Page 10 of Love Unlocked

‘Just leave it in the sink,’ Louise says wearily.

Faith chirps happily suddenly from her playpen.

‘Bye,’ Melody whispers to Faith. She would usually cuddle her but Faith is their daughter and she very much feels the lines are drawn. She self-consciously makes her way to the door, neither of them moving from their seats to see her off which feels like a punch in the gut. Waiting for her to leave so they can pick up on their life. A pebble in their shoe. She hopes she’s doing the right thing when she jogs back into the kitchen, surprising them.

‘Louise, Sam never proposed to me.’ She talks to her as if Sam isn’t even in the room. ‘It never got that far. You’re the only one he’s ever proposed to. You’re his wife. And I’m sorry.’ She leaves quickly before she bursts into tears.

She was supposed to charge her e-scooter at Sam’s house but as soon as she arrived she could feel the tension and couldn’t bring herself to ask to do something so trivial. Now her scooter is dead and she wheels it down the road, her cheeks burning with shame.

On Sundays at brunch she has a set in a Georgian town house. She tries to channel relaxing Ibiza chill house music with a live saxophone player, Vivienne, who makes her way around the tables as she plays, to try to convince brunchers that they’re not in cold crisp Ireland in January with no money after Christmas. Music is transformative but she’s not sure if she can work that particular miracle today. During a break in her set she sits down with her friends who are filling themselves with mimosas and margaritas.

Gemma is crying.

‘What’s wrong?’ Melody joins them. ‘What happened?’

‘She broke up with Chris,’ a friend says to her quietly.

‘What? What the hell?’ Melody shouldn’t be surprised about anything anymore. The Doomsday clock is set at eighty-nine seconds to midnight, the closest ever to human extinction, why should she be surprised about a break-up? There were couples you couldn’t believe were together and time was just ticking down until they realised what everybody else already knew, and there were couples like Gemma and Chris who were stable, solid, together since their teens.

This news deeply saddens everyone at the table and the party flows right out of Melody.

‘I don’t know,’ Gemma says, blowing her red nose, confused. ‘It came out of nowhere on Thursday. We were arguing about the dishwasher and then … we’d broken up.’

Ah, everyone nods, understanding. The dishwasher.

‘It feels like everyone is breaking up,’ another friend offers. ‘My sister and her husband broke up last week too. Out of the blue. Nobody else involved, four kids, just like that.’ She clicks her fingers.

They sit in sombre silence.

‘Sorry for bringing down the mood,’ Gemma says.

They tell her that it’s okay, that she hasn’t. But she has and they can’t get it back again. In fact the entire gig feels sombre. It’s supposed to be laid-back but there’s a melancholic feeling to the entire set and Melody can’t change the vibe no matter how she tries. At another table across the room she sees a young woman cry and all of her friends huddle around her.

When the waitress comes to clear their glasses away and take a new order, she overhears the conversation, and tells them that the bartender has also broken up with his girlfriend. On that note there’s a loud crash as he angrily throws a bottle into the recycling bin. They all look up to see a muscular handsome man with a perfectly chiselled face moodily attack the cocktail shaker as if he’s trying to end all life on earth.

‘Not all bad news then,’ Melody says, watching his powerful shoulders in motion, and the girls laugh.

‘He’s perfect for you,’ Gemma says, smiling for the first time. ‘He’ll be battered and bruised and not able for a new relationship.’

‘Just how I like them,’ Melody says with a grin, popping an olive into her mouth.

‘I’ll let him know you said that,’ the waitress says, making her way back to the bar.

After the gig they part and go their separate ways, back to their sad dark January lives, a little brighter only for Melody now that she has bartender Filip Wozniak’s number in her phone.

When Melody steps into the apartment she senses she has company. She smells aftershave and hears a deep voice. She also smells smoke. The balcony sliding door is ajar and the end of the cigarette lights up in the dark. Two people are sitting out on the balcony. There are empty bottles of wine on the counter, corkscrew and corks scattered, with dirty dishes in the sink.

Claire, her flatmate and landlady, is entertaining a man, which is surprising as Claire, a junior counsel criminal barrister, has a no-men-in-the-apartment policy. Tonight Melody is relieved that Claire is breaking her own rule because it means that she will stay home. Melody likes to be alone, she is a solitary person, but she doesn’t like to be alone at night and she will do almost anything to prevent those terrifying longest nights of the year from happening. She likes to be spiritually, relationship-py alone, but not physically.

If Claire goes away on holiday then Melody also arranges her holiday around that time or Melody’s mum moves in. If Claire is away for a single night or for the weekend, then Melody will stay at work later, or overnight with a friend, or beg them to stay with her. Not much begging is required, her friends are good and understanding but they are increasingly busier with their own lives, as friendship is still important but fades in ever demanding lives: marriage, children, jobs.

She’s not afraid of the dark, or of sleeping alone because she does that most nights, but it is a little of everything. She gets deeply anxious, every little sound magnified. Even her music collection, which can normally be relied upon to transport her wherever she wants to go, is no use at night. Her body is in flight mode all night, and her head races with terrifying thoughts that her alone-ness is like a beacon to all the crazies in the world. When she was sixteen, she moved to London to live with her dad. He was still very famous, and his house was always full – until suddenly one day it wasn’t. Ever since then, a night alone elicits a panic attack so she avoids it. She has an understanding flatmate who gives her notice, when she can, if she’s not going to be home. They have diary date meetings where Claire gives her holiday dates and work nights away well in advance as if she’s an employee requesting time off.

Their apartment is situated in Dublin’s city centre in Spencer Dock, a vibrant address beside the River Liffey. She had to give up the apartment by the train tracks. She’s surrounded at all times by thousands of apartment blocks in every direction around her, as well as businesses, shops, retail units and restaurants. Yet, she still does not like to be home alone.

The balcony door slides open and Claire steps in.

‘Hey,’ she says, her voice low. ‘Sorry about the mess. I’ll tidy it later.’