Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
12 JULY 2005
I was woken at four this morning by an unfamiliar sound – unfamiliar for that hour of the morning, at least: the click of a bedroom door opening and a brief ripple of laughter. Realising I needed the loo, I got up and stepped out on to the landing.
I don’t know who was most startled – me or Livvie. She was just emerging from Luke’s bedroom, wearing only pants and a T-shirt, and she was horrified when she saw me – as embarrassed as if I’d caught her trying to steal the silver. Not that there’s any silver to steal.
Oh God, I’m so sorry, Orla. She blushed scarlet.
Not wanting to wake anyone else –although Luke was clearly already awake; I suppose it was Beatrice who I really didn’t want to rouse – I tried to smile and make some kind of reassuring hand signal to her. But in the moment I doubt it did any good.
Poor girl – there’s no need for her to feel embarrassed. If I hadn’t known that she and Luke were sleeping together, I’d at least suspected it – and why would I mind them having sex under my roof? Even if I did, I’d have no business minding. They’re grown adults and free to do as they please.
But don’t break her heart, Luke. Please don’t hurt her.
I couldn’t get back to sleep when I returned to bed. The sheet beneath me felt uncomfortably ridged, my pillow too hot, my mind racing back to the past despite my best efforts to stop it.
Declan. It was him I was thinking of – him and me. That first time, stumbling from his study, my body thrumming with equal parts shame and desire.
I was barely older than Livvie then. He was old enough to be my father. So handsome, so charming and charismatic. So talented, we all thought – although now of course I can see his art was mediocre at best, amateurish and derivative. But I didn’t think that then, and nor did my classmates – half of us were in love with him and not all that half were women. But it was me he singled out.
I couldn’t quite believe it the first time he asked me to wait after a tutorial group. I felt myself blushing when he praised my talent and commented on my beauty. I felt like the most important person in the world when he offered me a whiskey. He didn’t jump on me, or anything like that. Of course he didn’t; he’d played the game before and he knew how to win it – win me.
He took his time, progressing over the course of a term from flattery to a touch of my hand, from there to a chaste kiss on the cheek then on to protestations of desire.
You’re so beautiful, Orla. If only…
If only what? If only I wasn’t his student? If only he wasn’t married? If only I wanted him too?
And I did. More than I’d ever wanted anything, enough for the first two of those three things not to matter to me in the slightest.
I threw myself at him, that first time, telling him I was in love with him, believing him when he lied that he loved me back. Maybe he even believed it himself. It was only later, when the cool air of the Dublin night had banished the warmth of his hands from my skin, that my ecstasy turned to shame and dread.
Oh, Livvie – please don’t feel that way, whatever you do. Please be careful.