Second Hand Jane (31 page)

“
Why not? It
doesn’t seem that complicated to me.” And with a shrug of her
shoulders, she walked away.

Sometimes it’s
the most simplistic ideologies that make the most sense.

***

Jess’s boss
Niall, who normally took the hardnosed route when it came to
bestowing praise on his journalists, in case they took it to heart
and asked for a pay rise, telephoned her late that morning to
congratulate her on a job well done. He informed her that the paper
was going to be inundated with reader’s responses to her story
because Letters to the Editor were already flowing into his inbox
thick and fast.

“It might make
some of those buggers up there so keen to stir it all up again
think,” he’d growled down the phone in his customary gruff
voice.

Nora had been
next to ring. “Oh, it’s so sad, sweetie; no wonder you’ve been
spending time with the pig farmer. I get it now but you know the
past is the past and you’ve got to look to your future.” She had
sniffed and then in typical Nora style, she’d changed tack and
announced that she could just imagine Ewan playing Owen should the
rights to a movie ever be sold. She’d gone on to suggest Megan Fox
for the role of Amy but then changed her mind, saying she was too
old for the part and it probably wasn’t a great idea throwing Megan
and Ewan together, even if Megan was married.

“Er, Nora,”
Jess had cut in, “Owen doesn’t look anything like Ewan, and I don’t
think he would want his family’s tragedy being Hollywoodized, not
even if Daniel Day-Lewis himself offered to play him but hey thanks
for the thought—gotta go.” She’d disconnected the call with a shake
of her head. She dearly loved her friend but honestly
sometimes.

Brianna had
kept to her traditional role in their friendship by being the
sensitive one. “Oh Jess, what a waste of a life; it’s just so
sad.”

“You sound
surprised,” Jess replied, puzzled. It wasn’t as though Brianna
wasn’t familiar with what had happened to Amy.

“
It’s completely different having it laid
out in black and white and those photos of Amy—well, they bring her
to life and you can see her potential, how beautiful she was. It
really brings it home what a tragedy it was.” Brianna sniffed
loudly. “Do you know I felt ashamed reading it because I still
can’t believe that kind of brutality happened in the country I live
in, even though I have always
known
that it happened. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, I know
what you mean. It does seem surreal now and the Troubles have been
so romanticised, especially by Hollywood, but it was as bloody as
any war.” She shook her head, remembering the conversation she had
just had with Nora. “Life goes on, though. Look at Croatia—the
tourists have been going back there for years even though the
countryside’s still littered with unexploded landmines.”

“You’re right.”
Brianna’s voice quivered. “Do you know, Jess, I don’t think I’d be
able to carry on if anything was to happen to Harry?”

“Owen’s mother
didn’t either, not properly.”

“Have you
spoken to him yet? The poor man! If it’s brought out all these
emotions in me then I can’t imagine how he must be feeling having
his family’s story laid bare like that for all to see.”

Jess squirmed.
She knew she owed him a phone call but she couldn’t bring herself
to ring him, not just yet. The uncertainty of the reception she
would get was holding her back and she had spent the morning hoping
instead that he would phone her. “Um, no, I thought it might be
better to let him ring me, you know, when he feels like talking—if
he feels like talking, that is.”

He was the
person whose voice she had been on tenterhooks to hear each time
she’d picked up the phone that morning.

“Why?”

“You don’t know
Owen.” Jess gave a sardonic little laugh. “Neither do I, for that
matter, because he is the most self-contained man I have ever met.
That’s why I thought it would be better to leave him alone today to
deal with this in his own way. He’ll be in touch if he wants to
be.”

“Don’t give me
that. It sounds like an excuse if ever I heard one. Did you stop to
think that maybe he finds it hard to reach out after everything he
has been through? I think you owe him a phone call at the very
least to see how he is doing.” Brianna was a tough love
advocate.

“I know you’re
right. It’s just…” Brianna, of course, was not privy to the whole
story.

“Just
what?”

“Nothing, it’s
nothing. I’m just being pathetic.” Jess felt awful for being unable
to face the possibility of rejection but it was something she was
going to have to grin and bear. She did owe it to him because it
was her who had started all this and set the article in motion, so
the very least she could do was to let him know she was thinking of
him. “I’ll ring him now.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Dialling his
phone number before she could talk herself out of it, Jess held her
breath as it rang and rang before finally clicking over to the
answering machine. At the sound of Owen’s voice explaining he
wasn’t home, her eyes began to prickle. She sniffed and cleared her
throat and then as the beep sounded she left her message:

“
Owen, hi, it’s Jess. I, uh, I just phoned
to see how you were doing. I hope your copy of the
Express
arrived okay and that you are pleased with the way it all came
together. Um, Niall phoned to tell me the response from readers has
been phenomenal. I’ll forward you the copies of all the Letters to
the Editor. Anyway, I, uh, I hope you’re okay with it and that
Wilbur’s doing okay and that your Dad is okay. Okay, um, bye.” God,
what was with the non-stop okays? She hung up, hoping she hadn’t
sounded too much of a babbling idiot because she hated answerphones
at the best of times and this was not the best of times.

On the floor
spread out in front of her was the
Express
. “Amy’s Story” in its bold black typeface gazed back up at
her. Her eyes flitted over the familiar text before settling on the
photo of Amy holding her disgruntled cat tightly. She had been so
vividly beautiful, so alive. As the tears plopped down her cheeks,
staining the newsprint, she hoped that seeing their sister/daughter
remembered in a story like this had somehow helped Owen and his
father today and that they felt she had done good by
her.

***

Saturday
evening rolled around, leaving Jess with the much more imminent
worry of her mother gate-crashing her life in the near future and
dinner that evening with Nick at Brianna’s.

Marian had
emailed her flight details through that afternoon and if she were
honest with herself, Jess had been glad of the distraction. Her
mother was flying some godforsaken airline Jess had never even
heard of and arriving Tuesday night. When she meant business, she
did not muck about. Speaking of whom, Brie and Nora had been over
the moon when she’d rung them back to tell them her news.

“We’ve heard so
much about her over the years, I can’t wait to meet her,” Brie had
gushed.

“You say that
now,” Jess had muttered darkly.

“What do you
mean?”

“You’ll see for
yourself soon enough.”

“Ah, I am sure
she’s lovely. Now then, did you ring your man?”

“I did but
there was no answer so I left a message.”

“He hasn’t rung
you back?”

“No, he’s
probably with his father for the day.”

“Oh gosh, you
don’t think he’d do anything stupid?”

“Brie, don’t
even go there. Of course I don’t.” God, she could be dramatic. Jess
frowned, not wanting to admit to herself how much she would like to
hear Owen’s voice.

“No, of course
he wouldn’t; he’s lived with it all these years, so he has.”
Brianna did not sound convinced.

“So what are
you cooking us for dinner tonight?” Jess asked, brightly deciding
to distract her friend before she suggested they begin phoning
hospital emergency departments.

“It’s a
surprise.”

“Right, well, I
shall look forward to being surprised,” Jess lied, thinking it may
well be Brianna who was surprised. “See you at seven.”

“See you
then.”

Nora, upon hearing of Marian’s impending
arrival, had been happy to hear she had an ally on her way over.
“If anybody can stop you chucking Mr Right away, it will be your
mother because you’ve certainly not been paying any attention to
me.” Nora seemed oblivious of Jess’s protestations that she wasn’t
chucking Nick anywhere—she would be seeing him that evening for
goodness’ sake! She was beginning to feel like Ross in that
Friends
episode where he kept telling
everyone that he and Rachel were “on a break.” God help her when
Nora and her mother did get together; she shuddered. It would be
bad enough for her having to cope with the pair of them but she
wouldn’t put it past them both to frogmarch poor Nick down to the
registry office!

In the
meantime, though, she had to get through this evening first so she
pushed all thoughts of Owen and her mother aside with a swipe of
the new lippy she’d bought from Boots that morning. Smacking her
lips together, she leaned in closer to the mirror and inspected
them. She wasn’t sure about the shade but the sales assistant had
assured her that red was this season’s colour and that its brick
undertones would do wonders for her pale complexion and auburn
hair. Oh whatever, Jess thought, stepping back from the mirror
disinterestedly. Sales assistants were full of shite; everybody
knew that. Pushing her hair back over her shoulders to inspect her
outfit, she turned this way and that. She’d dressed in a pair of
high-waist, wide-legged black pants she’d owned forever and a day,
teaming them with a pretty cinnamon 1950s top that had a silk bow
under her boobs. It was very flattering in the way it fell and the
colour did wonders for her eyes; at least, that was what Nora had
told her.

“You’ll do,”
she announced to the reflection staring back at her from the mirror
and, satisfied she was as ready as she would ever be, she picked up
her purse. With one last glance at the silent telephone, she paused
for a moment. Should she try phoning Owen again? No, if he wanted
to talk to her, he would be in touch, she told herself sternly
before heading out the door.

A strange sight
greeted her as she strode through the flood-lit quad. Gemma,
dressed in her usual sporty attire, was standing astride a man, her
trainer clad foot planted firmly on his stomach as he pulled
himself up into what looked like a sit-up.

“Come on, are
you man or mouse? Put some effort into it, for God’s sake! I want a
hundred more,” she shouted, looking like some sort of dominatrix
queen except instead of a whip, she was brandishing a water bottle.
Spying Jess, she waved her over. “Off out again, Jess?” She grinned
before raising an eyebrow. “It must be serious.”

“It might be,”
Jess replied enigmatically. “Never mind me, though. What an earth
are you doing?” There was something very familiar about the man
Gemma was doing God knows what to, she thought, studying his
flushed face and pained expression.

“This is Jimmy
from apartment forty-four up there.” Gemma pointed in the direction
of Puff the Magic Dragon’s lair. It was him! Jess realised as he
paused to give her a half-hearted wink and rasping out an, “Oright,
love?”

“Did I say you
could stop? No, I did not! Get back into it, man!” Gemma yelled and
with a look of half terror, half admiration, he did as he was told.
“He’s been hanging out his apartment window whistling at me
whenever I walk through the courtyard for weeks now and he finally
asked me out but I said I’d only go out with him if he stopped
smoking. Exercise helps keep his mind off the fags.”

“Oh, right.”
Jess felt vaguely betrayed at the news she wasn’t the only one on
the receiving end of his whistles but then again, she thought,
looking at the sweaty red face with a shudder, rather Gemma than
her. “Good for you, Gem. Got to run. Bye.”

Nick was
running late again. Considering she was by nature a punctual
person, this grated and Jess tapped her foot impatiently in the
foyer, feeling a stab of irritation pierce the grey cloud that had
been hovering over her all day. She hated to keep Brianna waiting
too, knowing that she would have gone to loads of trouble. The
evening was not off to a good start and she hadn’t even left her
apartment building yet!

By the time
Nick pulled up at seven twenty, she had bitten two fingernails down
to the quick. As she raced outside, she was assailed by both the
cold night air and the bass line of Justin Timberlake once more.
Ducking down and clambering inside the idling car, she couldn’t
help but wonder what was wrong with a bit of good old Dire Straits
or even Floyd—they just seemed that little bit more masculine for
someone of Nick’s era—but to her relief, he turned the stereo down
before leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

“You are
looking particularly stunning tonight,” he murmured, stroking her
hair, his voice thick. With that compliment, Jess felt her
irritation disperse as he indicated right and merged out into the
flow of evening traffic.

Deftly swerving
to avoid a bus busy pulling out, Nick cursed the driver under his
breath before regaining his equilibrium. “I read your piece in the
paper today. It was pretty powerful stuff—not your usual style.”
His eyebrow was raised in query as he glanced over at her.

“No, not my
usual style at all. How did your trip down South go?” Jess changed
the subject, not wanting to discuss Amy or Owen with him. It felt
wrong and she was glad that for the rest of the drive to Bray he
was content to fill her in on Cork and his prowess—or lack of it—on
the golf course. She’d have found his commentary amusing if she
didn’t have such a sense of impending doom where the evening ahead
was concerned.