Chapter 46 #2
Ronan pauses, looks at her, then pulls a face is if to say, Kill-Joy. ‘Oh, don’t be a bore!’ I hear the faintest trace of annoyance in his tone. My mother wouldn’t notice it, but it is there. He is angry. He takes a wine glass from the rack and opens the fridge. ‘Just one, I insist.’
‘I...’
He takes it to her. ‘I want you to relax. We all need to relax a bit, and this is very good wine that I don’t want to go to waste.’
She takes it. ‘Fine, just one.’
He winks.
‘Do you want to help me serve, Mal?’ she asks.
‘Yep, sure,’ I say.
She nods.
Ronan kicks off his shoes, and as I serve the vegetables onto the three plates my mother has lined up, I hear the glug of the whiskey entering his glass. He’s pouring a large one tonight.
‘How did you get on with your word count, Mal?’ he says.
I place carrots and broccoli next to each other, taking my time to neatly line them up. ‘I did OK,’ I say.
From behind me, I hear his glass hit the table. A little harder than usual. With a little more vigour. ‘Did you read it, Stace? How was it?’
Mum cuts her knife through the quiche. ‘No, I didn’t. Not yet.’
‘I think you’d really like it,’ he says. There is, again, something in his tone that I can read, that she won’t. He is mocking me. ‘You’re the perfect readership for it, you should give Mal notes.’ He is mocking both of us. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mal?’
‘I don’t mind,’ I say. ‘Shall I do the mash, Mum?’
‘Mash?’ Ronan queries. ‘Pub-grub style.’ The glug of the whiskey again.
‘Do you not like mash, Ronan?’ my mother says. ‘I can do you without.’
‘No, I love it.’ Sarcasm. He is so good at it. So convincingly real.
‘Oh, great,’ my mother says.
I watch her neatly place a piece of quiche on each plate, and then an extra one on the third. She takes the heavier portion and hands it to him. ‘Oh, cutlery,’ she remembers.
He nods.
While we eat, Ronan makes jokes. I watch my mother watching him, as he spins his web.
It is so enticing. So intoxicating. The way he holds her eye contact.
The way he compliments her. The way he makes her feel like she is the only person in the room.
He has an instinct for her vulnerabilities.
He is able to use them to bolster her. He tells her she looks young.
That she deserves someone wonderful, but that she should be picky.
‘You only deserve the best. I cannot believe the wonderful life you have carved for yourself.’ He keeps topping up her wine.
She keeps drinking it. He compliments me, too, but through her.
He says all my good traits have come from her. My tenacity. My strength.
It is such a skill.
As I eat my broccoli, chewing absently, I imagine myself clawing at his face, pulling it off his skull, holding it up to Mum and saying, Look – this is him, while his blood cascades over my hand and he groans on the floor in agony.
My thoughts go to Leo.
‘Why don’t you read us what you’ve written today?’ Ronan requests. I suddenly realise he is talking to me.
Shit. ‘What – now?’ I say. ‘No one wants to hear that now.’
‘I’d love to hear it.’ He smiles at me.
‘My laptop’s upstairs,’ I say, tentatively. I can’t tell if he’s playing games. Does he want to derail me.
‘No, it’s not. It’s here,’ Mum tells me, and I turn to see her holding it up.
‘Wait – where did you get that?’
‘It was just here.’ She pats the stool next to her. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, yes. Of course.’
She passes it to me.
When I put my finger on the mouse pad, the screen lights up.
Shit. Why didn’t I close Slay? And the email chain...!
I quickly, and as calmly as possible, pull up The Air Between Us to cover them up. Was the laptop here the whole time?
It might have been.
Or did Mum take it?
I glance at her from under my eyelids.
‘Come on, Mal!’ Ronan huffs.
Mum looks none the wiser. Well, that’s good.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ I ask. ‘It’s getting late, and it might be a bit... I don’t know, boring?’
‘No. It’s the opposite of boring,’ Ronan says. ‘It’s going to be very fun. I love your writing.’
‘OK,’ I reply.
‘Maybe go back a bit,’ he says. ‘There was something you wrote the other day that I really loved. Show your mum how good you are.’
‘Which bit?’
‘The bit where they meet.’
‘At the party?’
‘Yes – that’s it. It’s really brilliant.
’ He looks up to see my mother is clearing the plates, taking them to the sink, her back turned, then takes another large gulp of his whiskey.
While he pours another one, I scan back through the story until I am at the beginning of the chapter he is referring to.
‘Are you sure?’
‘We’re sure.’
I look at Mum. She doesn’t answer.
‘The morning of the party, Jessica had no idea she would be going.’ I clear my throat. My voice sounds hoarse and quiet.
This is horrendous.
‘Skip on a bit,’ Ronan says. ‘Nearer to where they meet.’
I scan down through the document.
‘She was done. There was nothing more here for her, and she knew it – so she headed to the bar.’
‘Yes, this bit,’ he says. ‘This bit is really good.’ He looks at Mum. ‘Are you listening, Stace?’
‘Yes! I’m all ears.’
He nods at me. Continue.
‘There was nothing more here for her, and she knew it – so she headed to the bar. After what felt like hours of trying to convince the older generation at the production company that she had something important to say, she felt exhausted. A little part of her died inside as she ordered her third glass of cheap white wine.’
I stop, because I can feel Mum looking at me.
She knows it’s bad.
She knows it’s awful.
‘Ronan, maybe we should leave it,’ I say, feeling my cheeks begin to go hot. ‘It doesn’t sound right when I read it out loud – I’ll probably need another pass on it—’
‘Keep going,’ he instructs. ‘I’m really enjoying it.’ He smiles, encouragingly.
I can’t look at her. I can’t look at Mum.
I stare at the screen and carry on.
Jessica had – earlier in the evening, while deciding what to wear – put on her “confident” dress.’ I stop again. ‘Ronan...’
‘It’s great!’ He is smiling. ‘It reminds me of One Day. Or Normal People.’
I swallow hard.