‘Ifit wasn’t for you, Grace, I wouldn’t even be leader of New Ireland,’ Dee said. ‘I’m sorry you had to lose so much…’
I didn’t know what to say.
‘We’re having a celebration tonight,’ Dee said. ‘We’re inviting every party member in the country. It’s all being put together in a bit of a hurry. It’s only right that you’re there.’
‘Dee, no… I’m sorry.’
‘I’ve a surprise for you.’
A surprise? I didn’t want a surprise.
‘It’s about Paddy.’
‘Aargh!’ I held up my hand, like I was warding off evil spirits. I didn’t even want to hear his name.
‘Come. Really. You’ll be glad you did.’
Marnie
Marnie woke, in her own bed, in her own bedroom, feeling extraordinarily well. She’d slept through the night without once jerking awake from a terrifying nightmare, the sheets weren’t tangled around her, drenched with sweat, and she felt full of hope rather than her more customary dread.
She’d got back from Tenerife the previous night. It was four days since she’d had a drink – since the lapse on holiday – and she’d made a little decision. No need to announce it to the world, but she was – very quietly – going to knock the drink on the head.
It was Grace’s pity that had done it. After Marnie had emerged from ‘the lapse’, which had happened a week into their holiday, she’d braced herself for Grace’s fury. But Grace had responded with an astonishing lack of anger. There was a new look in her eyes – like sympathy, but not as nice. Pity, Marnie had eventually recognized it as – and it had stung.
The interesting thing was that during the weekends when Grace used to visit, in an effort to police Marnie’s drinking, her anger had had no effect at all on Marnie, except perhaps to make her retreat further into the cocoon of alcohol. It was as if Marnie had been able to see Grace mouthing the furious words, but couldn’t hear them.
However, Grace’s pity, that was a different story. Pity wasn’t the same as compassion: a nasty vein of disrespect ran through pity.
Suddenly she had seen herself as Grace – and others – saw her: not as the intelligent, oversensitive creature she had always been treated as, but simply as a burden. Someone to worry about.
It had been a bit of an eye-opener. That’s what people think I’m like, she realized. Perhaps even my own daughters…
For the remaining three days of the holiday, words had kept swimming at her: pathetic; pitiful; piteous; tragic; sad.
It made Marnie feel – what? Misunderstood.
She didn’t want to be an object of pity. She wasn’t the helpless, craven person Grace seemed to think she was.
Especially when it came to alcohol.
She drank because she chose to drink. For no other reason.
And now I choose not to.
She jumped out of bed and, with great energy, launched herself into unpacking her suitcase. Sandals were flung into the back of the wardrobe, unfinished sun products were dumped into drawers, awaiting another holiday, and the washing machine was loaded up with bikinis and sarongs.
With vigour, she shoved her suitcase under the bed, then got out the hoover. The house was dusty and smelt a bit peculiar after being empty for two weeks, and because the girls were coming after school – it was nearly three weeks since she’d seen them – everything needed to be perfect.
As she scooted along the hall with the hoover, she saw that the answering-machine light was flashing: messages. She switched off the hoover and, taking a deep breath, hit play. There were only four messages: not so bad. Actually a surprisingly – embarrassingly? – small number for two weeks. I’ve been out of circulation, she reminded herself, flinching slightly.
The first message was from her dentist: she’d missed her yearly check-up and she needed to reschedule; the second was a cold-call from some poor creature trying to sell car insurance; the third was from Jules, Jules from AA. ‘Just saying hi,’ Jules said. ‘Wondering how you’re doing. Call any time.’
And the fourth was also from Jules from AA. Marnie deleted it before she’d listened to it fully, then went back and deleted the other message. She felt uncomfortable – almost sullied – that someone from Alcoholics Anonymous was ringing her.
Right, food. Apart from an almost empty box of Frosties, there was nothing in the house. She needed everything – milk, bread, all the basics, treats for the girls, something for tonight. She’d cook a proper dinner. Maybe Nick would stay.
I miss Nick…
Well, who knew, she thought, quite pleased. That’s a normal feeling. Everything is becoming normal again. Everything will be okay.
She made a short shopping list, pleased with how efficient and housewifey she felt, got dressed, jumped into the car and drove towards Tesco. A few minutes later, she was surprised to find herself parked outside the off-licence.
What am I doing here?
She had turned the car engine off.
Turn it on, turn it on and drive away.
But she didn’t.
I don’t want to drink today. I didn’t want to come here. She stared at the key, hanging from the ignition.
Drive away.
She was opening the car door.
I can get chocolate for the girls in here.
She was climbing down onto the pavement.
I can go to the supermarket after this.
She pushed open the door of the off-licence and heard it ping.
‘Been away?’ Ben asked.
‘Mmm.’ She picked up two bottles of vodka – ‘Only two today?’ Ben asked cheerily, just making conversation – and twelve bars of chocolate.
Then she was back in the car, the chocolate bars and the two bottles strewn across the passenger seat.
She looked at the bottles and thought, I don’t want this. Especially not today. I want to see Daisy and Verity. I don’t want to be drunk when they come. I love them. I want things to be lovely for them. I don’t want them to see me incapable. I love Nick. I don’t want to disappoint him again. I don’t want to wake up cold and wet, trying to remember what happened, wondering what day it is.
But she knew what was going to happen. In a moment she would pick up a bottle and she would drink from it. She would drink and drink and drink until she was lost.
There was no choice.
‘I don’t want to,’ she said out loud. ‘Please, something, somebody, I don’t want to.’
She was crying now, frightened and helpless, hot tears pouring down her face.
Why am I doing this?
There was no one to blame. She’d stopped blaming Paddy.
So why am I doing this? I don’t want to.
Alicia
‘Ladies and gentlemen of New Ireland, I give you Dee Rossini!’
In a burst of light, Dee strode onto the stage and all three thousand people present got to their feet and applauded wildly. The crowd was at capacity – party workers, sponsors, well-wishers, and journalists and television crews from both local and foreign news outlets.
Dee took her place at the spotlit podium and Paddy and four other key New Ireland players arrayed themselves behind her on throne-like chairs.
‘I want to thank everyone,’ Dee was saying. ‘But most importantly, the party workers on the ground. Your dedicated and relentless work has given New Ireland these unprecedented returns.’ A smile lit up her face. ‘New Ireland have agreed to form a coalition government with the Nationalist Party of Ireland. It might interest you to know that I’ve been offered and accepted the position of Minister for Finance.’
Everyone knew that, it had been on the news, but they roared anyway like they’d just found out.
‘And…’ Dee was bubbling over with pleasure, ‘the position of Deputy Prime Minister.’
Everyone knew that too, but again they clapped with rowdy joy.
‘Our success has given us a great platform to ensure that the policies and plans that we put to the elec
torate will form part of the programme for government. I promise to fulfil…’
Blah. Alicia wanted to tune out, but she had to listen. She had to watch Dee and watch how people reacted to her and be ready to report to Paddy if he needed it. This was her job now.
‘As you know, our deputy leader Paddy de Courcy recently got married.’
Cheering and whistling and foot-stamping broke out and Paddy got off his chair and acknowledged it with a little bow.
From her position in the front row, Alicia was rapt. God, he was beautiful, she thought: the height, the shoulders, the ready smile, the twinkling eyes, the tie with the fat knot.
And he was all hers. After those terrible days, so long ago, when she’d had to harden her heart against Marnie; the excruciating wait when he disappeared; the solitariness of her life when Marnie and Grace closed ranks against her; the bizarre compromises she’d made during her marriage to Jeremy – it had all been worth it. She’d got him in the end.
Mind you, no honeymoon. She’d really been hoping for a proper one this time, one where she didn’t have to go to gay bars; but with the general election being held two weeks after their wedding, the honeymoon had been postponed indefinitely.
‘But Alicia’s gain is New Ireland’s loss,’ Dee continued. There was an echo on the mic, her words repeating themselves a split second after she’d uttered them. A tiny sliver of time for Alicia to wonder, What did Dee mean by that?
‘Paddy,’ Dee said, ‘has decided to take time out from political life.’
What? What? Alicia thought she must have misheard, that it must be something to do with the echo.
But there was a muttering from the assembly that told her that others had heard what she’d heard.
What was Dee talking about? Alicia didn’t understand. Was she talking about Paddy going on honeymoon? Was there a honeymoon planned that she didn’t know about?
‘This evening,’ Dee continued, ‘in fact, just before we came out onto this very stage, I had the sad duty of accepting Paddy de Courcy’s resignation from Newlreland.’
The sad duty…? Resignation…? Alicia jerked her head to stare at Paddy. What was going on? Had this been planned? Why hadn’t he told her?
Paddy was slumped in his chair, his mouth fixed in an idiotic beam. Suddenly his face appeared, ten foot high, on the monitors. Blister-like drops of sweat – sweat, Paddy de Courcy sweating. – sat on his temples and his eyes were flickering beadily, like a trapped animal wondering how best to save himself.
He hadn’t had a clue, Alicia realized.
Dee Rossini was sacking him. Publicly. In front of the world’s media. And he hadn’t had a clue. Paddy, who always knew everything.
Alicia was trying to think, but she was stunned with shock. How dare Dee Rossini? The audacity. How could she be so cold-blooded? So ruthless?
Admittedly Dee knew how Paddy had tried to sabotage her. But Alicia had thought it was all sorted out, in the past, and that Dee and Paddy were once again moving forward with a shared vision. She hadn’t expected that Dee would hold on to the grudge, like a dark, brooding Mafia member. Half-Italian, Alicia remembered – Dee was half-Italian. Mind you, Irish people were champion grudge-holders. Probably far better than Italians.
Dee reappeared on the massive screens and Alicia was glad. Perhaps no one else had noticed Paddy’s confusion, perhaps it was only because she knew him so well that she’d seen it, but it was better not to take any chances.
‘You’ve been a good friend and colleague over the years,’ Dee was giving the usual platitude-ridden farewell speech.
What are we going to do?
Panic seized Alicia and she tried to connect with Paddy, to make him look at her, but his entire being was still frozen in that moronic smile.
Then she noticed that the mood of the crowd had changed from euphoria to something far more subdued and, in a rush of hope, she thought, The party faithful won’t stand for this. They love Paddy.
But they loved Dee too. And she’d just won an unprecedented number of seats. She was Deputy Prime Minister. She was Minister for Finance. She was more powerful than she’d ever been before.
‘… you’ve made real and lasting changes to Ireland…’
What are we going to do?
Alicia forced herself to think. What did this mean for Paddy? If the party faithful didn’t rise up in revolt, what could be salvaged? Maybe it wasn’t the disaster it seemed. The long-term plan had always been that Paddy would eventually defect to the Nappies.
But now wasn’t the right time, she acknowledged woefully. It could hardly be worse. Paddy had wanted to go to the Nappies from a position of power, from a ministerial post. Now he’d have to come cap-in-hand, a sacked backbencher, with no leverage.
And to think that if things had worked out, if he’d managed to oust Dee with that Moldovan story, he’d be leader of New Ireland right now. He’d already be a minister. In fact, he’d be deputy leader of the country.
He’d gone off his head with fury when that had fallen apart… God alone knew what he’d be like now.
‘Paddy,’ Dee was winding up, ‘you leave Newlreland with your integrity intact.’
Why wouldn’t he leave with his integrity intact? Alicia thought. How dare Dee Rossini imply that Paddy was anything less than squeaky-clean? And how strange that if you want to imply that someone is treacherous, you thank them for not being so.
That one sentence was enough to do for Paddy. Alicia felt the mood of the crowd change, like a fast wind blowing across a field of ripe wheat. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see people raising their eyebrows and turning to their neighbours. No integrity? Funny you should say… Never really trusted him… Too good-looking… Too charming…
No one could prove anything, Alicia thought. And no one could prove he’d been sacked. Rumours would circulate, but he’d come back from it. Paddy could come back from anything.
‘We wish you and Alicia much happiness together.’
Automatically Alicia slapped a bright smile on her face but inside her head she was thinking, We should have seen this coming. We should have planned for it.
But they’d sincerely thought that Dee needed Paddy too much.
A horrible thought struck Alicia – he wouldn’t blame her for this, would he? For the fact that they’d got married, which had given Dee a convenient reason to get rid of him?
‘I’m sure we haven’t heard the last of you,’ Dee twinkled over her shoulder at Paddy, still slumped in his chair, like a stuck pig. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she faced the crowd again, ‘will you join me in thanking Paddy de Courcy and wishing him well in his life outside politics?’
Alicia began clapping. They’d all the time in the world to go on honeymoon now, she realized. But she didn’t want to go. It would be like walking on eggshells, Paddy would be as angry as a caged lion and they’d have nothing to plan. Plot. No, ‘plan’ was a better word. ‘Plot’ sounded a little sinister.
On the monitors, she saw clusters of people in the audience getting to their feet. They were giving him a standing ovation! Thank God for that! But as the seconds passed, most people remained seated and the people who had originally stood up, sat down again, looking a little red-faced.
Shit.
But Alicia wouldn’t show her disappointment. She smiled and smiled – because you never knew when the camera might land on you – and clapped even harder, slapping her palms together with force. Her hand was almost better now. It barely hurt at all.
Grace
I gazed up at the stage, my jaw slack. I was gobsmacked. Dee Rossini had just sacked Paddy de Courcy in front of the world’s media. Not only that but she’d managed to imply that he’d been up to no good. It was so surprising and amazing, I could almost have laughed.
Why hadn’t I seen this coming? Dee was a survivor of domestic violence; she’d set up her own political party and made an unprecedented success of it – she was steel to the core. It was suddenly obvious that there
was no way she’d share power with someone who’d tried to shaft her as Paddy had done. Or someone who treated women like Paddy did.
Still, though, I was stunned by her brutality. Stunned in an admiring kind of way.
She was a politician, that was the long and the short of it – as ruthless as the rest of them.
I was glad now I’d come. I so nearly hadn’t but Ma had chipped away at me until I had left the house just to escape her.
The clapping began to die down – they hadn’t even given Paddy a standing ovation! Christ, it was funny.
I couldn’t begin to imagine how angry he must be and I wondered what form his reprisals would take. But I felt safe. Paddy’s wings had been clipped and he’d been stripped of most of his power. And even ifhe’d been at the height of his influence, there was nothing he could do to hurt me.
Well, in theory, of course there was. He could burn out my car again. He probably still wielded enough influence to get me sacked. But the worst had already happened to me. Compared to losing Damien, nothing else could cause me pain.
The glee, which had bubbled up in me from Paddy being brought so low, abruptly drained away. No matter what happened to Paddy, I was still without Damien.
All of a sudden, the sparkle had vanished and I was back in my body, back in the heaviness. The ache in my chest started up again.
People were getting up to leave and I decided to go too. I wanted to go home. Luckily, because I’d arrived late, I was right at the back.
I turned towards the exit – and standing directly behind me, waiting for my attention, was Damien. It was so unexpected that I stumbled.
It was inevitable that our paths would cross sooner or later. I thought I’d prepared myselfbut, judging from the way vomit hopped up my oesophagus, I hadn’t. (It made me think of those fairground things, where you hit a platform with a hammer and something zips up a scale.)
‘Mr Brolly told me where I could find you–’ Damien, having the advantage, was wearing a smile, which froze when he got a proper look at me. ‘Christ, Grace. You look awful.’