Yes, definitely a bit drunk.
‘Darling Bea, I can’t stop thinking about you, how lonely you’ve been. I’m not leaving Marin, I love her, but I hate to think of you being so lonely.’
‘I’m not,’ I say. ‘And marriages don’t work like that – you don’t come round to your old girlfriend’s every weekend and then play house with your wife the rest of the time, Nate!’
I am so angry, I think I am going to hit him.
He honestly thinks this is a helpful plan.
‘There’s always been something between us. And who’s to know? It’s not going to do anyone any harm. You don’t want anything serious, you still loveJean-Luc, we all know that. But everyone needs love in their lives, Bea, and you’re so lovely.Jean-Luc would hate to see you so lonely.’
I stop backing away at this ludicrous statement.
‘You want to have sex with me becauseJean-Luc would want it? Seriously?’
‘Well...’
I have to get him out of the house. I left my own phone on the couch in the living room, which makes me furious because it’s far easier to ring the emergency services from a mobile than it is from a house phone. Mobiles are easier to tap out numbers on.
‘Why don’t you take your coat off,’ I say, stalling for time. If he’s preoccupied, I can run to the living room and phone someone – but who? Finn? How would I explain this? My mother and Cliff? Worse. The police. Say he’s drunk, an old friend, can they get him home...?
‘Aha!’ He’s found the whiskey and he’s got two glasses. ‘I believe we have the house to ourselves.’ While he’s taking his coat off, I run into the other room, grab the phone and I dial 999. I’m just about to press the green button and he appears at the kitchen door and says, ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m ringing the police,’ I say. ‘You’ve got to get out of here.’
‘You can’t do that, you can’t ring the police. I mean Jesus, stop it.’ And he lurches towards me.
I run away into the kitchen and slam the door and shove the kitchen table in front of it, which is absolutely no good because Nate is strong, he’s like a bull, he’ll get through anything.
‘I am going to ring the police,’ I shout. ‘Or would you like it if I rang Marin first? Your call.’
Please let him just go home and leave me alone. I am not able for this.
‘Don’t ring Marin,’ he says. It’s the first time he doesn’t sound like Mr In Control.
‘I’ll ring Marin,’ I warn. ‘She is my friend.’
‘You weren’t thinking of that last week.’
‘Last week you caught me at a weak moment and I did something so stupid and shameful. But you – you put your arms around a woman who was vulnerable and we hurt Marin...’
Suddenly there’s this weird, lightly strangled noise outside the door. I hear the door creak, like something has just banged into it and an odd noise like someone being kicked.
‘Nate, Nate?’
I run around the other door of the kitchen, the one that leads from the dining room to the living room back into the hall. Nate is lying on the ground crumpled up, holding his left arm. His jaw constricted, his face white.
I click the green button on the phone. ‘I need an ambulance,’ I say. ‘I think he’s having a heart attack.’ And I give them my address.
36
Sid
Stefan has just cooked us the most incredible dinner and myself and Mum are sitting in front of a roaring fire, with the kittens playing on the rag rug in front of us. Mum has been telling us all about one of the old gang who’s getting married in Hawaii and we’re all invited.
‘Hawaii,’ I say dreamily. ‘I love the sound of that. Is it true that the word for hello and goodbye is the same?’
‘No idea,’ says Mum, smiling at me. ‘Probably a crazy rumour the way people think Ireland is full of weird little men with pots of gold.’
