The Woman Who Stole My Life (40 page)

He’d already hung up.

Two days later, Jeffrey and I landed in Dublin, our New York dream over. For a few weeks, Jeffrey lived with Ryan and I stayed with Karen. When our old house became free, we moved in. Jeffrey took up yoga with a vengeance and I threw myself at carbs, reigniting my love affair with them.

Jeffrey and I were living on the money that Karen had paid for my share in Honey Day Spa, but it was only a matter of time before it ran out and I had to get a job. Somewhere along the line, motivated by desperation, I decided I’d try to write another book.

I never let myself think about Mannix because that was the only way I’d survive. I wasn’t going to honour our relationship, or mourn it, or any of the things that Betsy would have advised. What I had to do was get past it. A clean break, I kept telling myself.
Clean.
My time with him had to be parcelled up and put away in a crate in my memory, never to be opened.

My resolve stayed strong except when I heard his voice – and this happened every week to ten days because, to my surprise – shock, even – he’d taken to leaving voicemails on my phone. We never actually spoke; he just left short messages in an anguished-sounding voice. ‘
Please talk to me.
’ ‘
You were wrong.
’ ‘
I can’t sleep without you.
’ ‘
I miss you.
’

Sometimes I was strong enough to delete them without listening, but sometimes I played them, and when I did, it took days to recover my equilibrium. My curiosity was always ignited – an awful, self-lacerating urge to know exactly what was happening with him and Gilda – and it was a terrible struggle to stay away from Google.

The one link with Mannix that I couldn’t break was with Roland. I didn’t visit him, I didn’t even call him, but I kept an eye on him via his carer, whom Mum had once upon a time worked with. In entirely inappropriate, yet very Irish, breaches of confidence, she reported to Mum, who funnelled news back to me that Roland was recovering well.

I awake. I was dreaming about Mannix. But although my face is wet with tears, I’m in a strange mood: reflective, almost accepting of all that has happened.

For the first time I understand what went wrong for us – our foundation had been unsound. There hadn’t been enough trust – the fact that I wouldn’t say I loved him told me that I’d always expected things would end badly.

Then, on top of our rickety base, too many bad things had happened, too close together – Roland’s stroke, chronic money worries, the failure of a shared dream – and we weren’t strong enough to withstand it.

Perhaps one day in the far-off future, when I’m about eighty-nine, I might look back and say, ‘When I was a young-ish woman I fell in love with an intense charismatic man. He was way out of my league and when it ended it nearly killed me, but every woman should experience that sort of love once in their lives. Only once, mind, you mightn’t survive a second bout. A bit like dengue fever, that way.’

I sit up in bed – at least Ryan isn’t here with me, so I’ve plenty to be grateful for. The nerve of him, though, the colossal
nerve
!

I find him in the living room, putting on his shoes. Guiltily he looks up and cries out, ‘Don’t say a word.’

‘I will,’ I splutter. ‘I fecking
will
say a word.’

‘It was an accident,’ he says, talking over me.

‘You got into bed with me!’

‘Because I was uncomfortable and lonely.’

‘You were looking for sex!’

‘Your trouble, Stella Sweeney, is you’re too quick to judge. No wonder your relationships never work.’

The blood drains from my face. Ryan looks shifty: he knows he’s gone too far. But, still, he styles it out.

‘Have I hit a nerve?’ he asks. ‘But I’m only saying what’s true. Like, see the way you just jumped straight to the worst conclusion with Mannix and that Gilda.’

I flinch. Even hearing Mannix’s name is like being slapped.

‘Mannix was a good guy,’ Ryan says.

‘… Really?’ I’m stunned. Ryan never had a pleasant word to say for Mannix. ‘You’ve changed your mind.’

‘Because I’m adaptable. Because I give people a second chance.’

‘Based on what information have you changed your mind?’

‘The same information that you have. I’m going out to buy a phone,’ Ryan says. ‘So I can get my life back. Jeffrey wouldn’t give me any money. He’s already gone, to yoga, he said. That’s not right, Stella, that’s not normal, a young man like him –’

‘Here.’ I thrust fifty euro at Ryan. ‘Take it. Anything to get rid of you.’

‘Bitter Stella.’ Ryan shakes his head sadly. ‘So, so bitter.’

And away he goes, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

He’s wrong about one thing: I’m not bitter. I don’t hate
Gilda. In a way I almost understand her – she’d only been doing what she had to do. Okay, I’m not looking forward to her book coming out and having to see her on telly and in magazines, being young and beautiful and with Mannix. I wish I could fast-forward through that part of things and be safe on the far side, but I’m not bitter.

 … A thought worms its way into my head: had I been too quick to judge Mannix? He’d sworn that he had no feelings for Gilda but I’d been so hysterical with fear that I hadn’t been able to hear him. Even Gilda had never insisted that something was actually going on; she’d simply suggested that it probably would, if I got out of the picture.

I’d always been afraid that Mannix would wound me, so when it seemed as if it was actually happening, I was quick to believe it was real – I was expecting to be hurt and humiliated and I gave in before the fight ever started.

I don’t want to think this way. Less than an hour ago, I felt like I was making my peace with everything and now it’s all stirred up again.

But the questions won’t stop asking themselves – what if I
had
been wrong about Mannix and Gilda?

But there’s no point in agonizing. I made my choice and there is no going back.

Right, I’d better do some work.

I stare at the screen.

I’m still staring at the screen. I’m about to make a decision. Right, I’ve made it! I am officially junking this writing business. It’s not going to work, not ever.

I’m going to be a beautician again. I’d liked it, I wasn’t bad
at it and there’s a living to be made. I’ll retrain, learn all the new stuff … and there’s Karen on the phone.

‘Guess what?’ She sounds a bit giddy. ‘I see from Facebook that the loneliest woman on earth is home from South America.’

‘Who? Georgie Dawson?’

‘Back from her travels. Come to spread her largesse amongst us stumpy peasants.’

‘Great! That’s really great. Listen, Karen, I’m stopping pretending to write a book and I’m going to retrain as a beautician and learn all the new things.’

‘The book-writing is going that badly, is it?’

‘It’s not going at all.’

‘That’s a shame,’ she says. ‘No more going on the radio with Ned Mount?’

‘No.’

‘Ah, well. It was fun while it lasted. I’ll do a little research, find out what course is the best for you.’

‘Okay, thanks. And I’ll call Georgie.’

I rang the old mobile number I had for Georgie – and she answered. ‘Stella!’

‘Hello! Are you back?’

‘Yes. Back, like, literally twenty minutes ago. Well, two days ago. So
what’s
going on with Ryan?’

‘Oh, Georgie, where do I start?’

‘You must come and see me,’ she says. ‘Come to dinner tonight. I’m living in Ballsbridge – a friend of a friend had a spare house, you know how it is?’

‘No, not at all, but it doesn’t matter.’

‘Darling, I’m just going to get this out of the way: I know about you and Mannix being over. I’m very sorry. How are you doing?’

‘I’m fine.’ I swallow. ‘Maybe not exactly fine, but I will be one day.’

‘Absolutely. It reminds of when I was twenty and living in Salzburg and having a
terribly
sexy affair with a much older man, a count. An actual real count who lived in an actual Schloss. He wore black leather knee boots, I kid you not! Married, of course. With children, even grandchildren. I just adored him, Stella, and when he broke up with me I ran out into the snow – naked! – and waited to die. Then the
Bundespolizei
arrived and one of them was so
hot
and we began this
incredibly
passionate thing and the old count showed up with a Luger – Oh, I
am
sorry, Stella, I’m doing it again, making everything about me. What I’m trying to say is that you’ll meet another man. And You. Will. Love. Again. You will! See you tonight. Eight thirty. I’ll text you the address.’

She hangs up. She’s wrong: I will never love another man. But I have my lady friends. They will suffice … and hold on, there’s someone at the front door.

To my astonishment, standing on my front step is Ireland’s most popular broadcaster, Ned Mount.

‘Ned, hi … Are you looking for Ryan?’

‘No,’ he says, smiling at me with his shrewd, intelligent eyes. ‘I’m looking for you.’

Karen comes over to help me get ready to visit Georgie.

‘This isn’t necessary,’ I protest.

‘It
is
necessary. You’re representing all of us when you go to see her. Here, try on this top and let’s brush your hair out, so it’s smooth and shiny. I must say, you’re looking well, Stella. You’ve lost a few pounds.’

‘I don’t know how. I haven’t stuck to the carb-free thing. Well, I guess I
have
been sticking to it, in between the binges.’

‘And the anxiety you’re having about Ryan. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: anxiety is the fat girl’s best friend. Not that you were exactly fat,’ she says. ‘Just … you know.’

The doorbell rings. ‘Who’s that?’ Karen asks suspiciously.

‘Probably Ryan home from the zoo.’

‘You haven’t given him a house key?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’

It is indeed Ryan and there’s an air of barely contained excitement about him. ‘I’m not staying,’ he says. ‘Great changes are afoot. Firstly, I’ve found a person to take me in.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘Zoe.’

‘
My
friend Zoe?’ I ask.

‘And
my
friend Zoe,’ he says. ‘She’s my friend too. Her little bitches of daughters have gone away for the summer and she’s got two spare bedrooms.’

‘And what other great changes are afoot?’

‘It looks like I’ll be getting my own house back. The charity
realized that it doesn’t look good for them to benefit by making someone homeless, right?’ He really
is
in high spirits. ‘I’ll do some fund-raising stuff for them … we’re all pals! And there’s a good chance I’ll get my business back from Clarissa. I told her that I was going to found a new company called Ryan Sweeney Bathrooms, which would take away her business, and that she was better off working with me than cutting me out.’

‘And you came up with all these solutions yourself?’ Karen asks Ryan.

‘Yeah,’ he says, confidently. ‘Pretty much.’

‘Really?’

‘Okay. Maybe I’ve had an advisor, but basically it’s all down to me.’

Georgie’s friend-of-a-friend’s house is in a gorgeous little mews off the most expensive road in Ireland. She really is a class act. No parking, mind. The narrow lane is jam-packed with high-end cars. I squash my little Toyota into a space and refuse to be intimidated.

Georgie flings open her front door. Her hair is long and loose and she looks tanned and yoga-ish. I’m extraordinarily happy to see her and I reflect that if a friendship with Georgie is the only legacy from my time with Mannix, it’s not so bad.

‘You look great,’ she cries, throwing her arms around me.

‘So do you.’

‘No, darling, no. I’m so
wrinkly
. All that sun. I’m going to have a jaw-lift. I should have had it in Lima, but I was too loved-up. Twenty-six-year-old bodybuilder. Ended badly.’ Her eyes are sparkling. ‘For him! He wept when I left.’

‘While I think of it, Georgie, Ned Mount is trying to get in
touch with you. He called to my house today – he knows we’re friends – and left a number.’

‘He did? What a sweet man. We met on a plane a few days ago. Mmmm, there was a bit of a spark! I’ll call him. So, come in, come into the kitchen. As you can see, it’s all very bijou here, but so cosy.’

There’s someone already in the kitchen, sitting at the table, and I’m momentarily irritated. Then, to my profound shock, I realize that the person is Mannix.

‘Surprise,’ Georgie says.

Mannix looks stunned. About as stunned as I feel.

He glances from Georgie to me, then back again. ‘Georgie, what’s going on?’

‘You two need to talk,’ she says.

‘No, no, we don’t.’ I’m trying to get to the door. I need to get away. Clean break. Clean break. The only way I can do this is by a clean break.

Georgie blocks my path. ‘You do. Stella, Mannix didn’t do anything wrong. There was nothing going on with him and Gilda.’

I’m finding it difficult to breathe. ‘… How do you know?’

‘I breezed through New York for a week on my way home from Peru and we arranged to meet. I spoke very firmly to her. I think she was quite frightened of me. Yes, she had a thing for Mannix.’ Georgie shrugs. ‘Each to their own. Hey, I’m joking!’

Because I’m fond of her I summon up a reluctant smile.

‘Come and sit down, sweetie.’ Gently, Georgie coaxes me, until I’m sitting at the table, opposite Mannix. She puts a glass of wine in front of me. ‘Don’t be so scared.’

I bow my head. I can’t look him in the eye; it’s too intense, just too much.

‘Gilda messed with your head, darling. She needed you to
think that she and Mannix were having a thing. But they weren’t. Were you, Mannix?’

He clears his throat. ‘No.’

‘Ever?’

‘Never.’

Tentatively I lift my head and look into Mannix’s face. Energy flames between us.

‘Never,’ he repeats, his grey eyes locked onto mine.

‘So there you are.’ Georgie beams. ‘You both need to understand what happened. You were in a very messy situation. Roland was potentially dying and everyone was devastated. When I heard,
I
wept. We were all terribly upset – although, Mannix, you know I’ve always thought that you’re
too
attached to Roland. But you’re not my husband so it’s not my problem.’ She beams again. ‘You were running out of money, which you both worry too much about. You should be more like me – I never fret and something always comes along.’

Mannix gives her a look and she snorts with laughter.

‘Stella.’ Georgie becomes serious. ‘Mannix thought he was doing the right thing for you when he said he’d be Gilda’s agent. He was panicking; he wanted to take care of you financially and this was the only way he knew how. But you jumped to the worst interpretation, and, to be frank, I don’t
really
believe you have such a low opinion of Mannix, I just think you were afraid. You have that working-class chippiness thing,’ she muses. ‘You think he’s too arrogant and he thinks you’re too proud. You two
do
have communication issues …’ Her voice trails away, then she collects herself and says, brightly, ‘But you’ll sort it out. Okay, I’m leaving now. The place is yours.’

‘You’re going?’

‘Just for tonight.’ She swings her handbag onto her
elegantly bony shoulder – a very beautiful handbag, I can’t help but notice. Perhaps I should tell her I like it; she’d probably give it to me – Oh, hold on, she’s speaking again. More advice.

‘One final thing: Gilda’s book will be published at some stage. Maybe it’ll be a success, maybe it won’t, but you have to wish her well. There’s a wonderful ritual I suggest – write her a letter and let it
all out
. All your jealousy and resentment – everything! Then burn the page and ask the universe – or God, or Buddha, or whoever you like – to remove the bad feelings and leave the good. You could do it together, you and Mannix. It would be a wonderful way to cleanse and re-bond. Okay, I’m gone.’

The front door shuts and Mannix and I are alone in the house.

We watch each other warily.

After a silence, he says, ‘She did that letter ritual when we were married and she set the bedroom curtains on fire.’

I laugh nervously. ‘I’m not really a ritual person.’

‘Neither am I.’

‘I know.’

Startled, we look at each other, shocked by the flash of our old familiarity. Then my mood darkens.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask. ‘Are you still Gilda’s agent?’

He seems surprised. ‘No … Don’t you know? I called, I left messages.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I clear my throat. ‘I didn’t listen to them. I couldn’t …’

‘I stopped being her agent the day you told me you were leaving New York. There was no longer any point. I’d only been doing it for you.’

‘Really? So how is she?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Honestly?’ I look hard at him. ‘Aren’t you even a bit curious about her? Don’t you run into her in New York?’

‘I don’t live in New York.’

I’m hugely surprised. ‘Where
do
you live?’

‘Here. Dublin. I’m building up my practice again. It’ll take a while but … I like being a doctor.’

Something has just occurred to me, some piece of information that’s slid home. ‘A mysterious friend has been helping Ryan today – is that you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘To help you.’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘Because you’re everything to me.’

That silences me.

He takes my hand across the table. ‘It was always you. It was always only you.’

The touch of his skin makes tears start in my eyes. I thought I’d never again hold his hand.

‘… I can’t sleep without you,’ he says. ‘I never sleep. Please come back.’

‘It’s too late for us,’ I say. ‘I’ve made my peace with it.’

‘Well, I haven’t. I love you.’

‘I did love you. I’m sorry I never told you at the time. Now I’d better go.’ I stand up.

‘Don’t.’ Sounding panicked, he gets to his feet. ‘Please don’t go.’

‘Thank you, Mannix. My time with you was wonderful and thrilling and beautiful. I’ll never forget it and I’ll always be glad it happened.’ I give him a quick peck on the mouth and go outside and find my car.

I sit behind my steering wheel and wonder which is the best way to Ferrytown from here. Then I think, Am I
completely insane? Mannix is in there, Mannix who says he still loves me, Mannix who didn’t cheat on me, Mannix who wants us to try again.

I switch off the engine and get out of my car and go back to the house. Mannix opens the door. He looks wrecked.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, helplessly. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m thinking straight now. I love you.’

He pulls me into the house. ‘And I love you too.’