Read Online At a Time Like This by Catherine Dunne - Free Book Online

said, and this is something that did strike me even at the time as being significant, although I didn’t know why, couldn’t
have explained its resonance, ‘red-haired women can endure more pain than anyone else, even more than red-haired men. What do you think of that?’
    Poor Claire. Maybe that’s why in more recent times she’s always chosen such unsuitable partners: because she can stand the pain. Or perhaps it’s why the unsuitable ones have
been drawn to her. Do your worst, her cells seem to say. I can take it.
    It’s strange, though. Claire has always had the sort of physical charm that women envy but that men seem to find intimidating. When we were young, I used to think that when boys looked at
Claire, they had to have thought that nobody so lovely could possibly be available. Surely she’d already been swept off her feet: claimed by some man, while they were mere boys. Except
for Paul, of course. He was brave enough to capture her. When all that ended, though, Claire seemed to go to ground. She stayed resolutely single, using her looks as a shield to repel all those who
would dare to approach her. Meanwhile, the more ordinary-looking among us got dates, invitations, letters from love-struck youths.
    Over the years, our little group has doled out too many evenings of comfort to Claire: too many to be good for her, I mean. Nevertheless, she’s not blameless either. None of us is. How can
we be? As my mother used to say, ‘It takes two to tango.’ And that was the sum total of her wisdom regarding the war between the sexes. I was to interpret it as best I saw fit. And I
have done so, finding it as satisfying a way as any of accepting, and allocating, responsibility for the things I do and for the things done to me. And Claire was definitely responsible for the
tension and bad feeling that fractured our group friendship, almost beyond repair, some ten or eleven years ago. But that’s a whole other story.
    I close the shutters in my bedroom now, but leave the windows open. That way, the night air can filter through to me, but the possibilities of bug infestations are reduced. Never one to take
chances, I plug in my mosquito repellent, always mindful of my first joyful, heedless visit here about four years ago. Back then, I had thrown open the shutters of my rented villa in an exultation
of welcome, dizzy on champagne and stars and velvety darkness. The following morning saw me in the local pharmacy, my arms bitten and swollen, my face unrecognizable. I had thrown back the sheet
during the night, too, apparently leaving just my feet and shins covered. I will simply not go there on the ferocity and the number of bites that had left me, as the grave signorina with her white
coat and antiseptic air told me, ‘ completamente avvelenatd. Completely toxic. I remember thinking that there were probably quite a few people who would agree with that
characterization, but I wasn’t up to even a weak stab at humour.
    I take off my makeup, tone and moisturize my face, brush my teeth with my new electric toothbrush. I undress in the huge bathroom, the tub already filled with warm, scented water, and I light
the candles that I dotted around everywhere on my last visit. Just before I step in, my new mobile beeps. I scroll down through the text message and smile, surprised at the potency of longdistance
love.
    I know that a full bath is an irresponsible luxury in a land that is short of water. But who cares? I shall allow myself this, as often as I like, until he arrives. Tomorrow, the brisk regime of
early walks and purposeful activity will begin.
    For now, though, all I want is to float, quietly, on the small ocean of possibility that my life is about to become.
    Tomorrow will bring what it will.

3. Maggie
    Georgie and Claire and I used to call her Helly, back then: short for Helicopter. I’m talking about Nora, of course. She’d always had this amazing instinct for
where and when the rest of us might be