Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes [19]
But how she loved it. The biggest fear about losing her job was that she wouldn’t be able to meet her mortgage payments. She’d bought the flat three years previously, when she’d finally understood that Phelim and she wouldn’t be applying together to purchase a cottage with roses round the door. There had been an element of brinkmanship to it – naturally she’d hoped that Phelim would hurtle in as the credits were rolling and breathlessly agree to sign up for the regulatory three-bedroom semi in a distant suburb. But to her heavy-hearted disappointment he didn’t and the purchase went ahead. At the time it had seemed like an admission of failure. But not now. This flat was her haven, her nest and her first real home. She’d lived in rented hovels since she was seventeen, sleeping in other people’s beds, sitting on lumpy sofas that landlords had bought for cheapness, not comfort.
She hadn’t had a stick of furniture when she’d moved in. Apart from the essentials like an iron and a pile of threadbare towels, mismatched sheets and pillowcases, everything had to be bought from scratch. Which caused Ashling to throw a rare tantrum. She fumed with seething resentment at the thought of diverting month after month of clothes money to buy all sorts of stupid things. Like chairs.
‘But we can’t sit on the floor,’ Phelim had yelled.
‘I know,’ Ashling admitted. ‘I just didn’t realize it would be like this…’
‘But you’re mind-blowingly organized.’ He was baffled. ‘I thought you’d be great at this sort of thing. Whatjacallit? Home-making.’
She looked so lost and bleak that Phelim said softly, ‘Oh baby, let me help. I’ll buy you some furniture.’
‘A bed, I bet,’ Ashling said scornfully.
‘Well, now that you mention it…’ Phelim was fond of having sex with Ashling. Buying a bed for her was no hardship. ‘Can I afford it?’
Ashling considered. Now that she’d reorganized Phelim’s finances, he was a lot better off. ‘I suppose,’ she said sulkily. ‘If you do it on your credit card.’
Bitterly, irritably she applied for a bank loan, then bought herself a couch, a table, a wardrobe and a couple of chairs. And that, she resolved, would be that. For over a year she refused to buy blinds. ‘I’ll just not wash the windows,’ she said. ‘That way no one can see in.’ And she only got herself a shower curtain when the daily puddles on her bathroom floor began to leak through to Joy’s. But somewhere along the line her priorities had changed. Though she wasn’t anything like the Ninja-decorator that Clodagh was, she certainly cared. To the point where she owned not just one but a grand total of two sets of bed linen (a funky denim-look set and a crisp white Zen ensemble with a waffle throw). Recently she’d shelled out forty quid on a mirror that she didn’t even need, just because she thought it was pretty. Granted she’d been premenstrual and not in her right mind, but still. And the sea change was obviously complete the day she’d handed over two hundred quid for a dust-sucker.
There was a knock at the door. Joy, white as a ghost, sidled in.
‘Sorry, I got a bit carried away with the cleaning,’ Ashling realized. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘It’s OK. I’ve to go out to Howth to see my mammy.’ Joy made an anguished face. ‘I can’t cancel again, I’ve done it for the past four Sundays. But how will I cope? She’ll have made a huge roast dinner which she’ll try to force-feed me and she’ll spend all afternoon quizzing me, trying to establish if I’m happy. You know what mothers are like.’
Well, yes and no, Ashling thought. She was familiar with the ‘Are you happy?’ questions. Only thing was, it was Ashling who used to monitor her mother’s happiness levels, not the other way round.
‘If only she’d have Sunday lunch at a more civilized time,’ Joy complained.
‘Like Tuesday evening,’ Ashling grinned. ‘Now, I suppose you haven’t seen Ted so far today?’
‘Not yet. I presume he got lucky last night and is refusing to leave the poor girl’s bedroom.’