Can Anybody Help Me? (12 page)

She pressed refresh on the screen and as if by magic saw she already had two replies. She checked her watch: 8 p.m. That figured. It was peak time on Netmammy. With kids finally in bed, parents tended to flop in front of the telly, the Playstation, the computer or the smart phone and take a few precious minutes of me-time. She opened the responses. A hug from Gleek. An ‘I'm sure you look gorgeous' from MammyNo1. Someone had also sent her a personal message, too. MyBabba. Bless her. She hadn't been on much since she'd come back from Spain.

Yvonne closed the phone screen. MyBabba was right. It had been months since she and Gerry had been out together. It was about time she put a bit of effort in. She raised her head, her eyes raking the room for her husband. It took a moment, but then she saw him, striding purposefully towards a group of middle-age-spreaded men. He reached the outer edges of the group and wrapped an arm around the tuxedoed shoulder of a balding, portly executive. Gerry looked even better in comparison. She didn't deserve him. She swallowed. Shoulders back girl. Game face on.

‘Cute, isn't he?'

The voice came from beside her left elbow. Yvonne turned and smiled at a tiny blonde imp who was sucking enthusiastically on a glass of champagne.

‘Who?'

‘Gerry Mulhern … I saw you chatting to him earlier. Do you know him well?'

Yvonne stifled a grin. It wouldn't be the first time someone had failed to spot that herself and Gerry were a couple. There had been one night, shortly after they had started dating, when a girl in a bar actually hummed a few bars of ‘Is She Really Going Out With Him?' when they had walked in together. Yvonne was coming straight from a twelve-hour shift. Gerry had come from the gym. He had laughed when she told him, and made sure to snog her right in the middle of the bar where the girl couldn't miss it. Secure in his love, Yvonne hadn't minded. But that was then. She fiddled with her wedding ring before turning to face the girl.

‘I know him very well actually. I'm Yvonne Mulhern.' She held out her hand.

‘Oh, Jesus, I'm mortified!' The girl burst into a peal of nervous
laughter. ‘Fuck, you won't tell him I said that, will ya? I mean he's practically my boss! And I've a boyfriend and everything …' her voice trailed off as she looked at Yvonne to see how she was reacting to the faux pas.

Yvonne paused for a moment and then decided the need for someone to talk to outweighed any desire to play the jealous wife.

‘Ah, it's a compliment really. Don't worry about it.'

‘Well at least let me get you another drink …'

The girl bounced off and reappeared moments later, two glasses of champagne in hand. Yvonne smiled her thanks.

‘I needed that.'

‘Tough day? I know the feeling.'

The girl smiled sympathetically and Yvonne gave her a closer look. Her cropped white blonde hair looked like it had a regular date with a hairdresser. Her emerald-green, one shoulder minidress was dotted with sequins whose shine was reflected in her manicured French-tipped nails. Equally glossy shoes and what was either an excellent fake tan or evidence of a recent holiday finished the look. Yvonne doubted if her version of a tough day involved anyone puking on her, let alone broken sleep and a nappy that burst in the middle of a shopping centre. She took another swig from her champagne.

‘So you work at Ireland 24 then?'

‘Yeah! I'm a researcher on
Teevan Tonight
.'

‘Ah!'

Yvonne wrinkled her nose as a rogue bubble escaped upwards.

‘You must be Mary!'

‘Yeah, that's me.'

Yvonne smiled again, more warmly this time. Gerry talked about his colleagues at Ireland 24 incessantly – well Gerry talked about work incessantly and the colleagues were part of the picture. He had described Mary as young, ambitious, a bit innocent. That wasn't the initial impression Yvonne was getting from the emerald dress, but Yvonne was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, particularly given that she was the only person at the party who seemed actually to want to talk to her. Accepting another glass of bubbly from a passing waiter, she felt her shoulders relax as the girl gave a scandalous but wildly entertaining run-down of the various personalities who were preening and pouting in all four corners of the room.

‘That's our main newsreader over there, we poached him from RTÉ. He's good but he's mad to get out on the road again, says he really misses it. But the boss – that's her, the tall one with the terrible dress – says she wants him in the studio the whole time. So I think he's gonna leave. And that's Sean Daly, well you know him, the showbiz guy, he's an awful bollix but the viewers love him …'

With no need to contribute any further to the conversation, Yvonne could feel the tiredness descend again. She wanted to enjoy herself, wanted to join in but her mind felt distanced, like she was watching the room from behind a Vaseline-coated screen. A phrase flickered in her head. Bone tired. Even her bones were tired. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept for more than three hours at a time and even then it had been with one ear cocked to hear the baby. Gerry slept in the spare room most of the time these days. That was the deal they had made, the baby was her responsibility while she was on maternity leave. He was working fourteen-hour days, it wasn't
fair on him to have to get up at night as well. That was what she had signed up for. But, Lord, she was exhausted. Making one more attempt to get into the party spirit, she sucked down more champagne and broke into Mary's flow.

‘So, what's Teevan himself like, then? Bit of a charmer? Comes across like that on TV anyway.'

‘Yeah. I guess.'

Mary bit her lip and looked away, silenced for the first time. Yvonne laughed.

‘Ah come on. You can tell me! I only get Gerry's side of the story! Bit of a ladies man, is he?'

God,
ladies man
. She sounded like an elderly relative trying to be cool at a wedding. But the smaller woman blushed.

‘I suppose …'

But just then the sea of black suits in front of her parted and her husband emerged, beaming, steering Eamonn Teevan in front of him like a child with a prized toy. Mary darted forward and kissed the men on the cheek. Gerry returned the embrace enthusiastically, but Teevan barely looked at her. His eyes roamed and then locked on Yvonne's.

She took a deep breath. Although Gerry had been working at Ireland 24 for more than six months, Yvonne had never actually met Eamonn Teevan. Gerry had commuted from England when the show was in pre-production, and when they finally found a permanent home in Ireland she had either been too pregnant, too post-natal or too knackered. She'd seen him on television, of course, and could never quite understand why the gossip columnists were so quick to label him handsome. He was as tall as Gerry but stockier, his broad shoulders and misshapen nose the legacy of his previous career as a professional
rugby player. His narrow, slightly pointed features made him look less than sympathetic on screen. In the flesh though it was easy to overlook these imperfections. Eamonn Teevan carried with him the absolute serenity of a man comfortable in his own skin. He looked like a happy man. Which made him a very attractive one.

The presenter reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it for just a second too long.

‘I am so glad you could make it! I was thrilled when Gerry said you could come. Thanks, I really appreciate it.'

‘Oh. That's okay.'

Yvonne paused, totally taken aback by his apparent sincerity. She was an absolute minnow at this event. Gerry Mulhern's plus-one was the best she could hope for, but Eamonn Teevan was looking at her as if her decision to attend had made his evening. She smiled cautiously and dipped her head in the direction of her husband.

‘Oh, Gerry has been looking forward to this for ages …'

But Teevan didn't seem interested in her husband. Instead, he smiled and moved closer to her.

‘How is Róisín? She must be what, nearly six months now? It's such a lovely age.'

‘Yeah. She's, ehm, twenty-two weeks.'

God, he was good. Yvonne had friends in London who'd be hard pressed to remember her daughter's name, let alone guess her exact age. She wondered sometimes if Gerry himself could remember it without counting on his fingers. She found herself smiling broadly and continued.

‘Yeah. She's a sweetheart. Giving us lots of smiles.'

Gerry clapped the presenter on the shoulder.

‘Yeah, she's a great kid, alright. Hey, Eamonn, I think I just saw the head of the awards committee walk in, we should really go over and say hello …'

But Teevan ignored him and bent towards Yvonne again.

‘I don't suppose you have a photo on you?'

She laughed. ‘I think how many is the question! Here …'

Taking her phone out of the bag, she noticed it was still open at the Netmammy page. She clicked it closed and tapped at her photo library.

‘This is one I took yesterday …'

Several minutes of cooing followed, all of it led by Teevan. Mary made a valiant effort to join in, but clearly ran out of things to say after the third shot in a row of Róisín enjoying her battery-operated bouncy chair. Yvonne was weighing up whether to play a quick video of the baby attempting to put her feet in her mouth, when her husband intervened again.

‘We have to go, love. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?'

Yvonne blushed, suddenly aware she had been monopolising the conversation. Teevan smiled.

‘He's a slave driver, your fella! Sure, I'm only the hired hand. She's gorgeous, though.'

Leaning over, he kissed Yvonne on the cheek and then turned to her husband.

‘You're a lucky man, Ger.'

His aftershave clung around her like a hug as her husband steered him away.

Mary drained her glass.

‘Well, I guess that answers your question.'

‘Yeah …'

Totally distracted, Yvonne attempted to take a drink from an empty glass and signalled at a waiter to bring her another. She had never felt so totally disarmed. She had been fully expecting to meet an egomaniac, a man totally obsessed with his own image. Instead she appeared to have just spent ten pleasant minutes chatting with a nice guy. Nice. Lord. She must be hormonal. Or maybe it was the champagne.

Straightening her shoulders, Mary gave a quick, bright smile.

‘C'mon, they're calling us in. I think we're all at the same table. It'll be a laugh.'

And it was a laugh. In fact Yvonne couldn't remember the last time she had had so much fun. A text message from Hannah had arrived along with dinner:

The baby is asleep. All well here, have fun! Hx

Barely pausing to register that, of course, Hannah was the type of person who'd use punctuation in a text message, Yvonne had switched off her phone and finally let go.

Seated beside Eamonn Teevan, who appeared to find her every utterance fascinating, she slipped, for the first time in over a year, into party mode. The food was good, the wine plentiful and when the
Teevan Tonight
team picked up a total of three awards, she led the wolf-whistling and glass-clinking at the table. Moments later, she found herself on the dance floor, being spun from Mary to Gerry like the ball bearing in a particularly intense game of pinball.

‘Y'okay?' Gerry yelled into her ear.

‘Yeah! Brilliant.'

He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her aside.

‘Don't you want to be getting home to the baby, or anything?'

‘Naw. ‘S'all good.'

‘You sure?'

‘NO!'

She threw her head back, felt the curls brush against the bare back of the tight new dress she was starting to enjoy wearing.

‘We need a night off. We need …'

Putting one arm around his waist, she put the other around his neck and pulled him close to her. Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek on his. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this close to him.

‘I'll tell you what we need—'

There was a sudden pinch around her waist and the rest of the sentence whistled past Gerry as she was pulled from behind and spun around. Her high heels brought her level with Teevan's face and he laughed at her look of surprise.

‘You owe me a dance anyway!'

‘Really?'

She turned her head back towards her husband, missing the moment they had almost shared. Hoping that he'd intervene and grab her back. Hoping the moment had been of value to him too. But Gerry simply gave a pantomime shrug and allowed Teevan to drag her into the middle of the dance floor.

‘I won three prizes tonight. You have to dance with me, it's in the rules.'

She twisted her head again, but Gerry shook his head ruefully and smiled.

‘Have fun, guys.'

Teevan tightened his grip on her waist. As her pulled her closer, the music changed and grew slower, deeper, darker. He pulled her tight.

‘Now, this is proper music.'

‘I can't. Waltsch. Waltz.' She enunciated carefully. ‘Waltz.'

‘That's okay. I'll lead.'