Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes [182]
‘Thanks.’ Francine was breathless and red with pleasure.
‘’Course I’ll be singing as well. I’ll be the lead singer. You get paid more for that. And I’ll write the songs too. You get even more money for that.’
Lisa nodded at her enterprise.
‘And merchandising, I’ll be in charge of that too,’ Francine promised. ‘That’s where the real money is.’ She gave Lisa a sharp look. ‘How’s your flu now? Better?’
‘No. Go away.’
‘Are you eating that KitKat?’
‘No.’
‘Can I have it?’
It was only when Lisa couldn’t get out of bed to go to work on Monday morning that she suddenly realized she was losing it. Apart from skiving off early on Friday, she couldn’t remember when she’d last missed work. Had she ever? She’d gone in when she had period pains, head colds, hangovers, bad-hair days. She’d gone in on her holidays. She’d gone in when her husband had left her. So what was she at now?
And why wasn’t it nice?
She’d always been such a control freak that she’d never been able to understand those who’d cracked up, who’d been led sobbing from their desks and had never returned. But she’d entertained a perverse curiosity about losing it, suspecting that there must be some comfort therein. Wouldn’t it be liberating to be utterly incapable, to have no choice but to let others take charge?
Well, apparently not. She was unable to function and she hated it.
She should go to work. She was needed there. The Colleen staff was too small to accommodate absenteeism, especially with Mercedes gone and Ashling laid low also. But she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Her body was too heavy and her mind was too weary.
Eventually she became aware that she had to pee. She battled it, pretending it wasn’t happening, but eventually the discomfort got so great she had to go to the bathroom. Passing the kitchen on her return she noticed the divorce petition lying on the counter. She hadn’t looked at it since Friday, she never wanted to see it again, but she knew she had to.
She took it back to bed and forced herself to study it. She should hate Oliver. The fucking nerve of him, divorcing her! But what did she expect? Their marriage was over, ‘irretrievably broken down’ if you wanted to be technical about it, and let’s face it, he did.
The language on the petition was pompous and impenetrable. Again she realized how badly she needed a solicitor, how frighteningly out of her depth she was. She skimmed the stiff pages, trying to understand, and the first thing that actually made sense was that Oliver was seeking a divorce on the grounds of Lisa’s ‘unreasonable behaviour’. The words jumped out and stung her. She hated being accused of doing something wrong. The marriage breakdown wasn’t her fault, she fumed. They’d just wanted different things. Fucking bastard. She could come up with some unreasonable-behaviour accusations of her own, if she put her mind to it. Wanting her barefoot, pregnant and manacled to the kitchen sink – that’s pretty unreasonable.
But the anger cooled as she remembered the unreasonable-behaviour accusation was only a formality. He’d explained all that when he’d come to Dublin – they had to have a reason to give to the court and she could just as easily have sued him.
Reading on, there were five examples, just as he’d told her there had to be. Working nine weekends in a row. Missing his parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary due to work commitments. Cancelling their holiday in St Lucia at the last minute because she had to work. Pretending she wanted to get pregnant. Owning too many clothes. Each instance cut through her like a knife. Apart from the owning-too-many-clothes one. She presumed that by example five he’d run out of real complaints. Costs would be shared and neither would be seeking maintenance from the other.
Apparently she had to sign something called an Acknowledgement of Service and send it back to Oliver’s solicitor. But she was signing nothing. And not just because she hadn’t the will to pick up a pen. Her instinct for self-preservation went very deep.
There was a knock at her door. She actually managed a silent