Chapter Twenty-Two
INT: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE / EXT: GRIFFITH PARK / INT: MARINO CRESCENT
I wake up on Sunday morning feeling weirdly optimistic.
We ended up sharing a takeaway last night with Roo and her friends, who were all slightly tipsy by then.
Maybe that was why Nadia was definitely flirting with Art.
At one point she put her hand on his knee and I felt a sharp pang of something that was definitely not jealousy but was strangely …
territorial. But that didn’t mean anything, did it?
I mean, he was literally eating me out a few hours earlier.
It’s only natural I’d feel a bit odd seeing another woman come on to him.
Still, I was slightly unsettled by how relieved I felt when Art immediately moved his legs so her hand fell away.
‘We’d better get back to work,’ he said. ‘What do you say, McDermott?’
And we did. Art giving me one of the best orgasms of my life really must have cleared both our heads because we worked productively until eleven, when we realised we were both yawning too much to talk.
When I walked him to the front door Art popped his head into the sitting room to say goodbye to Roo and friends, who urged him to stay for one drink.
‘Much as I’d love to,’ said Art, ‘I’m driving home and Annie and I have an early start tomorrow. We’ll have to do it another time.’
‘It’s my birthday on Wednesday!’ said Roo. ‘I’m having drinks in that new place on Dorset Street. You should come!’
I’m pretty sure Roo would not have invited Art to her party if she hadn’t consumed so much rosé.
She definitely wouldn’t have invited him without checking if I was okay with it.
I wasn’t sure if I was okay or not, but I suppose it didn’t matter because Art said, ‘I’d love to, but it depends on work. ’
‘I doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight,’ I said, after I’d closed the door on Roo and her friends. ‘They’ll be up for hours.’
‘You can use those noise-cancelling headphones to block out the sound.’ Art smiled at me as he opened the front door. ‘We need you well rested tomorrow.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.
If we were a couple instead of … whatever we are, this is when we’d kiss goodnight.
But we’re not, of course. So we didn’t.
Miraculously, I did sleep well, and I’m positively bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for a productive day’s work, when Art arrives at ten.
‘Morning,’ he says, following me into the kitchen. ‘Where’s Roo?’
‘Still asleep,’ I say, putting the kettle on. ‘I think it was a late one last night. Thanks for the headphones tip.’
‘You’re welcome,’ says Art.
It’s a gorgeous sunny day and as we settle down to work I can’t help glancing wistfully out the window into the little courtyard garden. I tell myself that in a week or two I’ll actually have free weekends again. If Bernard fires us I might have a lot more free time than I want.
After a hungover Roo goes to her parents’ house for Sunday lunch, wearing one of her few non-black garments (it’s navy, the equivalent of hot pink for Roo), Art and I move to the kitchen table and keep working, moving between the official and the secret scripts.
It’s pretty intense and, even with a quick break for lunch, after a few hours I’m feeling the strain.
I stand up and stretch my arms over my head.
‘I don’t know what hurts most,’ I say. ‘My back or my brain.’
‘I know what we should do,’ says Art. ‘We should go for a walk.’
I must admit I thought he was going to suggest something else, but we’ve been stuck inside for so long that the thought of some fresh air and sunlight is irresistible.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Let’s go.’
Half an hour later, we’re strolling past the vivid flower beds in Griffith Park.
There’s a light, warm breeze and as we head towards the far end of the park I can feel some of the tension slip away.
We don’t say much as we walk along, but I don’t mind.
I never feel the urge to fill a silence with babbling when I’m with Art.
‘This walk was another good idea,’ I say.
‘I’m known for them,’ says Art.
I laugh despite myself. ‘I must admit you’ve had some good ones recently. God, this weather is incredible.’
We’re passing a bench and Art says, ‘Let’s sit down for a minute. We should soak up some vitamin D before we head back to the writing cave.’
‘My house is not a cave, thank you,’ I say. ‘But yeah, let’s take a break.’
After we sit down I close my eyes and let the warmth of the sun sink into my bones. Neither of us says anything for a moment.
‘I think I could actually fall asleep here right now,’ says Art and I’m about to agree when a voice I haven’t heard in a long time, a voice that brings back a million memories, all of them bad, says, ‘Oh my God, Art Sullivan!’
I freeze as Art turns his head and, in a voice devoid of all enthusiasm, says, ‘Lizzie?’
And there, standing next to the bench, in my presence for the first time in almost two decades, is Lizzie Lattin.
‘Yes!’ she says. ‘Wow, look at you! Donnacha heard through the grapevine that you were back in Dublin! What are you up to?’
‘Same as ever,’ says Art. He stands up to face her and I automatically stand up too. ‘Writing scripts.’
I can’t believe this is happening. I’d wondered if she knew him but I never thought I’d actually find out. If he turns the Sullivan charm on Lizzie I won’t be able to bear it. I’ll just have to walk away. Which I’d like to do now only I feel like my feet have frozen to the pavement.
‘Oh wow!’ says Lizzie. ‘Such a cool job. You haven’t changed a bit! Same old Art.’
She looks … I wouldn’t say she looks exactly the same, because she doesn’t.
Her hair is the same chestnut brown as ever, but it’s in flowing waves now instead of pressed straight.
Her subtle make-up looks like it was done by a professional.
She’s clad in suburban sportswear chic, lavender Sweaty Betty yoga pants and a marl grey T-shirt.
Roo has the same yoga pants in black, and the thought that she and Lizzie Lattin now own the same item of clothing is so ridiculous it almost makes me laugh.
Lizzie claps her hands together and I see a massive diamond and platinum band on the ring finger of her left hand.
She hasn’t paid me an iota of attention.
She’s barely looked at me. But then she suddenly seems to realise that Art isn’t alone because she gasps theatrically and says, ‘Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Lizzie.
I’m an old friend of Art’s. We were friends, weren’t we?
’ She gives him a revoltingly roguish look and he looks slightly confused.
‘Actually, my husband was in his class at Belvo.’
‘I’m Annie McDermott,’ I say. A part of my stunned brain absently wonders if her husband was the boy who barked at me and Roo. ‘We’ve met.’
‘Have we?’ Lizzie’s brow furrows – as much as it can furrow these days – in confusion.
And then her eyes widen in recognition and for a split second I see an expression I can only describe as ‘what the fuck?’ cross her face before she says, ‘Annie from school? Laura McDermott’s sister? Oh my God, Annie! It’s been so long!’
For a horrible moment I’m afraid she’s going to hug me and I brace myself to push her away, but instead she turns to Art with a beaming smile. ‘Annie was in my class!’
‘I sure was,’ I say. Something of what I’m feeling must be showing in my voice, at least to Art, because he glances at me, his expression concerned. Lizzie doesn’t seem to notice, though.
‘You look so different,’ she says. ‘You look great!’ She sounds insultingly surprised. ‘I hardly recognised you.’
‘Oh, I recognised you.’ It’s like a horrible dream. Lizzie popped up in my bad dreams for a long time.
‘I can’t believe we haven’t seen each other since school!’ Lizzie shakes her head, as if we were two old pals who’d somehow drifted apart.
‘I can,’ I say.
But Lizzie ignores me. ‘Oh my God, Art, you should have seen Annie back then!’ She smiles at me like she never called me a creepy weirdo. Like she wasn’t the cause of the worst time of my life. Like I’d never had to talk about her to my therapist. ‘She was the cutest little goth.’
For a moment Art doesn’t say anything. He glances at me again and then turns back to Lizzie.
I would not like him to look at me the way he’s looking at her right now.
Then he says, ‘Annie wasn’t a goth.’
‘Sorry?’ says Lizzie.
‘Annie was never a goth,’ says Art. ‘She was witchy.’
He catches my eye and the corner of his mouth twitches up, just for a second, in a smile. ‘Isn’t that right, McDermott?’
A smile spreads across my own face. A big, broad, unstoppable smile.
‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘I was.’
‘What?’ Lizzie looks totally confused.
‘They’re two very different things,’ says Art. ‘Anyway, Liz, it’s been great to take this trip down memory lane, but we were just leaving.’
‘Oh right.’ Lizzie turns to me with another big smile. She actually looks sincere. It’s kind of amazing really. ‘Annie, we must arrange a night out. I’ll get Donnacha to look after the kids. Can you believe it’s almost twenty years since we left school? It’d be great to catch up.’
I look at her, this basic bitch who once made my life a raging misery, and I let out a laugh.
‘Oh my God, Lizzie,’ I say. ‘Of course it wouldn’t.’
Her smile wavers. ‘What?’
‘We weren’t friends,’ I say. ‘We were the opposite of friends. Why would I ever want to hang out with you?’
The expression on Lizzie’s face now is all too familiar. ‘Jesus,’ she says, ‘I was just trying to be friendly. You should try it yourself sometime.’
Ah, there she is.