‘All right! I admit it, I knew Johnny had a thing for me. Well, I suspected. But is that so bad, Nell? For my whole life, no one fancied me, only prissy old fools who lived with their mothers and had wacko hobbies, and then two rides come along at once. And I didn’t encourage it. Plus! Plus! I was sure he only wanted me because I belonged to his buddy, you know?’
‘I do.’ Nell realized that Jessie was slightly drunk.
‘No one believes me, Nell. Maybe Saoirse does. But Ferdia doesn’t. Ferdia really doesn’t, no matter how often I tell him. Izzy – you know, Rory’s sister – wrote a thing on TripAdvisor, saying I was a whore. Me! I’ve only slept with four men in the whole of my life.’
‘That’s rough.’
‘Do you know what age I was when Rory died? Thirty-four! Barely older than you are now. By which I mean, young! I really loved Rory, I was devastated. People said I shouldn’t have fallen for his best friend. But doesn’t that seem the most logical person to fall for? Ferdia and Saoirse knew him – wasn’t that better than bringing a stranger into their lives?’
‘Of course.’
‘But it was very sad, losing the Kinsellas. Took a long time to get over it. Ah, don’t mind me, Nell, I’m a bit pissed.’ She stared into her now-empty wine glass. ‘I’ve finished my drink. Nature’s way of telling me I’ve overstayed my welcome. Right, I’d better go down and feed the bunnies. See you later.’
For some reason, lately Jessie couldn’t stop thinking of those early days with Rory and Johnny.
Within weeks of each other, the three of them had started in sales at Irish Dairy International. Almost the same age, doing the same job, in friendly rivalry with each other, they’d bonded instantly.
The Three Amigos – they’d actually been nicknamed that. From the word go, they’d had so much fun.
Johnny was the charmer: chatty, entertaining, generous with compliments and widely regarded as very sexy. For one of his birthdays, the girls in marketing Photoshopped his picture with a star glinting off his smile.
Rory was the steadier of the two, amusing and witty in a quiet way.
The funny thing was that, seeing she’d go on to marry both of them, she hadn’t fancied either of them.
She liked fey, creative boys, the more anguished the better. Loving them back to happiness was always her hope but, at best, those types were simply bemused by her. Neither Rory nor Johnny was remotely angst-ridden. Cheerfully they talked about wanting to own their own home, drive a cool car, get promoted – the same life goals Jessie had.
They liked the same music and the same movies – middle-of-the-road stuff. (Despite Jessie’s fondness for unsuccessful creatives with dirty hair, her taste was solidly mainstream.) She was never tongue-tied or shy around either of them. They, in turn, treated her like one of the lads. In a lifetime first, she fitted in.
It became their thing to go for drinks on a Friday and dissect their disappointing love lives. Rory and Jessie seemed to specialize in unrequited crushes, while Johnny was a commitment-phobe who accumulated obsessives. It had taken well over a year for Jessie and Rory suddenly to become awkward around each other, while Johnny circled, confused and anxious. For about a month, all three were locked in an uneasy tension until one Friday night it came to a head.
It was late, there were no taxis to be had, so Rory and Johnny said they’d walk Jessie home.
It had happened before, it was no big deal. Except that, walking along, three abreast, with Jessie in the middle, Rory quietly took her hand.
She’d been expecting it. Expecting something. And he’d picked that particular night to make his move.
Then, almost laughably, on her other side, Johnny slipped his arm around her waist.
She hadn’t reacted to Rory holding her hand and she didn’t react to this.
She didn’t know how to.
The three of them marched along the rain-glistening pavements, perfectly in step. No one spoke. Sandwiched between both men, in a state of almost feverish confusion, Jessie wanted this never to end. Or perhaps she wanted it to stop immediately. She had no idea.
Did Rory and Johnny each know what the other was doing?
At the time she’d thought they didn’t. But in later years she’d decided that maybe they did, that they were locked in some sort of almost-sibling rivalry and she was their battleground. After a lifetime of pining