Anybody Out There - Marian Keyes (11 page)

A tricky silence.
"I've just got here," I said defensively. "Give me a chance."
It was strange to see the two of them united against me. It's not that they didn't like each other--
not exactly--but Rachel's motto was "The unexamined life isn't worth living," while Jacqui's
was "We're not here for a long time, we're here for a good time."
They had never bitched to me about each other, but if they were to, Rachel would say that Jacqui
was too shallow and Jacqui would say that Rachel needed to lighten up.
The crux of their differences was Luke: if pressed, Jacqui would admit that she thought Luke was
wasted on Rachel, with her fondness for early nights.
However, Rachel once let slip that the only vice she had left was sex, which instantly made me
imagine her and Luke up to all sorts of kinky stuff. But that's not something you want to think
too much about, not about anyone.
After further silence, I said, "So! Jacqui, what's happening with you? Are you over Buzz yet?"
Buzz was Jacqui's ex-boyfriend. He had a year-round tan and tons of confidence and money. He
was also incredibly cruel--he used to leave Jacqui sitting by herself for hours in bars and
restaurants, then he'd tell her she'd got the time or the venue wrong.
He would argue that pink was green just for the hell of it, tried to make Jacqui have a threesome
with a prostitute, and drove a red Porsche--so pitifully naff--and made the guy at the garage
clean the tires with a toothbrush.
Jacqui used to keep saying what a bastard he was and that she'd had it with him; no, she'd really
had it with him this time; but she always gave him one more chance. Then he'd broken up with
her on New Year's Eve and she'd been devastated.
Jacqui never got a chance to answer me. As if I hadn't spoken, Rachel said, "There are lots of
messages on your machine. We thought you might like someone here when you're listening to
them."
"Why not?" I said. "Hit it."
There were thirty-seven messages. All kinds of people had come out of the woodwork.
"Anna, Anna, Anna..."
"Who is that?"
"...It's Amber. I just heard..."

"Amber Penrose? It's forever since I've heard from her. Delete!"
"But won't you listen to her message?" asked Jacqui, who was manning the machine.
"No need. I could write the script. Look, I'll remember everyone who rang," I said. "I'll get back
to them. Delete! Next!"
"Anna," someone whispered. "I've just heard and I can't bel--"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Delete!"
Rachel muttered something. I caught the word denial. "At least write down their names."
"I don't have a pen."
"Here." She passed me a pen and a notebook that had magically materialized on her person, and
obediently I wrote down the names of everyone who had called, and the trade-off was that I
didn't have to listen to their full commiserations.
Then Jacqui and Rachel made me switch on my computer and retrieve all my e-mails: there were
eighty-three. I scanned the senders' addresses; I was only interested in getting an e-mail from one
person and it wasn't there.
"Read them."
"No need. I'll get round to them. Now look: I'm sorry, girls, I need my sleep, I've got work in
the morning."
"What!" Rachel yelped. "Don't be so insane. There's no way you're well enough either
physically or emotionally to return to work. You're in total denial about what's happened to you.
You need serious help. I mean serious!"
She went on and on and I just nodded and said calmly, "I'm sorry you feel that way." Like I'd
seen her do to people who were pissed off with her. After a while, she abruptly stopped ranting,
looked at me through eyes narrowed with suspicion, and said, "What's your game?"
"Rachel," I said, "thank you for all your kindness, but the only way this will be okay is if I carry
on like normal."
"Don't go to work."
"I have to."
"Don't go to work."
"I've already told them to expect me."

A face-off ensued. Rachel was very strong-willed, but at that moment, so was I. I sensed her start
to buckle, so I seized my advantage. "Luke will be wondering where you are."
I began edging them toward the exit, but I swear to God, I thought they'd never leave. At the
door, Rachel insisted on delivering a speech. She even cleared her throat. "Anna, I can't know
exactly the hell you're going through, but when I admitted I was an addict, I felt like my life was
over. How I got through it was, I decided, I won't think about forever, I won't even think about
next week, I'll just think about getting through today. Break it down into small pieces and you
might find that you can do for one day something that, if you thought about having to do it for
the rest of your life, would kill you."
"Thank you, yes, lovely." Get out.
"I put that toy-dog thing in your bed," Jacqui said. "To keep you company."
"Dogly? Thank you."
As soon as I was sure they were really gone and wouldn't be leaping back in the door to check
on me, I did what I'd been dying to do for hours--I rang Aidan's cell phone. It went straight to
voice mail, but even so, it was such a relief to hear his voice that my stomach turned to water.
"Aidan," I said. "Baby, I'm back in New York. Back in our apartment, so you know where to
find me. I hope you're okay. I love you."
Then I wrote him an e-mail.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: I'm back
Dear Aidan,
It feels funny writing to you like this. I don't think I've ever written you a proper letter before.
Hundreds and hundreds of little e-mails, yes, to say who was bringing dinner home and what
time would we meet and that sort of thing, but never like this.
I'm back in our apartment but maybe you already know that. Rachel and Jacqui came over--
Jacqui got a present of two gold teeth from a client--and we had pizzas from Andretti's. They
forgot the salad, like always, but gave us an extra Dr
Pepper.
Please be okay, please don't be frightened, please come and see me or get in touch somehow,
I love you. Anna
I read back over what I'd written. Was it light enough? I didn't want him to know how worried I
was, because whatever he was going through was bound to be difficult enough without me
adding to it.

Decisively I hit send with my index finger and a red-hot shock shot from my regrowing nail up
my arm. Christ, I'd have to go easy on the grand-gesture-style typing with the two fingers with
banjaxed nails. The pain was enough to make me queasy and momentarily it distracted me from
the sudden wave of feeling that enveloped me. Something like rage or sadness at not being able
to protect Aidan, but it was so fleeting it was gone before I could grasp it.
In the bedroom, tucked into Aidan's side of the bed, was Dogly, the toy dog he'd had since he
was a baby. He had long swingy ears, syrupy eyes, and an eager, adoring expression, and his
caramel-colored fur was so thick it was more like a sheep's fleece. Not in the first flush of youth
--Aidan was thirty-five, after all--but not bad for his age. "He had some work done," Aidan said
once. "Eyes lifted, collagen injection to plump out his tail, a little liposuction on his ears."
"Well, Dogly," I said. "This is a bit of a disaster."
It was time for my last batch of pills of the day and for once I was grateful for the mood-altering
stuff--the antidepressants, painkillers, and sleeping tablets. Coming back to New York was
harder than I had expected and I needed all the help I could get.
But even filled with enough mellowing stuff to knock out an elephant, I didn't want to get into
bed. Then, like an electric shock, I noticed his gray sweatshirt on our bedroom chair, as if he'd
just pulled it off and flung it there. Cautiously, I picked it up and sniffed it and enough of his
smell still lingered to make me dizzy. I buried my face in it and the intensity of his presence and
absence made me choke.
It didn't have the special lovely smell of his neck, or of his groin, where everything was stronger,
sweeter, and more feral, but it was enough to get me into bed. I closed my eyes and the pills
pulled me into an undertow of sleep, but in that halfway state which precedes unconsciousness,
one of those horrible ragged chinks opened up and I caught a glimpse of the enormity of what
had happened. I was back in New York, he wasn't here, and I was alone.
17
I   slept heavily and dreamlessly, probably thanks to the pills. I rose through layers of
consciousness, pausing at each one until I was ready to move on--like a scuba-diving ascent:
preventing the emotional bends of a sudden shocking burst through the surface of sleep--so that
I was quite peaceful by the time I opened my eyes. He wasn't with me and I understood that.
The first thing I did was switch on the computer, checking my e-mail, hoping for a reply from
him. The indicator said there were five messages and I stopped breathing, my heart pounding
with desperate hope. The first was an offer for tickets to a Justin Timberlake concert. Then one
from Leon saying he'd heard I was back and to call him, one from Claire saying she was
thinking of me, one offering to enhance my penis size, and, finally, a blocked virus. But from
Aidan, nada.

Disconsolate, I trooped off to shower and was shocked to find that I could barely wet my body,
never mind my hair. Have you ever tried to have a shower without getting one arm wet? For the
past eight or nine weeks everything had been done for me, so much so that I hadn't noticed how
incapacitated I was. I had another of those nasty chinks of clarity: I was way out of my depth
here, on every level.
I reached for my shower gel and a memory hit me like a blow; it was No Rough Stuff, the new
Candy Grrrl exfoliator. That last day, all those weeks ago, I'd been test-driving it. I'd given
myself a good scrub with the lime- and pepper-scented grains, and when I got out of the shower,
I'd asked Aidan, "Do I smell nice?" Obediently he'd sniffed me. "Great. Although you smelled
even nicer ten minutes ago."
"But ten minutes ago I only smelled like me."
"Exactly."
I had to hold tight on to the sink until the feeling passed, clenching with my one good hand until
my knuckles went as bone white as the enamel.
Time to get dressed. My already low heart dipped a little lower and Dogly watched
sympathetically. It was the fecking kookiness, hanger after hanger of it, plus rack after rack of
colorful shoes and bags--and, worst of all, the hats. I was facing into my thirty-third birthday, far
too old for this. What I needed was a promotion, because the farther up the feeding scale you
went, the more you were allowed to wear suits.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Kooky girl goes back to work
Today's outfit--black suede boots, pink fishnets, black crepe-de-chine vintage dress with white
polka dots, pink three-quarter-length coat (also vintage), and butterfly bag. Silly hat, I hear you
ask--oh, but of course: a black beret at an angle. All in all, a little subdued, but I should get away
with it today.
I would really like to hear from you.
Your girl, Anna
He always got a kick out of my work uniform. The irony was that he tried to subvert his
conservative suits with funky ties and socks--Warhol prints, pink roses, cartoon superheros--
and I was desperate to be somber and tailored.
While I was online, I had an idea: I'd read his horoscope to see if I could get any clue about how
he was. Stars Online for Scorpio said:
Usually you're philosophical about change, but recently even you have been
overwhelmed by events. Many of the month's dramas climax around Thursday's eclipsed
Full Moon. Until then, investigate everything, but make no commitments.

I was concerned about the "even you have been overwhelmed" stuff. I felt helpless, then angry. I
wished it had said something comforting, so I went back a couple of pages and clicked on
Today's Stars.
The sun's shining down on that part of your chart related to pure self-indulgence. You'll
feel like baring your hedonistic streak today. So long as it's legal and doesn't hurt anyone
else in the process, feel free to have fun!
I didn't like that either. I didn't want him baring his hedonistic streak with anyone other than me.
I clicked on Hot Scopes!
Resist the temptation to resuscitate dying plans, relationships, or passions. You're
beginning a new cycle and over the coming weeks you'll learn about all manner of exciting
offers!
Ah, here! I didn't want him learning about all manner of exciting offers if I wasn't one of them. I
made myself disconnect--there was a danger that I could sit here all day until I found the
horoscope that made me feel better--left another quick message on his cell, and finally left the
apartment. Out on the street, I found I was shaking. I wasn't used to going to work on my own;
we always got the subway together--he got off at Thirty-fourth Street, I carried on up to Fifty-
ninth. And had New York always been this loud? All those cars beeping and people shouting and
buses' brakes screeching, and this was only Twelfth Street. How noisy was it going to be
uptown?
I began walking toward the subway, then stopped as I considered what it would be like down
there. Steps up and down everywhere; my knee was aching, far worse than it had done in Dublin.
I'd only taken half of my usual dose of painkillers because I didn't want to start nodding off in
meetings and it was a shock to discover how much pain the painkillers had actually been killing.
But how else was I going to get to work? I shrank from getting into a cab. I'd coped with taking
one from the airport because Rachel had been with me, but I was petrified at the thought of being
in one alone.
Riveted by indecision, trapped whichever way I jumped, I considered my options. Go back to the
apartment and spend the day there on my own? That was the least palatable.
After standing on the sidewalk and getting curious looks from passersby for an indeterminate
time, I watched myself hail a cab and, in a dreamlike state, get in. Could I really be doing this?
The fear was profound; saucer-eyed, I watched all the other cars, flinching and shrinking
whenever any of them came too close, as if my scrutiny alone would prevent them from driving
into me. Suddenly, with a bang to my chest that nearly stopped my heart, I saw Aidan. He was
sitting on a bus that had paused at an intersection. It was only a sidelong view, but it was
definitely him, his hair, his cheekbones, his nose. All the city noise retreated, leaving only a
muzzy, staticky buzzing, and as I clawed for cash and reached for the door handle, the bus surged
forward. In a panic, I twisted around and stared out the back window.