Memory Seven
MEMORY SEVEN
MARIE
“So you date solicitors now? Well isn’t that a fecking turn up for the books?”
My sister Bernadette, two years younger than me and twice as wild, was trying not to suffocate with laughter after hearing all about Grant Callaghan and his magic penis.
“I have sex with solicitors. A solicitor. One who’s going back to London in a few days, never to be seen again.” Actually that wasn’t true. There was a good chance I’d be in London in a few months time on a case that spanned the Atlantic.
There was a bang from Ireland where Bernadette was, participating in our weekly phone call even though she was massively hungover. “Fuck. Twatting foot. Never mind, I’ll live, but in case I die, why don’t you tell me the truth? I could die of a broken toe with the last conversation I had with you fecking lying to me.”
“What do you mean?” I knew exactly what she meant.
“You like him. Not just his penis.”
“Of course I like him. I don’t think the sex would be as good if I didn’t like him.” Which was true.
“Then it’s more than like. How much time have you spent without him?” This was why I never wanted to live near my sister again. She could find out about an affair in a nunnery.
“A lot. We see each other at work and I’ve been showing him New York in the evenings.” We’d found reasons to spend time together during the day as well, when we should’ve been working.
“And what about the mornings? Spent many of those together?”
“One or two.”
“Liar. How many kids does he have?”
That was a quick change of subject. “Four. Three boys, the youngest is two, and a girl. They’re all under eight.”
“And they need a mammy.” My sister sounded like she was about to tell a bedtime story. “And we all know you love looking after people.”
She wasn’t actually being sarcastic. I did. I almost became a school teacher, until I realised what the pay was like.
“I have a life in New York.”
“Which you don’t love. You’ve told me so many times how much you miss being over here and how you’ve had enough of America. Why can’t you have something long distance with Grant and see how it goes? This is the first man you’ve spoken more than four sentences about since you were eighteen and madly in love with that eejit from your Torts class.”
“I’m not madly in love with Grant.”
“So it’s just sex?”
“No, it’s more than – that.” I growled into the phone, frustrated with myself. “Anyway, I need to go. I’m meeting someone.”
“Who? Grant?”
“Fuck off, Bernadette.”
I didn’t hang up on her because she was my sister and the person who always had my back. But I did pause.
“Talk to me, Marie. What’s happening in that head of yours?”
“What if I did feel more that just immense adoration of his male member?”
“You sound like something from Mam’s dirty books. But seriously, if you feel more you should do more. Isn’t that what we’ve always lived by?” She took a deep breath. “DO you think he wants more?”
“Yes. Yes. I do. And I think I do as well.”
Another pause, this time from her. “You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you?”
“Probably. I’ll let you know.”
Court finished earlier than scheduled, a pleasant reprieve from a stuffy building on a hot day. I bumped into Grant in exactly the same place I bumped into him every day - what a coincidence – and we arranged for him to come round to mine after he’d met with the rest of his team.
It was just after five when he got there, carrying an overnight bag with him and wearing a big smile.
“My dad suspects something.” Were the words he greeted me with. “He’s asked if I’ve been staying with you when I’ve not been at the hotel.”
“What did you say?” I wasn’t bothered if his dad knew. I just needed to be ready for the fifty questions my dad would have when he found out.
“I diverted his attention elsewhere. We were walking past a jewellers and I saw something I knew my mum would like so that worked. A bit of bling works wonders with my parents.” He shrugged, looking boyish rather than a father of four.
I had a vision of him walking past a jewellers and making a different purchase.
My heart kicked up a notch and I heard the voice of one of the nuns who’s taught me when I was younger.
They definitely weren’t her words though.
What the feck are you doing, Marie Green? Giving your heart away to a man after just a few days? A man with kids who need a mammy. A man whose life’s in more trouble than the fecking Troubles.
Because it’s not just about sex. It’s a connection. One I haven’t had before.
It’s been days, Marie. Days. Not months. Not years. Days.
You could count the hours you’ve known him.
And you’d still feel the same.
“A bit of bling works wonders with most women.”
He nodded, kind of, then shook his head. “It didn’t with Rachael.” Grant followed me into the kitchen, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and sitting down at the island.
He’d spoken about Rachael, but never in depth. I wasn’t sure what was the protocol for speaking about your dead wife with your current lover, and I wasn’t sure who to ask, so I’d been winging it.
“She didn’t like jewellery?”
“She didn’t like much.” There was so much behind those words, so much pain and guilt. I wanted to erase it all away for him, but even I knew that it was those experiences that got us where we were today.
“Your marriage wasn’t happy?” I sat down opposite him, my gin and tonic already poured.
He looked at me with eyes that reminded me of home, of the cliffs and wild grasses. I couldn’t explain why, but they did. He’d never been to the west coast. I’d like to see him there, barefooted on the sands with the wind whipping through his hair and his feral children being exactly that in a place where they could be wild.
“It was at first. She was my first girlfriend. I suppose our parents kind of introduced us but it wasn’t arranged or anything like that. She seemed perfect for the kind of life I thought we’d have. I’d work, she could work if she chose or not – she wasn’t career minded. Rachael was amazing at music; she could play the piano and cello and she probably would’ve wanted to be a professional musician, but her parents wouldn’t fund her to go to a college of music somewhere.” He shrugged and took a swig of his beer. “She got pregnant before I’d graduated, which wasn’t in my plan. I wanted us to be somewhere settled, I wanted to be established in my career so I could spend some time with my kid. I was a bit like you – I needed to prove I was there on merit, not just because of my last name.”
I nodded, completely understanding that. “Totally. It’s a ball ache when people judge you’re only there because of who your parents are. They don’t always realise that while a door might be opened for you, you’ve got to work to stop it hitting you on the arse on the way out.”
It managed to make him laugh. “Yeah, that was it. So Max was born and all was good, then she got pregnant with Jackson. You know, I had two sons and I was as proud as anything. Claire came after that and I asked her about being on contraception and she told me she had and it hadn’t worked.” He paused, looking out at the view. “We stopped getting along. I spent more time at work and she spent more time in bed when I was at home, saying it was my turn to look after the kids, although they had nannies there too. We had help. Callum was conceived on a night when we’d both had too much to drink. Her pregnancy was difficult and she was told she shouldn’t have any more babies, which was fine because four is plenty. Afterwards, she was depressed. I was home more because I was worried. I tried to get her help – doctors, counsellors, friends to talk to her – but it didn’t work.
“I was away with work when I found out she’d died overnight. The nanny hadn’t turned up that morning so Max had gotten up when Callum was crying. He’d fed him, changed him, looked after him and then went to check where his mum was. He phoned the office and told me Mummy was asleep and wouldn’t wake up. I knew then.” He shook his head but his expression wasn’t as pained as it had been.
“That’s hard for anyone. How’s he doing?”
“He’s angry. He’s been left as head of the household so he wants to fight for his family because I’m rarely there to do it, so when I go back I’ll share that spot with him.”
My heart softened. He was right, he couldn’t take Max’s place from him, and it took a certain kind of man to know that.
“Do you want more kids?” This was a dealbreaker for me. I did want children of my own, if I could have them. I wanted to know what it was like to grow a baby inside me, to feel them move around inside me.
“I’d need another wife or a partner for that.” His grin was almost sad. “And I’m a lot to take on. Plus, you said you wouldn’t move to London.”
“I don’t think that was what I said.” I slid off the stool and walked round to where he was, offering him my hand. “But I think we should go to bed.”
We didn’t have sex that night. What we did was different, it felt different, like something unspoken was hanging between us and we weren’t sure for how long it would last. The dirty talk was minimal, the kisses were sweeter and our lovemaking – because that was how it felt – was slower, deeper, softer.
I didn’t hate it.
I fell asleep like I had been doing every night since the second night I’d known Grant, curled up in his arms, my head on his chest, savouring his scent, because in another couple of nights, this would be all over.
I met my father for breakfast the following morning, with the surprise guest of my mother. My mam rarely stayed in New York, unless there was a sale on she wanted to get first dabs at, or my dad wanted her to attend a function with him. He usually stayed for three nights in the city and then headed back to upstate New York where they had a recently built a house, designed to resemble the farmhouse in Ireland that my mother missed pretty much every day.
The plan was for my dad to retire soon or relocate back to Ireland and spend every other week at the London office. How soon that was depended on me and my brother in part, although we wouldn’t be taking over as the practice manager anytime soon.
I didn’t want that to be me and that thought was making me sad.
I didn’t like letting anyone down and I’d worked so hard to get to where I was already, but my heart was singing a song so loudly I couldn’t ignore it.
“Marie, you’re looking as pretty as ever.” He stood to kiss me as I approached the table. I gave him a smile but I knew it didn’t reach my eyes.
“Mam, I didn’t know you were here.” This was a hug, a really big full on Irish hug that was full of warmth and probably at least three criticisms and two pieces of gossip that would inevitably make me feel better.
“You’re too skinny, Marie. You’re working her too hard, Joe. Have you had anything to eat yet, Marie?”
“I’m meeting you for breakfast so no, first meal of the day.” I was eventually set free.
She eyed me up and down, just like I’d seen her mother do to her and then complain about it. “You should always eat something before you leave the house. Maybe you need a holiday back home. Your cousin, Aíne’s, at the beach house. She says the weather’s been lovely.”
“So it’s only rained for part of everyday then?” I saw my father smirk. He preferred his summers at Cape Cod where rain was a promise once a week and rarely kept.
My mother discarded the menu she’d briefly looked at. “She had a day last week when it was clear. Anyway, what’s this I hear about you having a young man?”
I was going to fucking kill Bernadette.
“What young man?” Deny. Deny. Deny.
“Your sister told me on the phone last night that you were head over heels for a man you’d met.” My mother sat a little straighter. “I am the only one of brothers and sisters who isn’t a grandma yet and I’d like to at least know what it’s like to hold my grandchild before I’m too old.”
I shook my head and didn’t smile. “You’re fifty-five not eighty-five. Your time will come.”
“Hopefully sooner rather than later. So who is he? Bernie said you were enamoured with him.” She was far too keen.
I made the mistake of looking at my father who was an absolute demon at sniffing out the truth.
“You have been out of the office a lot this last week or so and I heard Dessy saying that you’d had a hot date.”
Was there anything more cringe inducing than your father saying the words ‘hot date’?
I breathed in and let the breath out slowly. “It isn’t serious. He’s going back to London in two days.”
My father’s grin was evident even with him trying to hide it behind the napkin he’d taken to holding.
“Are you ready to order?” A waiter came by and saved the day, or at least postponed the inquisition.
Two coffees, a tea and two Bucks Fizzes, plus three hearty breakfasts were ordered, with my mother insisting on the café finding Irish butter from somewhere for the toast, something that didn’t surprise me at all.
Then the gloves were off.
“Do you know about this, Joseph Green?” She turned on my father first, which was always worth selling tickets for.
My dad raised his brows. “How would I know? My daughter doesn’t tell me anything about her personal life.”
“So what’s this that Dessy’s said? How is Dessy, by the way?” My mum liked Dessy, mainly because Dessy told her loads of information on what I’d been up to, half of which was untrue, such as joining a knitting club.
“Dessy’s good. Not married yet.”
“I should think not. I would’ve had an invite. It’s been a while since I’ve been invited to a wedding.”
That was a hint if I’d ever heard one.
“So who’s this man?” My mother practically scanned me.
I looked back at my dad, bracing myself. “I’ve been spending time with Grant Callaghan while he’s been in New York on these cases.”
My dad raised his eyebrows but he didn’t look cross. My mum leaned forward, her hands held together like she was about to pray, which was always a possibility.
“Is he the one whose poor wife died last year? Poor man. I hope you’ve not been stringing him along.”
I looked at my dad for support. He was sitting back with a big smirk on his face, clearly highly entertained.
“That’s Grant. He’s got four children. The youngest is about two.” I’d seen photos of them this morning, dark haired children who looked very much like siblings and had their father’s handsome genes.
“Poor bairns. So how serious is it with you and Grant?”
And so it started.
“I’ve known him just over a week, Mam. We’ve had a few meals together and I’ve shown him around the city. We don’t live in the same country at the moment.” I glanced back at my dad.
He still looked entertained. “We have an office in London, Marie. It can be arranged.”
I sat up straighter, panicked. “What do you mean?”
“The world’s not that big, kid, and it’s getting smaller. You’ve mentioned being based in London a few times recently, before you met Grant. If that’s what you want, even for a trial, I’d support it. Not that we wouldn’t miss you here.” They were the words I needed to hear.
I focused on my breathing while the waiter brought over our drinks and informed Mam that they had procured Irish butter for her. That softened her some.
It didn’t take the heat off me though.
“Those poor kiddies though, motherless.” She eyed me. “You’ve always been good with children.”
“Well you had enough for me to practice with. I’ve only known him a few days, you’re making it sound like I’m about to elope.” I really was going to batter my sister. Sand dunes would be a good place to hide her body. Or a pig farm.
My mam cast a look over at my dad. “We didn’t know each other that long, did we Joe?”
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “We didn’t. Instant attraction.”
I covered my ears. “Please. Don’t.” They were unbearable when they did this.
“We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. That summer! We were sneaking off everywhere.” She eyed me evilly.
I shook my head, praying for this to end. “I really don’t need details.”
Her laugh was full of humour, at my expense. “We did make nine of you. And we still remember what it was like to make babies. Your dad’s equipment’s still working just fine.”
“Please. Stop.”
She laughed again, reaching an arm across the table to pinch my cheek, making me feel five again. “One day, Marie, you’ll torture your children in exactly the same way and you’ll take just as much pleasure. Remember this conversation then. And until you tell me more about Grant, I’ll carry on with stories about what your dad and I did last night, very loudly.” She sipped her Bucks Fizz, even sticking her little finger up in the air which was totally put on.
“You’re going to be a daughter short the next time I see Bernadette.” It was not an empty threat.
Mam shook her head. “She told me to take the attention off herself because she’s seeing that eejit Duncan Holland again. Feel free to have at her about that.”
I groaned. Duncan had been breaking Bernie’s heart since they were eleven years old and playing in a stream together. He found it impossible to be faithful and cheated all over town, which she knew about. And forgave him.
I gave in to telling them something about Grant. The filter prevented me from waxing lyrical about what he could do with his dick, as my dad would not appreciate that. My mother would be only too interested. “I really like Grant and I think he likes me, but he’s wading through a mess at the moment and I don’t know if it’s the right time. And I’ve only known him - ”
“A few days.” My father’s tone was kind. “My advice, kid? Follow what your gut tells you. It’s rarely wrong. Grant Callaghan’s a good man and a good lawyer. He’s been dealt a rough hand but that doesn’t mean now’s not the right time. When would be?”
I expected my mam to chime in with something like and you’re not getting any younger , but instead she was quiet, watching me.
“You’ll do what you do, like always,” she finally said. “But I still think you’re too thin.”