Where Rainbows End (17 page)

And that’s all I wanted. For you to be happy.

Dear Stephanie,

So how’s the new mummy? I hope you’re coping well with everything. I know it’s a big change—but a wonderful one. Are you getting any sleep? I hope you are. I always knew you would be a fabulous mother, you always knew just how to take care of your baby sister.

Thanks for all the gory details about his birth by the way. You’re even more wonderful than I thought you were! And no, I don’t want Pierre to send over his video tape of the “magical” experience. Remember they used to show us those videos at school when we were kids to scare us all out of having sex? Well neither of us were obviously
that
scared. If they really wanted to deter us they should have just shown us the nappy-changing procedure. That would have sent us running off in our thousands to the convent.

You all looked so happy together in the photograph. You looked like the perfect family. Is there such a thing anymore because if there is, my happy little unit was definitely not in the queue when they were handing out the titles.

I’m really not sure if I have done the right thing by taking Greg back.

It’s so difficult to know what decision to make. Christ, Stephanie, I was always the first person to shout out that if my husband was unfaithful there would be no way I would ever take him back in a million years. I always said that was the one thing I could never forgive (well, that
and
abandoning your unborn child), so what am I doing, taking him back?

What am I doing, allowing him to sleep beside me in bed? Why am I cooking him dinner and calling him when it’s on the table? This is not what I said I would do. I need all my strength to stop myself from reaching out and slapping him across the face every time he smiles at me.

I thought that sending him packing would be the easiest thing in the world to do, but part of the reason for taking him back was because I 152

Cecelia Ahern

couldn’t face doing it all by myself again. I just kept imagining me and Katie alone again and I couldn’t take it. Now I’m beginning to question my decision. Should I stay with him and learn to love him again, or should I leave and learn to survive on my own, to be independent? I just don’t think I can face another tiny flat and one crappy wage for myself and Katie to survive on.

But if I could just
forgive
him. If I could just erase the image of his lips kissing someone else’s every time he talks to me. Every time he touches me my skin crawls and I feel so much hate for him it’s unnerving.

It’s hard for my wounds to be healed by the very same man who put them there.

And he’s so bloody gung-ho about everything. He’s Mr. Enthusiastic about going to see a counselor together and he takes a few hours out of his day to talk to me,
really
talk to me. It’s all just such a textbook solution of

“How to please your wife after shagging another woman.” First you make an appointment to see the counselor, making sure to make a song and a dance about the fact you’re canceling important meetings to go, then cook the dinner every day and fill the dishwasher, ask your wife a million times a day if she is OK and if there’s anything you can do for her, do the weekly shopping remembering to include thoughtful little gifts like her favorite chocolate cake or a book that you think she might like, spend a few hours during the day to sit in silence with your wife doing a summary of your day and then discussing in detail how you feel your relationship is going. Do this five hundred times a day, add water, and then stir.

And the thing is, the Greg I married would never do all of those things.

He would never bother replacing the empty toilet roll with the new one; he would never wash all the food off his plate before putting it in the dishwasher. Everything has changed. Even the small daily routines that make life so comfortable have changed.

If I could find the strength in me to leave him I would, but I’m stuck in this noncommittal limbo. I just want to make the right decision right now. I don’t want to be a bitter old woman in forty years time, still making snide comments to Greg about what he’s done. In order to make this marriage work I need to know in advance that I can if not forget, then at least forgive.

love, rosie

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I need to know that the little bit of love I feel for him right now will grow again, back to the way it was. The one thing that’s making me so much stronger is the fact that I know that he won’t do this to me again. We’ve had too many long nights of tears and fights for either of us to want to go through it again.

If Alex lived in this country I would know what to do. All I need is backup. He’s the little angel that sits on my shoulder whispering in my ear,

“You can do it!” It’s funny. I’m thirty years old now and I still feel like a little girl. I’m still looking around to check and see what other people are doing to make sure I’m not completely different; I’m still looking around for help, hoping for a quick nudge and a whisper of advice. But I can’t seem to be able to catch anybody’s eye. Nobody else around me seems to be looking around and wondering what to do. Why is it that I feel like I’m the only person who is confused and concerned about the choices I’ve made and where I’m headed? Everywhere I look, I see people just getting on with it. Maybe I should just follow suit and get on with it.

Love,

Rosie

Dear Rosie,

Please do not torture yourself with questions that you don’t know the answers to. You are going through a really difficult time right now but you
are
getting on with it, and you do it time and time again. Every knock back makes you stronger.

I can’t tell you whether to stay with Greg or not, only you can make that decision, but all I can say is that if there’s any love there at all then you should work at it. Every small thing grows when you nurture it, Rosie. Love is just the same. But if that is making you miserable then leave and find something else that brings you the happiness you
deserve
to feel.

Just listen to what your heart is saying and go with your gut instinct and it will lead you the right way. I’m sorry I have no great words of wisdom for you, Rosie, but at least you know that you’re
not
alone; other people don’t have all the answers to the questions. Sometimes we’re all just as confused as you are.

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Take care.

Love,

Stephanie

from:

Rosie

to:

Stephanie

subject:

Silent heart

My heart isn’t saying anything and my gut instinct is telling me to go to bed, curl up in a ball and cry.

from:

Mum

to:

Stephanie

subject:

Is this working?

I think I’ve just about figured out this e-mail thingy. Anyway I just wanted to see if our plans are still in place for your father’s sixtieth. He thinks it’s a few quiet drinks with Jack and Pauline, so don’t e-mail me back on this address because he can read it too. Call me on my mobile. I really would love you to come. It would be nice for us all to be together again and I think it would be good for Rosie. I’m worried about her, she’s so upset about Greg that she’s lost so much weight. Your father is only two steps away from punching Greg in the face which won’t do anyone any good. Especially not your father’s heart. Kevin isn’t talking to Greg either which isn’t making life any easier for poor Rosie. However, the more family around her, the better.

Ruby:

OK whatever diet you’re on, I want my Gary to go on it.

Rosie:

I’m not on a diet Ruby.

Ruby:

But you look sick and unhealthy; that’s exactly the way I want him to look. Unattractive, stick thin, exhausted . . .

Rosie:

Thanks.

Ruby:

I just want to help Rosie, please tell me what’s going on.

Rosie:

There’s nothing you can do to help; Greg and I just have to work this out on our own. Well, me, Greg, and Ursula, the wonderful marriage counselor. We’ve all become such a wonderful team it really makes me weep . . .

Ruby:

How nice for you all. How is the wonderfully helpful Ursula?

Rosie:

Wonderfully helpful. Yesterday she told me I had problems discussing my feelings.

Ruby:

And?

Rosie:

And I told her that made me feel angry and that she could go fuck herself.

Ruby:

Well expressed.

Rosie:

Thank you. I don’t see where there was a problem, I successfully explained how I felt and she clearly understood what I meant. No problems . . .

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Ruby:

What did Greg say about that?

Rosie:

Oh wait for this; it’s wonderful. My amazingly intuitive husband thinks that I “have problems communicating with and understanding Ursula.”

Ruby:

Oh dear.

Rosie:

Oh dear is right so I suggested that myself and Ursula attend relationship counseling in order to have good communication skills during my marriage counseling.

Ruby:

Right . . . so what did Greg say to that suggestion?

Rosie:

Well I couldn’t quite hear what he said over the slamming of the car door. It can’t have been very positive though, his nose was flared and I think he was snarling at me. I’m also thinking of purchasing a larger bed so that there’s room for Ursula. She may as well know absolutely everything about us. Maybe she could count how many times I fart during the night or something . . .

Ruby:

Is it really that bad?

Rosie:

I just can’t see how this is helping
anything
. She only makes us fight more by forcing us to discuss all the little things that bother us about each other. If we ever start to get along with each other, I can almost
see
Ursula getting worried about her next month’s rent. Last week we argued
for an hour
about how much I hate it when Greg leaves a milk mustache on his face purposely just to make me laugh, then when I don’t laugh he follows me around the house tapping me on the shoulder with it still on, until I do. It’s not funny! It’s silly!

Yesterday we fought about how it annoys me when his mouth starts to twitch when I get something wrong. If I said the sky was yellow, his top lip would start to do this odd sort of Elvis twitch. It bugs the hell out of me that he can’t just
let it go
. He
needs
to let me know in some form or another that I’ve gotten a piece of “vital” information wrong.
Oh no
, the grass is green not pink! Oops-a-daisies, what a difference
that
statement makes to our life!

Next week I think I’ll bring up the fact that he always wears the silly novelty socks his dear mother buys him. He thinks they’re love, rosie

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hilarious. Sometimes he just calls her up to tell her he’s wearing them. Yellow socks with bloody pink polka dots and blue ones with red stripes. I’m sure his fellow colleagues at the bank think they’re absolutely
hilarious.
The wonderfully cool and hip bank manager that wears pink socks, ooh let’s all get a mortgage from him! Plus when he sits down, his trousers lift and you can see them from a mile away . . .

Ruby:

Wow . . . and they say you have problems expressing yourself . . .

Rosie:

My point is that they just love going into such irrelevant detail. It shouldn’t matter whether Greg kisses me on the forehead or on the cheek every morning; the fact should be whether he kisses me at all.

Ruby:

So is this bizarre counseling having any kind of a positive effect on your marriage?

Rosie:

Not really, I think Greg and I would do better without her.

Ruby:

Do you think you could both break up with her?

Rosie: Ha ha that’s what it would feel like. Well we should, otherwise I can’t see us still being together by the time Greg turns 40 . . .

FOR MY HUSBAND

HAPPY 40TH

TO GREG,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETHEART,

LOTS OF LOVE,

ROSIE

HAPPY 40TH!

YOU ARE NOW UGLIER AND OLDER.

TO GREG,

FROM KATIE AND TOBY

Dear Alex,

I think I’m going to organize a search party. Have you fallen off the edge of the earth? Are you still alive?

I called your mother the other day and they haven’t heard from you very 158

Cecelia Ahern

much either. Is everything OK? Because if it’s not, I have a right to know.

You’re supposed to confide in me because I’m your best friend and . . . it’s law. And if things are OK then contact me anyway, I’m your friend and I need gossip. It’s section two of the same law.

Everything here is as crazy and unpredictable as usual. Katie is eleven now as you know (thank you for her present). She is so grown up that she tells me that she doesn’t need to inform me where she is going during the day or when she’ll be coming home. Unimportant information like that, which a mother apparently doesn’t need to know. I thought I had another few years left until she became a monster; saw me as being in the way, interfering, and deliberately setting out to ruin her life. (OK so
occasionally
I do.) The child wears lipstick now, Alex. Pink, glossy, glittery lipstick. She wears glitter on her eyes, glitter on her cheeks, and glitter in her hair; I am raising a disco ball for a daughter. I am now under instructions to knock on her bedroom door three times before I’m allowed to enter, just so she can identify the intruder. (I’m quite jealous because Toby only has to knock once. However Greg on the other hand has to knock thirteen times. Poor Greg. Sometimes, most of the time, he loses count and Katie refuses to let him in for safety reasons. I mean really, who else could it be at her door knocking thirteen times, or at least
trying
to knock thirteen times?! Although I have become very clever and only knock once sometimes; that way she thinks I’m Toby and lets me in to see the inner sanctum of Katie Dunne. You would expect it to have black walls, no light, scary posters on the wall but it’s surprisingly neat and tidy.)