Read Online Chestnut Street by Maeve Binchy - Free Book Online

complaining that yet another disastrous romance was fizzling out on her sofa or in her gas oven. Wearily I answered. It sounded like a very drunk man.
    “Yes?” I said, resigning myself.
    “I’m very drunk,” said the voice, a bit unnecessarily but with a need for definition of terms before we started. “I had to be drunk, otherwise I’d never have had the courage to ring you. I fancy you enormously, I think I love you, actually, I’m not sure about loving you, but I do know that I need you. I’ll have to meet you properly, I can’t bear all these hypocritical chats we have, talking about things that don’t matter like scholarships, and homework, and the need to study. I want to talk about you, yourself, andme, and myself. I want to walk in the country with you. I want to have dinner with you in lovely places, and hold you and look after you.”
    Well, that all sounded fairly genial of him, I said heartily, but on the other hand did I know him at all?
    “No, of course you don’t. How could you know me when I have to talk about homework and scholarships with you and the goddamn need to study … and I don’t know you. When we have been able to get away from all those terrible buildings and corridors, and car parks and parent-teacher meetings, then I’ll know you and you’ll know me.”
    It obviously had something to do with school. The mad thought that one of the pupils was a ventriloquist or some kind of male impersonator came to my mind.
    “Who is that?” I said crisply.
    “Oh, that voice, I love it, I love it, so cool, so unflappable, so unlike any other female voice in the world,” he said happily. “I’m Susie’s father, of course, and I’ve been in love with you forever. I’m Simon Scott who loves you, that’s who I am.”
    Mr. Scott, Susie’s father? An insignificant sort of man, but then, weren’t they all? Tall, sort of middle-aged, middle-size, always talking about scholarships and homework and the need to study. Oh, God, this was something else. But suddenly it came to me in a flash that
he
could be my problem, I could become all emotional and upset over him, and confide to people how terrible the situation was, and why hadn’t I met him earlier, and why couldn’t he leave his wife for me. And the coincidence about his name being Simon—that was staggering. That was the fictitious man that those drunks in the bar had said I belonged to. Perhaps it was the same Simon.
    “Do you have a lot of drunken friends who are trying to remember the words of ‘The Listeners,’ Mr. Scott?” I asked.
    “My darling, my darling, you are psychic—of course I do. They all came around to my house and they’re in the other roomstill trying to remember them. We are made for each other, my love. How else would you know what I am thinking and I am thinking what you are thinking …” His voice trailed away, the effort of trying to make a long sentence was very hard.
    Very well, Simon would be my problem. Donal and Judy, and Miss O’Brien and Lisa, all of them would have to talk me out of him, make me see sense. I must make sure first that he was a proper problem.
    “What about Susie’s mother?” I asked. There was no problem about getting involved with a man who was free. I couldn’t recall Mrs. Scott from parent-teacher meetings, but then tonight I could hardly recall anyone.
    “She never understood me, not from the start; she has no soul. She’s away now, coming back tomorrow. She went to see her cousin—that’s the limit of her imagination, going to see a cousin. I don’t hate her, I’ll always be good to her, but you … I must have you … I need you.”
    It sounded very promising indeed.
    “Would you have to meet secretly?” I asked. “Would you just be able to snatch minutes to come and see me? Would we have to pretend in front of other people that we hardly knew each other? Would it be full of confusion and recriminations, and a misunderstanding twice a week?”
    He sounded