Desperately Seeking... Part 6

'Well,' he said, covering his face with his hands, 'ahm... I, ah... I don't fly very well...'

'Oh!'

The idea of someone not flying well had never occurred to me. From a very early age I had been on and off planes regularly. Flying didn't cost me a thought. Of course I had heard heard of people being afraid of flying, but I had always a.s.sumed them to be slightly hysterical women looking for attention. It had never crossed my mind that a man, a steady, sensible, grounded man like Keith, might have a problem becoming airborne. of people being afraid of flying, but I had always a.s.sumed them to be slightly hysterical women looking for attention. It had never crossed my mind that a man, a steady, sensible, grounded man like Keith, might have a problem becoming airborne.

I sat down beside him and emitted a large, unhelpful sigh. 'How bad is it?' I asked, wondering if we were going to get away at all.

'Well, I don't know,' he said. 'It's been ages since I flew.'

'And what happened then?'

'I can't remember.'

'Come on,' I said, bundling him up, 'let's go to the bar and have a drink.'

'It's a quarter past eleven,' he protested feebly.

'Well, it's drinking time somewhere,' I said (I didn't have any other ideas). 'Anyway, we're on holiday. People do daft things when they're on holiday. A drink will do us both good. You should have said something Ruth always has a stash of Valium for emergencies... or I might have been able to scare up a joint.'

The bar was surprisingly busy for a quarter past eleven on a Sat.u.r.day morning, and the clientele weren't all foreigners either. I ordered us two vodkas and orange, and made his a double. He drank his quicker than I'd ever seen him down a drink, so I ordered another. He was smiling feebly at me, begging me to forgive him.

'It's OK,' I rea.s.sured him. 'You'll be fine in a minute.'

'But I'm ruining your holiday...'

'No, you're not. It's our holiday and nothing's ruined.'

Of course, all I could think about was missing my run round Duty Free, at best, or never getting off the ground, at worst. Poor Keith had probably worked himself up into an awful frenzy about this holiday. Part of the reason he was so keen to get away was that he thought he'd have a better chance of pinning me down to talk dates and times and which side of the city we wanted to live on: he'd been trying to broach these subjects for weeks and I kept evading or jokingly dismissing him. On holiday, with little to do all day except lie about and pick a restaurant for the evening, he must have thought he'd have a better chance of getting me to agree to something.

It had been more difficult lately: there's only so long you can dance round a topic that needs an airing. Even more than setting a date, Keith was anxious about a house. I tried reminding him that we both had houses and suggested we couldn't possibly want the ha.s.sle of buying another. But he saw this conjugal buying of the family home as an important symbolic move. He was more than ready to sell his own house in Clareview, bought purely because it was a sensible thing to do with his money and on the right side of town for work. He saw my flat as a good investment and a steady source of extra income if we decided to let it. He also saw it (though he would never admit it) as a steady source of income to replace mine when, inevitably, I gave up work to start a family. It wasn't that I objected utterly to his unconscious forward planning or that one small part of me wouldn't go along with it all (who was I kidding, anyway, that I had a career?), but that the whole thing was far too real, far too practical to consider when I was only barely used to the idea, to the theory, of marrying him.

He had been coming home every day recently with brochures from estate agents, many of them big glossy portfolios detailing the forty-five fabulous bedrooms you could have for barely half a million if only you were willing to move out to the sticks. Which I wasn't. Even Keith had to admit, since he'd been practically living in my flat, that being in the middle of everything had its advantages, but he had in his head something he must have seen in a picture book as a child. He wanted it all big rooms, lush garden, wooden shed, privet hedges, picket fences, the lot. I thought men weren't supposed to care about things like that.

His moving in had taken place accidentally. Neither of us suggested it; he didn't want to be presumptuous and I know how he likes an ordered living environment so I thought he'd probably prefer to live at his own place. Yet, gradually, after a couple of late weekend nights, he hadn't gone home. And when he did go home he came back with clean clothes, toiletries, some books and CDs. I thought at first I'd find the place claustrophobic with him around all the time but he was very quiet and, apart from the way he kept tidying up after me and the way he kept cooking really nice meals, I hardly knew he was there. And in bed he was so warm and rea.s.suring. In a way it was as if we were already married, had been for years. He was still pa.s.sionate, and very easily aroused, but mostly he was like that comfort bear you had as a child. The one you didn't pay a lot of attention to during the day, because he was old and sad-looking, but wouldn't go to bed without. Maybe the reason I was so reluctant to talk houses with Keith was that I was happy with our present living arrangements. Or maybe I enjoyed teasing him.

After his second double vodka and orange Keith seemed a little better. 'I'm really sorry, you know. I thought I had this fear-of-flying thing licked. I thought that if I was just organized enough I could force myself into it. I guess I was wrong.'

'It's OK,' I said softly. 'It doesn't matter. You can't control the things you're afraid of. It doesn't matter if we don't go to Spain. We could drive up to Galway and spend the week there. I've already got a tan.'

'Oh, but that's just it. With you I'm not afraid of anything. I feel like I can conquer the world. That's why I'm disappointed that I'm having trouble conquering Duty Free.'

We both laughed, and for the first time I really didn't care if we ended up in Los Almiras or Oranmore.

'Do you want to give it a try? We can take it one step at a time and we can turn back if you don't want to go any further.'

'Oh, Kate, you are wonderful. What on earth are you doing with me?'

'Well, I love you, you eejit.' I said the words without thinking, and as soon as they were out of my mouth I realized they might be true.

So I took his hand and we glided past Security, right through the waiting area (bypa.s.sing all the potions and perfumes) and on to our gate. By this time the plane was nearly boarded so we walked straight on. All the time Keith kept a tight grip on my hand, and when we finally sat into our seats, he took that hand and kissed it. 'I love you,' he said.

'I love you too.'

It was strange to think that Keith might occasionally need something from me, and rather than it being a total pain in the a.s.s, it was actually rather endearing. He fell asleep before we took off and when he woke up, somewhere over northern Spain, he was surprisingly like his old self.

Our first day in Los Almiras was heavenly. When we'd arrived at the resort the previous evening (after a, thankfully, uneventful flight) we had barely enough energy to unpack a toothbrush before falling into bed. We slept surprisingly well, given the hectic day, and when we woke it was like we had entered a parallel universe or something. I had the notion, even though I knew how ridiculous it was, that we were on our honeymoon. I looked across at Keith and thought, Yeah, I could do this for a while. Then we rolled together, had the best s.e.x since either of us could remember and fell into a deep post-coital sleep that washed away any lingering fatigue from the journey. I think Keith was anxious to recover a sense of manliness, because he was particularly dominant that morning. Usually, s.e.x with Keith was very safe satisfying, predictable and low maintenance while still hugely enjoyable, but that morning he was flipping me about, throwing my legs over his shoulders, even engaging in a little dirty talk. I was enjoying the diversion: it made me feel like I was doing something naughty, and with Keith, that was some achievement.

When we climbed out of bed and into the shower it was nearly one o'clock, and by the time I'd decided what to wear and Keith had worked out that we had no English-speaking TV channels it was a quarter past two. Clearly siesta time. We decided to take it in the shaded bar area at the far side of the pool. From there we could sip our watery c.o.c.ktails and view, at a safe distance, the swimming ma.s.ses. I love to swim but only when I have the pool virtually to myself.

As it was still only May, the weather was pleasant but not so hot we couldn't take a walk round the village without feeling too sweaty and simply not up for it. That's the great problem with sun holidays: the sun, and the attendant heat. It's great to fantasize in the middle of an Irish winter about clear blue skies and the hot sun on your back as you prepare to dive into an azure sea but I've never found the reality lives up to my fantasies. There are always too many people, too many of them non-exotics who probably live round the corner from you at home; the blues are never quite as intense and the heat is always so intense you wish there was a k.n.o.b somewhere so you could turn it down. The lack of control is part of the problem in winter, if you're cold you put on more clothes and turn the heat up. But in summer, once you've taken off everything common decency allows, there's nothing more you can do. You either sit in the shade or go indoors but that defeats the purpose of being in the sun. As I said, I'm not a sun person.

We returned to the bar and had several more c.o.c.ktails, each one a little more watery than the last. We toasted each other on how clever we were to get away and what a fabulous place we had chosen. I knew Keith had the same ridiculous notion in his head that this might be our honeymoon but to say it out loud would have burst our bubble. We were served odd-looking canapes that were deep-fried and tasted fishy but had the desired effect of making us think about dinner. During our stroll round the resort we had come across several bistros that looked like they could be the setting for romantic dining but we decided to stay in our hotel for this first night. The restaurant was on a balcony on the first floor and looked out over the bay, which at this time was emptying of bathers and sun-wors.h.i.+ppers and taking on the aspect of a tropical-island hideaway. We got a table where the view was at its finest and settled into a meal of grilled fish (caught locally that day), a salad tossed lightly in a piquant dressing and a wine so white and cold and sharp it might have been pure mountain spring water (with a delightful kick, of course).

All through the meal Keith was gazing at me as if I might actually be the woman of his dreams, and it was so intoxicating I began to indulge the notion that he was right. We talked only about each other, as if the world was spinning on an axis entirely of our making. I thought how even one day of sun had given his skin a radiance it didn't usually have, how even the contours of his face seemed more sharply defined. I wondered if I was actually falling in love with him, really in love, in love beyond all reasonable control. Perhaps the way I felt and the things I'd said in the airport hadn't been brought on by early-morning drinking on an empty stomach. And if I'd never been in love before I'm sure I would have believed this to be the real thing. What more could a girl want? If this wasn't love what on earth could love be? But I had been here before. And even though none of it might have been as real as it was in my head at the time, the feelings I'd had for that man were beyond anything I had believed possible for one person to feel about another. It might all have gone horribly wrong but when it was right it was the best b.l.o.o.d.y thing in the universe.

We finished our meal with a good espresso, and as we were about to leave the terrace we discovered a set of stone steps leading down to the beach.

'Come on,' he said, delight in his eyes. 'Let's go down to the beach for a walk.'

I looked ahead to the perfect moonlit sand and the perfect sh.o.r.e and I knew it was the perfect setting for a romantic stroll for the perfect couple. This was the stuff movie moments were made of, but suddenly I didn't want to be in anyone's movie, not even one that was entirely made up. 'I'm not so sure, Keith, I feel a bit sleepy after that meal.'

'Oh, come on I'm not asking you to go jogging, just a short walk.'

'Honestly, I'm still a bit tired after the flight and everything. Maybe tomorrow.'

But he knew as well as I did that tomorrow the moment would have pa.s.sed. Indeed, if he had to try so hard to get me to do something that seemed so natural to him, it was already past.

'All right, then, whatever,' he said, letting go of my hand. 'It's no big deal.'

'The beach will still be there tomorrow.'

'It's fine. It's not a problem.'

Without saying any more we headed back to our room where I undressed and climbed under the crisp white sheets. Keith took up the remote control and was still flicking between one incomprehensible station and another when I drifted off to sleep.

Somehow we never did get round to that moonlit stroll.

Daniel and I had spent a short holiday in Paris. That was also in May. He had a meeting in London and arranged to join me in Paris the following day. He figured he could safely get two more nights away. So I flew out from Shannon on my own, got a train from Charles de Gaulle to the city and a taxi from there to a little three-star hotel in Pigalle. Daniel knew the area. It was close to everything, he said, including the red-light district but, typical of Paris, even the red-light district is less seedy and more socio-historical. I arrived there early on a Friday evening, knowing I had at least two more hours to wait before Daniel might arrive. He had phoned earlier that day before I left Limerick to say he was thinking about us every moment and couldn't wait to leave London and everything else to be with me. I couldn't believe we were finally going to spend the night together. Two whole nights together. He had been feeling guilty recently, knowing he was spending a lot of time away from his family. Late nights with me meant he didn't see his kids before they went to bed. His wife understood that he often needed to work late, she was used to it, but not seeing his kids was different. So, we had slowed things down, only meeting at lunchtimes or briefly before he went home in the evenings. And that had become unsatisfactory very quickly so he promised he'd work something so we could get away together. And he had.

I would have been happy to meet him in London but he said he had always imagined bringing me to Paris. I didn't argue. I might not have thought it then but I'm sure part of the reason he didn't want to meet in London was that it was still too close to home. He has many connections there and knows the streets almost as well as he knows Limerick's. Even though London's big you never know who you might b.u.mp into. (The irony was that, despite all Daniel's precautions, his wife was going to find out anyway, thanks to some helpful office gossip.) But at the time none of that occurred to me.

I checked into the room using my own name. It was booked in Daniel's and as I signed I couldn't help smiling at what I was doing. If this had been a movie made in the fifties I would have pretended to be his wife. I would even have had to wear a wedding ring. But it wasn't a movie, it wasn't even Ireland: it was twenty-first-century Paris and the times had moved on. Still, something about that deserted foyer and the blank stare of the concierge made me wish for something other than a covert liaison with my married lover. But for now it was all I had.

By the time Daniel arrived (he was more than an hour later than the latest he'd said he could be), I was sleepy and a little drunk, having helped myself to the contents of the mini-bar. I would have gone downstairs in the hope of some company but apparently three stars in Paris doesn't buy you a bar. So Daniel arrived weary from his day to find me weepy and petulant. That was the start of it.

He stood in the doorway, bags in hand, squinting, trying to adjust to the dim light in the room. I don't think he was quite sure for a moment that I was there. For a moment I wasn't sure that I recognized him. He seemed older that his forty-two years even in the light of the one lamp in the room I could detect lines in his face I hadn't noticed before. His body, usually so virile, seemed thinner and somewhat shrunken. Yet even as I was mentally taking note of this, part of me was sure I was imagining it. Here was my das.h.i.+ng man, come to soothe my ache for him and a.s.sure me that all was right with the world. But as soon as he spoke there was a weariness in his voice I didn't recognize. Was it the room? Or was it us?

'You're here. I've been waiting for ever.'

'I know. I'm sorry. I had to get a later flight. The meeting ran late. The traffic was unbelievable. I'm sorry.'

'You look tired.'

'I am.'

'I love you.'

Then he walked across to where I was lying on the bed. He bent low and kissed me. 'I love you too.'

I wanted to climb inside that kiss and hide away for ever. 'What will we do? Will we go out and get dinner? I saw a gorgeous place on the corner.'

'Oh, Kate, I'm exhausted, absolutely wrecked. All I'm fit for is sleep. We'll do Paris tomorrow. We'll see everything. I promise you.'

'Oh. OK.'

If there was complete devastation written across my face, it was unintentional.

'Ah, Kate, don't do this. I've been up since six. I haven't stopped all day. Just let me sleep. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.'

'OK. I'm tired too.'

Tired of waiting.

I went to the bathroom to wash my teeth, and when I returned he was already in bed, practically asleep. He grunted something, which I took to be a request to get in beside him but I ignored it. Fatigued as I was, I wasn't ready for sleep yet. I leaned over him, kissed his forehead and told him I was going out for a walk. He mumbled something else and I left the room. As I pa.s.sed the concierge he barely acknowledged me. It wasn't the same guy as before but he wore the same expression.

The night was cooler than I had expected and I had forgotten to bring a jacket. Maybe a jolt of cold air was what I needed. I knew I was being a touch unreasonable but I thought it was perfectly understandable. Sure, he'd had a long day, I could see he was exhausted, but he must know how important this night was for me. For us. I had spent the entire day without talking to anybody who wasn't in some way paid to talk or listen to members of the public. I had spent my day waiting for him. And now here he was, asleep before he could even ask how I was. My flight hadn't been so great. I had been delayed for an hour and a half. One of my bags had been mislaid. I didn't have enough clothes for the next couple of days. I was hungry. I'd been waiting to have dinner with him. I had drunk too much, just when I'd decided to cut back. I'd been lonely all day. I was still lonely.

I decided to turn back towards the hotel. I was finding it hard to think while having to keep in mind how far I'd wandered. There was no one to turn to if I got lost. Another couple was waiting for the lift as I approached. They acknowledged me, then returned to their contemplation of each other. They got out on the floor before mine.

I opened the bedroom door as quietly as possible. Daniel was snoring loudly. I undressed and got in beside him. Eventually, I was asleep too.

But tomorrow was a new day. Daniel woke first and before I had even adjusted to where I was he was edging my pyjama bottoms over my knees and himself as close as my sleepy state allowed. Realizing suddenly that we were finally here, that we had actually spent the night together, I forgot any misgivings I'd had and plunged on to him. It was wonderful I loved him and we were on our own for two full days. It would be as if there was only the two of us, no wife, no kids, no work, just us. It would be perfect.

And that morning was. After our lovemaking (Daniel's energies were well restored), we decided to have breakfast in one of the many authentic restaurants on the surrounding streets. The hotel dining room seemed too provincial, too much for tourists. We had the whole city to explore. The very place I had wanted to have dinner the previous evening was open. We sat outside, even though it was almost too cold, and indulged in strong aromatic coffee and hot b.u.t.tery croissants. It tasted like heaven. This breakfast tasted like every breakfast I ever wanted to have again. Daniel was in great form: either he was intent on making it up to me for the night before, or he was truly as happy as I was.

'I couldn't stop thinking about you all day,' he said, placing a morsel of croissant in my mouth. 'I was imagining you naked in the middle of those old bores. I nearly had to leave the room.'

'Get away! I'm sure you didn't think about me once. I know what you're like when you're working.'

'Honestly! I had this mental picture of you sitting cross-legged in the middle of them all. But then I had to stop because they were having heart-attacks.'

'That was considerate of you. Listen, Daniel,' I added, 'I'm sorry I was so snippy it was just that I was so...'

He put his fingers over my lips. 'It was my fault. I should have been there sooner. I'm sorry I was so tired when I arrived.'

'Well... we're both here now.'

'And I'm going to show you the very best time Paris has to offer.'

'Oh!' I suddenly remembered. 'I have no clothes. They lost one of my bags.'

'Well, we'll buy some new ones. Don't they make clothes here in Paris? Some guy called Chanel?'

'Well... woman, originally, but yes, Chanel is here and Dior and Chloe... Are you really going to kit me out from Chanel? They are a little expensive.'

'You're worth every penny.'

We let our b.u.t.tery fingers entwine and it seemed like nothing could ever separate us.

In the end, of course, I didn't let him embellish his credit card with ladies' couture; I found the equivalent of the high street and bought a few nice things with my own. However, I did let him buy me an antique brooch from a quaint little jeweller we found in the Latin Quarter.

After popping back to the hotel to get our coats, we set off along the Paris streets with the general aim of finding the Eiffel Tower. (There are some touristy things you simply have to do.) Daniel said the view from the top was breathtaking. (I had been to Paris once before but only pa.s.sing through en route en route from Germany. I had been broke and not in the mood for sightseeing.) After a while we found ourselves at the Opera where we boarded one of those open-top bus tours. Its kitschiness was delightful and after a whistlestop tour of other sights we were deposited right outside the tower. Whatever about the view from the top, the view from below is pretty amazing. How could somebody not adore this elegant construct of nuts and bolts? We decided to climb the eighty or so flights of metal stairs, stopping briefly on the from Germany. I had been broke and not in the mood for sightseeing.) After a while we found ourselves at the Opera where we boarded one of those open-top bus tours. Its kitschiness was delightful and after a whistlestop tour of other sights we were deposited right outside the tower. Whatever about the view from the top, the view from below is pretty amazing. How could somebody not adore this elegant construct of nuts and bolts? We decided to climb the eighty or so flights of metal stairs, stopping briefly on the premiere etage premiere etage to buy a disposable camera. We pressed on to the to buy a disposable camera. We pressed on to the deuxieme etage, deuxieme etage, every twinge in our calf muscles a register of our determination. I was quite pleased to find out we had to take a lift to the third floor. I was enjoying being a pioneer but enough was enough. every twinge in our calf muscles a register of our determination. I was quite pleased to find out we had to take a lift to the third floor. I was enjoying being a pioneer but enough was enough.

The lift was large and square, gla.s.s-walled and gla.s.s-roofed. The minute I stepped inside I felt fear. The concentration I'd needed to climb the stairs had kept me from being truly aware of how high up we were. Suddenly I saw I was about to travel to nine hundred feet pressed tight against the wall of a gla.s.s box. Everybody around me looked no more animated than if they were getting the lift to Homewares in a department store. Daniel, too, was perfectly calm.

He was trying to get a picture from each side. He kept disappearing behind the increasing numbers of people crowding into the lift and when, for what seemed like a very long time, I couldn't catch sight of him, I panicked. I screamed that I couldn't breathe and flailed at the people on all sides of me, yelling at them to let me out. I tried to break through the crowd, desperate to find Daniel or the exit. Faces kept emerging to stare at me as if I was truly insane, yet n.o.body helped me.

My heart was palpitating and sweat streaked down my back. Eventually the lift operator, who was about to close the doors, grabbed my arm and guided me out on to the terrace. The next thing I remember is Daniel prising my fingers from the metal railings and holding me close to him. 'It's OK, it's OK,' he kept repeating, 'you're fine. You're out of the lift now. It's OK.'

'I'm not OK, I'm not OK, I'm such an eejit,' I wailed at him.

'You're not an eejit. That was a very small overcrowded lift.'

'But n.o.body else minded it. You didn't.'

'Kate, love, it doesn't matter, it was just a small panic-attack. I'm sure they see worse here every day. Everything's all right now.'

He squeezed me tightly and I began to believe him.

'Do you want to walk down slowly, or will we get a cup of coffee first?'

'No, no, I think I'm ready to go down. It was just the lift... so high and so crowded. I couldn't breathe in there.'

'It was a foolish idea to go all the way to the top, anyway. G.o.d knows we're high enough here.'

'But I wanted to see the top.'

'Another time...'

We started our descent, and while the climb down those steps didn't bother me, something was still niggling at me, something other than claustrophobia or the mortification of making a public spectacle of myself. I didn't know what it was or how deeply it was buried but something had made me panic in that lift, something other than a mild fear of heights and a distaste for crowds 'Come on,' I said to him, when we got to the bottom, 'let's go and get drunk.'

The rest of our holiday in Los Almiras was pa.s.sed in typical style. We did the trip to the one landmark in the region that had any pretensions towards archaeological importance; we visited the neighbouring beach, which wasn't half as nice as our own; we met the other Irish couple, who could have been our doppelgangers doppelgangers except that they actually were on their honeymoon; we had several walks on the beach and while none of them was moonlit, they were delightful; we made love every day and had o.r.g.a.s.ms like they were going out of fas.h.i.+on. By our last evening I was truly regretting that we had to leave. I'd thought Keith might drive me a little crazy but what do you know? He hadn't. except that they actually were on their honeymoon; we had several walks on the beach and while none of them was moonlit, they were delightful; we made love every day and had o.r.g.a.s.ms like they were going out of fas.h.i.+on. By our last evening I was truly regretting that we had to leave. I'd thought Keith might drive me a little crazy but what do you know? He hadn't.

We were having dinner with that other Irish couple, Don and Lorna, on the terrace restaurant. It was their last evening also; they had been on our flight out from Shannon and would be on our flight home. They were maybe a little older than us and had only been going out together a year before they got married. Both of them had been in long-term relations.h.i.+ps before in which they had nearly made it up the aisle.

'I just woke up one morning,' said Lorna, 'and realized that Steve didn't love me. I suppose I'd sort of known it for ages but when you've been with someone nearly for ever you don't a.n.a.lyse every little feeling you have about them. You just presume.'