Rachel's Holiday
Page 85
I’d always felt that there was only a finite amount of good fortune in the universe to go round. And Brigit had just hogged our apartment’s entire quota, leaving none for me, not a single atom.
Selfish bitch, I thought angrily, as I scoured the place looking for a drink or a drug. Just look at poor me, poor unemployed me, who’ll probably have to get a job in McDonald’s, if she’s lucky. Well, I just hope Brigit’s not able for the job and that she has a nervous breakdown. That’ll show her, the smug cow.
I opened all the cupboards as I searched for a bottle of rum that I was sure I’d seen somewhere, but then I remembered I’d drunk it the previous night.
Ah shite, I thought, savouring my misfortune.
In the absence of artificial mood-enhancers, I tried to console myself by thinking that Brigit would have no life, that they’d work her into the ground, that there was a high price to be paid for a successful career. Then terrible insecurity snatched me in its claws. What if Brigit leaves me? I thought, in panic. What if Brigit moved into a lovely, mid-town apartment that had air-conditioning and an in-house gym? Then what would I do? Then where would I go? I couldn’t afford to keep up with that kind of rent.
In that moment, I had a St Paul on the road to Damascus style revelation. I suddenly saw what side my bread was buttered on.
I got off the couch, swallowed my misgivings and gently knocked on Brigit’s bedroom door.
‘I’m sorry, Brigit,’ I pleaded, ‘I’m a selfish hoor, I’m really sorry.’
A wall of silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said again, ‘It’s just that I was sacked myself this afternoon and I felt a bit, you know…’
Still no response.
‘Come out, Brigit,please? I begged. ‘I’m sorry, I really am.’
The door was flung open and Brigit stood there, her face raw from crying.
‘Oh Rachel,’ she sighed. And I couldn’t place her tone. Forgiveness? Exasperation? Pity? Weariness? It could have been any of them, but I hoped it was forgiveness.
‘Let me take you out and buy you champagne to celebrate,’ I offered.
She hung her head and traced a pattern on the floor with her toe.
‘I don’t know…’
‘Oh go on,’ I urged.
‘OK,’ she conceded.
‘Just one prob,’ I said talking very quickly. ‘I’mkindof-skintatthemoment,butifyouloanmesomemoneyI’llpayyou backassoonasIcan.’
Quietly, a bit too quietly for my liking, actually, she sighed and agreed.
I insisted we went to the Llama Lounge.
‘We must, Brigit,’ I said. ‘It’s not every day one of us gets promoted. Certainly not if it’s me, hahaha.’
At the Llama Lounge the management had put up a sign beside the inflated sofa that said ‘People with bare legs sit here at their own risk.’ Brigit and I both took one look at it and said in unison, ‘We’re not sitting there!’ I hoped this of-one-mindness meant Brigit had forgiven me. But conversation remained stilted. I strove hard, overstrove, probably, to let her know how happy I was about her good fortune, but it was an uphill battle.
In the middle of me telling her again how pleased I was for her, she looked at the door and murmured ‘Here’s your fella.’
Please God, let it be Luke, I prayed, my innards atremble. And God obliged, but with a rider clause. It was indeed Luke.
However, he was accompanied by none other than the exquisite Anya, skinny, tanned, almond-eyed Anya.
The first thought that jumped into my head was, if he’s good enough for Anya, he’s good enough for me.
Not that I was being given the choice, of course. Luke threw a non-committal nod over at Brigit and me, but didn’t come any closer.
My world bellyflopped while Brigit wondered aloud ‘What’s up with Cool-Arse Luke?’
Luke and Anya looked very intimate. Like they’d just clambered out of bed. Surely I was imagining it? I wondered anxiously. But their faces were very close together, turned into each other. Then their thighs touched. As I watched aghast, he slid his arm along the back of her chair, lightly touching her slim, yet muscular shoulders.
I’d known he fancied Anya, all along, I thought resentfully. I’d just bloody well known it. And him giving me all that crap about what a nice girl she was.
‘Stop staring,’ Brigit hissed.
I jerked and kind of came to.
‘Swop places with me,’ Brigit ordered. ‘You’re to sit with your back to him. And take that starving baby look off your face. And put your tongue back in, it’s banging off your knees.’
I did what I was told and then wished I hadn’t. So I tried to get Brigit to stare by proxy for me.
‘What’s he doing now?’ I asked her.
She flicked a glance at them. ‘He’s holding her hand.’
I moaned softly.
‘Still?’ I asked a few seconds later.
‘Still what?’
‘Is he still holding her hand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh Christ.’ I could have cried. ‘What does he look like?’
‘About six one, dark hair…’
‘No! What does his face look like? I mean, does he look happy, does he look like he’s mad about her?’
‘Suck that down,’ Brigit curdy indicated my drink. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘No,’ I protested in a low fierce voice. ‘I want to stay. I have to stay and watch them…’
‘No.’ Brigit was very firm. ‘No way, it does no one any good. And let this be a lesson to you. The next time you meet a man as sexy and nice as Luke Costello, maybe you won’t shag it up.’
‘Do you think he’s sexy and nice?’ I asked, in huge surprise.
‘Oh course I do,’ she said, astonished.
‘Well, why didn’t you say?’
‘Why? Do you need me to endorse everything for you before you’ll let yourself like it?’ she asked.
Stupid wagon, I thought, annoyed. She’d only been promoted a matter of hours and already she was acting like she was someone’s boss.
I mourned him for some days. I felt the loss acutely. But I didn’t hold out any hope because I knew I couldn’t compete with Anya. No way. I knew my limitations.
I devoted my time to glancing around for a job. The effort I put into it wasn’t deserving of the word ‘looking’.
Selfish bitch, I thought angrily, as I scoured the place looking for a drink or a drug. Just look at poor me, poor unemployed me, who’ll probably have to get a job in McDonald’s, if she’s lucky. Well, I just hope Brigit’s not able for the job and that she has a nervous breakdown. That’ll show her, the smug cow.
I opened all the cupboards as I searched for a bottle of rum that I was sure I’d seen somewhere, but then I remembered I’d drunk it the previous night.
Ah shite, I thought, savouring my misfortune.
In the absence of artificial mood-enhancers, I tried to console myself by thinking that Brigit would have no life, that they’d work her into the ground, that there was a high price to be paid for a successful career. Then terrible insecurity snatched me in its claws. What if Brigit leaves me? I thought, in panic. What if Brigit moved into a lovely, mid-town apartment that had air-conditioning and an in-house gym? Then what would I do? Then where would I go? I couldn’t afford to keep up with that kind of rent.
In that moment, I had a St Paul on the road to Damascus style revelation. I suddenly saw what side my bread was buttered on.
I got off the couch, swallowed my misgivings and gently knocked on Brigit’s bedroom door.
‘I’m sorry, Brigit,’ I pleaded, ‘I’m a selfish hoor, I’m really sorry.’
A wall of silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said again, ‘It’s just that I was sacked myself this afternoon and I felt a bit, you know…’
Still no response.
‘Come out, Brigit,please? I begged. ‘I’m sorry, I really am.’
The door was flung open and Brigit stood there, her face raw from crying.
‘Oh Rachel,’ she sighed. And I couldn’t place her tone. Forgiveness? Exasperation? Pity? Weariness? It could have been any of them, but I hoped it was forgiveness.
‘Let me take you out and buy you champagne to celebrate,’ I offered.
She hung her head and traced a pattern on the floor with her toe.
‘I don’t know…’
‘Oh go on,’ I urged.
‘OK,’ she conceded.
‘Just one prob,’ I said talking very quickly. ‘I’mkindof-skintatthemoment,butifyouloanmesomemoneyI’llpayyou backassoonasIcan.’
Quietly, a bit too quietly for my liking, actually, she sighed and agreed.
I insisted we went to the Llama Lounge.
‘We must, Brigit,’ I said. ‘It’s not every day one of us gets promoted. Certainly not if it’s me, hahaha.’
At the Llama Lounge the management had put up a sign beside the inflated sofa that said ‘People with bare legs sit here at their own risk.’ Brigit and I both took one look at it and said in unison, ‘We’re not sitting there!’ I hoped this of-one-mindness meant Brigit had forgiven me. But conversation remained stilted. I strove hard, overstrove, probably, to let her know how happy I was about her good fortune, but it was an uphill battle.
In the middle of me telling her again how pleased I was for her, she looked at the door and murmured ‘Here’s your fella.’
Please God, let it be Luke, I prayed, my innards atremble. And God obliged, but with a rider clause. It was indeed Luke.
However, he was accompanied by none other than the exquisite Anya, skinny, tanned, almond-eyed Anya.
The first thought that jumped into my head was, if he’s good enough for Anya, he’s good enough for me.
Not that I was being given the choice, of course. Luke threw a non-committal nod over at Brigit and me, but didn’t come any closer.
My world bellyflopped while Brigit wondered aloud ‘What’s up with Cool-Arse Luke?’
Luke and Anya looked very intimate. Like they’d just clambered out of bed. Surely I was imagining it? I wondered anxiously. But their faces were very close together, turned into each other. Then their thighs touched. As I watched aghast, he slid his arm along the back of her chair, lightly touching her slim, yet muscular shoulders.
I’d known he fancied Anya, all along, I thought resentfully. I’d just bloody well known it. And him giving me all that crap about what a nice girl she was.
‘Stop staring,’ Brigit hissed.
I jerked and kind of came to.
‘Swop places with me,’ Brigit ordered. ‘You’re to sit with your back to him. And take that starving baby look off your face. And put your tongue back in, it’s banging off your knees.’
I did what I was told and then wished I hadn’t. So I tried to get Brigit to stare by proxy for me.
‘What’s he doing now?’ I asked her.
She flicked a glance at them. ‘He’s holding her hand.’
I moaned softly.
‘Still?’ I asked a few seconds later.
‘Still what?’
‘Is he still holding her hand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh Christ.’ I could have cried. ‘What does he look like?’
‘About six one, dark hair…’
‘No! What does his face look like? I mean, does he look happy, does he look like he’s mad about her?’
‘Suck that down,’ Brigit curdy indicated my drink. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘No,’ I protested in a low fierce voice. ‘I want to stay. I have to stay and watch them…’
‘No.’ Brigit was very firm. ‘No way, it does no one any good. And let this be a lesson to you. The next time you meet a man as sexy and nice as Luke Costello, maybe you won’t shag it up.’
‘Do you think he’s sexy and nice?’ I asked, in huge surprise.
‘Oh course I do,’ she said, astonished.
‘Well, why didn’t you say?’
‘Why? Do you need me to endorse everything for you before you’ll let yourself like it?’ she asked.
Stupid wagon, I thought, annoyed. She’d only been promoted a matter of hours and already she was acting like she was someone’s boss.
I mourned him for some days. I felt the loss acutely. But I didn’t hold out any hope because I knew I couldn’t compete with Anya. No way. I knew my limitations.
I devoted my time to glancing around for a job. The effort I put into it wasn’t deserving of the word ‘looking’.
