Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [47]
On Friday, with four gin and tonics under her belt, Tara had thought Amy seemed very nice. But now, as Tara inhaled so hard her ears almost met in the middle, she watched Amy glide a comb through her long, strawberry-blonde, ringlety hair and decided that she hated her. Maybe she was a good person, but with all that gorgeous hair and tall, slender beauty, she couldn’t have known a day’s hardship in her life, ever. How could two people who shared the same birthdate look so different? Explain that, Mystic Meg.
‘Nice birthday?’ Tara politely asked Amy. She thought she’d better, otherwise Amy might guess Tara hated her for being so thin and for her hair being in such even ringlets.
‘Um, OK,’ said Amy, with a wobbly smile. She looked very ropy, obviously had a high old time of it over the weekend, Tara reckoned. ‘The only thing was,’ Amy said, her voice becoming thin and high, ‘I… er… had a row with my boyfriend and ended up… like… getting arrested.’
Tears began to cascade down Amy’s perfect white skin, as she spilled out the whole story of the birthday party; the huge embarrassment of her boyfriend’s non-arrival, his eventual appearance, the sandwich-eating, the order to leave, the hellish hours that followed, the myriad phonecalls, the longest Saturday and Sunday in history, the hysterical desperation, the call to the police… Tara rearranged her shocked expression and made the appropriate comforting platitudes, like ‘It was only a row,’ and ‘You know what men are like, just give him time to get over his bad mood,’ and ‘Maybe you should leave him alone for a couple of days,’ and ‘Yes, I know how hard it is to do that, really I do,’ and ‘You’ll look back on this and the pair of you will laugh,’ and ‘You know, this’ll probably make the two of you closer,’ and ‘Men, can’t live with them!’ and ‘Er, sorry for asking, but what exactly is police bail, just out of curiosity?’
Back in the office, Tara itched to ring Thomas. Usually she felt no need to call him at work, especially as it involved getting him out of a classroom. Besides, as her office was open-plan, it was impossible to have an intimate phone conversation – Ravi, in particular, took great interest in Tara’s life. But because she was afraid something was out of kilter with herself and Thomas, she craved reassurance. She wanted to know if she’d imagined his hostility on the phone this morning.
However, after she’d steeled herself to make the call, Lulu, the school secretary, wouldn’t fetch Thomas. She always acted as if she owned him. ‘I’ll tell Mr Holmes you called,’ she lied.
‘Thick tart,’ Tara muttered, putting down the phone.
‘Who? Lulu?’ Ravi bellowed.
‘Who else?’ said Tara. She spent a short while consoling herself that at least she hadn’t set the peelers on Thomas. She shuddered with horror at the thought. He’d never forgive her for that, never. Still upset, she rang Liv for a moan. She got her answering-machine, so tried her mobile.
‘Hello,’ Liv said.
‘It’s me. Are you busy?’
‘I’m in Hampshire with a terrible woman who wants everything in her house to be gold,’ Liv wailed.
‘Yuk. Like bathroom taps and door-handles?’
‘No, like kitchen units and garden sheds.’
‘Oh, no. Anyway, how are you getting on with Lars?’
‘Very good.’ Liv sounded uncharacteristically optimistic. ‘He says he’s really going to leave his wife this time.’
‘Brilliant!’ Tara forced herself to say. She’d believe it when she saw it. She didn’t like Lars. Just because he was tall, blond and craggy it didn’t give him licence to string Liv along for fifteen months with his spurious talk of wife-leaving. ‘When’s he going back?’ Tara asked.
‘Saturday.