Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [145]
‘You girlies. Why is everything so complicated?’
‘Oh, God, I just got a rush of it!’ Tara stopped still in the street, early Christmas shoppers banging into her, ready to berate her with seasonal ire, until they saw the appalled rictus on her face. ‘The thought that he mightn’t get better. It’s like looking into hell. It seems… evil.’
‘You need a drink.’ Ravi took her elbow and steered her into the nearest pub, sat her down and bought her a gin and tonic. ‘Has he cheered up any since he came home from hospital?’
‘Oh, no.’ Tara took a sip of her drink, and shuddered with relief. ‘Thanks, Ravi, this is saving my life. No, he’s awful. You know there are stories about people whose lives blossom in the face of death? Well, it hasn’t been like that for Fintan. Almost from the second he came home he turned into a real brat – spiteful, demanding, bad-tempered. Not that you could blame him, he nearly died when his hair fell out.’ She winced. ‘Wrong choice of words. He feels lousy,’ she continued, ‘because his white blood count is in bits after the high dose of chemo they gave him. And he’s angry and scared. But it’s hard to be nice to him all the time.’
Tara turned to Ravi, tears in her eyes. ‘Sometimes I want to smack him because I’m angry and scared too. And I feel so guilty!’
Ravi awkwardly pawed Tara’s hand. ‘I’m sure what you feel is normal.’ Actually, he hadn’t a clue, but he so badly wanted to help. ‘Another drink?’ he asked hopefully, though she’d barely started on her first. ‘And I’m sure Katherine bagging the bloke from her work will cheer him up.’
‘It’ll have to. I’ll never be able to do what he wants, and that’s part of the reason that I’m angry and scared.’
‘You never know what you can do till you try.’
‘I do know. I’ve never been more sure of anything. I can’t leave Thomas and that’s that.’
‘But you said things aren’t good with him.’
‘Yeah, but… it’s only temporary. He’s jealous of Fintan and the pressure is making me overeat and… Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine. Soon.’
‘Whatever,’ Ravi said heartily. ‘You’ve enough on your plate.’
‘Plate,’ Tara said wistfully. ‘Food. I’m obsessed.’
‘Give yourself a break.’
‘You’re so sweet.’ Tara gratefully leant her head into Ravi’s neck and nervously he put his arm around her shoulder.
‘Mmmm.’ Tara snuggled. ‘You smell lov –’ She pulled away in torment. ‘Crème brûlée! You smell of crème brûlée. Vanilla pods, burnt sugar. What aftershave are you wearing?’
‘JPG. Danielle bought it for me. And, now that you mention it, I do remember her saying something about vanilla top notes, whatever they are.’
After work Tara visited Fintan, bringing a magazine article about Chinese herbalists that Vinnie had given her.
Sandro intercepted her at the door. ‘Fintan’s gone bananas on the shopping channel,’ he whispered. ‘He’s bought an abdominizer, a country-and-Western album that you can’t buy in the shops, a horrible gold chain and bracelet set and a cross-country skiing machine. He is constantly on the phone telling them our credit-card details!’
Fintan was enthroned on the sofa, wearing a Diana Vreeland turban, and a sourpuss face. Since he’d got out of hospital he’d been rancid and nasty, like milk that had turned. He glanced at Vinnie’s article, then spun it aside. ‘Tara, every time I see you you’ve found some new form of mumbo-jumbo for me to try. Homeopathy, acupuncture, raw diets, massage, colour therapy, meditation and now Chinese herbs.’
‘But, Fintan,’ Tara said, desperately, ‘they’re all worth a try. They can’t do any harm.’
‘Turn on the box,’ he interrupted, rudely. ‘Let’s have some entertaining nonsense. As opposed to the non-entertaining variety.’
‘Fintan,’ Sandro wrung his hands, tearfully, ‘please, you mustn’t. You will have no friends left, you’ve been so rude to everyone…’
‘I’ve no worries about Tara,’ Fintan said, archly. ‘The worse men treat her, the more devoted she becomes.’
Tara flinched as if she’d been