The Woman Who Stole My Life Read online

  A sense is building that the end is in sight. At about five in the evening, a young woman comes out of the house and holds up a jar of olives to the camera. ‘This is the very last thing. The eat-by date is two years ago.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Jeffrey says. ‘Dad’s coming out.’

  And sure enough, here’s Ryan. He stands in the street outside the house that is no longer his.

  ‘Look at him,’ Jeffrey says. ‘The prick. I bet he’s going to do a speech or something.’

  Ryan savours his moment. He spreads his arms wide and announces to the media of the world, ‘I stand here before you with nothing.’

  People applaud and Ryan does an aw-shucks smile and gives a humble little namaste bow, and I am filled with enormous smacky-rage for him.

  Then someone calls out, ‘You’re still wearing your shoes.’

  Ryan looks slightly disconcerted.

  ‘That’s right,’ another voice comes from the audience. ‘You’re still wearing your shoes.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ryan says, expansively. ‘Fair point.’ He takes off his shoes and they promptly disappear into the crowd.

  ‘And his clothes,’ someone else says.

  ‘And your clothes,’ a louder voice calls. ‘You can’t say you have nothing while you’re still wearing clothes.’

  Ryan hesitates. Clearly he hadn’t expected this.

  ‘Go on,’ someone shouts. ‘The clothes.’

  Ryan is starting to look a little rabbit-in-the-headlights, but he’s come this far, he has no choice but to go to the very end. He unbuttons his shirt and flings it towards his audience with a certain amount of pizzazz.

  ‘Keep going!’

  Ryan’s hands go to his waistband.

  ‘God, no,’ I whisper.

  Ryan unzips his jeans and shimmies out of them, then whips his socks off and casts them towards the mob.

  All that remains are his black underpants. Ryan pauses. The people are holding their collective breath. Surely he won’t …?

  ‘He won’t,’ Jeffrey pleads.

  I stuff another Jaffa Cake into my mouth. He won’t. I swallow down the Jaffa Cake and shove in another one. My fear is extreme. He won’t.

  He will! In a teasing fashion, Ryan begins to roll his underpants down, revealing his pubic hair. A good half of his penis has appeared before an onlooker cries, ‘Breach of the peace!’

  To be accurate, it’s Public Indecency, and the coppers are on top of Ryan before his testicles appear.

  Jeffrey is howling in distress and Ryan is being led away, covered in a police blanket. Immediately, pixelated images of his penis are zipping around the world. People in Cairo, in Buenos Aires, in Shanghai, in Ulan Bator, you name it, they’re all getting a look at my ex-husband’s penis. (But not in Turkmenistan, the voiceover tells us. Apparently they’re not allowed to look at penises on the telly there.)

  17.45

  Ryan spends the night in a police cell and is let off with a warning. A thoughtful member of the public delivers his shoes and clothes to the station.

  Tuesday, 10 June

  07.07

  In the bright, early morning air, Ryan stands in the street outside the police station and waits for the universe to provide.

  But it doesn’t.

  HIM

  You know the way when celebrities split up with someone and two seconds later they’re going out with someone else but they’re super-keen to let everyone know that there was no overlap? Yes?

  Well, they’re probably lying …

  It was one night in March, almost eight months since I’d come home from hospital. Ryan and I had gone to bed around eleven and I’d tumbled down into a deep sleep; I was back at work full-time and I was always bone-tired.

  Sometime, in the darkness of the night, I woke up. I glanced at the alarm clock – 03.04. Obviously my insomnia was paying a visit and I prepared myself for a couple of sleepless hours, then I realized that what had woken me was a small, sharp, cracking noise. I listened hard, all my muscles tensed, wondering if I’d imagined it.

  Ryan was still sound asleep and I began to settle back into slumber when I heard the noise again. It came from the bedroom window, and Ryan bolted awake. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I whispered. ‘I’ve heard it a couple of times.’

  I reached to turn the light on. ‘Don’t,’ Ryan said urgently.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because if someone’s breaking in, I’m going to surprise them.’

  Oh God, no. I didn’t want Ryan to be a have-a-go hero. It would end badly.

  He leapt out of bed and went to the window and looked out into the dark front garden.

  ‘There’s someone down there!’ He narrowed his eyes. A small amount of light was coming from a street lamp.

  ‘Should we ring the police?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s Tyler!’ Ryan gasped in outrage. ‘What the hell’s he doing here at this hour?’

  Tyler was Betsy’s boyfriend. She was in the throes of her first proper love affair, and Ryan and I thought it was sweet. Well, at least until tonight, we did.

  Another crack sounded.

  ‘He’s throwing stones,’ Ryan said.

  ‘What have we done?’ Clearly I watched too many dramas about wrongly accused paedophiles being hounded out of villages.

  ‘Ssssh,’ Ryan said. ‘Sssssh. Listen.’

  Then I heard it: the sound of Betsy giggling. ‘Come up,’ she said, her voice carrying on the cold still air.

  I tiptoed to the window and watched in disbelief as Tyler took a determined run at the house and got several feet up the wall before falling back to the ground.

  ‘Fuck this!’ Ryan began stomping about, looking for clothes to put on.

  ‘I’ll handle it.’ I hated being seen without my make-up – even a bit of mascara would have helped – but Ryan was too much of a hothead for this.

  I swept down the stairs in my robe and opened the front door. ‘Hi, Tyler.’

  ‘Oh, hi, Mrs Sweeney.’

  I was watching for signs – was he drunk, was he stoned? But he seemed his usual self-possessed, handsome self.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I asked, mildly sarcastically.

  ‘I just wanted to say hey to Betsy.’

  I looked up at Betsy’s bedroom, just in time to see her hurriedly closing her window.

  ‘Will you come in for a cup of tea?’ I asked.

  He smiled. ‘Aw, hey, it’s a bit late.’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said firmly. ‘It is late. Would you like me to drop you home?’

  ‘It’s okay, Mrs Sweeney, I’ve got my car.’ He indicated with his thumb over his shoulder. And despite how farcical this all was, I couldn’t help a ping of pride that my daughter’s boyfriend had his own car.

  ‘Okay. Well. Please go home. School tomorrow. Betsy will see you then. Goodnight, Tyler.’

  ‘Night, Mrs Sweeney.’

  I raced up the stairs and into Betsy’s room, where she was pretending to be asleep.

  ‘I know you’re faking,’ I said. ‘And this isn’t over.’

  Back in our bedroom, Ryan was furious. ‘Standing down there like fecking Romeo. And then trying to climb up the side of the house like … like … Spiderman!’

  I was desperate to go back to sleep. I was always so tired. ‘We’ll deal with this in the morning.’

  ‘You’d better talk to her,’ Ryan said. ‘I mean, about contraception. I don’t want her coming home saying she’s up the duff.’

  As advised by the experts I had regular ‘chats’ with Betsy, where I tried to discover if she was sexually active. But she’d held on primly to her virginity – she and her girlfriends used words like ‘skanky’ and ‘slutty’ about any of their classmates who were putting it about; I was often glad I hadn’t known them when I was seventeen.

  Every time we had ‘the talk’ I impressed on Betsy that when she really ‘cared’ about the boy, she needed to go on the pill. But I realized now that, becaus
e she’d been prudey for so long, I’d thought she would always be that way.

  ‘Could we do it together? Both of us?’ I asked Ryan.

  ‘Have you any idea the pressure I’m under? You have the talk. I’ve a job. I’m busy.’

  ‘Okay. Sorry.’ I had a job too but guilt had coloured everything I’d done since I’d come home from hospital.

  Next morning, I was awoken by Ryan, fully dressed, leaning over me. ‘You make sure you have that chat with Betsy,’ he said. ‘Unless you want to be a granny before you’re forty.’

  Then he thumped down the stairs and slammed the front door with such force that the house nearly fell apart.

  I dragged myself out of bed and knocked on Betsy’s door. ‘Can I come in, honey?’

  She looked up warily.

  ‘You and Tyler.’ I sat beside her on her bed. ‘It’s great to see you so happy. But your dad and I, we just want to make sure you’re keeping yourself safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ Comprehension dawned. ‘You mean, like …?’

  I shrugged. ‘Contraception of some sort.’

  She looked luminous with revulsion.

  ‘If you like,’ I said tentatively, ‘we can go to Dr Quinn –’

  ‘Mom, you’re disgusting.’ She shoved the heels of her hands into her eyes and shrieked. ‘You and Dad have been talking about this?’

  I nodded.

  ‘That. Is. Super. Gross.’ She sat up in the bed and said, ‘I need you to leave my room.’

  ‘But, Betsy, we’re only trying to help –’

  ‘You’re in my space!’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Out!’ she screeched.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I’d try again later, when she wasn’t so emotional. I scuttled out and bumped into Jeffrey.

  ‘Good job!’ he said. ‘Uncle Jeffrey has a nice ring to it. And do you want to be Grandma Stella? Or just Granny?’

  ‘There was a time,’ I said to him, ‘when you loved me so much you wanted to marry me.’

  I went downstairs and sat in the kitchen and shakily sipped a cup of tea.

  Our small house crackled with tension and I was trying to remember if it had always been so combative. Perhaps this amount of family narkiness was normal? Maybe during those months I’d spent in hospital I’d idealized our life?

  But in my heart I knew the truth: they didn’t even know it themselves, but Ryan, Betsy and Jeffrey were angry with me for all that time I’d been sick. Jeffrey held the worst grudge; he seethed with a variety of unpleasant emotions. Now Betsy was acting out and I had to admit that Ryan and I weren’t doing so well either.

  In the past I used to joke that we never had sex, but now we really never had sex. Shortly after I came home from hospital we’d done it once; that was more than seven months ago and there had been no action since.

  Sitting at my kitchen table, I had a moment of real cold fear. Something had to be done. Somehow I had to seize control and fix things.

  Date Night was the answer. Ryan and I needed a few hours away from the kids and their fluctuating emotions. Nothing elaborate. None of that stuff that Karen and Enda had done, with the wigs and the false identities. Just reconnecting over a nice dinner and a few drinks. I might even buy new knickers …

  Fired with desperate hope, I asked Karen if she’d babysit, then I got onto the Powerscourt Hotel because that’s where everyone went on Date Night. I booked a room for Thursday, two days away. No point in dithering. Things needed to get back on track and fast.

  I rang Ryan, who answered by saying, ‘What now?’

  Trying to sound minxy, I said, ‘I hope you haven’t got plans for Thursday night.’

  ‘Why? Who wants me to do what?’

  ‘You and I, Ryan Sweeney, are going on Date Night.’

  ‘We haven’t got money for Date Night.’

  Financially we were in poor shape – my year off work had knocked a big dent in things and two months ago the most recent tenants had given notice on the house in Sandycove and we hadn’t yet found replacements.

  ‘Sometimes you have to prioritize,’ I said.

  ‘Date Night is too cheesy.’

  ‘We’re going on Date Night,’ I said, grim and defiant. ‘And we’re going to have a great time.’

  On Thursday afternoon, I got my hair blow-dried and I packed a little bag with a nice dress and high heels and – yes – some new knickers. Karen arrived and we had a glass of wine in the kitchen while I waited for Ryan to pick me up.

  Jeffrey eyed my hair and my overnight bag and said, with a sneer, ‘You’re pathetic.’

  ‘If you were my child,’ Karen said, ‘and you spoke to me that way, I’d give you such a clout, you’d be seeing stars for a week.’

  ‘You would?’ Jeffrey seemed slightly in awe.

  ‘I would and it wouldn’t do you any harm. Might teach you a bit of respect.’

  ‘But you can’t,’ Jeffrey said. ‘There are laws.’

  ‘More’s the pity.’

  My phone rang. Ryan. I stood up and reached for my case. ‘It’s Ryan. He’s probably outside.’

  I hit answer. ‘I’m on my way out.’

  ‘No. Wait. I’m delayed. You drive down yourself and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

  ‘When will that be?’ A slide of disappointment began.

  ‘I don’t know. As soon as we sort out this problem with the bath. It’s too big to get through the doorway. Someone fucked up on the measurements and –’

  ‘Okay.’ I didn’t need to hear any more. During my marriage to Ryan I had heard every Great Bathroom Disaster story there was. They had lost their power to enchant.

  ‘Okay, Karen,’ I said. ‘I’m off. Thanks for doing this. Don’t let Betsy out. Don’t let Tyler in. If the chance comes up, talk birth control to Betsy –’

  ‘A good clout is what she needs too. And that Tyler. I’d clout the lot of them if I had my way. They’d all be seeing stars.’

  As I drove the half-hour journey to Powerscourt I repeated over and over in my head, I am cheerful. I am cheerful. I am cheerful. I am on my way to a date with a sexy man.

  It was actually better that I was driving myself, I decided. We would arrive separately, as if we barely knew each other.

  I checked into the hotel and rattled around the lovely room, feeling like a bit of a fool. I sat on the bed, I admired the view, I looked at the cost of the Pringles in the minibar and wished someone was with me to share my outrage at the hefty price.

  After a while, I decided to go to the Jacuzzi and told myself that when I got back, Ryan would have arrived.

  But my time in the Jacuzzi was an anxious one, not just because I was afraid my freshly blow-dried hair would get splashed, but because I really wasn’t a fan of water – and when I returned to the room, Ryan still wasn’t there. Tired from waiting, I lay down on the bed, and the next thing I knew, Ryan was standing in the room. I’d fallen asleep.

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked, groggily.

  ‘Ten past nine.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, we’ve missed our dinner.’ I sat up and tried to be awake. I reached for the phone. ‘We can still go. Hold on.’

  ‘Ah, no, don’t. We’ll just get room service.’

  ‘Really? But the restaurant is so nice –’

  ‘It’s too late, I’m too tired.’

  To be honest, I was too tired also, so we ordered BLTs and a bottle of wine and ate in silence.

  ‘The chips are nice,’ Ryan said.

  ‘The chips are nice.’ I seized on this conversational gem.

  ‘Check with Karen, would you? Make sure Tyler hasn’t sneaked in and isn’t impregnating our daughter as we speak.’

  ‘Let’s leave it for tonight.’

  ‘I can’t relax, thinking about it.’

  I swallowed a sigh and rang Karen.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Grand.’

  But I’d picked up something in her tone. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I had a chat with B
etsy. And she is doing the business with your man Tyler.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ I mean, I’d known but I hadn’t wanted to.

  ‘They’re using condoms.’

  Oh. I felt like crying. My little girl.

  ‘I’ve told her she needs to be on the pill. She said she’ll go to the Well Woman, but not with you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because all teenage girls are little bitches. She says she’ll come with me. I’ll bring her next week.’

  ‘Oh. All right.’ This was a lot to process and I was trying to not take it personally. ‘And how’s Jeffrey?’

  ‘Jeffrey? Jeffrey is a little bitch too.’

  I hung up, sick at heart, and turned to give Ryan the news, only to discover that he’d crawled under the duvet and was fast asleep.

  Okay. I was very tired myself. But tomorrow morning, come hell or high water, we’d have high jinks.

  We had breakfast in bed. We sat in white towelling robes, eating fresh pineapple and sipping coffee.

  ‘This is nice,’ Ryan said, demolishing a Danish pastry. ‘Almond, is it? Are you eating your one?’

  ‘… Ah, no, you have it.’

  ‘Thanks. And what’s this? Some sort of muffin?’ He ate his way steadily through the pastry basket, then groaned, ‘God, I’m full.’ He lay down and rubbed his stomach and I snuggled closer and began to untie the knot on his robe.

  He tensed and leapt out of bed. ‘It’s too fakey! I can’t relax. I’d rather be at work.’

  ‘Ryan –’

  He hurried towards the bathroom and, in an instant, he was in the shower. Within seconds he was back out and pulling on his clothes.

  ‘You don’t have to leave,’ he said. ‘We have the room till twelve, right? Have a massage or something. But I’m going to work.’

  The door slammed behind him. I waited for a few minutes, then slowly I began packing up my stuff and I went to work too.

  When I arrived, Karen was at the computer. ‘I thought you weren’t coming in until this afternoon?’

  ‘Date Night ended early.’

  ‘Oh. Anyway,’ she said, in a strange, clipped way, ‘you know who has a new boyfriend?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Georgie Dawson.’

  ‘Who?’