Anybody Out There - Marian Keyes by Anybody Out There

still sure that's what you want."

"It is. Is Luke coming over with her?"

"No. And thank God for that," Mum added heartily, lying down beside me.

"I thought you liked him."

"I do like him. Especially since he's agreed to marry her."

"I think it might have been since she agreed to marry him."

Rachel and Luke had been living together for so long that even Mum had given up hoping that
Rachel would "stop making a show of us all." Then, just over two months ago, to everyone's
great surprise, they announced their engagement. Initially, the news plunged Mum into despair
because she concluded the only reason they were getting married after all this time was because
Rachel was pregnant. But Rachel wasn't pregnant; they were getting married simply because
they wanted to and I'm very glad they went public when they did, because if they had waited
even a few days longer, they'd have felt that out of deference to me and my circumstances, they
couldn't. But the date was set, the hotel was even booked--it was owned by a "recovery" friend
of Rachel's who was giving them a good deal. Mum had been horrified when she'd heard: "A
drug addict! It'll be just like the Chelsea Hotel"--and if Rachel and Luke backed out now, they
knew I'd feel even worse.

"So if you like Luke, what's the problem?"

"I just wonder..."

"What?"

"I wonder does he wear underpants?"

"Jesus," I said faintly.

"And if I stand too close to him, I feel like I want to...to...I feel like I want to bite him."

She was staring at the ceiling, locked in some Luke-centric reverie, when Dad stuck his head
round the door and said to Mum, "Phone."

She gave a little jump, then heaved herself off the bed, and when she returned, she was clearly
troubled.
"That was Claire."

"How is she?"

"She's coming from London on Saturday afternoon, that's how she is."

"Is it a problem?"

"She's coming because she wants to see Rachel in person to beg her not to get married to Luke."

"Ah." Just like she'd begged me not to marry Aidan.

Maybe she'd had a nerve doing such a thing, but as it had happened, I'd definitely had my
doubts. I'd known Aidan was a risk--although, funnily enough, not in the way it turned out.

Should I have listened to Claire? In the last few weeks spent sitting in the garden watching the
flowers, letting my tears leak into my wounds, I'd thought about it a lot. I mean, look at me now,
just look at the state of me.

I kept asking myself if it was better to have loved and lost. But what a stupid, pointless question
because it's not like I was given any choice.

"I'm not having Claire shag up this wedding on me," Mum said.

"It's not her fault." After her own union had gone so disastrously wrong, Claire began to deride
marriage as "a load of bollocks." She went on about women being treated like serfs and that the
"giving away" bit reduced us to nothing but chattel, being passed from the control of one man to
another.

"I want this wedding to go ahead," Mum said.

"You'll have to get a stupid-looking hat. Yet another one."

"A stupid-looking hat is the least of my worries."

     12

W hen Rachel arrived on Saturday morning, the first thing Mum said to her was, "Look
radiant, for the love of God. Claire is coming to tell you not to get married."

"She isn't?" Rachel was amused. "I don't believe it. She did that to you, too, Anna, didn't she?"
Then, realizing she'd put her foot in it, she jerked as if someone had just rammed a poker up her
bum. Quickly she changed the subject. "How radiant do you want me to look?"
Mum and Helen surveyed Rachel doubtfully. Rachel's look was the low-key sleek New York
downtime one: cashmere hoody, canvas cutoffs, and superlightweight trainers, the kind that fold
in eight and fit in a matchbox.

"Do something with your hair," Helen suggested, and obediently Rachel unclasped a clip on top
of her head and a load of heavy dark hair tumbled down her back.

"Why, Miss Walsh, you're beautiful," Mum said sourly. "Comb it! Comb it! And smile a lot."

The