‘How do you know they weren’t just friends?’
‘Ah they were friends, all right. I introduced them. My best friend Sean. They were holding hands across the table. They didn’t even see me walk in the restaurant. She wasn’t expecting me to arrive, I was supposed to be in Tipperary still. I confronted them. They didn’t deny it.’ He shrugged.
‘What did you do?’
‘What could I do? I left the place looking like a complete eejit.’
‘You didn’t want to hit Sean?’
‘Nah.’ He sat back, defeated. ‘I knew what I had to do.’
‘Attempt suicide?’
‘Will you stop using that word?’
I was silent.
‘Anyway what good would hitting him have done? Made a scene? Made me look an even bigger gobshite?’
‘It would have alleviated the tension.’
‘So violence is good now?’ He shook his head. ‘If I had hit him, you would have asked why didn’t I take a walk to cool down.’
‘Boxing your so-called friend, who clearly deserved it, is better than suicide. It wins hands down every time.’
‘Will you stop saying that word,’ he said quietly. ‘Jesus.’
‘That’s what you tried to do, Adam.’
‘And I’ll do it again if you don’t keep your side of the deal,’ he shouted.
His anger took me by surprise. He got up and made his way to the glass door leading out on to a balcony overlooking O’Connell Street and the rooftops of the Northside.
I was sure there was a lot more to Adam’s story than wanting to end his life because his girlfriend was cheating on him. That was probably the trigger to an already troubled mind, but it didn’t seem the right time to probe. He was tensing up again and we were both tired, we needed sleep.
Evidently he agreed. Keeping his back to me, he said, ‘You can sleep in the bedroom, I’ll take the couch.’ When I didn’t answer, he turned to face me. ‘I assume you want to stay.’
‘You don’t mind?’
He thought about it. ‘I think it might be a good idea.’ Then he turned back to look out over the city.
There was so much I could say to him to sum up the day, give him positive words of encouragement. I’d read enough self-help books: pick-me-up phrases were a dime a dozen. But none of them seemed appropriate now. If I was going to help him out of this, I would have to figure out not just what to say but when to say it.
‘Goodnight,’ I said. I left the bedroom door ajar, not liking that he was in the room with access to the balcony. I watched him through the gap as he took off his jumper, revealing a tight T-shirt beneath. I couldn’t help but look a little longer than necessary, trying to convince myself that I was doing it for his safety in case he suffocated himself with his own jumper. He sat down on the couch and put his feet up. He was too tall for the couch; he had to rest his feet on the arm of the couch, which made me feel guilty about taking the bed. I was about to say so when he spoke.
‘Enjoying the show?’ he asked, his eyes closed and his arms folded beneath his head.
Cheeks blazing, I rolled my eyes and moved away from the door. I sat on the four-poster bed, the glasses clinking beside me, the melted ice in the bucket tipping over and spilling on the bed. I placed it on the desk and I was reaching for a chocolate-coated strawberry when I noticed the notecard beside the display. It read, For my beautiful Fiancée, Love Adam. So he had come to Dublin to propose. Certain that I was only scratching the surface, I resolved to get my hands on that suicide note.
I had thought that the night I watched Simon Conway shoot himself, the night I left my husband, and every night since then had been the longest.
I was wrong.
6
How to Quiet Your Mind and Get Some Sleep
I couldn’t sleep. That wasn’t unusual, I’d practically been an insomniac for the last four months, ever since it had occurred to me that I wanted my marriage to end. It wasn’t a helpful thought. I had been searching for ways to find happiness, fulfilment, feelings of positivity, ways in which to rescue my marriage – not ways out. But as soon as I had the thought, escape, it wouldn’t go away, especially at night when I didn’t have anybody else’s problems to distract me from my own. Usually I ended up following my nightstand read, 42 Tips on How to Beat Insomnia, and as a result I’d tried soaking in warm baths, cleaning out my fridge, painting my nails, doing yoga – sometimes doing two of the three simultaneously – at all hours of the morning, in hope of finding respite. Other times I’d settle for simply reading the book until my eyes got too sore and had to close. I never seemed to drift away as the book declared I’d be able to do; there was no such thing as the lightless and feathery feeling of drifting. I was either awake frustrated and exhausted, or I was asleep frustrated and exhausted, and I’d yet to experience that pleasant glide from one world to the next.
Though I had realised I wanted my marriage to end I never thought about actually ending it. For a long time I spent my nights worrying how I was going to live with my unhappiness, until eventually it occurred to me that I didn’t have to; the advice I gave to friends could actually apply to me. After that, I spent countless nights fantasising about a life with somebody else, somebody I truly loved, someone who truly loved me; we’d be one of those couples who seemed to have electricity sparking between them with every look and touch. Then I fantasised about me and just about every man I was attracted to, which became most men that were in any way kind to me. Including Leo Arnold – a client whose appointments I particularly enjoyed. Leo had become the subject of many of my fantasies, which caused me to become rosy-cheeked every time he stepped into my office.
Beneath it all, I recognise now, there was an underlying panic; panic that it was all too much for me to deal with, but now that I’d acknowledged it there was no making it go away. Each little problem between us was magnified till it became one more sign that we were doomed. Like when he finished before me in bed, again; when he slept with his socks on because his feet were always cold; and when he left his toenail clippings in a small bowl in the bathroom and never remembered to empty it in the bin. The way we barely kissed any more; those once-full kisses had been reduced to familiar pecks on the cheek. How bored I’d become with his stories, fed up with listening to him retell the same old rugby tales. If I were to judge my life in colours, which I’d learned to do from a book, our relationship had gone from a vibrant hue – at least, that’s how it was for a while, when we were dating – to a dull, monotonous grey. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that the flame would forever burn brightly in a marriage, but I did think there should be at least a flicker remaining after less than a year of married life. Looking back, I think I fell in love with being in love. And now my love affair with the dream was over.
That night as I lay awake in the penthouse of the Gresham Hotel, all my worries started to pile up. The worry of having left Barry; the money woes that followed; what people thought of me; the fear of never meeting anyone ever again and being lonely for the rest of my life; Simon Conway … And now Adam, whose surname I didn’t know, who twenty-four hours ago had attempted to take his own life and was lying in the room next to mine on the couch beside a balcony with an impressive drop, beside a full mini-bar, and who was waiting for me to deliver on my promise of fixing his life before his thirty-fifth birthday in two weeks’ time or else he’d attempt to kill himself again.
Feeling nauseous at the prospect, I got out of bed and checked on him again. The TV was muted and the colours flickered and changed and danced through the room. I could see his chest lifting up and down. There were a number of options available to me, according to 42 Tips, to quiet my mind and get some sleep, but all I could manage while listening out for Adam was to drink camomile tea. I flicked the switch on the kettle for the fourth time.
‘Jesus, do you never sleep?’ he called.
‘Sorry, am I disturbing you?’
‘No, but the steam engine in there with you is.’
r />
I pushed the door open. ‘You want a cuppa? Oh. I see you have enough to drink.’ Three small empty bottles of Jack Daniel’s sat on the coffee table.
‘I wouldn’t say enough,’ he said. ‘You can’t watch me twenty-four hours a day. Sooner or later you’re going to have to sleep.’ He finally opened his eyes and looked up at me. He didn’t look remotely tired. Or drunk. Merely beautiful. Perfect.
I didn’t want to tell him the real reason, or reasons, for my insomnia.
‘I’d prefer it if I could sleep in here with you,’ I said.
‘Cosy. But it’s a bit too soon after my break-up, so if you don’t mind, I’ll pass.’
I sat down on the couch anyway.
‘I’m not going to jump off the balcony,’ he said.
‘But you’ve thought about it?’
‘Of course. I’ve thought about the plethora of ways I could kill myself in this room. It’s what I do. I could have set myself on fire.’
‘There’s a fire extinguisher, I’d have put you out.’
‘I could have used my razor in the bathroom.’
‘I hid it.’
‘Drowned in the bath, or taken a bath with the hairdryer.’
‘I’d watch you in the bath, and nobody can find hairdryers in hotels.’
‘I’d have used the kettle.’
‘It can barely heat water, it couldn’t electrocute a mouse. It’s all noise and no action.’
He laughed lightly.
‘And that cutlery can barely cut through an apple, never mind a vein,’ I said.
He looked at the cutlery beside the fruit bowl. ‘Thought I’d keep that one to myself.’
‘You think about killing yourself a lot?’ I tucked my legs up under me and snuggled into the corner of the couch.
He dropped the act. ‘I can’t seem to stop myself. You were right, what you said on the bridge: it’s become like a really sick hobby.’
‘I didn’t quite say that. But you know there’s probably nothing wrong with you thinking about it, as long as you don’t act on it.’
‘Thank you. At least you won’t take my thoughts away from me.’
‘Thinking about it comforts you, it’s your crutch. I’m not going to take your crutch away, but it shouldn’t be your only way of coping. Did you ever talk to anyone about it?’
‘Yeah sure, it’s the number one topic for speed-dating. What do you think?’
‘Have you thought about therapy?’
‘I’ve just had a night and day of it.’
‘I think you could do with more than a night and day.’
‘Therapy’s not for me.’
‘It’s probably the way to go at the moment.’
‘I thought you were the way to go.’ He looked at me. ‘Isn’t that what you said? Stick with me and I’ll show you how wonderful life can be?’
Again panic rose that he was placing all this trust in me.
‘And I’ll do that. I just wondered …’ I swallowed. ‘Did your girlfriend know how you were feeling?’
‘Maria? I don’t know. She kept saying I’d changed. I was distracted. Withdrawn. I wasn’t the same. But no, I never told her what I was thinking.’
‘You’ve been depressed.’
‘If that’s what you call it. It doesn’t help when you’re trying your best to be jolly and someone keeps saying you’re not the same, you’re down, you’re not exciting, you’re not spontaneous. Jesus, I mean, what else could I do? I was trying to keep my own bloody head above water.’ He sighed. ‘She thought it was to do with my father. And the job.’
‘It wasn’t those things?’
‘Ah, I don’t know.’
‘But they haven’t helped?’ I offered.
‘No. They haven’t.’
‘So tell me about the job that’s worrying you.’
‘This feels like a therapy session, me lying here, you sitting there.’ He stared up at the ceiling. ‘I was given leave by my job to go and help run my father’s company while he was sick. I hate it, but it was fine because it was temporary. Then Father got sicker, so I had to stay longer. It was hard to convince my job to extend the leave and now the doctor says Father’s not getting any better. It’s terminal. Then I found out last week that work are letting me go; they can’t afford for me to spend any more time away.’
‘So you lose your dad and your job. And your girlfriend. And your best friend,’ I summarised for him. ‘All in one week.’
‘Why, thank you so much for saying that all out loud for me.’
‘I have fourteen days to fix you, I don’t have time for tip-toeing,’ I said lightly.
‘Actually, it’s thirteen.’
‘When your dad passes away, you’re not expected to keep the position, are you?’
‘That’s the problem: it’s a family business. My grandfather left the company to my father, next it falls to me, and so on and so on.’
The tension was building just talking about it. Realising I needed to tread carefully, I asked, ‘Have you spoken to your father about not wanting the job?’
He laughed lightly, bitterly. ‘You clearly don’t know my family. It doesn’t matter what I tell him; the job is mine whether I like it or not. My grandfather’s will states that the company is my father’s for life, then it falls to my father’s children, and if I don’t join the business, then it reverts to my uncle’s son and his family inherit it.’
‘Surely that saves you.’
He buried his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes with frustration. ‘It screws me even more. Look, I appreciate you trying, but you don’t understand the situation. It’s too complicated for me to explain, but let’s just say it involves years and years of family shit and I’m smack bang in the middle of it.’
His fingers were trembling. He rubbed them on his jeans, up and down, up and down. He probably wasn’t even aware that he was doing it. Time to lift the mood.
‘Tell me about your job, the job you love.’
He looked at me, a rare playful look in his eye. ‘What do you think it is that I do?’
I studied him. ‘A model?’
He swung his legs off the couch and sat up. It was so quick I thought he was going to dive on me; instead he looked at me in shock. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘You’re not a model?’
‘Why the hell would you say that?’
‘Because …’
‘Because what?’
He was flabbergasted. It was the first time I’d seen him so animated.
‘Don’t tell me no one has ever said that to you before?’
He shook his head. ‘No. No way.’
‘Oh. Even your girlfriend?’
‘No!’ He laughed quickly, and it was beautiful, a beautiful sound that I wanted to hear again. ‘You’re pulling my leg.’ Then he laid down again, feet up, the smile and the laugh gone.
‘I’m not. You happen to be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen and so I thought you might be a model,’ I explained rationally. ‘I wasn’t making it up!’
He looked at me then, his face softer, a little embarrassed, as he tried to figure out whether I was joking. But I wasn’t joking. If anything, I was mortified; I hadn’t meant it to come out like that. I had meant to say he was handsome, but it came out wrong because it came out right.
‘So what do you do?’ I changed the subject, picking imaginary fluff from my jeans to avoid looking at him.
‘You’ll enjoy this.’
‘Go on.’
‘A stripogram. One of those Chippendales. Because I’m so handsome and all.’
I rolled my eyes and sat back.
‘Ah, I’m only messing. I’m a helicopter pilot for the Irish Coast Guard.’
My mouth dropped.
‘See, I told you you’d enjoy it.’ He studied me.
‘You rescue people,’ I said.
‘We have so much in common, you and I.’
There was no way Adam could go back to that job with him being in
this frame of mind. I wouldn’t let him, I couldn’t let him, they wouldn’t let him.
‘You said the family company falls to your father’s children after his death. Do you have any siblings?’
‘I have an older sister. She’s next in line, but she moved to Boston. She had to leg it over there when it came out that her husband had stolen millions from his friends in a Ponzi scheme. He was supposed to invest it for them but spent it instead. Took quite a bit from me too. Took a whole lot from my dad.’
‘Your poor sister.’
‘Lavinia? She was probably the brains behind it. It’s not just that, there are other complications. The company should have passed to my uncle, who was the eldest brother, but he’s a selfish prick and my grandfather knew he’d run the company into the ground if it was left to him, so instead it went to Father. As a result, the family was split between those who sympathised with Uncle Liam and those who took my father’s side. So if I don’t take over and it falls to my cousin … It’s difficult to explain to someone who isn’t part of the family. You can’t know how hard it is to turn your back on something, even though you despise it, because there’s loyalty involved.’
‘I left my husband last week,’ I blurted out. Just like that, I said it. My heart was hammering in my chest; it must have been the first time I’d said it to anyone, out loud. For so long I’d wanted to leave him, but couldn’t because I wanted to be the loyal wife who followed through on my vows. I knew exactly the loyalty Adam was talking about.
He looked at me, surprised. For a moment he studied me, as if questioning whether my claim was authentic. ‘What did he do?’
‘He’s an electrician, why?’
‘No. Why did you leave him? What did he do wrong?’
I swallowed, examined my nails. ‘He didn’t do anything wrong really. He … I wasn’t happy.’
He blew air out of his nose, unamused. ‘So you find your own happiness at his expense.’
I knew he was thinking about his girlfriend.
‘It’s not a philosophy I like to preach.’
‘But you practise it.’