumb
on
the
edge
as
I
waited,
and
then
dropped
my enemy
in.
The
victory
felt
horribly
hollow.
The
Walkman would
never
work
again,
I
was
sure,
but
still.
I
wanted
Gerry to
see
it
smashed
to
pieces,
not
having
a
bath.
The
visuals were
all
wrong.
On
the
plus
side,
I
spotted
his
collection
of aftershaves, some
of
which had
cost
a
small fortune,
and began
to
feel
a
little
better
as
I
tossed
them
out
of
the window
onto
the
patio
below.
With
that
done,
I
went downstairs
again,
to
the
front
room.
I
paused
at
the
doorway and
poked
my
head
in,
my
breath
held,
my
heart
thumping. The
Cross-eyed
Busker
stared
over
at
me
(and,
to
be
fair,
at the
sideboard
to
my
left).
I
stared
back
for
a
moment,
then walked
over
and
took
it
down
from
its
hook.
Unsurprisingly, it
smashed
first
time
when
I
swung
it
against
the
door handle.
I
snatched
a
piece
of
broken
glass
from
the
frame and
cut
an
X
into
the
image,
corner
to
corner
.