“I told her I did know. But then she told me about you leaving and travelling around the Balearics, and... and ending up in hospital.”
He stares straight ahead. His mouth is closed, and he rocks back and forward a few times.
“She said you drank too much, did a lot of drugs, and,” I cough because my throat suddenly feels thick, “that you also had a lot of sex.”
That makes him smile, but because he's not looking directly at me, I can't tell if it reaches his eyes.
“Well, it's all true.” He exhales so hard his chest dips down. “I can't deny it.”
There is something about his honesty that prompts the same response in me.
“I don't really care,” I say in a whisper and I really, really don't. I was only shocked to havehis mothertelling me these things.
“You don't?” He turns to me.
“Why should I? That's what many twenty-something-year-olds do, and they don't even do it because they've suffered the heaviest, heart-crushing loss,” I say. “I'm not surprised you wanted to run away from it all.”
He blinks, several times.
“You want to tell me how it was for you? In your words. That’s what I think I’d like to hear now,” I ask softly.
He sighs. “It was so far from being a good time. I was broke before I even got there. After my mates left, I had to get money and find places to stay so I did shitty kitchen jobs, worked in some bars and clubs too, and slept on people's couches, and yes, in their beds. It wasn't like I was always looking for sex with just anyone and everyone. I actually liked many of them, I just wasn't exactly good to them. Honestly, some people weren't very good to me either. It was messy. And yes, there was a lot of booze and drugs too.”
I nod, listening, hoping he'll keep talking after he has a sip of his coffee.
“I was a ticking timebomb. I would fuck up in one way or another every few weeks - being late to work too often, sleeping with the wrong person who stolesomething from me or just kicked me out, I ended up owing people money too - and that's when I would jump ship. Literally. I would go to another town and then a few times, a different island. If it wasn't easy to be somewhere, I moved on. And then towards the end, I just stopped working and maxed out a couple of credit cards doing whatever the fuck I wanted. Or Maeve would send me a couple of hundred Euros to keep me alive. It was as chaotic as it sounds. I can probably never go back to Ibiza, to be honest.”
“Or maybe you can just wear a really good disguise,” I say, my need to make him laugh momentarily stronger than my desire to just listen.
“I like your way of thinking. I'd look good in a wig and glasses.”
“And the scooter accident?” I say, steering him back because of course Marty would grab hold of an invitation to make a joke wherever he could find it. We really do have more in common than I first thought.
His throat moves as he swallows. “That was probably a long time coming. And yes, I was lucky to be alive after it happened. Honestly, I was glad when I came to in the hospital and they told me my parents were on their way. Even though I knew Mum would be going out of her mind, I’d never felt so relieved. Like finally, I could stop running.”
I open my mouth to ask the only question I feel I need an answer to, but I close it when Marty reaches over and places his hand on my leg.
“That was nearly six months ago. I've been sober ever since. I've been working hard to pay Maeve back, as well as the credit card debt which Ma and Dad paid off. I started seeing a grief counsellor, Jill. I’m pretty sure I’m her favourite client, you know. And I meet up with Arnie's parents to talk about him and cry and just try and fucking work through this grief like I'm supposed to. I live at home, because I have no choice financially, but also because I know I need to right now. I do ninety per cent of what my parents ask me to do. I never go out on the lash, obviously. And I hadn't touched another body,” he says and lowers his chin before looking at me, “until you.”
I shiver with those words.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything. I just didn’t want you to realise how broken I was,” he says, and the way his eyes are fixed on mine is brave and determined.
“You have always been yourself, Marty.” I really do believe it. So much so I am now wondering if I can say the same about myself.
He levels a firm look at me. “And please don't think that this week is an extension of that episode, because it's not.”
“I would be lying if it hadn't crossed my mind.” I want to match his honesty with some of my own, even if I know there's still one question I would like to ask him and I suspect I'm not going to, not now I can see the relief blossom in his eyes. Besides, my body is already melting under his touch as he turns towards me, both of his hands on my legs now, sliding them up and under my dress.
“This is different, Jenna,” he says. “So very different. I told you that yesterday, didn't I?”
“Pretty much,” I say, holding his stare. “And I believe you.”
“God, that gets me hard,” he says, and he crashes down on me as if to prove his point, forcing me back against the arm of the sofa.
“What does?” I ask as he hovers above me.
“You just believing me. Youtrustingme,” he says.
