Frisky Business (5 page)

‘Don’t be a feckin’ eejit,’ she said, bumping her shoulder against his affectionately. He knew she just said it to make him laugh, and it worked. A native of Minnesota, his mother had lived in Ireland for over thirty years but had never lost her accent, and the many Irishisms she had picked up still sounded comically incongruous in her Midwestern twang.

‘Anyway, it doesn’t have to cost much. We can go to Ikea. This room is long overdue a makeover,’ she said looking around. ‘I’ve been meaning to do something with it for ages. Your being here will give me the kick in the butt I need to get on with it.’

‘Really, Mom, don’t do it on my account. It’s just until I sort myself out …’

She sighed. ‘I know you think this is just temporary, honey – and it is,’ she rushed on as he opened his mouth to protest, ‘but maybe it’s not as temporary as you think. It could take you a while to find a job—’

‘I know that. And I’m going to start looking soon, I promise. It’s just taking me a while to get my head around all this.’ At least he had got out of New York before he had burned through all his savings, so he wasn’t dependent on his parents just yet.

‘Hey, I’m not trying to kick you out. I hate that this has happened to you, but I love having you home.’

‘I know. And I like being here with you guys. It’s not that—’

‘I know it’s difficult,’ she said. ‘You’re a grown-up and you’re used to having your own life. It’s hard to go back to living at home. I get that.’

‘It’s nothing personal …’

‘I know. But it’s just
for a while, so why not just relax and make the best of it for now? You’ll find your feet in no time, I’m sure. And maybe you’ll change your mind about moving back to New York.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Well, you never know,’ she said brightly. ‘I just want to see you happy.’

‘I was happy in New York.’

‘Were you?’ She looked at him narrowly. She seemed to be asking out of genuine curiosity, and Kit was taken aback by her almost pitying expression.

‘Yes, of course! Why would you think I wasn’t?’

‘I don’t know. You just always seemed a bit … lonely. Like there was something missing.’

‘Lonely? Really? But I had lots of friends there.’

‘I know, but—’

‘And I had Lauren.’ His mother turned her head away a little, but he didn’t miss the slightly exasperated look at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. His mother had done her best to hide it and had never been anything but her warm, friendly self on the few occasions they had met, but she had never been very good at disguising her feelings, and he knew she had never approved of Lauren. It didn’t bother him – he hadn’t particularly approved of her himself. ‘I had a really good life in New York,’ he persisted, rattled by her question. ‘I had a fantastic job, a great social life—’

‘I know, it’s …’ She trailed off, shaking her head. ‘It was just an impression,’ she said with a soothing smile, clearly afraid she had upset him. ‘Maybe it’s just wishful thinking because I hate you being so far away. I wish you could have settled down here.’

‘Well, at least Ethan’s moving back soon.’

‘Yes, thank God!’ A wave of anxiety passed over her face.
‘I’m looking forward to having both my boys home for a while at least. It’ll be nice for you to have Ethan back too.’

Outside a firework whizzed into the air with a shriek and they both turned to the window to watch as it exploded in a shower of green and red sparkles.

‘It’s Hallowe’en,’ his mother said, squeezing his knee. ‘Why don’t you go out and meet up with some of your old friends?’

‘I think I’ll just stay here and chill out.’ Kit loved his mother dearly, but she was treating him like he was six years old. Next, she’d suggest he go trick-or-treating. She was always trying to get him to reconnect with his old friends when he was home. That was how he had ended up at that God-awful party of David Kinsella’s last year. He shuddered at the memory. If his mother only knew what he got up to when he tried to reconnect with old friends, she’d probably lock him in his room and swallow the key.

She looked like she wanted to say something more, but instead she got up off the bed and went to the door. He was relieved she wasn’t going to push him. They were starting to revert to their old roles. She was back in full-on mom mode, and he was behaving like a stroppy teenager, and he didn’t like it. He needed to reclaim his adult life. If he couldn’t get back to New York for the moment, he at least needed to get out of this house before he forgot how to be a grown-up.

His mother paused in the doorway, her eyes drifting to the photo on the chest of drawers by the wall. It was a framed collage of photos of him and Romy. Romy had made it and given it to him the Christmas before he went to America. His lips automatically curled in a smile as he looked at the overlapping photos caught beneath the glass of the cheap clip-frame – Romy lying on the grass at Slane Castle the day of the Oasis concert; the pair of them wrapped up against the cold and holding hands on a windswept beach during a
trip to Galway; messing around in the sea at Brittas Bay … In the centre was a close-up of the two of them laughing into the camera. He looked thin and rowdy, his hair spiked and sculpted this way and that, too short and too long all at once – and he had forgotten about that ridiculous piercing. He touched his brow where it had been.

‘You should look up Romy,’ his mother said.

‘We haven’t kept in touch,’ he said, shrugging.

‘I could get you her number. Elaine from down the road is still in touch with her mother, I believe. She has a baby now, apparently – Romy, I mean.’

‘A baby? Really?’ Kit looked over at the photomontage. It was hard to imagine the laughing, carefree girl in those pictures with a baby.

‘Yes, but she’s single,’ his mother told him hastily.

Oh God, was she going to start trying to fix him up now? That was all he needed. His mother had always had a soft spot for Romy. She was probably still nursing her disappointment that they hadn’t ended up together. But she had no idea how much his tastes had changed.

‘I don’t know what the story is,’ his mother continued, ‘but she’s definitely not with the father.’

‘Huh!’ That didn’t seem like Romy. Kit couldn’t see the girl he had known doing something so haphazard, so
disorganised
as becoming a single mother. She’d always been so sensible and pragmatic. She liked things done the right way and in the correct order. But then it was a long time since he had known her. No doubt she had changed, just as he had.

‘Her father passed away last year,’ his mother was saying now. ‘I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. Why don’t you look her up on Facebook?’

‘I don’t know. It’s been a very long time …’

‘Come to think of it,’ his mother said, brightening as a
thought occurred to her, ‘I have her address. I got it when her father passed so I could send her a sympathy card. Wait here,’ she said, holding up a finger – as if he had any intention of going anywhere. She bustled off and came back a few minutes later with a piece of paper, which she pressed into his hand.

‘Thanks,’ Kit said, glancing down at the address.

‘She’s in property developing, you know. Apparently she’s done very well for herself.’

‘Really? Good for her.’

‘Well, she always had a good head on her shoulders, didn’t she?’

‘Yeah,’ he smiled, glancing back at the photo frame. ‘She did.’

‘And you never know – she might be able to help you find a good deal on an apartment.’

When his mother had left, Kit sat staring down at the piece of paper in his hand. Romy. He hadn’t thought about her for a long time, but he was suddenly overcome with nostalgia. He stood and grabbed the photo frame from the dresser, sitting back on the bed and gazing down at it. God, he looked like a prat. He’d been so convinced of his own cool, so full of himself with no good reason. He saw now what a bedraggled idiot he had been – a waster, as the teachers used to call him. Then he looked at Romy’s lovely, open face and wondered what on earth she had seen in him.

In his defence, at least he had known a good thing when he’d seen it. He may have been thick, but at least he had been able to see what a fantastic girl Romy was, which was more than could be said for some of his supposedly brighter peers. He felt quite proud of himself for that. She hadn’t enjoyed the kind of status at school that he had. Romy was funny and loyal, but she wasn’t cool and she had never tried to be.
She was kind and clever, but those qualities weren’t strong currencies in the schoolyard, and she was overlooked in favour of the more obvious charms of bubbly girls like Tanya Lynch, with their long legs, short skirts and low standards. They all thought he was out of Romy’s league, but he had always known it was the other way around.

Romy was more herself than anyone he had ever met – more her own person. Even back then, when everyone was contorting themselves into all kinds of shapes in a desperate effort to fit in, she didn’t hide how smart she was or fake a cool she didn’t possess. Kit had been used to girls moulding themselves to him, aping his habits and mirroring his taste. Romy was different, and he loved her for it. He’d had enough of himself, and it was refreshing to be with someone
else
, someone other. He liked that it had taken time to get to know her, that she wasn’t all there on the surface. It made her all the more worthwhile to him, like those obscure, unappreciated bands he had been so fond of ferreting out.

He loved that she had the courage of her enthusiasms – her unabashed love of The Backstreet Boys; the way she would make him take off Depeche Mode and dance around the room with her to Madonna. He didn’t much care for television, yet he was never happier than when he was curled up on this very bed with her watching her beloved
Friends
. It had become one of the highlights of his week. If she loved something, she wasn’t afraid to let it show. She had loved him like that.

She was way smarter than him (not that that was saying much), but she had worn it lightly. She would help him with his school work under the guise of ‘studying together’, and she never made him feel stupid. On the contrary, she had let him dazzle her with his knowledge of alternative bands
and independent film. God, he’d been a pretentious wanker! He wondered how she had put up with him. In defence of the asshole he had been then, he had at least appreciated how amazing she was. And he had adored her.

He put the montage back on the dresser and eyed the boxes with a sigh. His mother was right. He was probably going to be here for a while, so he may as well get used to the idea. As he bent resignedly to tear the packing tape off the first box, he thought about what his mother had said. Had he been lonely in New York? He had been so busy, maybe he hadn’t stopped going long enough to realise that his life was quite empty. He worked hard and played hard with people who did the same. He was popular. He always had friends to go out with at night, and colleagues to drink with after a hard day in the dealing room. He had gorgeous women to take to dinners and openings, and he was never short of company for holidays. But where were they now? It wasn’t that he felt they had ditched him when his circumstances changed. It was more that the lifestyle they had all shared was all they had in common and now that it was gone, so was their connection. He still missed the life he had in New York, and he doubted he would ever feel comfortable living as he wanted here. But now that he thought about it, there was no one from New York he really missed – and no one who had missed him, judging by the fact that none of his crowd had been in touch since he had got home. Maybe he
was
lonely, he thought.

His eyes once more drifted to the photos of Romy and he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to see her. But he wanted to see her as she was then, the laughing girl in those photographs. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to meet the woman she had turned into. She had a baby now … and she was a property developer. He smiled, thinking how developing
would satisfy her need to fix things up and put them right. He wasn’t surprised she had made a success of it.

Suddenly, the thought of property reminded him of something. Galvanised into action by the spark of an idea, he abandoned the box he had just opened and looked instead for the one marked ‘files’. He pulled it out from beneath a couple of others, tore off the sealing tape and began rummaging through its contents. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for would be in there. He had filed it away ages ago and forgotten about it, and when he moved he had simply dumped the contents of his filing cabinet into boxes without looking through them. He pulled file after file from the box, rifling through them quickly. He was almost down to the last one when he found what he was looking for, thrown in among miscellaneous legal documents and out-of-date share certificates – the copy of his aunt’s will. It was in a plastic wallet together with an accompanying letter from his mother and the information about the dilapidated monstrosity of a house in the middle of nowhere that his aunt had seen fit to leave him. When he had received the news of the bequest, he had barely glanced over the details before shoving the lot into a drawer. He’d known he would make a killing by renovating it for sale, as his mother had suggested, but it had been too much hassle to arrange from New York and he hadn’t had the time or energy to put into it. So he had put it on the back burner and eventually forgotten about it.

He paid more attention to it now, a glimmer of hope flickering to life in his chest. He read his mother’s characteristically sweet accompanying letter, obviously anticipating his ingratitude and pleading for understanding on his aunt’s behalf.