I am so tempted now to grab him but I hold back as best I can, repeating mantras and techniques used to control the rush of anger I sometimes battle with when I come up against such ignorance and bias.
‘I hope to God that no one ever judges me on their knowledge of you, Reverend Campbell, the way you unfairly judged Kate,’ I tell him, clenching my fists tightly and knowing I have to leave here straight away. ‘I will never forgive you for this. Ever.’
7.
KATE
My best friend Sinead, a fellow nurse from Ballsbridge who works on the children’s ward with me, is first at my door the evening after Sam moves out, six days after I met David and on the evening of what would have marked three whole years together.
‘Oh, look at you!’ Sinead says, shaking her head. ‘You’re a mess. He’s a bastard. Come on. And before I come in, I give you full permission to kick me if I utter those highly irritating words about there being plenty of fish in the sea.’
I open the door to let Sinead in and I can feel my mood lift ever so slightly already, the best it has been since I kicked Sam out for cheating on me. I had actually thought he’d been going to propose yesterday, on the anniversary of the day we met, but I’m too embarrassed now to admit that to anyone, even to Sinead.
What makes it hurt so much more and sting so much deeper is that I know his partner in crime so well. I wouldeven go so far as to say I called her a friend. I confided in her, I trusted her, and I let her into a world I’ve kept so private since I got here.
I even told her about the bomb and about David, much more than I’d ever told Sam.
She’s a married journalist friend called Bridget, with whom we’d spent many afternoons sharing lunch and a chat, and many long evenings that led into nights together over a bottle of wine. She and I would talk about everything from the chances of Obama’s election victory, which she’d been lucky enough to be invited to cover live from Washington this coming November, our mutual admiration, awe and respect for his wife Michelle, and our fear of the credit crunch of 2008 that had murdered the Celtic Tiger and brought the country financially to its knees.
‘It’s like a double betrayal,’ I sniffle to Sinead, who arrives with what she calls a ‘break-up hamper’ full of self-help books she swears by, a host of celebrity magazines to distract me for a while, enough chocolate to give Willy Wonka a run for his money, some M&S Percy Pigs, two bottles of wine, a box of tissues and a home-made joke voodoo doll she’d put together, just in case I ever feel like upping my game and really letting off some steam.
‘I know it’s like a double whammy, honey. You liked the bitch a lot, just not as much as your boyfriend did,’ says Sinead in her strong Dublin accent. She never is one to mince her words. ‘But just imagine the torture she’s goingto go through now, sorting out all her legal affairs with her husband during a recession when most of us can’t afford to pay our rent. At least you only had to kick Sam out. She’s going to have a rotten divorce ahead of her, so I hope he’s worth it.’
‘He totally fooled me,’ I whisper, doing my best not to succumb to finishing an entire bottle of cold white wine in the space of an hour, but by God it’s good medicine right now. ‘They both fooled me so well. You know, now that I think of it, I came home last weekend after the memorial service and I thought he was acting differently, but I put it down to my own mixed-up head. I bet he’d had her round here when I was away after all his “Do you want me come with you? I can if you want? Are you sure?” crap that morning. I’m never falling for that shite from any man again. What an utter—’
‘You won’t fall for it again, no,’ says Sinead. ‘You’ll learn from it. You’ll be stronger for it, too, believe it or not, so take it as another lesson in life and allow yourself a time to cry before you brush him off for good and realize he just wasn’t right for you or good enough for you either. I wouldn’t have said it at the time, but didn’t it really annoy you the way he said “wow” so much? Like, wow, what now, Sam? Wow, wee Sam. Big feckin’ deal, Sam. Wow, wow, wow!’
‘Ah, stop, you’re just saying that to make me feel better.’
She laughs and I do too.
‘Is it working?’
‘A little, I suppose.’ I shrug, knowing the emptiness and hurt I’ve felt inside for twenty-four hours is only being temporarily cured by Sinead’s presence and the fact that my brain is a bit numb from alcohol.
I’d always fancied myself as a detective in another world, like an old-school Cagney-and-Lacey type, and if not for the complicated political climate I grew up in, I might have considered it as a career. But it didn’t take a detective of any sort to put two and two together yesterday evening when I found a bracelet belonging to Bridget down the side of our bed – downmyside of our bed, to be precise. I knew instantly it was hers because it had been a gift for her thirtieth birthday from Sam and me only a month ago.
I didn’t ask for any big detail on when or how it got there. I approached him with it, he admitted their fling, packed his bags, and even looked a bit relieved in the end.
‘What an asshole,’ I whisper, staring at the furry rug on my apartment living-room floor. ‘What a total knob he is. And to think they were doing it in my own bed, if you don’t mind! I wonder did they do the nasty in here in the sitting room too. God, Sinead, I’m going to have to throw everything out and start again, aren’t I? Everywhere I look I’m reminded of him and her at it behind my back. That’s what gets to me the most, you know? It’s not even the sex, it’s more the sneakiness and the clever ways they had going on to cover it up while we were all thinking we were best buddies. Oh Sinead, I might be sick.’
Sinead stands up.
‘Yes, yes you could indeed be sick, I’m sure, and you could overthink all of it and make yourselfverysick indeed, or youcould…’
She dramatically pauses for effect.
‘You could …’
‘I could what?’ I ask, prompting her to hurry up.
‘You could always just get rid of all this stuff and move in with me?’ she says, as if someone has just lit a flame beneath her.
I don’t answer at first so she continues.
‘It makes perfect sense, Kate! I’m skint right now and can barely scrape up my rent since Niamh moved in with whatever he’s called from the ENT ward,’ she says, ‘and you’re going to have the burden of this place all to yourself now that rat-face is gone, so you could just start afresh, move in with me and we’ll both live happily ever after! Voilà!’
I blink a few times. I know she’s tipsy and so am I, but sheismaking perfect sense.
