The decision is made, Ailbhe. And it was the right one. Seb would not have been a good father. My future is with Tom. Stop thinking there’s anything unfinished. When I leave Dublin, this stress will fuck off. In the meantime, a little medicating the guilt with booze isn’t hurting anyone.
Out loud, she forced herself to sound more sure of herself. ‘I’ve probably ticked off a lot of the things,’ she offered. ‘Started my own business. Travelled a good bit – the beauty business is class for that. I went on location to amazing places when I was doing movies. And after we set up Beautify, we went to trade shows everywhere.’
‘Our lives aren’t over.’ Lindy sipped pensively. ‘But you do kind of get the feeling of possibilities being out of reach after kids. I always thought I’d have my own business. When we got back to Dublin and I was working in the therapy centre, I did have an idea for a matchmaking app – your family did the swiping and matching with the help of a qualified psychologist. Anyway, when Maxxed Out took off, I felt like I had to pick Maxxed Out. So I did. I didn’t want to be left out of Adam and Max’s thing.’ She shrugged and Ailbhe detected a strange bitterness in the way she said ‘Adam’, though maybe bitterness was just a natural accompaniment to working with your husband. ‘Anyway,’ Lindy carried on, ‘Snag listing your life would be an amazing business. Everyone has regrets! What’s your regret, Roe? What’s the thing you’re afraid of not getting to do if you have this baby?’
Roe gazed down at her lap, a little crimson flush burnishing her high cheekbones. ‘I’ve never really put myself out there with anything so I probably haven’t taken enough risks to evenhaveunfinished business.’
Ailbhe was starting to feel protective towards her – she seemed so unsure of herself. ‘What about the restaurant? You’re the manager, right? Would you ever want to have your own place?’
‘God, no, it’s such a difficult industry even before all the Covid crap. I think the problem is I’ve never wanted anything for myself. I think when I was younger I was always trying to do the things that I knew my parents would be happy with. As futile asthatwas. And then after I met Eddie, I was working but his career has always been the bigger thing.’
‘Would you go back and study?’ Lindy asked.
‘That’s boring,’ Ailbhe interjected. ‘This is a hypothetical conversation. What is the thing you would do if the laws of time and physics and logic and, most importantly,consequencesdid not apply?’
Roe laughed. ‘I don’t know!’
‘Of course you do.’ Lindy was catching Ailbhe’s enthusiasm. ‘What’s the thing you think about doing when you’re in the shower daydreaming?’
‘Probably sing professionally.’ Roe was barely audible as she said this. ‘I’m in a choir but obviously it’s not the same.’
‘Oooh, are you any good?’ Lindy leaned forward. ‘I was an alto in school.’
‘I’m not bad.’ Roe shrugged. ‘I’m grand, but if we were doing your idea, Lindy, the life snags – that’d be mine. I really wanted to try out for things like the musical in school but I never had the confidence. And I know it’s not like a baby is the only thing between me and my “life on the stage”.’ She put on a booming voice. ‘There are plenty more things working against me!’ She grinned. ‘But I suppose a baby would definitely be the end of the potential for that.’
‘It abso-fucking-lutely would.’ Ailbhe nodded solemnly.
9
‘FIELDING IS 5!!!’ BRAYED THE BANNER HANGING over the door of number 3, crescent F. Lindy felt drained just looking at it.
You knew it was going to be a long drag of a party when even just the invite was exhausting. It had been a video of Fielding holding a clapper that said ‘birthday boy’ in the middle of the immaculate garden in a crisp white shirt and little suit pants. ‘Pwease come to my mama and daddy’s house for my fifth burday pardee on Saturday …’ The end credits and cutesy blooper reel with ‘mama’ Rachel looking ludicrously dolled up while clowning around were truly unforgivable. The verdict in the Snag List WhatsApp had been damning.
LINDY: I realise my son is all over the internet but it’s the laboured performance I find so offensive about this. At least we’ve never scripted the Maxxed Out channel – well, not that much. Apart from Adam’s cringe catchphrases. And, OK, some of the more complex ‘adventure video’ narratives. But this poor child is being coached for a 30 second video.
AILBHE: Horrific.
ROE: Outrageous that straights can subject their kids to this kind of shite while gay families are put through the wringer to have their kids.
And Ailbhe and Roe didn’t even know the extent of Rachel’s crap. Lindy hadn’t told a soul about what she’d seen the night of the Monteray Mixer. Confronting Adam felt impossible. It had been two weeks and she had been utterly paralysed. Who could she even tell? No one would understand that she couldn’t tackle something like this right at the beginning of the summer-content schedule. The Monteray rollout was only starting: she couldn’t jeopardise that deal – it was worth hundreds of thousands of euro – she couldn’t risk their literal home over some sexting. And that was definitely all it was. Well. Sexting with visuals. Whateverthatwas called. Her stomach clenched. The humiliation gripped her anytime her thoughts drifted back to that night. She’d been back and forth about confronting him. The problem was that, as with everything else in their marriage, Adam’s recent betrayal felt somehow knit into the Maxxed Out world. More and more she was thinking she needed a plan B. Her thoughts kept turning back to the Snag List idea. Surely she wasn’t the only one feeling snookered by her life choices. Starting a business like that could be a way to get away from Maxxed Out and back to having her own bit of independence. After all, would a normal wife have kept her mouth shut upon discovering her husband like that? She had watched him masturbate over another woman – their new fucking neighbour, no less – and then checked the company diary to figure out when might be a good time to address the issue so it wouldn’t impact the Maxxed Out timetable too much.
As Adam rang the doorbell, Lindy fired off a quick text to the Snag List group:
LINDY: Please tell me you guys are already here …
The Snag List group had rapidly become the best thing about the move to Monteray. Since their boozy afternoon at Ailbhe’s, the chat had moved far past boring house-related issues and they were more like proper friends, not just neighbours. Ailbhe and Roe were generally there for whatever moaning or bitchy observation she needed to offload at any given time and were equally forthcoming with their own. She wished Ailbhe wasn’t leaving – her flight was just weeks away – though Lindy knew she was dying to get out of Monteray. At least she’d still have Roe.
The door swung open and Rachel Fitzsimon fixed them with a megawatt smile. ‘The Zelners! You guys! Thank you so much for coming.’ Rachel’s pep and white bandage dress, which presumably she would need to be surgically removed from after the party, had the immediate effect of making Lindy tired and clearly invigorating Adam. Lindy stood swallowing back her rage as the two embraced warmly.
When Rachel finally released her husband and made to hug her, Lindy raised a hand to head her off at the pass. ‘I’m not a hugger,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s not germ related – just, honestly, why does every social encounter need to be book-ended with full body contact?’
‘Riiiight.’ Rachel’s smile was dampened slightly but still clinging on. ‘And, of course, this is Max.’ She bent lower with visible difficulty: the dress was like a straitjacket, and Rachel’s breasts were making a bid for freedom almost directly into Max’s face. ‘You’re a pretty big deal around this house.’ She winked. ‘Fielding will be so excited to meet you at last.’
Inside, the house – a carbon copy of their own – was packed with the kind of demographic Lindy always felt like an outsider among: extremely well-to-do people, all preternaturally successful in their various industries.
She and Adam had only been to a few soirées in Monteray, but each one had reminded Lindy of the parties in secondary school. Even in adulthood, the cliques were demarcated by a nebulous social code that, twenty years later, Lindy still struggled to decipher. They all seemed to know each other, or if notknoweach other then be connected in tangential ways – golf club, secondary school, sailing. In a word, it was all veryDublin. And not a Dublin Lindy had ever felt a part of.
She took a glass from a passing waiter –Seriously, wait staff? At a five years old’s birthday?– and slipped in to a circle of women, some of whom she knew from the few times she’d managed to drag Max out to the park.
