Sushi for Beginners
Page 125
‘Did you sense that something was going on?’ Joy asked. ‘Has he been behaving any differently?’
It was painful to think of the recent past in the light of her discoveries, but Ashling had to admit, ‘The last few weeks, while I’ve been so busy, he’s been narky. I thought it was just because he missed me. Imagine!’
‘Did the, um –’ Joy was making a half-hearted attempt to frame the question delicately and realized she couldn’t. ‘Did the riding continue as normal?’
Ted put his hands over his ears.
‘No,’ Ashling sighed. ‘It slowed down a lot. Again I thought it was my fault. But we did have sex since I was in Cork. So for a time he was doing us both.
‘Why did Clodagh stand for it?’ she wondered, as if she was talking about a character in a soap opera.
‘Maybe she didn’t know,’ Joy suggested. ‘He could have lied to her. Or maybe he was using you as leverage to try to get her to leave Dylan.’ Too late, Joy realized how cruel she sounded. ‘Sorry,’ she said humbly. ‘I wasn’t thinking… And what about Clodagh? If I had my choice between Marcus and Dylan I know which one I’d choose! Oh Christ. Sorry again. Listen, would you like some chips?’
Ashling shook her head.
‘Anything to eat? Chocolate? Popcorn? Anything?’ Joy demonstrated the wide choice of confectionery on Ashling’s chest of drawers.
‘No, and don’t bring me any more.’
‘Are you planning to get up ever again?’
‘No,’ Ashling said. ‘I feel so… humiliated.’
‘Don’t give them the satisfaction,’ Joy said stoutly.
‘I feel that everyone hates me.’
‘Why? You’ve done nothing wrong!’
‘I feel like the whole world is against me, that nowhere is safe. And I’m very sad,’ she added.
‘Of course you’re sad.’
‘No, I’m sad about the wrong things. I keep thinking about Boo and how sad it is. And all the other homeless people, being cold and hungry. The loss of dignity, it’s so dehumanizing…’
She stopped. She’d caught the she’s-totally-flipped look that had passed between Joy and Ted. They thought the shock had unhinged some part of her. How could she care about homeless people, people she’d never met, when she had such a real-life tangible disaster of her own? They didn’t understand. But there was one person who would understand.
If she hadn’t been so catatonic, she’d have shuddered in horror. This is how my mother felt And it was then that she made the shocking connection. Dammit, I think I’m having a nervous breakdown.
Flowers or no flowers, when Lisa got into work and saw Jack she couldn’t help a burst of anger at his rejection of her.
‘How are you?’ He watched her carefully.
‘Fine,’ she said touchily.
‘We missed you.’ His eyes were kind – but not pitying – and her ire evaporated. She was just being childish.
‘Want to see my skincare piece?’ He proffered a print-out, which claimed that the Aveda stuff was ‘nice’, the Kiehl stuff was ‘nice’ and the Issey Miyake stuff was ‘nice’.
Lisa fluttered the page back on to the desk and, with an advisory wink, urged, ‘Don’t give up the day job.’ They must have been really panicked about the Colleen staff if the likes of Jack had attempted an article. ‘And Ashling’s still out?’ She couldn’t contain her smugness. Hey, she was getting divorced, and she’d come to work.
It was only now she was back that she realized what a big buzz there was about the magazine, and how all her efforts to put it on the map had borne fruit. While she’d been lying in bed convinced she was the greatest failure of all time, she’d become a bit of a star – only in Ireland of course, but still.
There had already been one job offer from a rival Irish magazine and several journalists had rung, some interested in doing a serious profile on her, more of them interested in using her for ‘filler’ pieces, like ‘My Favourite Holiday’ and ‘My Ideal Date’.
She permitted a certain warmth to creep through her, but more important than any magazine success was the coming weekend with Oliver. She had to look utterly spectacular – she’d have to organize a haul of fabulous clothes and get her hair done. And her nails. And her legs. She’d eat nothing, of course, so that she could eat normally with him…
‘It’s the Sunday Times,’ Trix waved the phone at Lisa. ‘They want to know what colour knickers you’re wearing.’
‘White,’ Lisa said absently, and Kelvin almost came.
‘I’m only joking,’ Trix bleated. ‘They just want to ask about your hair-care…’
But Lisa wasn’t listening. She was on the phone to the DKNY London press office. ‘We want to do a spread for our Christmas issue, but we need the clothes by Friday.’
‘Lisa, can we talk about Mercedes’ replacement?’ Jack asked.
Mercedes leaving them in the lurch burst another firework of rage in her, which she had to work to disperse. ‘Trix, ring Ghost, Fendi, Prada, Paul Smith and Gucci! Tell them we’ll run some pages on them for the December issue but only if they get the threads to us by Friday. Come on.’ She beat Jack to his office.
‘She’s up to something,’ Trix observed – to thin air. She missed Ashling and Mercedes, it wasn’t nice having no one to play with.
Jack and Lisa looked at the four unsolicited applications for fashion editor and decided to interview all of them.
‘And if they’re pants, we’ll run an ad,’ Lisa said. ‘Can I ask you something? How do I find a solicitor?’
Jack thought for a moment. ‘We have a legal firm on retainer. Why don’t you go and see them? If they can’t do your, um, stuff, they’ll recommend someone who can.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And I’ll do whatever I can to help you,’ Jack promised.
Lisa eyed him suspiciously. There was no getting away from it. She liked him. He was continuing with the warm, supportive relationship he’d been offering since the day she’d cried in his office over not going to the shows. It wasn’t his fault she’d chosen to over-interpret it.
On Tuesday afternoon Ashling’s phone rang. She snatched it up. Be Marcus, she prayed. Be Marcus.
It was painful to think of the recent past in the light of her discoveries, but Ashling had to admit, ‘The last few weeks, while I’ve been so busy, he’s been narky. I thought it was just because he missed me. Imagine!’
‘Did the, um –’ Joy was making a half-hearted attempt to frame the question delicately and realized she couldn’t. ‘Did the riding continue as normal?’
Ted put his hands over his ears.
‘No,’ Ashling sighed. ‘It slowed down a lot. Again I thought it was my fault. But we did have sex since I was in Cork. So for a time he was doing us both.
‘Why did Clodagh stand for it?’ she wondered, as if she was talking about a character in a soap opera.
‘Maybe she didn’t know,’ Joy suggested. ‘He could have lied to her. Or maybe he was using you as leverage to try to get her to leave Dylan.’ Too late, Joy realized how cruel she sounded. ‘Sorry,’ she said humbly. ‘I wasn’t thinking… And what about Clodagh? If I had my choice between Marcus and Dylan I know which one I’d choose! Oh Christ. Sorry again. Listen, would you like some chips?’
Ashling shook her head.
‘Anything to eat? Chocolate? Popcorn? Anything?’ Joy demonstrated the wide choice of confectionery on Ashling’s chest of drawers.
‘No, and don’t bring me any more.’
‘Are you planning to get up ever again?’
‘No,’ Ashling said. ‘I feel so… humiliated.’
‘Don’t give them the satisfaction,’ Joy said stoutly.
‘I feel that everyone hates me.’
‘Why? You’ve done nothing wrong!’
‘I feel like the whole world is against me, that nowhere is safe. And I’m very sad,’ she added.
‘Of course you’re sad.’
‘No, I’m sad about the wrong things. I keep thinking about Boo and how sad it is. And all the other homeless people, being cold and hungry. The loss of dignity, it’s so dehumanizing…’
She stopped. She’d caught the she’s-totally-flipped look that had passed between Joy and Ted. They thought the shock had unhinged some part of her. How could she care about homeless people, people she’d never met, when she had such a real-life tangible disaster of her own? They didn’t understand. But there was one person who would understand.
If she hadn’t been so catatonic, she’d have shuddered in horror. This is how my mother felt And it was then that she made the shocking connection. Dammit, I think I’m having a nervous breakdown.
Flowers or no flowers, when Lisa got into work and saw Jack she couldn’t help a burst of anger at his rejection of her.
‘How are you?’ He watched her carefully.
‘Fine,’ she said touchily.
‘We missed you.’ His eyes were kind – but not pitying – and her ire evaporated. She was just being childish.
‘Want to see my skincare piece?’ He proffered a print-out, which claimed that the Aveda stuff was ‘nice’, the Kiehl stuff was ‘nice’ and the Issey Miyake stuff was ‘nice’.
Lisa fluttered the page back on to the desk and, with an advisory wink, urged, ‘Don’t give up the day job.’ They must have been really panicked about the Colleen staff if the likes of Jack had attempted an article. ‘And Ashling’s still out?’ She couldn’t contain her smugness. Hey, she was getting divorced, and she’d come to work.
It was only now she was back that she realized what a big buzz there was about the magazine, and how all her efforts to put it on the map had borne fruit. While she’d been lying in bed convinced she was the greatest failure of all time, she’d become a bit of a star – only in Ireland of course, but still.
There had already been one job offer from a rival Irish magazine and several journalists had rung, some interested in doing a serious profile on her, more of them interested in using her for ‘filler’ pieces, like ‘My Favourite Holiday’ and ‘My Ideal Date’.
She permitted a certain warmth to creep through her, but more important than any magazine success was the coming weekend with Oliver. She had to look utterly spectacular – she’d have to organize a haul of fabulous clothes and get her hair done. And her nails. And her legs. She’d eat nothing, of course, so that she could eat normally with him…
‘It’s the Sunday Times,’ Trix waved the phone at Lisa. ‘They want to know what colour knickers you’re wearing.’
‘White,’ Lisa said absently, and Kelvin almost came.
‘I’m only joking,’ Trix bleated. ‘They just want to ask about your hair-care…’
But Lisa wasn’t listening. She was on the phone to the DKNY London press office. ‘We want to do a spread for our Christmas issue, but we need the clothes by Friday.’
‘Lisa, can we talk about Mercedes’ replacement?’ Jack asked.
Mercedes leaving them in the lurch burst another firework of rage in her, which she had to work to disperse. ‘Trix, ring Ghost, Fendi, Prada, Paul Smith and Gucci! Tell them we’ll run some pages on them for the December issue but only if they get the threads to us by Friday. Come on.’ She beat Jack to his office.
‘She’s up to something,’ Trix observed – to thin air. She missed Ashling and Mercedes, it wasn’t nice having no one to play with.
Jack and Lisa looked at the four unsolicited applications for fashion editor and decided to interview all of them.
‘And if they’re pants, we’ll run an ad,’ Lisa said. ‘Can I ask you something? How do I find a solicitor?’
Jack thought for a moment. ‘We have a legal firm on retainer. Why don’t you go and see them? If they can’t do your, um, stuff, they’ll recommend someone who can.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And I’ll do whatever I can to help you,’ Jack promised.
Lisa eyed him suspiciously. There was no getting away from it. She liked him. He was continuing with the warm, supportive relationship he’d been offering since the day she’d cried in his office over not going to the shows. It wasn’t his fault she’d chosen to over-interpret it.
On Tuesday afternoon Ashling’s phone rang. She snatched it up. Be Marcus, she prayed. Be Marcus.
