Grown Ups Read online

  ‘Where? The States?’

  ‘No! The States is over. China. It’s the future.’

  ‘You speak Mandarin? Fair play.’

  ‘My Mandarin,’ she said archly, ‘is non-existent. They’ll all speak English. They’ll have to.’

  ‘But … China is the future so we’ll have to fit in with them.’

  A long pause. ‘Say what?’

  ‘How power works. Those who have it set the agenda – what we should look like, how we should speak. The way we should live.’

  ‘We have the power.’

  ‘But you just said that China is –’ He stopped. She didn’t understand, maybe didn’t want to.

  And he didn’t want an argument. ‘So.’ He made himself smile. ‘Much as I’ve enjoyed this chat about our careers, there’s something I’d rather do with you.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘It is so. Maybe you could – I dunno? – take off your dress?’

  ‘Maybe I could.’

  Quickly, she slithered out of her silky frock. Her underwear was both cute and sexy.

  ‘Wow. Clearly I’m hanging around with the wrong girls.’

  ‘I could have told you that.’ She gave him one of those long stares she specialized in. ‘You are so not my type … But you are hot.’

  Her glossy confidence was off-putting, almost enough to derail him. It was only because this thing had gone on for a year that he felt obliged to see it through.

  But when they got down to it, he couldn’t. He wanted Sammie: he missed her voice, her smell, the way she kicked off her boots. He even missed her no-nonsense knickers and unmatched bra.

  ‘Phoebe, hey.’ He pulled away. ‘I can’t do this. Sorry. You’re beautiful but I’m going through a rough break-up.’

  ‘What?’ She was astonished. ‘I don’t do this often. You’re lucky.’

  ‘I know. This is all on me.’

  ‘You dick,’ she hissed, pulling her dress back on. He didn’t blame her for being angry: he’d led her on and messed with her feelings. ‘Just so you know,’ she said, ‘a thumb ring is totally gay!’

  She slammed the door behind her, leaving him flattened by unavoidable reality. Sammie wasn’t here. He and Sammie would never make things work.

  Since they’d both started third year, they’d been falling out of love, gradually, slowly – then all at once. Tempestuous was their thing, had been right from the start, nearly three years ago. Over and over they’d broken up, then got back together. But something had changed. The break-ups were becoming sort of … tedious, their reunions no longer felt pure, and the gaps between their spells of civility were becoming shorter. It was time to face it: even though he still loved her, they’d run out of road.

  Adulthood, for all its opportunities, meant the simultaneous accumulation of loss. Momentarily the emptiness was unbearable.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘Come on, Ed.’ Giggling, Cara took his hand and hurried him in the direction of their room.

  Right, he thought. That’s the way the night is going.

  He tried to gauge how much she’d had to drink. Obviously some, because she was initiating sex, which never happened sober. But if she was more than slightly unwound, things felt off. For him, sex was an opportunity – one of the few in their busy lives – for intimacy. There was urgent physical desire, too, but the chance to be really close to her? He needed it.

  Without any alcohol, it was impossible for her to relax. But too much took her away from herself.

  Trying to catch her when she was still present, but comfortable in her body, was a tricky balancing act.

  They slipped into the bedroom. The boys were asleep in the adjoining room. Quietly, Cara closed the interconnecting doors, then stepped forward and shoved Ed onto the bed. ‘Clothes. Off.’

  Immediately he got up again, slid his arms around her and gently lowered her to the sheets. ‘Okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. Grand.’ She reached for his jeans.

  He stilled her hand and slowly pulled open the knot on her dress. ‘Okay?’ he repeated.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ she said.

  He closed his eyes and she laughed. ‘You can look at my face. Just not the rest of me.’

  Using the flat of his hands, he stroked her soft skin, going for her forearms, her calves, parts of her body that wouldn’t have her squirming with apologetic distress.

  Before long, she was once again trying to pull the clothes from his body, wanting to speed the whole thing up. It was kinder to just let her direct it, so he obliged, whipping everything off. Her relief was immediate. Her breathing slowed and her muscles relaxed beneath his hands.

  ‘You’re so sexy,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, God, don’t.’

  ‘But you are.’ This exchange was well-worn.

  From their very first night, Cara had never been anything other than apologetic about her body. He’d been naïve enough to think she’d eventually change. He loved her completely. It was unimaginable that he’d ever have this intense a connection with another person but his love wasn’t enough to erase her discomfort. It was a painful truth. ‘We don’t have to do this,’ he said.

  ‘We do. I want to. Ed, I fancy you. I just don’t fancy myself.’

  ‘I’m sorry you feel this way. I’m sorry it’s so hard for you.’

  It would be over soon and then she’d be okay and restored to normal and glad it was done for another while. Ed had a hard, lean body, with a muscled stomach and sinewy thighs. She wanted this, she wanted him, but it needed to be quick. It was like feeling really hungry but being repulsed by food. She had to eat as fast as possible until the need stopped and the relief arrived.

  Now Ed was kissing her thighs. Being in her own body was almost unbearable. She’d reached the limit of her endurance, so she whispered, ‘Now.’

  It was just her bad luck to fall for a man who longed to kiss the backs of her knees, who wanted to rub fragrant oil between his hands and slide them along her knotted back, kneading her tender spots with his thumbs. Sometimes she joked that she was the bloke in their sex life; she suspected Ed didn’t find it that funny.

  But he loved her. This was a rock-solid certainty, something that sustained her when life was choppy. Their sex life wasn’t ideal but he put up with it.

  Of the three Casey brothers, she was lucky he was the one she’d fallen in love with.

  Johnny: she could imagine him insisting on sex three times a day. Well, maybe not that much, but a lot.

  Or Liam, with his famous past: he’d surely have encountered all kinds of kinky stuff – oranges and being strangled with tights, that sort of lark. The very idea made her shudder.

  SIXTEEN

  Three years ago, it had been Jessie who’d persuaded Cara to try for the job at the Ardglass.

  ‘They wouldn’t employ me,’ Cara had said. ‘I’d never be able for the grooming.’ The reception women there always had their hair in smooth chignons. Never a hanging thread or an unravelling button.

  ‘Ah, go on, Cara, chance it. Seriously, you’re great. I’d employ you.’

  Even the interview had been on brand: comfortable armchairs, beside a warm fire, with coffee in a silver pot, just as if they were guests.

  ‘Think of this as a chat,’ Patience, the hotel’s assistant manager, a long, slender, Kenyan woman, said.

  ‘So that we can get to know you.’ This from round, smiley, baldy Henry from HR.

  ‘You’ve worked in the hotel business for seventeen years,’ Raoul, the Moroccan reception manager, said. ‘Why haven’t you moved into management?’

  Because I took maternity leave. Twice. Once was forgivable – just – but after the second break I was regarded as a liability.

  ‘I like working with people.’ That, actually, was true.

  ‘You have two boys? Aged five and seven. So they can mostly take care of themselves?’ Again from Raoul.

  ‘And my husband does a lot.’ Except between June and September when he’s
away Monday to Friday, but that isn’t his fault.

  ‘So, what are your interests?’ HR Henry asked.

  Cara paused. The thing was that between her job, the dog and Vinnie and Tom – policing their screen time, helping with homework, feeding them again and again and again – she had almost no free time, and with the small amount she got, her very favourite thing was to lie in the bath, drinking red wine, playing music from the mid-nineties.

  But she was fairly sure a job interview was not the place to share this.

  ‘I don’t have anything special,’ she said. ‘Like CrossFit or – or … embroidery. But we grow vegetables in our little garden, carrots, tomatoes, potatoes …’

  The trio looked suitably impressed and Cara couldn’t help adding, ‘The “harvest” is pathetic, TBH. We get probably one meal a year from it. Doesn’t stop us swaggering around for half an hour, convinced we’re self-sufficient. It’s a good feeling while it lasts.’

  Patience and Henry seemed entertained.

  ‘What I really love,’ she said, ‘and I’m not just saying it, is anything to do with hotels. Documentaries, podcasts, anything! I’m obsessed. To be honest, my perfect job would be an undercover hotel inspector.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Henry almost groaned, and both he and Cara began laughing.

  ‘And music’s important to me,’ she said. ‘Prince, En Vogue, people I loved when I was a teenager. Then I like Drake, Beyoncé, the Killers … Just pop, nothing too obscure, I’m not a muso, just … normal stuff. My nephew Ferdia keeps me current.’

  ‘What else can you tell us?’

  ‘I’ve two best friends, Gabby and Erin. Seeing them makes me happy. Quick drink, night out, whatever.’

  Especially a night out. They were rare, these days, but when they happened, the trio tended to revert to their twenties and get very drunk. If the night didn’t end with one of them removing her too-high shoes and hailing a taxi in her bare feet, they wondered where they’d gone wrong. The last time, Erin had said, ‘No more tequila for us. It’s obviously not strong enough.’

  ‘But my sons, my husband, the dog,’ Cara said hastily, ‘they’re the most important things in my life.’

  ‘Exercise?’ Raoul asked.

  ‘Ah, you know.’ Might as well be honest. ‘I’m always “just getting back on the horse”. Recommitting to Zumba, or yoga or whatever. I go a bit mad and do, like, five classes in the first week and then hit a wall. But I walk Baxter! Only round the block, but I do it twice a day.’

  ‘It all adds up.’ Henry’s eyes were twinkling.

  ‘That’s what I tell myself.’ She twinkled back at him. He was nice.

  ‘TV?’ Patience asked. ‘Boxsets?’

  ‘God, yes. I’m literally at my happiest, lying on my couch, watching Peaky Blinders with my husband.’ Briefly she’d forgotten that this was a job interview.

  ‘Obnoxious people?’ Henry asked. ‘In this line of work you must meet more than your share? How do you feel?’

  ‘If they’ve a reason and I sort out their issue, I feel good.’

  ‘And those who don’t have a reason?’

  ‘I’m even nicer to them. They hate it.’ Noooo!

  But the three of them laughed, she’d got the job, and two years later, she was promoted to head receptionist.

  SEVENTEEN

  The sun was bright in the sky on Easter Sunday morning. Looking out of her bedroom window, Nell noticed several men, hotel employees, parading almost ceremoniously along the central path of the hotel grounds. Each carried a large wicker basket. At what looked like an agreed point, they separated and fanned out across the grass, and as Nell watched, they began scooping little oval objects from the baskets and strewing them under hedges and among the flowerbeds.

  ‘Liam!’ Nell nearly burst with excitement. ‘It’s the men, the Easter-egg men! Come look!’

  ‘You’re so cute.’

  ‘But look! It’s magical.’

  ‘I’ve seen it before.’

  ‘So jaaaaded.’ She laughed, then noticed the time. ‘Liam, get up! We’ve to go down now.’

  ‘You go, babes. I feel, you know, I’m missing my girls …’

  ‘But,’ Nell said gently, ‘Jessie will go bananas.’

  ‘I’ll text her, she’ll understand. Anyway, all of that stuff last night was just because she wants Ferdia there.’

  ‘You don’t mind if I go?’

  ‘No. But leave some of the chocolate for the rest of them.’

  That wasn’t funny, but he was upset, so she let it go. ‘Back in a while.’

  When the lift doors opened onto the lobby, the racket from dozens of overexcited children hit her. Two unruly queues, one for the sevens-and-under, the other for over-sevens, snaked back from the doors that led to the grounds. Staff members distributed plastic buckets.

  At the front of the smallies’ queue, Jessie stood with Dilly. They were both ramrod straight, as if marshalling their energy for the task ahead. In the other queue she spotted Cara and Ed with their boys. There was Johnny with TJ. Further back were Saoirse, Barty and Bridey. No sign of Ferdia.

  When she tried to push her way up to Jessie and Dilly, an apologetic staff member stopped her. ‘Like a tinderbox here,’ he said. ‘Some of them have been waiting more than an hour. Any queue-jumping could trigger a riot.’

  Nell laughed. ‘Grand.’ This was gas.

  ‘Soon as the doors open, you can follow them out,’ the man said. ‘You’ll catch up with your family in no time.’

  Nell took her spot at the back of the queue. A few rows ahead of her, a little boy was balanced on his dad’s shoulders, reminding her of a TV image she’d glimpsed on Friday: Syrian refugees standing helplessly in a deluge, a small boy on his dad’s shoulders, wearing a plastic bag tied over his ears as pathetic protection from the rain. A knot of painful feelings surged in her: sorrow, frustration at her helplessness –

  ‘Hey,’ a voice said.

  It was Ferdia. ‘Oh. Hey, you made it.’

  ‘More than my life’s worth to miss it.’

  Rare irritation spiked, erasing the cautiously positive opinion she’d had of him since Friday night’s apology. Him and his pathetic little war with Jessie. Would it kill him to be nice?

  ‘One minute to go!’ a man, who seemed to be master of ceremonies, called, and fresh energy snaked down the lines.

  The kids took up a chant: ‘We want eggs! We want eggs!’

  A nearby woman muttered, ‘I’ll give them eggs. Little brats.’

  What if this were a real food queue? Nell thought. Because right now, at this very moment, in countless parts of the world, hungry people were queuing for food. Like Kassandra.

  A whistle blew. ‘Seven-and-unders, go!’ Glass doors opened and the children surged forward, running as if their lives depended on it, Nell and Ferdia bringing up the rear.

  ‘First World children racing for chocolate they don’t need.’

  For a moment Nell thought she’d spoken the words in her head out loud, then realized they’d come from Ferdia. He was the worst kind of hypocrite, playing at class outrage, while his mum paid his fees and living expenses. All around her, crazed kids were pouncing on hidden eggs and flinging them, rattling, into the bottom of their buckets.

  ‘Now the over-sevens!’ A whistle blew.

  Within a second, Nell felt the whoosh of bigger children passing by and, momentarily, deep fear stirred. I’m hunting for food for my family but losing to a faster, stronger adversary.

  ‘They’ll get so much today they’ll be sick.’ Ferdia was still at her side.

  ‘Happy Easter!’ Jessie popped up, all sparkling eyes. Then, with a little frown, ‘Where’s Liam?’

  ‘Upset,’ Nell said. ‘Because of Violet and Lenore.’

  ‘Oh.’ Nell watched Jessie process her stuff from irritation to reluctant sympathy. ‘Oh. Okay. Well, at least you’re here.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Cara was feeling good. Great, even. This weekend had gone
far better than she’d anticipated. On Friday she’d climbed to the top of Torc with Ed, their two boys and Liam and Nell. On Saturday, they’d done a full circuit of Lake Dan, which Ed said was eleven K and Liam said was fourteen K and she’d decided to believe Liam. Both days, as soon as she’d opened the packed lunch from the hotel, she’d immediately handed her cereal bar to Ed. She hadn’t even given herself time to grieve: it was gone as soon as she saw it.

  This morning, even though she was hurting from the two previous days’ exercise, she’d shown up for a 7 a.m. yoga class in the fitness studio. Considering it was Easter Sunday, the turnout was high. It was no real surprise to see Jessie – who was dismayed. ‘Cara, don’t put your mat behind mine. I’ve the worst feet in the world – seriously, you’ll be traumatized if you see them. Take your mat to the other side of the room. We never saw each other, okay?’

  That had suited Cara well: the class was tough and she had to spend an embarrassing amount of time recovering in Child’s Pose.

  But all weekend she’d eaten with excellent moderation. No starvation, because that usually led to a binge, just plenty of healthy protein, lots of vegetables, no pasta, no potatoes, no bread, other than the sandwiches in the packed lunches. Most uplifting of all, despite being knee-deep in Easter eggs, she’d stayed away completely from chocolate.

  It was now Sunday afternoon and the end was in sight. She’d be going home tomorrow, unscathed.

  As the light glinted silver off the water of the lake, lots of the Caseys were lolling around on the hotel lawn.

  ‘There’s real heat in that sun,’ Jessie remarked.

  ‘Vinnie, Tom,’ Cara called. ‘Where’re your sun hats?’

  ‘Up in the room.’

  ‘I’ll just run up and get them.’

  Cara took the stairs, raced into the boys’ room, grabbed their hats, turned towards the door … then noticed the two buckets of Creme Eggs standing on the dressing table.

  I’ll just take a look.