Joe Roth thought he was hallucinating. On Thursday morning he’d come into work as usual and Katherine ‘Sexual Harassment’ Casey had smiled at him.
Smiled
. At
him
. And it didn’t seem to be motivated by malice either. Not as a prelude to telling him she’d lost his expenses claim or that she’d had orders from on high to calculate his redundancy package. No, she just flashed her little pearly teeth, twinkled her normally solemn grey eyes, let the look linger a fraction too long, and said – pleasantly! – ‘Good morning, Joe.’
What was going on? It was about ten days since she’d wept in front of him and told him she’d had bad news, but immediately afterwards she’d resumed her customary, distant, offhand manner. This morning’s friendliness was a bolt from the blue.
And, as she undulated to her desk, he noticed something different about the way she was dressed. Shorter? Tighter? Whatever it was, he liked it. If he didn’t know different – and he knew
very
different – he’d think she was flirting with him.
As Katherine reached her desk, she was shaking. What if this didn’t work? What if the only thing he’d really liked about her was her inaccessibility? She’d be completely wasting her time by becoming sweet and approachable.
She hated having to do this but she’d no choice because she always had to do
everything
. She bristled with self-righteousness. No one else could be depended upon. She always had to pay
the bills, lend people money, remember birthdays, drive when everyone else was drinking their heads off. Now she had to save Fintan’s life. No point expecting that irresponsible, selfish coward Tara Butler to lift a finger to help.
At the thought of Tara, Katherine buzzed with high-voltage guilt: she’d broken the worst taboo and told Tara she was fat. Although she was only stating a fact, she bolstered herself. All that she’d said was true. God, she thought, I’m turning into Thomas. Speaking as I find. It was four days since Katherine and Tara had had their terrible row and, though they’d both mended their fences with Liv, they hadn’t made it up with each other. But they were coldly civil for the sake of the O’Gradys.
Though Katherine knew it was patently ridiculous to suggest that how she lived her life could affect or arrest the progress of someone else’s cancer, throw enough mud and it sticks. She was haunted by the idea that the O’Gradys, Sandro and Liv were looking at her accusingly. With each passing day her paranoia got worse, as she suspected the nurses were eyeing her with contempt, then the other patients, then their visitors, then strangers in the street…
What made it all so messy was that she was also squeezed with overpowering love for Fintan. She’d find herself remembering the way he was before he got sick – healthy and robust as an animal, with glowing skin, thick lustrous hair, shiny eyes. Then she’d look at the shrunken, dead-eyed, listless creature in the bed, with his patchy hair and swollen neck and be unable to avoid the realization that he might never recover. At those times of intestine-clenching terror and unbearable sorrow, she’d have done anything for him. Anything.
On other – rarer – occasions, she got the six-months-to-live feeling, when her vision of life was channelled through Fintan’s
and she genuinely agreed that it was
imperative
to make the most of every single day. She’d be swept along on a sparkling love of life, where it all seemed so beautifully, joyously simple. Of course she’d try her best with Joe Roth!
But then the moment would pass and Katherine always returned with a thud to mundanity. Lumbered with an impossibly burdensome task that five minutes earlier had seemed like the easiest thing in the world.
Until her mood would change again and she’d see Fintan’s request from yet another angle. Fintan loved her. He’d want the best for her, so surely she should trust him.
Surely?
For short periods of time she managed to, then the conviction trickled away again.
All the voices in Katherine’s head gathered steam and clamoured louder and louder. Everyone – including, at times, herself – was pushing her towards Joe Roth and she realized she’d get no peace until she’d, at least, tried.
Naturally, being a cautious kind of a girl, she spent days agonizing before she finally made her decision, her conviction morphing from out-of-the-question to manageable to downright desirable, then back to out-of-the-question again.
In the end it seemed easier for her to try than not to try, with so much guilt and pressure and fear and conscientiousness washing around. And there was one final factor. Buried under all the other feelings was one she wouldn’t have admitted to under torture: she wanted Joe Roth. In an invisible, shameful way, Fintan’s request was merely an excuse.
On Thursday morning, feeling like she was going into battle, she plucked up all her daring and forced herself to wear a short
black Lycra ‘pulling’ – though Katherine had never thought of it like that before – skirt to work. She was as self-conscious as if she was naked and, even wrapped in an all-enveloping coat, could hardly shoehorn herself out of her flat. She was certain that every man in Breen Helmsford would notice and suspect what she was up to.
Of course she knew that her version of short and tight was lickbum chaste compared to the snug pelmets barely covering some of her colleague’s bottoms, but all these things are relative.
On the way to work she prayed Joe wouldn’t be there. On a shoot or sick or dead, maybe. But as she walked in the door he was the first person she saw. Lounging on his chair, with his skin and his cheekbones and his long, rangy frame. Paralysing terror engulfed her. How could she flirt with this man? She fancied him way too much. In an instant she’d scrapped her plans. She wouldn’t do anything, she decided, she’d just behave as normal and completely ignore him.
Then she remembered Fintan, in his hospital bed, and felt like John Malkovich in
Dangerous Liaisons. It’s beyond my control
, she intoned in her head.
It’s beyond my control
. She had to do this.
Starting by revealing her saucy skirt to all and sundry. Oh, God! Wildly she considered doing her day’s work still wearing her coat, but reluctantly realized that that would engender even more comment. It nearly killed her to peel it off, first one sleeve, then the other. Flicking paranoid glances left and right to see if all the men were nudging each other and commenting, she prepared for the walk across the office to her desk.
Dignity in the face of adversity, she urged herself. Think Padraig Pearse before the firing squad, think Joan of Arc being
burned at the stake. Thus fortified, she squared her shoulders, lifted her head high, fought the urge to pull her skirt down and embarked towards him.
Establish eye-contact
! she ordered herself, in a sergeant-major voice.
She did.
Prepare to smile
!
She smiled.
With feeling
!
With feeling.
Hold it…
She held it.
Now
,
speak to him! And make it good
!
Feeling that her tongue had swollen to ten times its normal size, she managed, ‘Good morning, Joe.’
Was that the best you could do? That’s shocking! I’ve no choice but to tell you to wiggle your bum
.
Stiffly, woodenly, she attempted an undulation of her hips as she walked away until, with frantic relief, she reached her chair and was allowed to stop.
Then, trembling, she sat at her desk and waited for the fruits of her labours. With her wanton behaviour she’d sent him an unmistakable invitation. Would he take her up on it by coming over and asking her out? Perhaps not, she acknowledged, if the only thing he’d liked about her in the past had been her unavailability.
And then there was the Angie factor. Katherine still had no definite proof that Joe and Angie were seeing each other, but if they were, it was bad news for Katherine. And Fintan.
She spent an uneasy morning, full of anxious anticipation, observing Joe discreetly. She eyed his long, sensitive fingers
swooping back his hair and yearned for them to touch her. She itched to put her arms around his narrow waist.
By lunchtime he hadn’t been over, so she girded her loins, smiled at him once more and said, ‘Have a nice lunch.’ Let no one say that Katherine Casey shirked her duties!
All afternoon she was tensed for his arrival. Keeping a surreptitious lookout, watching him at his desk. She was unnerved by how handsome she found him. Leaning back in his chair, on the phone, laughing at something the other person had said. Or talking to one of his team, ideas flitting across his face. Or tapping a biro thoughtfully off his teeth, his eyes faraway and speculative. It gave her a warm, nervous, expectant hum in her stomach.
But still he didn’t show. So around five o’clock she smiled at him
again
, to indicate that she was game for a drink after work. But he just returned her smile cautiously, showing some – but not all – of his white teeth, and said nothing, while Katherine began to feel mild resentment that she was the one doing all the work here. He wasn’t what you might call pulling his weight, she thought huffily. Or meeting her half-way.
As the very long day came to an end, and Katherine packed up her stuff, she tried to exude with her body language,
I’m going now. I am, you know. Last chance for any Joe Roths who want to ask any Katherine Caseys out for a drink
. But nothing doing.
What more could she do? she asked herself. Short of physically attacking him? Flashing him a breast across the office?
So that was the end of that. She was disappointed, but also relieved – and not entirely surprised. Somewhere along the line she’d realized that Joe Roth was strong and stubborn. Once firmly rejected, he wouldn’t try again.
But at least she’d given it a shot. Maybe, if she was truthful, she’d admit that it had been a little half-hearted. And, of course, it hadn’t had the desired result. But she could go to Fintan in all honesty and say that she’d tried.
And hopefully he wouldn’t withhold his recovery, like a lawyer’s clients who withhold payment when they lose the case. No win, no fee. No shag, no recovery.
When Katherine showed up at the hospital, the phalanx of friends and relations were briefly absent and Sandro and Fintan were having a hard-to-come-by one-to-one. They sat, their heads close together, holding hands, with a comfortable unity about them that she was loath to disturb. Sandro was murmuring something, which caused Fintan to smile. When she got closer she heard what it was.
‘… fresh-water pool, resident masseuse, award-winning chef, nightly entertainment and day-trips to the nearby jungle, where you have an opportunity to ride on an elephant.’
‘Hi,’ Katherine whispered, quietly pulling up a chair.
‘Thailand.’ Fintan’s mouth curved happily. ‘The Orchid Palace in Chiang Mai.’
‘Sounds great.’
‘We’re travelling around Thailand,’ Sandro explained.
‘Going to Phuket next.’
‘Staying in a five-star hotel.’
‘Water-skiing, among other things.’
‘When Fintan’s better we’ll do it for real.’
‘After the safari in Kenya. And two weeks in La Source in Grenada. Show Katherine the brochure of La Source, Sandro.’
Sandro flicked through the pile of travel brochures on the floor beside him, eventually locating La Source, which Katherine
politely admired. Then Sandro went to get drinks, leaving Katherine alone with Fintan. ‘I’ve good news for you,’ she announced. ‘I came on strong to Joe Roth.’
Maybe ‘came on strong’ was a slight exaggeration for three smiles and seven words, but Fintan needn’t know.
‘Great!’ In delight Fintan struggled to sit up and found he couldn’t.
‘Are you OK?’ Katherine asked anxiously. ‘Why are you so weak? It’s three days since you’ve had any chemo.’
‘My immune system is shagged, white blood cells completely flattened.’ He threw his eyes to heaven. ‘A side-effect of the chemo. Though they say everything is a side-effect of the chemo. If I fell off a ladder and broke my leg it’d be a side-effect of the chemo.’
‘Oh dear, it just doesn’t let up.’
‘Ah, never mind.’ He switched his focus to happier things. ‘Tell me about Joe Roth. Are you going out or what? When? Where’s he taking you?’
‘Er, nowhere,’ Katherine felt awful letting Fintan down. ‘He didn’t ask me out.’
‘But you said you’d good news for me.’
‘And I had.’ Katherine forced a bright smile. ‘I did as you asked. I tried my best by smiling and speaking to him, and I know I didn’t get a result, but that’s hardly my fault.’
Fintan sat in silence.
‘I did what you asked,’ she repeated, feebly.
‘No, that won’t do at all,’ Fintan declared imperiously. ‘It just won’t.’
Katherine’s heart sank and once again she contemplated not being friends with Fintan any more.
‘Did you apologize for accusing him of sexual harassment?’ Fintan asked.
‘Well, no…’
‘But how can you expect anything to happen when that’s still hanging between you?’ Fintan scolded. ‘Cop on, Katherine Casey!’
‘What can I do about it?’ she said, stubbornly. ‘What’s said is said.’
‘Apologize to him!’
‘
I can’t
.’ The very thought of going to Joe, all humble and hangdog! She cringed and shuddered.
‘You can’t go around treating people that way,’ Fintan said earnestly. ‘What you did to him was very wrong.’
‘You weren’t there,’ Katherine said, bad-temperedly. ‘He was so pushy, wouldn’t leave me alone…’
‘Was it actual harassment?’ Fintan asked. ‘Was your job in danger if you didn’t do what he wanted?’
‘No, but…’
‘Did he touch you? Or make sexual innuendo?’
‘Yes!’ Katherine said stoutly, remembering how he’d told her he loved her accent, and that she was fabulous.
‘Compliments aren’t the same thing.’ Fintan could be very astute. ‘And didn’t he go away as soon as you told him to?’
‘Yes, but until then he was pushy,’ Katherine said stubbornly. ‘He kept, he kept –
talking
to me.’
‘Listen to yourself, you head case.’
‘And he asked me out for lunch at least four times.’
‘You’re digging yourself in deeper. You’re well on the way to being as loopy as your mother. Now, it’s very simple – apologize, then ask him out for a drink. So what if he says no?
The word no never killed anyone. Go on, you know you want to.’ He twinkled at her roguishly.
‘I do not,’ she insisted, stoutly.
‘Yes, you do. I know you, you’re very stubborn. You wouldn’t have even
smiled
at him if you really hadn’t wanted to. Sure, I’m only a catalyst. For all the complaining you’re doing about me, it’s very handy for you that I got sick, Katherine Casey.’
Deeply uncomfortable, Katherine tried to figure out whether he was joking or not.
‘Isn’t it a godsend for you and your love life!’ Fintan laughed.
‘How can you say such a thing?’ Katherine protested frantically. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong. I only smiled at Joe Roth to get you off my back.’
‘All right,’ Fintan said cheerfully. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it, consider me still on your back.’
Was there no way out of this? Katherine struggled, trying to get free.
‘Please, Katherine,’ Fintan urged, ‘you’re my only hope. There’s no chance that soft-hearted, yellow-bellied Butler will leave the dread Thomas. If you want something done, ask Katherine “Dependable” Casey – she won’t let you down.’
Katherine had a swell of pride before she realized he’d just tightened the trap. ‘You’ve changed.’ She sighed. ‘You’ve become very manipulative.’
‘But you’ll try?’
What else could she say? ‘I’ll try.’
‘Now feast your eyes on me, Katherine,’ Fintan declared. ‘You’re looking at a man of leisure!’
‘Man of leisure’ conjured up suave and urbane pictures: David Niven moustaches, cigarette holders, martini glasses, speedboats, coupés. She took in Fintan’s bony skull-face, his
veiny eyes, his meagre, and becoming more meagre by the hour, hair. Christ. ‘How come?’
‘I’ve been sacked!’
‘By who?’
‘By my boss, who d’you think? Dr Singh? Dale Winton? Richard and Judy? Rikki Lake? God,’ he was sidetracked by wonder, ‘my world has become very small.’
‘But I mean…’
‘It was Carmella. Herself. In sharply tailored, coke-crazed person.’
‘You mean she came into the hospital and sacked you in bed? But why? Can you be sacked for being sick?’
‘She was concerned – get this – that I’d give the wrong image of the company.’
Suddenly Katherine understood. ‘She thinks you’re HIV positive.’
Fintan nodded.
‘But that’s so unjust,’ Katherine protested. ‘And I thought the fashion industry was very accommodating to people with HIV.’
‘Well, maybe she sacked me because I’m
not
HIV,’ Fintan said tartly. ‘I don’t know.’ He set his mouth in a hard line. Then his mutinous face dissolved as his bottom lip started to spasm and tears filled his red-veined eyes. ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ he choked. ‘What’s going to happen? It’s not just the money.’ Katherine was dumbfounded by helplessness. ‘I’ve worked for her for eight years,’ Fintan said miserably. ‘I thought she was my friend. She said she depended on me, and now I’ve been thrown away, human detritus. I never asked to get this horrible illness, and I love my job. I feel so alone. At least if I had Aids, there’d be others in the same boat and we
could talk about T-cells and do all that huggy, touchy-feely stuff and… and… make a quilt!’
‘There are support groups for people with Hodgkin’s disease,’ Katherine said. Since Fintan had first been diagnosed Liv had been saying that he should seek out others with the same condition. In fact she’d been suggesting loudly that they should
all
go to support groups – Mothers of People with Cancer, Partners of People with Cancer. Siblings of People with Cancer, Friends of People with Cancer.
‘Katherine, I know I’m supposed to be strong and nobody likes to see self-pity, but I have to say something,’ Fintan said.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m afraid of the pain. I’m terrified that I’ll die in terrible pain and that they won’t give me enough morphine.’
‘It’ll never come to that,’ Katherine said weakly. ‘Oh, here’s Sandro back.’
Sandro took one look at Fintan, put down the drinks, snatched up a brochure and quickly began to read, ‘Sans Souci Lido in Jamaica. All-inclusive luxury hotel, with private beach, extensive range of water-sports, reflexology, aromatherapy, Caribbean and European restaurants…’