‘How could you?’ I was so wounded by his treachery that I could barely breathe. ‘You should be in my corner. Did you know she was going to pull that stunt today with Bryce?’
‘Of course I didn’t. I was as shocked as you were. But – Stella, please look at me.’ He tried to grasp me by the shoulders but I stepped away from him. ‘Neither of us has any income. She’s all we’ve got.’
‘I don’t want you working with her.’
‘Stella,’ he beseeched me fervently. ‘We’ve no other option.’
‘Has anything happened with you and her?’
‘No.’
‘She said you’ve become close.’
He paused. ‘… Maybe we’re closer than we once were.’
I went cold with fear. That was enough to confirm all the doubts and questions she’d stirred up.
‘Stella, I’m just trying to be honest.’
‘Mannix.’ I fixed him in my gaze. ‘I’m begging you to walk away from Gilda. She’s not what she seems. I met Laszlo Jellico. He says she uses people.’
‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’
‘Why?’
‘Because Gilda left him and he was in bits. He’s been a prick to her ever since.’
‘That’s not what happened. Gilda showed him her book and – Hey! What do you know about it?’
‘She told me.’
‘When?’
‘Sometime.’ He thought about it. ‘On the phone. Probably when I was in Ireland.’
‘What? You had lovely chats where you confided in each other?’
‘You’re making it sound …’
‘Oh God.’ I choked. I was done for. Gilda’s beauty and her absolute certainty that she’d get what she wanted – I had no chance against that combination.
‘Mannix, she’s stolen my life.’
‘She hasn’t stolen me.’
‘She has. You just don’t know it yet.’
He compressed his mouth into a tight line.
‘Mannix,’ I said. ‘I know what you’re like.’
‘I’m not like anything.’
‘You are. You’re led by your dick.’
He recoiled. He looked sickened. ‘Have you ever trusted me?’
‘No. And I was right not to. We’re too different, you and I. We were a mistake right from the start.’
‘That’s what you think?’ He bit the words out. I realized he was very, very angry.
‘Yes.’ Well, I was angry too.
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’d better leave.’
‘Then you’d better.’
‘Really? Because if you tell me to go, I’ll go.’
‘Go.’
He looked at me, his expression bitter. ‘You never told me you loved me. So I guess you never did.’
‘The time was never right.’
‘It’s certainly not right now, is it?’
‘No.’
He made his way into our bedroom and pulled a small suitcase out from a cupboard. I watched as he threw some clothes into it. I was waiting for him to stop but he went into the bathroom and emerged with a razor and a toothbrush, which he added to his stuff.
‘Don’t forget your medication.’ I lunged for his bedside drawer, found a card of tablets and chucked them into the case.
Silently he zipped it shut and went into the hall, where he put on his coat. Even as he opened the front door, I thought he’d call a halt, but he kept going. The door slammed behind him and then he was gone.
That night, he didn’t come back and it was like living in a bad dream. I was tormented by thoughts that he was with Gilda, but I wouldn’t ring him. I’d always had to work hard to resist being annihilated by the force of his personality and this was more true now than ever. I held onto my pride like it was a shield – so long as I had it, I still existed.
At around six in the morning, he called me. ‘Baby.’ He sounded wretched. ‘Can I come home?’
I had to reach deep into myself for strength. ‘Are you still Gilda’s agent?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then no, you can’t.’
He called again at 10 a.m. and we had a near-identical conversation. It happened several times over the next two days. I didn’t know where he was living, but I couldn’t bear to discover it was with Gilda, so I didn’t ask. I could have got some clue about what he was doing by checking our bank account – to see if he was withdrawing cash or debiting costs to a hotel – but I was too afraid to look.
I told no one what was happening because if nobody knew, then it wasn’t real.
But Jeffrey began to notice. ‘Mom, what’s going on with you and Mannix?’
Guilt flamed through me.
‘Have you and Mannix broken up?’ he asked.
I flinched at the words. ‘I don’t know. We’re having a … disagreement. He’s staying someplace else for a few days.’
‘It’s something to do with Gilda?’ Jeffrey asked.
I froze – how did he know? What had he seen?
‘I just noticed that Gilda isn’t around either.’ He gave me an anxious look. ‘But everything’s going to be okay?’
‘Hopefully.’
I still had a sliver of faith that, if I waited long enough, things would somehow right themselves spontaneously. But the hours ticked by and, hollow-eyed, I lurched from room to room, unable to settle to anything.
I had no one to confide in. I couldn’t ring Karen – she’d tell me that this had always been on the cards and that I shouldn’t be surprised. I couldn’t ring Zoe – she’d start crying and telling me that all men were bastards. And I couldn’t ring my best friend in New York because she was Gilda.
I wondered what advice I’d give to someone else in my position. I realized I’d probably tell her that she should fight for him.
But the only way to fight for Mannix was to keep delivering ultimatums.
The next time he rang, I repeated what I’d said in every other conversation: ‘Mannix, I’m begging you. Please stop being Gilda’s agent.’
‘I can’t not be her agent.’ His tone was urgent. ‘Our money’s running out, Stella, and this is the only chance we have.’
‘Mannix, you’re not hearing me: if you’re her agent, we have no chance. We might as well call it a day right now.’
‘Be careful of what you’re saying.’
‘I’m only saying the facts.’ I was scared to death. ‘You have to get away from her.’
‘Or?’
‘Or else we’re finished.’
‘Right.’
He hung up.
I sat staring at the phone, then I saw that Jeffrey was in the room. Shame drenched me. He shouldn’t be hearing stuff like this. He was too vulnerable; his short life had already been subjected to too much upheaval.
‘Hey, Mom.’ He tried to sound chirpy. ‘Let’s go out for a pizza.’
‘… Okay.’
We went to a neighbourhood Italian and we both made an effort to be cheery and I felt a bit more hopeful when we returned.
We were taking off our hats and scarfs by the coat stand in the hall, when I noticed something not right – Mannix’s heavy boots were gone. They usually stood by the front door with the other winter shoes and there was a faint outline of them on the carpet. But they were gone.
Breathless, I ran into the bedroom and threw open the wardrobe; Mannix’s side was empty.
‘Oh my God.’ I was gasping for breath.
Followed by Jeffrey, I raced around the apartment – Mannix’s computer was gone; his sports bag was gone; his chargers were gone. With each fresh realization, it was like being punched in the stomach.
With fumbling fingers I opened the safe: I couldn’t find his passport. I scrabbled through all the documents and papers and still couldn’t find it, and finally I admitted the truth: he was gone. Properly gone.
I ran and knocked on Esperanza’s door. ‘Did you see Mannix? Did he come here while Jeffrey and I were
out?’
But Esperanza was conveniently blind and deaf. ‘I see nobody, madam.’
I threw myself on my bed and curled into a ball. ‘He’s gone.’ Tears began to pour down my face. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘You told him to go, Mom,’ Jeffrey said.
‘He wasn’t supposed to do it.’
I curled in on myself even tighter and I howled like a child, then I caught a glimpse of Jeffrey’s terrified face. Instantly I choked back my grief. ‘I’m okay.’ I sounded like an animal trying to speak. My face was drenched with tears. ‘Sorry, Jeffrey.’ I sat up. ‘I don’t mean to scare you. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.’
Jeffrey was making a call. ‘Betsy, it’s Mom. She’s not so good.’
The following morning, Jeffrey sidled into my bedroom.
‘Sweetie.’ I sat up in bed. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday.’
Betsy had come over, with a Xanax she’d purloined from Chad; she’d made me take it. After a while I’d calmed down and eventually I’d fallen asleep.
‘Mom, can we go home?’ Jeffrey asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Home to Ireland?’
‘No, sweetie. You’re in school here. You’ve got to finish that.’
‘But I hate it. I hate the other kids. All they talk about is money and how rich their dads are. I don’t want to go to that school any more.’
‘What are you saying? You want to … drop out?’
‘Not drop out. Just give it up for this year. Start again in September at my old school in Ireland.’
I went silent for a long time. This was catastrophic. Everything was crashing down around me.
‘Are you on drugs?’ I asked.
‘No. I just hate my school.’ Then he admitted, ‘I sort of hate New York.’
‘I thought you loved it.’
‘In the beginning. But the people here, they’re not like us, they’re too tough. And Betsy’s not coming back to us. She’s all grown-up now. She’s gone.’
‘I’m sorry, Jeffrey.’ I was consumed with remorse. ‘I’ve been a terrible mother to you.’
‘Not everything was your fault. But I want to go home.’
‘Would you like to live with your dad?’
‘Not really. But I will, if that’s my only choice. Think about things, Mom. You have no book deal and Mannix and you have broken up – you’ve no reason to stay in New York.’
Silently I contemplated the bitter truth of his words.
‘How do you know I’ve no book deal?’
‘Betsy told me. She said everybody knows. So can we go home?’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘We’ll go home.’
‘Both of us?’
‘Both of us.’
‘Do you mean it?’
Did I mean it? I was moving into very dangerous territory – I couldn’t mess Jeffrey around. If I said we were going back to Ireland, then we really were going back to Ireland. It was like deciding to board a fast train knowing I wouldn’t be able to get off.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I mean it. We won’t be able to move back into our old house right away. We’ll have to give the tenants a month’s notice.’
‘That’s okay. I’ll stay with Dad. And you can stay with Auntie Karen.’
I rang Mannix, who answered immediately. ‘Baby?’
‘You can move back into the apartment.’
‘What are you saying?’ He sounded hopeful.
‘Jeffrey and I are leaving New York. We’re going back to Ireland.’
‘You’re leaving New York?’ He was shocked. ‘When?’
‘Two days’ time.’
‘Really. Right.’ He couldn’t hide his anger. ‘Well, good luck with that.’
‘Thanks –’
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.
Thursday, 12 June
07.41
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 chang
ed 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.
08.32
I stare at the screen.
08.53
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.