Chapter Fourteen
‘We are approaching Dalkey station. Dalkey station next stop.’ The announcement pulls me from my memories and I stand up, throw my bag over my bare shoulder. It’s the one part of Logan I regret the most, fucking up my career so he could have his. And I only have myself to blame.
The heat catches in my throat as I disembark onto the platform.
I jostle in the heaving crowd, who are no doubt heading for a swim at Vico Baths.
Outside, the sea breeze is glorious, it blows my unruly hair back as I stroll across the village towards Mia’s detached bungalow with a For Sale sign now in the garden.
Passing the sea swimmers in swimsuits and sliders, I inhale the aroma of their salt-and-vinegar-soaked brown bags of chipper chips. My stomach rumbles and I turn the corner to her house. I pull down the latch and open the wooden gate to Mia’s house, crunching up her gravel driveway.
*
Mia’s face appears around her slate-grey hall door before I’ve even rung the bell, even shorter curls on display.
‘So come on, tell me how was the date last night? Did you ask him to my party?’
‘Hello to you, too. Chopped off more of your hair I see? It’s gorgeous,’ I say, stepping into the hall. It’s like she’s continuing to change her old self. She stands barefoot in the white-tiled hallway in a green-leaf-print floaty spaghetti-strap sundress.
‘The date?’ she asks again as I shut the door behind me. ‘How was he? Was it weird being on a date again? I’ve made us homemade pink lemonade.’ As always, she’s so welcoming and hospitable. Mia loves nothing more than having people round and entertaining. Another thing Michael didn’t like.
‘It . . . it . . . it . . .’ After an absolutely boiling-hot commute to the coastline of Dalkey, I cannot wait to kick off my camouflage huarache sandals. I walk towards her with beads of sweat trickling down my chest, the cool tiles so welcoming beneath my feet.
‘It . . . it . . . it? Oh, I see! Interesting!’ Mia giggles. ‘Come on through to the kitchen,’ she instructs and I follow her through. ‘Sit at the table there, chillax. I’ll just mix up our chilled lemonades. Gimme a sec, then tell me all.’
I’ve always loved Mia’s detached bungalow, which sits on a very quiet road only metres from the sea.
Once Michael had moved out, she really put her stamp on it.
Now the entire property is decorated in modern pinks and cool whites, with crazy pops of vibrant colour from the locally sourced art Mia hung on the walls.
Strong and feminine. But now the house is up for sale, with Michael wanting a quick sale, and Mia is backed into a corner.
She’d filed for divorce soon after that evening I was in caught in the middle of them both sitting at this kitchen table.
*
‘Traffic was awful. The M50 slip road was backed up for miles at our exit. The conference was a waste of time. Did you take the steaks out to breathe, if not they won’t be nice?
I need to put the green bin out, I think next door are throwing paper in it.
I can’t wait to get into bed, I’m absolutely shattered.
’ Michael was spouting a stream of moaning as he came into the kitchen.
‘Hi, Michael.’ I stood up to leave, swinging my cream leather bag over my shoulder.
He dropped his briefcase at the door and removed his grey suit jacket. draping it neatly on the back of the chair.
‘Good evening, Grace.’
Mia had put her hand on my arm and manoeuvred me behind her. ‘Michael, I have to say something. I have to say it now. We both know this is over.’
I stood rooted to the spot. Not able to believe she’d said those words in front of me.
Michael pulled open the fridge and removed the steaks; carefully, he peeled back the clingfilm like he hadn’t heard a word.
‘I think we need to talk in private, Mimoo,’ he’d said after what felt like minutes. He’d looked at me then, but he was expressionless.
‘L-look, I’m . . . I sh-shouldn’t be here . . .’ I’d stammered.
‘I’m sorry, Michael, I really am, but if I don’t say this now with Grace standing here I’m afraid I’ll never say it.
I have tried so many times but the words just won’t come out.
I thought if I had her as back-up, I couldn’t let myself down again.
I’ve been here too many times and I’ve chickened out. But not tonight. I want a divorce.’
I was frozen solid, stuck in the middle of this.
Michael sort of smiled at me. ‘Bit early for wine o’clock, ladies? It’s a Thursday night.’ He then stared at Mia and ran one hand through his floppy, slightly greying hair.
‘Do you hear me?’ Mia moved to him, while I moved to stand by the back door.
He put his hand on his chest, rubbed it up and down. ‘I’ve heartburn, Mia, have we any Gaviscon?’
Mia let out a sob, then. ‘I c-can’t do this anymore.’ Her voice broke, tears now streaming down her face. ‘See?’ She turned to me. ‘See what I mean?’
I was starting to.
‘You are just tired, maybe a good night’s sleep will do you good? I’ll pop up and stick on the electric blankie.’ Michael put his hand on her shoulder.
‘I can’t . . . You’re still not listening to me. But I’ve finally said it. Don’t make me say it again.’
Michael scratched his head.
‘It’s been over for so long. I am truly sorry, but I will be filing for divorce.’
The breath he exhaled then was so emptying; he’d been waiting for her to say these words, I could tell, because there was no shock or surprise on his face.
‘I’ll go to Mum’s,’ he finally said, and he put the steaks back into the fridge and carefully put back on his jacket.
‘I’m so sorry, Michael,’ Mia called after him as the door rattled then shut. She collapsed into my arms then, distraught but relieved.
*
‘Grace? Did you hear me? Tell me about the Beyond Looks guy!’ I’m startled as Mia stands there with two tall glasses of pink lemonade with a hopeful expression on her face.
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ I lift a glass carefully.
‘Let’s go into the other room, there is a lovely breeze coming through,’ she says as I follow her into the living room.
I sit on her L-shaped couch, glass in hand.
Mia curls herself up next to me and tucks her feet under her before I click my tongue twice for Charlie, Mia’s adorable black-and-white Shih Tzu.
Charlie plods over to me, his pink tongue hanging out, panting like he’s just run the New York City marathon in stilettos in a heatwave, his fur hanging down over his meltingly expressive eyes.
‘C’mere, boy, there’s my good boy. Who loves you, Charlie? Auntie Grace does, that’s who.’
Charlie puts his two paws up on the couch and stares at Mia.
‘Down. Not on the couch my short-legged companion!’ Mia snaps her fingers as I bend to rub his head.
Charlie turns around in hurried circles, then settles at my bare feet.
‘He hates this heat,’ she says, then takes a sip of her lemonade.
‘Marek took me for a surprise picnic in St Stephen’s Green yesterday.
’ She can’t help the rising flush in her cheeks.
‘Still just friends? No mwah-mwah-mwah,’ I tease her; purse my lips, make kissy sounds.
‘God, yeah. Nothing more. It’s just I so enjoy his company.’
‘So, just hang out. Take your time on everything.’ I rub Charlie’s tummy, his four paws in the air now.
‘You need to jump back on the horse and I need to stay off it,’ she says, and instantly I think of Donal.
I swirl my lemonade, feeling my face redden for some reason. ‘He was really nice, actually. Really, really nice.’
‘Who?’ Mia says picking an invisible dog hair off her spotless couch.
‘Who? Jacob Elordi! Who do you think? Donal, my Beyond Looks date you keep asking about.’ I hold the glass to my forehead, rounding it across my skin to cool me down.
‘Oh was he?’ Mia’s eyes widen like saucers and she sits up on her hunkers, leaning in nearer to me.
‘Not in that way . . . I mean, at least I don’t think so . . . It’s an odd one, actually. I’d met him before, twice.’ I pause. I can’t tell her I dragged him into Fallon she seems somewhat agitated.
‘No,’ I say, rubbing Charlie’s head.
‘Well, just message Rebecca and ask her to ask him?’ Still tap-tap-tapping.
‘Oh I dunno,’ I sigh as Charlie pants.
She suddenly stops the tapping. ‘Up to you . . . but Grace, what are we doing?’
‘Huh?’ I look at her in confusion.
‘The great big Logan elephant lurking in the room that we are ignoring?’
I stop rubbing Charlie’s head and sit back to make hard eye contact.
‘What do you mean?’ I say, noticing her nibbling at the thumbnail now.
Mia lifts her arm sideways across her face, dips it up and down like a trunk but I don’t laugh.
‘We can’t just not talk about it. How are you really feeling about seeing Logan again?
It must be hard? Talk to me.’ She drops her arm, puts her hands on my bare knees, the coolness off them is lovely.
Dublin is literally scorching, and even though Mia’s white curtains are tied back, and the sash window pulled up fully, despite her saying there was a lovely breeze, I can’t feel a thing.
Even in my lime-green cotton summer shift dress and bare feet, I feel trickles of sweat slither down my back. Or maybe it’s this conversation.
‘Honestly? Sick to my stomach but . . .’ I raise my glass above my head. ‘But it is what it is.’
‘I think about your relationship all the time. I mean, I know we don’t discuss it and I get that, totally!’ Mia holds both palms up to me. ‘I don’t know how he did what he did to you in Portofino, but I have asked him and—’
‘He obviously had his reasons,’ I butt in. ‘We were so happy, at least, I was . . . I mean . . .’ But not-so-happy flashbacks whirl through my mind, coming thick and fast, and it’s like Mia can see inside my head.
‘I mean you put up with a lot, Logan is no saint.’ Mia’s eyes search mine.
My emotion is bubbling. ‘I find it really hard to talk about him, Mia.’ Grossly, I feel my eyes well up. Tears sting. I try hard to blink them away.
I’m so pathetic.