Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [198]
Hearing him talk protectively about another woman was the biggest pain she’d ever felt. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel such agony. ‘You’re not going to tell me you love her?’ she choked.
He hadn’t been going to, but that suddenly struck him as a good idea. ‘Of course I love her, she’s my wife.’
‘You can’t love her, you love me.’
When he said nothing, she demanded, ‘You love me, don’t you? You said you did.’
‘I know I did, but… I’m sorry. Look, I’m very fond of you, and you’re very attractive…’ He squirmed. She’d got it bad. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘I’ve been a bad boy again and –’
‘Again? You mean, you’ve done this before? I’m not the first?’
He moved his head slightly from side to side. She wasn’t the first.
‘But I’m special, aren’t I?’ Clearing space for him to redeem himself in.
But all he said was ‘You’re a nice girl and I’m sorry.’
Before she could follow this unwelcome information to its unpleasant conclusion, her brain flitted to another source of horror. There were so many dreadful things happening that she didn’t know which to deal with first. ‘But I’m going to have a baby.’ Hysteria appeared in her voice.
God, what a shambles, Lorcan thought, uncomfortably. He couldn’t even tell her to have an abortion because he had no money to contribute to it. ‘What will we do?’ she begged, her eyes pleading.
‘I’m not the one who’s pregnant.’ Lorcan’s face was twisted into an expression of dislike because she was making him feel so bad.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re the one who’s up the pole. I never wanted you to be. I wanted you to get sorted out but you wouldn’t. So do what you like with it. Have it. Don’t have it. It’s up to you.’
‘What are you trying to say to me?’ She had a fair idea, but hoped desperately that she was wrong.
‘I really think it’s best if I don’t get involved,’ he said, priding himself on how kindly he said it.
‘But you have to be involved,’ she cried. ‘It’s unavoidable. You’ll have to leave your wife and –’
‘Really, Katherine, I think –’
‘That’s not my name,’ she said wildly. At his confused look, she insisted, crazily, ‘It’s Katherine with a K. It’s your special name for me. Say it.’
‘Katherine,’ he said, loudly and firmly, ‘I think it’s best if we’re not together any more.’
‘NO! Don’t leave me.’
‘It’s for the best.’
‘The best for you, maybe, but how will I cope?’
‘You’ll be fine,’ he said hastily, turning away from her. ‘You’ll be fine, you’ll get over this.’
‘Please,’ she choked, ‘please.’ Then she heard herself say, ‘I’m begging you.’
But, as if in a slowed-down nightmare, he was getting to his feet. He was trying to stand up and go away from her. She knew that if he left now it was all over, she’d never see him again.
He was moving away from the table, but she was holding on to his arm and being dragged with him. A stool fell over and he was trying to prise her claw-grip fingers off him. She bumped her hip, wood denting bone, and felt no pain. People were looking up from their drinks and he was saying something. Hard words. Cruel words. Get away. Leave me alone. A clatter as a pint glass fell, its contents frothing silently over the shiny wood. The barman was hurrying towards them.
‘But don’t you love me?’ she heard her voice screech.
‘No,’ he said.
No.
76
Tara insisted on frisking Fintan like she was a member of the Drugs Squad. She ran her hands over and over him, marvelling at the reduction in his lumps. ‘Do you know what I can feel?’ she asked, as she caressed his side.
‘What?’
‘NOTHING!’ she yelped, in delight. ‘Nothing!’ She stood back and took him in – bald, skeletal, leaning on a stick. But the bump on his neck was only the size of a grape. ‘You look spectacular,’ she exclaimed. ‘Good enough to eat. How do you feel?’
‘Really good. Lots of energy and I’m eating well. The future is bright. But where’s Katherine and my Joe?’
‘Hold on to your hat. I’ve some story for the pair of you.’ And she regaled Fintan and Sandro with the dramatic events of the last day.
‘Beaker from The Muppet Show,’ Fintan kept repeating,