Desperately Seeking.

by Evelyn Cosgrave

For Mum and Dad

1.

As soon as I heard myself say I would marry him, I knew I had hit rock bottom. I had seen it coming, I could have prepared an answer that declined his proposal absolutely but sweetly, yet still left him in no doubt of his worth as a person or in his ability to love again. I could have done it. I could do anything with this guy. But I had been lazy. I had become accustomed to him and I had forgotten what this was supposed to be. And now here I was telling him that I loved him too and of course I would marry him.

It was a lovely proposal. He didn't buy me a ring because he didn't trust himself to pick one without me. But he did take both of my hands in his and he looked at me so intently I had to turn away.

'I love you,' he said. 'You are the most amazing person I have ever known. Just put me out of my misery and marry me.' His gaze was still fast upon me when he added, 'I promise to make you happy.'

When I looked up again I was so overcome there was nothing I could do. The moment seemed to demand it. Nothing but a resounding yes would satisfy the universe. Otherwise something catastrophic might happen elsewhere in the world, to a b.u.t.terfly, maybe, in South America.

'Yes,' I said. 'Yes, I'll marry you.'

Then I said that I really had to go to the loo, which was the first true thing I had said to him all evening. I had been about to go when he appeared so unexpectedly at my door. He was supposed to be away for the entire weekend, at some work thing, and I had been looking forward to an all-me weekend of pyjamas and pottering about. Had he been ten minutes later I would probably have been in my pyjamas. And he probably wouldn't have noticed. I can never work out whether that is something I hate about him, or love.

So I left my new fiance in my neat beige living room and went off to think about what I had done. I stared at my surprisingly untroubled face in the mirror. What could I do? He was supposed to be my get-over guy, my feel-good fella, who was definitely not my type but would help me feel good about myself again while I got over one of the world's biggest b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. n.o.body had been meant to fall in love, especially not the get-over guy. Surely he knew I was a mess and not responsible for any of my actions. The only person meant to get hurt here was me, so what could I do?

However, as I continued to look at myself in the harsh light of the bathroom mirror, I was suddenly overcome by a need to get out. Even though an intimate evening in with your new fiance is probably customary, I needed the intimacy of a big crowd. So I hauled out my machinery and began a little touch-up, which quickly became a full-on party-time make-over. Surely a girl deserves a party.

The only problem was who to conjure up for this party. My parents were an absolute no-no. If I had to deal with my mother tonight someone would end up in Casualty. My sisters? All of them? The noise would be deafening and then there was the Casualty issue. It would just have to be friends, any friends. All my friends.

'Keith, honey, I want to go out and celebrate!'

He had already poured champagne into the fabulous Waterford crystal flutes he had given me for Christmas.

'Oh... Kate, sweetie, I thought we'd celebrate at home,' he said, gazing at me sheepishly. It was his signature look full of love and tenderness, but weak. 'This is a wonderful moment, for both of us.'

The look remained.

'Oh, Keith, I feel so excited! I just have to go out and tell people I have to party!'

'OK, honey, we'll go out.'

I can be very mean when I want to be.

It was at somebody else's engagement party that I met Keith. Or birthday, or house-warming, I wasn't paying much attention. I think one of my sisters dragged me out, Lucy probably, but we were definitely locked deep in the heart of Limerick's newest and hottest new and hot pub O'Flaherty's. I was still deep in the blues at this point, and getting pretty drunk, but I do remember noting that all the men there were lying, cheating, ugly b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Lucy told me later that I pinned some poor guy up against the bar and insisted he account for the sins of his s.e.x. Apparently it's all down to genes.

I'm not usually this aggressive when I go out and I've never believed in giving men a hard time it's much more fun to flirt with them and I'm normally a happy drunk but these were not normal times. I do have a vague recollection of Keith from the party. He seemed to materialize somewhere near the end of the night, all neat shirt and affability. He was exactly what I didn't want someone nice who wasn't drunk and foolishly thought I wasn't either.

'Hi!' he said.

'Pardon?'

'I said hi! h.e.l.lo!'

'Oh. h.e.l.lo.'

'This place is a bit insane, isn't it?'

'Is it? I kind of like it.'

'I prefer a quieter place myself.'

'No, I like it here, it's good and buzzy, you know? You feel like you're alive in a place like this. Where would you prefer to be? Somewhere like O'Grady's where everybody falls asleep watching the fire?'

'I like O'Grady's. But I see your point.'

'So why are you here?'

'Got dragged in.'

'Me too.'

'I'm Keith, by the way,' he said, proffering his hand.

'Annabelle,' I said immediately.

'Annabelle what?'

'Annabelle... Jones.'

I think we stalled there, and before he thought of anything else to say I was dragged off to look at someone's tattoo.

I went home and woke up with the hangover I deserved. He went home and looked up my number. (Which wasn't there, of course, because I never give out my real name to strange men in crowded pubs. And even if I did I've always been self-important enough to go ex-directory.) It seemed he had a hunt on his hands. Absolutely irresistible!

It was fruitless, however. Having surfaced for a brief moment, I returned to the depths of the city. Except, of course, that I b.u.mped into him in the same pub the very next week. I think it was even the same table. That's Limerick for you.

I was more civil this time. Something at the back of my mind suggested I might owe him an apology. There wasn't any need to say much. For a quiet guy he was doing an awful lot of talking. A lot of gesturing, smiling, beseeching; he was being a bit girly, really. But it did give me a chance to sit back and take him in, size him up. Just to pa.s.s the time, really, because he was absolutely not my type.

He was one of those guys, and it only happens with men, that the instant you look at them you know exactly what they were like as a child. I could see him in primary school in grey trousers and maroon knitted jumper. His hair would be fairer and fuller but the expression of his eyes would be exactly the same. A queer mix of confidence because he was intelligent and knew he was loved but also an expectation of hurt, of not quite knowing what to do with the world. It's an image I can never fully separate from the thirty-two-year-old adult who likes to take himself just a little bit seriously.

'So what is it you said you did?' I asked, phasing back in for a while.

'I work in the chemical industry. At the moment I'm with a company in Shannon that blah blah blah blah blah blah...'

He didn't move his mouth very much as he spoke: his lips seemed to revolve gently around his teeth, which were even and pearly.

'And what is it you do?'

I was tempted to lie, I'm always tempted to lie, but I didn't.

'I'm a solicitor.'

'A solicitor?'

'A solicitor.'

'That's impressive.'

'No, it isn't. It's just a job. The firm I work for mainly deals with the small stuff. It's quite boring, really.'

'Well, I'm impressed. I must take your number in case I ever end up in trouble.'

I wished he wasn't so impressed and I a.s.sured him hastily that I would be useless to him were he to ring me from Henry Street Garda Station in the small hours of the morning. He still seemed impressed.

The rest of that night went on with more people joining the table, people he knew, people I sort of knew, people it turned out we both knew. There were too many conversations happening at the same time. And none was about anything. It was just dawning on me that maybe I was getting too old for the super-pub scene. Already I was willing to make a fuss to get a seat and now I was finding fault with the kind of mindless chatter I used to find enchanting. G.o.d, I was becoming boring! But right then my only alternative to the super-pub was my empty apartment. At least here it looked as if I was having a super time.

Some time later that night, after I had slipped out for a sneaky cigarette, I was joined by Keith. I remember groaning, feeling sure I was in for a tedious rehash of the horrors-of-smoking routine but he said nothing. He leaned in and touched his lips against mine. He kissed my smoky mouth and he left.

I was surprised. I was even impressed. As a move, as a way to make an exit, to leave an impression, it was fabulous.

Suddenly I was interested.

Ages pa.s.sed before I left the doorway of O'Flaherty's pub. I was, as they say, transfixed. Some light rain was falling, one of those late-evening autumn mists that remind you winter is coming and it might not be so bad. I had my bag with me and there was n.o.body left inside I wanted to say goodbye to, so I stubbed out my cigarette, which had burned away to nothing in my hand, and began to walk.

It had been a long time since I replayed an incident like that over and over in my head. I think it was the innocence of it that was so seductive. n.o.body had paid that kind of attention to my lips, and only my lips, since adolescence, or childhood. I felt like I was in my own movie and I was the heroine. I walked around for ages, not ready yet to go home. I think I was afraid the feeling would disappear if I returned to the scene of my former life, my life before the kiss. The darkness and the mist were the perfect backdrop to my little fantasy.

For, of course, I knew it was a fantasy. Real people didn't behave like that and my experience of grand gestures has always been that they come at a price. But where's the harm in allowing it to run for a while? If you have a cold you take Lemsip, if you have a broken heart why not a daydream? I could wear it like a bandage until the wound went away. That was all I wanted. Where was the harm?

Yet, the following day I was surprised again. I was sitting at my desk plodding through a dossier, actually smiling to myself as I thought of Keith's notion that I was Ally McBeal or something, when I got a call. From Keith.

'Hi, Annabelle?'

'Ahm... aah...' For a moment my brain wouldn't work.

'Or is it Kate?'

'Ahm... yeah, this is Kate...'

'Are you busy?'

'Not really.' (I should have been.) 'Are you free for lunch?'

'Maybe.'

'Would you like to go to the Furze Bush?'

'Maybe.' Then, 'Wait a minute. Aren't you out in Shannon?'

'Nope!' I definitely heard an exclamation mark. 'I have the day off!'

'I didn't think chemical-engineer type people could do that.'

'It's rare, but it can happen.'

'Well, in that case I suppose I'll just have to meet you for lunch. I love the Furze Bush.'

'Will I meet you there at one?'

'OK.'

'OK, then.'

'Oh... and, ah... sorry about the Annabelle thing. How did you find out my real name?'

'The barman told me.'

'The barman?'

'No, actually, it was one of your friends.'

I felt quite foolish, but not foolish enough to run away. 'Anyway, sorry.'

'That's OK. I could have been anybody. See you at one, then.'

'See you.'

So I met him for lunch in the Furze Bush and then a drink in Mooney's. A few days later we had dinner at the Wild Tiger and then we were seeing each other all the time. We were going out. My Lemsip habit had become addictive. Nothing had changed. I still knew he was wildly not my type. I still found half of what he said profoundly boring and the other half delightfully ridiculous. But he did have a couple of things going for him. Mainly that he thought I was amazing. You have to like that in a guy. He said all sorts of daft things just when you weren't expecting them. He might be in the middle of explaining the minutiae of some doc.u.mentary he'd seen on the Discovery Channel and then he'd say something like: 'You know, your eyes really do sparkle.'

'That's my sparkly eye-shadow.'

'You know what I mean.'

'I absolutely don't. You'll have to explain it to me.'

'You glow.'

'Well, now, that's just my Day Glo bronzing powder.'

'I'm serious.'

'You can't be.'

'I am. You light up a room.'

I had to laugh out loud at this. 'Keith, you're hilarious!'