Kerrie sat on the couch, waiting for Matt to come home, watching the lights of the city below come on. A breeze drifted in from the balcony as she listened to Kings of Leon, one of Matt’s favourite bands. She had Coronas chilling in the fridge, and some food in, as he might be hungry.
She heard his footsteps outside the door, and his key turning in the lock. He looked beat, exhausted, and she hugged him tight, savouring the smell of his skin and sweat and the remnants of his aftershave.
‘Matt, can we talk?’
‘Kerrie, I’m absolutely shattered,’ he said, flinging himself on the couch. ‘Can it wait till tomorrow, or another time?’
‘No,’ she said seriously. ‘It can’t. I need to talk to you tonight.’
He looked wrecked, but she had to talk to him now, before her courage deserted her and the pretence all started again.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I had a massive meal before I left. You know what Mum’s like.’
‘What about a drink?’
He nodded, throwing his head back on the headrest of the couch. He looked so good: his long handsome face, and scruffy dark hair, and lean legs in their pale chinos, and his pale blue Massimo Dutti shirt. She loved him so much that it hurt.
She fetched two chilled beers from the fridge, and curled up on the chair opposite him.
‘What’s this all about?’ he asked warily.
‘It’s about us … well, it’s about me,’ she said. She could tell that she had Matt’s attention.
‘Matt, you know all the meals and dinners we’ve had since we moved in here?’ she said softly. ‘All the lovely lasagnes and chicken and beef dishes and the banoffi pies and fudge brownies you adore … well, the truth is that I didn’t make any of them. I couldn’t cook, so I bought them and pretended to you that I could.’
‘What?’ he said, perplexed, sitting forward. ‘You didn’t make them, any of them? But I saw you in the kitchen …’
‘You saw what I wanted you to see, for you to get the impression that I was a good cook,’ she admitted. ‘I know it was crazy, but I just couldn’t admit to not being perfect. So I lied to you! And on Tuesday nights I haven’t been doing a course in work since January. I’ve been doing a cookery course in Monkstown. I’m actually trying to learn to cook.’
‘Why couldn’t you tell me?’ he said, hurt. ‘Kerrie, I never expected you to be able to cook, to be perfect! Why would you think that it would matter?’
‘You are right about me … what you said the other day … I wanted our lives to be perfect. I thought that’s what you would expect of me,’ she said, trying not to cry.
‘Cookery lessons on a Tuesday,’ he said, putting his hand to his forehead. ‘There was I, worried that you were seeing some guy from work, as you always seemed so happy when you came home.’
‘What?’
‘We’ve both been pretty stupid. I should have asked you.’
‘There would never ever be anyone else,’ she said, her eyes welling with tears. ‘How could you even think that, Matt?’
‘Is the big confession over?’ Matt said wearily.
‘No,’ she said. ‘This is only the start of it.’
Matt sat up on the couch, his beer in his hand.
‘Matt, I didn’t grow up in safe middle-class Terenure, in a big house with a garden and my daddy working for one of the banks. I didn’t go to one of those fancy fee-paying girls’ schools … I didn’t just swan into college with the rest of my social set.’ She took a deep breath, trying to control the shake in her voice.
‘My life is the complete opposite. I grew up in Tallaght, on a big estate, and went to Riverfield Community School, one of the biggest schools in the country, with some of the most disadvantaged students. And I busted my guts to get a place in college and drag myself up. I went to America one summer on my J1 – that’s where I got to know Ruth and Christine and Laura and Caroline – and I just hung out with them, and when we got back to college people began to assume that I was part of their gang. We went everywhere together – holidays in Greece, backpacking in Europe – and later, when we all started working, shopping trips to New York and skiing in Austria and France and …’
‘Meribel,’ he said slowly.
‘Matt, I studied so hard and worked so hard … maybe I even began to believe that I was like them. I learnt about art and literature and architecture and style … All the things to help me fit into the world I wanted to belong to … your world.’
She looked at the expensive wooden floor, noticing the rich colour of the natural wood that had been imported from Canada, the width of each board, the perfect symmetry of it.
‘I’m a fraud, a liar!’ she said despairingly. ‘I haven’t been honest with you. I could understand you hating me. It’s just that I can’t pretend any more … I’ve had enough of it.’
‘I knew about your school,’ said Matt gently. ‘Well, the fact that you didn’t go to Castlemount or St Mary’s or Annefield. Georgina’s best friend and her four sisters all went to Castlemount, and when Georgina mentioned your name none of them had heard of you. Lindsey went to St Mary’s, and Georgina went to Annefield.’
‘You never said anything.’
‘I thought that you would tell me yourself when the time was right. What school you did or didn’t go to makes no difference to me! You are the brightest, most intelligent, girl I know, and that’s what matters.’
‘Oh,’ she said, surprised.
‘And the night we brought your parents to see Paul McCartney your dad let slip that you lived nowhere near Terenure, and that he had as little dealings with the banks as possible and preferred to use the post office, as he used to work as a postman.’
‘My dad works in the sorting office,’ she said, not trusting herself to speak. ‘He’s due to retire next year.’
‘Is there any more?’ pressed Matt. ‘A secret husband, kids, another life I know nothing about?’
‘No.’ She sniffed, tears running down her face. ‘But I’ve let you down. I should have been there for you … gone to help with your parents if you wanted me to.’
‘Kerrie, I can’t blame you for not wanting to come down to Moyle. Georgina and Mum had a massive fight, and Ed says they’ve blown his inheritance … the lazy shit.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Listen, I love you, not where you came from, not what school you did or did not go to, not your family, and whatever is going on there. You are the person I fell in love with and respect, and want to marry. You don’t need to lie to me … to pretend.’
She couldn’t believe it. Matt still loved her, wanted her, wanted to marry her!
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘And are you sure you won’t object to taking on the son of a disgraced bankrupt, my snob of a mother, and God knows what other family scandals are coming down the track?’
‘I’m not marrying them … I’m marrying you,’ she said, running over and jumping on to his lap. Matt held her as she cried and cried and cried. Matt stroked her hair and told her that it didn’t matter, everything was going to be all right.