Chapter 7
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘You look terrible.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’m only saying it because normally you don’t.
You’re the most gorgeous woman I know. You don’t normally have dark circles under your eyes.
You don’t break out in spots. And split ends.
You’re the one who introduced me to Mario.
He’s Mr Blond. No one does a balayage like him.
He says it’s been eight months since you came in to him. ’
‘I’m growing my hair,’ I mumbled. But she was right, I wasn’t looking my very best. I had been plastering on the make-up lately, trying to make myself look half-alive.
My hair was dutifully straightened, but, admittedly, the colour was lacklustre.
I was tired and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten a vegetable.
‘Are you happy?’ she pressed.
‘Yes. Mostly. Sometimes. Kind of.’
‘I’ve been listening to a podcast so forgive me a moment,’ went on Tara, ‘but I think it all applies to you. Do you believe that happiness is an infinite and abundant concept that there is enough of to go round?’
I thought for a moment. ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘I always think that if I am happy, then someone else won’t be.’
Tara nodded, satisfied. ‘Exactly. I knew it. God, I think I could be a therapist, I really could. I am really good.’ She was smiling.
‘So, what are you going to do about it? I mean, it’s all very well to put happiness on the long finger, to know you can access it at a later date because you just don’t have time for it, but to think you don’t deserve it is an entirely different thing. ’
‘Granny Annie thinks I should go on vacation,’ I said. ‘But I can’t leave the business.’
‘Yes, you can. I promise I will look after it. We will stay in touch, daily, if you like. I’ll keep things going, send you emails, we can talk on the phone. But you need to walk on a beach, read books that aren’t about business and get some sleep.’
‘Maybe.’ Perhaps a vacation was what I needed?
Perhaps it would help shake off the enveloping fug, a mix of tiredness and a lingering, aching flu?
And it would be good to read a few books, even tackle Persuasion.
A restart and a reboot. Tara could keep the day-to-day business going and I could work remotely. ‘I suppose I could take a day off…’
‘A month.’
‘Two days.’
‘A fortnight.’
‘A week.’
‘Done.’ Tara looked triumphant. ‘Now, what about one of those tree-hugging, naked retreats?’
‘No thank you.’
‘Rock climbing in Utah?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘A homestay with an Amish community? I read an article about it, it’s called Tradwife Training Camp. You wear a bonnet and do things like milk churning and—’
‘Absolutely not!’
But there was another place, somewhere I’d been to before on a short layover and there’d been something about the place which made me feel immediately at home.
It was a small village called Sandycove, just outside Dublin.
I’d only been there for twenty-four hours or so, but I’d swum in the sea, eaten ice cream and stayed in a lovely little hotel where there was home-made bread with incredible butter and rhubarb jam for breakfast. I’d flown home, heartsick, wishing I could stay.
‘Ireland,’ I said.
‘Ireland?’ Tara shook her head. ‘I thought you wanted a vacation. It’s wet and cold there.’
‘Not all the time.’
‘But a lot of the time.’
‘It’s May. It can’t be that bad.’
Tara raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘You’ll wither away there. No coffee, no skyscrapers, no cabs.’
‘Tara, they have all of those. And I am one billion per cent positive they drink coffee there.’
‘Well, I don’t think they do,’ said Tara, knowingly. ‘I think they just have tea and instant coffee in jars.’ She shuddered. ‘Whatever. At least you’ve agreed to a vacation. Right, I’ll book you on a flight leaving tomorrow morning.’
‘Tomorrow? Tomorrow’s Friday.’
‘Yes, tomorrow. Pack your bags, don’t bother with the sun cream. Bring an umbrella and a rain jacket. And gumboots. And go and have fun.’
She left to book my flight with a big self-satisfied look on her face.
* * *
Mom sounded as sceptical as Tara. ‘Ireland? What on earth for? Business?’
‘Pleasure. I’m going tomorrow. It’s just a small break from work.’
She gasped. ‘Oh. My. God.’ She sounded as though she was speaking through her fingers.
‘Mom, it’s just a small trip. Time away. Recalibration time. It’s a normal part of executive life nowadays.’
‘But you never take time off. You don’t take time off just because. It’s for medical treatment, isn’t it? Are you ill?’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘Not remotely.’
‘Plastic surgery? Breast implants?’
‘No!’ I felt slightly insulted.
‘Facial planing?’
‘Mom!’
‘Butt lift?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Fat reduction?’
‘Mom, absolutely not. It’s more of a kind of spiritual time away. Like Julia Roberts in Eat Pray Love.’
‘So you’re going to India, Italy and Indonesia?’
‘No. Ireland.’
‘So you’re going to be eating and praying in Ireland? I suppose that’s feasible.’
‘Eating, definitely. But no praying.’
‘And loving?’
I let out a hollow laugh.
‘So just eating?’
‘Just eating.’
‘Kerry-Anne, why are you behaving so rashly? Is this to do with Milhouse? Have you lost your mind?’
‘I’m hoping to find it…’
‘So you have lost your mind?’
‘It’s just a vacation. People have them every day.’
‘But you don’t.’
‘Just leave it, Mom. I’m fine.’
‘Well, if you insist on going, stay away from Irish men and don’t eat too many carbohydrates. You wouldn’t blame the Irish for their love of them, not after everything they’ve been through.’ She sighed. ‘Okay… well, maybe it is a good idea after everything.’
I knew what she was thinking. What did she want me to do, have a breakdown about Caitlin?
Wail and cry? I missed her every day; the thought that she wasn’t going to call or meet me in a bar or tell me about her life and listen to me go on about mine was heartbreaking.
But it wasn’t going to help anyone if I allowed myself to dwell.
‘And you won’t be lonely?’ Mom said.
‘Of course not.’
‘And you’ll be back, refreshed and ready for us to plan the wedding. Now, I have to go, Mitzi’s on the line about her mother-of-the-bride wardrobe. Bye, darling. I love you.’
‘Love you, Mom.’
Back home, I packed badly, throwing things into my case, packing my make-up and straighteners in my smaller case, and some jeans, a couple of linen shirts, a blazer and my gym clothes.
I also tucked Caitlin’s Persuasion into the outside pocket of my case.
And then I tried to sleep, and eventually dozed off just as the cab arrived.
Scrabbling for everything, my passport, cards and phone safe in my handbag, I grabbed my case and locked my apartment behind me and headed for the airport.
And then, somehow, I slept all the way over the Atlantic, until by the time I opened my eyes, we were preparing for landing and I looked out to see Dublin in darkness and we were in the middle of a rainstorm.
Emerging from the airport, I stood buffeted by the gale, looking out at the black of an Irish night.
Rain soaked into my shoes and my mascara washed away along with my confidence and dignity.
At the line for taxis, a man grabbed my bag and flung it like an Olympic hammer thrower into the back of a cab, and grinned at me from under his rain hood.
‘Welcome to Ireland. Wet enough for ya?’