Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [146]
Katherine arrived – strangely enough, not until about nine o’clock – with her calculator, allegedly about to help Fintan and Sandro work out a financial plan until Fintan got redundancy money or disability benefit.
‘You must stop spending money,’ Sandro pleaded and Fintan rewarded him with a glare.
‘Oh, by the way,’ Katherine reached into her bag and pulled out a page torn from a newspaper, ‘there was something in today’s Independent about chakra healing. It might be worth a try…’
Fintan had the grace to smile – albeit bitterly.
Hoping that Katherine’s great news about Joe’s e-mail would lift Fintan from the pit of bile he was mired in, Tara made her escape home to Thomas.
When she reached the Holloway Road and circled the block looking for a parking space, she was not prepared for the thought that spun idly into her head. If I didn’t live on this road any more, I’d choose somewhere that had residents’ parking.
She caught herself in amazement. When Fintan had first suggested she leave Thomas, her denial had been automatic. But something had obviously filtered through.
Then she thought of what it would be like being on her own and her innards froze.
She let herself in. The first thing she did every time she came home was wonder what kind of mood Thomas was in. Tonight he was hunched over a bundle of essays, his vicious red pen turning each page into a bloodbath.
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘With Fintan.’
‘Hhhhumph.’
‘How’s Fintan, Tara?’ Tara surprised herself by saying, ladling on the sarcasm. ‘He’s not too good, Thomas, but thanks for asking.’
‘And what about me?’ Thomas asked. ‘When do I get to see you?’
Thomas’s resentment of the time and attention that Tara lavished on Fintan was worsening. Because he was insecure. But Tara was weary of making excuses for him – and that’s what they were, she realized in sudden shock, excuses.
‘I thought we might go out tonight,’ Thomas said. ‘Go round the corner for a curreh.’
‘I’m not eating.’
Thomas was on the horns of a dilemma. ‘Bludeh good for you, Tara.’ But he didn’t want to go on his own to the curry-house. ‘But I don’t mind if you have a night off.’
She shook her head firmly.
‘You ate plenty, all the times you were in the hospital with bludeh Fintan!’
‘I’d have to get a van, she thought. All my stuff won’t fit in the car. Then the aperture shut again, as she considered a life on her own.
She flicked on the television and, interestingly, what came on was a documentary about women who flip one day and murder their partners after years of abuse.
‘That’ll be me.’ Tara laughed, watching Thomas for a response.
‘It’ll be me, more like,’ he countered, confidently.
As she watched him scoring lines through teenage essays, Tara realized, with unprecedented clarity, how much she’d grown to dislike Thomas since Fintan got sick. Her habitual trepidation mysteriously lifted, making her reckless and daring. Reckless and daring enough that – ironically – she thought now might be the time to ask him that question.
She opened her mouth and instantly her heart began to beat like the Kodo drummers.
She wondered exactly how she should frame it.
‘Thomas?’ she asked. She could hear nervousness in her voice and she didn’t like it.
‘What?’ He didn’t even look up from the pile of essays.
‘Nothing.’
They eddied back into silence. Then the feelings propelled her forward once more.
‘Thomas?’
‘What?’
‘Why don’t we get married?’
Eyes still down, he chuckled. ‘Don’t talk daft.’
‘Oh. OK.’
‘That’s a good one.’ He laughed quietly to himself. ‘Us getting wed!’
Silence resumed in the brown basement sitting-room, the air heavy and gloomy. Tara felt a peculiar absence of emotion – no loss, no disappointment, no surprise – nothing. She had expected to feel heartbroken.
‘Why?’ Thomas asked, after a while. ‘Are you up the duff?’
‘Hardly.’ They hadn’t