Hello, Heartbreak Page 12

  I’d never realized there was so much to do right on our doorstep – I’d always thought the only options were the cinema, the pub or bowling. But Dublin was alive with stuff to do in the summer evenings. And Gavin seemed to have antennae that picked up on all the cool things to go to. One night, he, Keelin, Kate and I went to see a movie outdoors in Meeting House Square in Temple Bar – although we were asked to leave before the film started, after buying cider from a sixteen-year-old (in our defence, he did look eighteen). Another night Gavin, Kate and I headed to a Lebanese food festival over in Merrion Square. Although I sort of stopped eating after Kate told us about the woman in her ward who’d needed twenty-five stitches after giving birth to a fourteen-pound baby. I didn’t want to be rude and tell her to keep her vagina-stitching stories to herself while I was eating, so I just told them instead that I’d found the lentil parcels very filling.

  Most nights I was so wrecked by the time I got to bed, I didn’t even have the energy to think about Edna McClodmutton and Cian. Or the awful rumour Emma had heard about them moving in together, which caused me to run to the bathroom and throw up when she’d phoned to tell me. But I’d been so busy that I hadn’t had much time to obsess about where they’d buy their bedlinen and if they’d get his and hers dressing-gowns.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Gavin asked, as we reached my house. We stood on the opposite side of the road, looking at number five, our cute little two-up, two-down townhouse with the red door. I shuffled from foot to foot to ease the pain. My feet were throbbing so much, I thought my toenails were about to shatter. Gavin asked if I usually walked like a half-eaten gazelle when I was scared or was it just the flip-flops? I told him it was just the flip-flops and that I wasn’t scared at all.

  I was shitting myself.

  Gavin turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door as I hovered behind him, having entertaining conversations with our landlord in my head.

  ‘Well, Mr Kavanagh, it’s as much a surprise to me as it is to you to see every wall from floor to ceiling graffitied with “Die, bitches, die”. No, none of us saw a thing, the girls were working late and sure I was out getting milk… but, em, I’d say with a bit of Jif and a bucket of hot water we’ll have the place back to normal in no time. Sorry?… Oh, it’s called Cif now, ha ha, sure that’s lovely altogether, rolls off the tongue.’

  ‘Izzy, do you want to wait here or come in with me?’

  ‘Em, what do you think?’

  ‘The Terminator could drive by and shoot you if you wait out here by yourself.’

  I went white.

  ‘Iz, I’m kidding, but maybe you should come in with me. What would I tell your mother if I allowed you to get shot?’

  ‘Gavin, look! At the window! Someone has used one of those glass-cutter yokes and cut a circle out of it! The Terminator got in! Phone the police!’

  Gavin went over to it. Why were men always so calm and collected in times of drama, break-ins, drug-lord avengers avenging and other such crises?

  ‘Well?’ I squeaked, in an octave even Mariah Carey couldn’t have aspired to.

  ‘Izzy, the glass hasn’t been cut. It’s just a mark left by that “Honk If You Like Fibre” car sticker you got free with your cereal. Glad to see you’ve taken it off, actually.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, Susie used it last week to wrap her mum’s birthday present. We couldn’t find the Sellotape anywhere.’

  Satisfied there were no visible signs of any Mission Impossible-type break-ins, we went inside and closed the door behind us. To my surprise, everything was just as we’d left it. There were no death threats spray-painted across the walls. Or horses’ heads lying on the couch. Or pictures of Keelin, Susie and me pinned to a dartboard with darts through our heads. Everything seemed normal.

  Somewhere along the way, without me even noticing, Gavin had taken my hand.

  ‘You all right?’ he asked, the dimple in his cheek appearing as he smiled reassuringly, giving my hand a squeeze.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ I answered.

  Despite the circumstances, as well as my bouts of hysteria whenever I stepped on a creaky floorboard, it felt sort of odd. I looked down at our hands, entwined in a firm grip as I trailed behind him. Had we ever held hands before? I racked my brains. I was pretty sure we hadn’t.

  Neither of us said anything. And, not knowing what else to do, I left my hand in his as we climbed the stairs on our continued search for desecrated walls and voodoo dolls.

  This definitely felt weird. Being led up the stairs? By Gavin? Holding my hand? It didn’t mean anything – obviously – but it was just sort of… odd. I wasn’t sure whether it was the feeling of impending doom at what we might find, or that it just felt strange to be there with him, holding hands, walking up to my room. Either way, my heart was pounding wildly in my chest.

  Why should this feel weird? It’s probably just fear! Right? Maybe the drug lords had ransacked my room looking for the pills and had burnt my clothes and broken my hair-dryer. Maybe this was how a girl felt when faced with the possibility of having no clothes, makeup or nice sparkly jewellery. Right?

  I looked up at Gavin as he turned to smile at me. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah – I may need trauma counselling, though, if all my stuff has been burnt to ashes and I have to live out my days in these polyshitamene men’s breeches,’ I muttered, giggling awkwardly.

  Maybe Aidan had been right. Maybe I was dying for a ride. Maybe if I was being led up the stairs by Mick Hucknall I’d be feeling weird with my heart pounding. I mean, loneliness can do some pretty strange things to you.

  A long silence swelled in the air around us and I wanted to say something to break it. But I couldn’t think of anything. I couldn’t even remember the last thing either of us had said. How long had it been since one of us had spoken? I racked my brain. I just wanted things to get back to normal. Get back to how they were just five minutes ago! Back to not caring what I said. Not feeling awkward. Being able to break into a random song or say something completely pointless or silly and not feel shy.

  That was it. I suddenly felt cripplingly shy. What the hell was going on?

  Gavin turned the handle of my bedroom door and creaked it open. He tightened his grip on my hand. My stomach danced and I swallowed hard to quell it.

  ‘I think the coast’s clear, Izzy. That is, unless they’ve left masses of unironed clothes around your room as a means of terrorizing you.’

  Finally! One of us had spoken!

  Now it was like I’d just dropped out of a daydream and landed with a thud back on earth.

  ‘Do you want to get some of your things together?’

  ‘No!’ I felt like saying. ‘Stop talking! Just stay here and don’t speak. Let’s go back to that weird trippy moment we just had.’

  He walked into my room and took a bag down from the top of my wardrobe. ‘Just throw your stuff in there – it’s big enough, isn’t it?’

  I don’t care about the case. Please come back and hold my hand again, I said. To myself.

  Not out loud. Of course not out loud.

  I still couldn’t speak.

  And, anyway, I couldn’t say that to Gavin! It was Gavin!

  None of this made any sense whatsoever.

  I was rooted to the floor, my knees pressing against the edge of the bed. He stood at the opposite side, unzipped the case and laid it in front of him. The lid made a pouf sound as it hit the duvet.

  Then there was silence again.

  He looked at me. This time he didn’t say anything, just stood looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read.

  A mobile phone trilled and we both looked away. Awkward. It seemed to ring for ever before Gavin reached into his back pocket. He studied the caller ID, diverted the call and the ringing stopped. I fumbled with the zip on the suitcase. I still couldn’t find anything to say. I could feel him looking at me. The resonance of the ringtone continued to dance in my ears.

  His phone rang again. This time it sounded
louder and more intense, as if the caller was saying, ‘Answer my bloody call!’

  It rang and rang.

  And rang.

  ‘Kate… hi,’ I heard him say.

  Kate!

  Oh, God!

  I was such a bitch! I’d just been fantasizing about kissing her boyfriend. I hated girls like me! But it was Gavin!

  What?

  Even as I said it to myself it seemed ludicrous. I mean, it wasn’t like I’d ever fancied him before. This had come out of nowhere – a moment of insanity! It’s Gavin, for God’s sake!

  Gavin, who probably thinks I’m touched. Or that I melt into a mute mess when I’m scared shitless and fall into a trance, and should he call my next of kin for advice?

  ‘Sorry, I’m just going to take this,’ he said, covering the mouthpiece.

  ‘Cool,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders with forced apathy.

  He brushed past me as he left the room. I listened to him chat to Kate as he loped down the stairs. I felt sick.

  What a stupid moment of craziness. Gavin was so happy with Kate. He was my friend. And so was she. Gavin and I had a totally platonic relationship, one hundred per cent. People always say that platonic friendships can’t exist between a guy and a girl, but we had one. Ha! Freud, you may not rest in peace!

  I do not fancy Gavin! Even if he does have those dreamy green eyes.

  ‘Hey.’

  I jumped and screamed. ‘What the hell are you doing here with green eyes?’ I blurted, overcome with surprise at my own thoughts. Gavin leant his shoulder into the doorframe and folded his arms. His eyes were dancing. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing. Sorry. Here – I’m just going to lash a few things into my case and I’ll be right.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘How’s Kate?’ I asked, not knowing why.

  ‘She’s fine. She has a work thing on tonight so they’re all in the pub.’

  ‘Is she happy there, do you think?’

  ‘In the pub?’

  ‘At the hospital.’

  ‘She seems to be. It’s tough, though, she works hard.’

  ‘How long did it take her to qualify?’ Why was I suddenly so interested in Kate’s life? Guilt?

  ‘Four years, then an extra year as a junior on a ward.’

  ‘How many babies is she going to welcome into the world?’ I gushed. I sounded like one of those children with the plaited hair from Little House on the Prairie.

  ‘Ah, Izzy, you big softie.’

  ‘It is amazing, though, isn’t it? She’s going to be the first person in the whole world that all those babies meet.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Kate was so lovely. She deserved to be with Gavin, and him with her.

  I looked up at him. ‘She’s lovely.’

  ‘I know,’ he agreed, as he raked his fingers through his hair. His T-shirt lifted slightly as he rested the back of his head in his locked hands, showing his tanned, toned stomach. He shifted his gaze away from me and fixed it on something out of the window, possibly because I was holding an assortment of bras and thongs. I shoved them into the case so fast that I broke two nails.

  I rifled through my drawers while Gavin perused my CDs. ‘Michael Bolton?’ he asked sarcastically.

  ‘Don’t slag. Those were hard times. I was fourteen and chubby with spots and greasy hair. No one fancied me and I felt that Michael was the only one in the whole world who really understood how much of a tortured soul I was. I moved on to him after I’d graduated from my Boyz II Men phase.’

  Gavin laughed and put the CD back into the holder. ‘What are these, Iz?’ he asked, looking at a few sketches I’d propped against the back of my dresser.

  ‘Oh, just some old stuff.’

  ‘You drew them?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘They’re fantastic. I never knew you could draw.’

  ‘They’re okay. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything, though.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I… dunno.’

  ‘Well, you should do more,’ he said, turning back to them and bending down to study them closely.

  Most of them were of faces – people smiling, frowning, laughing, crying. I was going to start drawing again, and painting. I really was. I’d already decided that. But right now we just had to get out of here and shake this unbelievably weird atmosphere. I zipped up my case and swiped it off the bed. ‘Right!’

  ‘Right,’ he echoed. He took the suitcase from my hand and I felt the warmth of his skin against mine. I told myself that once I left this room it would all be forgotten. My moment of madness. Back to normal again.

  He didn’t move, so I stepped forward to indicate that we should leave. I just wanted to get beyond that door. It was so close, right in front of me. Beyond it things would go back to normal. If Gavin would just move to the side and let me out…

  He cupped his hand around my arm. ‘Izzy…’

  I held my breath.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he whispered, too close to justify speaking any louder.

  His eyes looked sad. I was afraid mine did, too. But I wasn’t sad. I was fine. ‘Yeah,’ I whispered. ‘I’m fine.’

  And with that I edged past him and out of the door.

  16

  I was already starting to regret my over-enthusiastic gymnastic display to get Fintan to pick me as the Lights! Camera! Action! on-set representative. It was probably a learnt response I was still carrying from my junior-school days that I jumped up, waving my arms wildly in the air, and shouted, ‘Pick me! Pick me! Pick me!’ when he asked for a volunteer. No one else moved a muscle. They were certainly not looking to be selected to go down to the set. That should have silenced me, but no, I still reacted like they were choosing teams for Red Rover.

  Today was the first day of shooting on Snog Me Now, You Dublin Whore and, from what I could deduce, it was chaos. My guide – and saviour – amid the madness was Margaret, a straight-talking, practical woman whom you could trust to get things done. The only problem was, she was so efficient that she talked a mile a minute and her sentences were peppered with strange acronyms and film-English terms. I was a bit rusty in film-English – we’d talked nonchalantly about best boys and grips in college, but I was struggling to remember exactly what everyone did. Every time Margaret spoke to me, I watched her mouth move, trying to catch all the words as they spilled out. There was a good chance that this would make her think I was a lesbian trying to seduce her, but it was my best chance of not misinterpreting her.

  Anyway, it might be chaos, but a day out of the office was always exciting. (Like school trips, right? Honestly, was there ever anything more exciting? I remember a trip to Government Buildings where I bought a postcard of the minister for trade and commerce as a souvenir. Don’t laugh – at eight years old nobody is cool.) Another reason I’d begged to come today was because I was secretly dying to meet Tina Barrett, the lead actress. I’d read an article about her over the weekend, her starring role in a soap, her stint on Celebrity Crusade, her charity work for homeless Egyptian camels, the usual celeb stuff, and, of course, about her starting our movie. I couldn’t wait to see her in the flesh. Keelin had instructed me to brush against one of her boobs to find out if they were fake or not.

  Margaret was speaking in bullets again. Ping, ping. Tina Barrett. Ping, ping. Not coming…

  What? Hang on.

  ‘Did you just say Tina’s not coming, Margaret?’

  ‘Yes! Haven’t you been listening to me hyperventilating for the last five minutes, Izzy?’

  ‘But why not?’ I asked, trying to hide my abject disappointment.

  ‘She tripped coming out of Chinawhite in London over the weekend, and pretty much broke her face,’ Margaret growled, clearly unimpressed. ‘Highly disfigured at the moment apparently, with huge dental restructuring to be done, so that’s that, unfortunately. We had to do a crisis recasting late yesterday and, at such short notice, it proved quite difficult, but I think we’re sorted w
ith a replacement. Not much experience but she looks good. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that.’

  Oooh! Maybe her replacement would be Reese Witherspoon… or Keira Knightley! Unlikely. They both had a considerable amount of experience under their belts. And the film was shit so there was no way on this earth they’d agree to be in it.

  ‘What I need you to do, Isobel, is call down to the actors, get them to sign their contracts and bring them back to me.’ She handed me a stack of paperwork and a pen. ‘Most of them will be down there in their little cabins.’

  I looked to where she was pointing and saw a cluster of caravan-type yokes jumbled together like a halting site. I headed off, but just as I was approaching it, something caught my eye and instinctively made me hide behind one of the Portakabins.

  ‘Isobel? Izzy, is that you?’

  Holy shit! It was him! Jonathan Ride Cunningham!

  ‘Er, yes, it’s me!’ Why was I still hiding? ‘Em, how are you?’ I called. In the grand scheme of things, I knew Jonathan didn’t have any responsibility to contact me whenever he was coming over, but I would have liked a bit of forewarning. And thereby know not to wear grey T-shirts when really it was far too warm (sweat marks), or do experimental trails with crazy purple eye shadow. Did I have any chance whatsoever of rubbing all of it off before he –

  ‘Hell-o!’ I sang merrily, spotting his head craning around the side of the Portakabin.

  ‘Izzy.’ He smiled. ‘I thought it was you. What are you doing back here?’

  ‘Who – me?’ Was this going to be another choice display of mental ineptitude? ‘I, em, well, I forgot my sunglasses so I, eh, just popped into the shade for a few moments so I could check I have all the contracts before handing them out. It’s just, you know, my eyes are very… photosensitive.’ I squinted to highlight my point.