recovered from his death. Not that anyone would recover from that,’ he added, ‘but afterwards, she literally ceased to function. She’d always been an anxious person but she simply went to pieces. Freya was their only child and after a while, when it became apparent that Gemma wasn’t functioning, Mum stepped in and said Freya couldn’t live like that any more. Gemma would forget to buy food, forget to cook dinner, forget to get Freya from school, that sort of thing. So Freya’s with Mum now and it’s brilliant. She keeps Mum young, Mum says. We all get a great kick out of her. Gemma’s doing much better now, too. She can’t work, though, but she sees Freya all the time, things are good there.’
Peggy loved hearing about his family. Apart from poor Aunt Gemma, they sounded nice and normal: the sort of family she’d love to have been a part of. That’s when she knew the fantasy was over and that she had to listen to the voice telling her she should end it. Normal wasn’t for her. She’d screw up normal. She was probably a lot more like Aunt Gemma than anyone else in David’s grounded family. Not that she was likely to forget to buy food or cook – Peggy was incredibly organized and seldom forgot anything – but she was far from normal.
‘Now you know all about me,’ he said. ‘Tell me about you, about your family.’
Peggy had a well-rehearsed story about a small family who lived in a bungalow in a town in the centre of the country: a gentle mother who loved needlework and knitting, and a father who was a mechanic. He’d come from a farming background, while her mother had been born in Dublin’s city centre.
‘No brothers or sisters, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I’d have loved to be part of a big family like yours. I’m jealous. I was such a tomboy when I was younger, climbing trees with the boys, having fights!’
Normally, people lapped up this story and laughed at the notion of Peggy getting into fights. It was a perfect distraction and nobody had ever questioned the truth of it. Until now.
David’s brow furrowed.
She looked at the face she wanted to touch, so she knew each contour and felt a yearning gap inside. It had to end and soon.
‘I can’t see you having fights,’ he said finally. ‘You’re too gentle. You’re joking, surely?’
Peggy summoned up a smile in the middle of her misery. ‘No, I was a tomboy, honestly.’
‘Apart from the knitting and sewing, then,’ David said, still looking as if he didn’t believe her.
‘Oh, yes, apart from that,’ Peggy agreed.
He was too clever, too able to see inside her, she thought. How had he got inside her head so quickly?
In bed that night, unable to sleep, she practised different ways of telling him it was over: ‘I’m too young, David, too young for the picket fence and the two-point-five children.’
Even in her head, the mental David had an answer to that argument: ‘How do you have two-point-five children? I’ve always wondered.’
She’d never left anyone properly before. She’d had dates and boyfriends over the years, but nothing serious, nothing that couldn’t be undone by packing up and moving on. She had no experience of how to handle this.
Two days later, she was so preoccupied trying to come up with a way to end it that she somehow found herself agreeing to go back to his house for dinner on their third date.
‘The lads are out for the evening – I almost had to bribe them. They want to see this woman I can’t stop talking about,’ he told her on the phone.
Peggy beamed at the thought of David talking about her.
‘And I cleaned the house and told them that, if they messed it up, I would destroy Brian’s electric guitar and put Steve’s precious football jersey, the one signed by the Irish team, into the wash.’
They both laughed.
‘You’d never do that,’ Peggy teased.
‘What, you don’t think I can be cruel and dangerous?’ he said, laughing.
‘No,’ she said quietly.
How easy
Peggy loved hearing about his family. Apart from poor Aunt Gemma, they sounded nice and normal: the sort of family she’d love to have been a part of. That’s when she knew the fantasy was over and that she had to listen to the voice telling her she should end it. Normal wasn’t for her. She’d screw up normal. She was probably a lot more like Aunt Gemma than anyone else in David’s grounded family. Not that she was likely to forget to buy food or cook – Peggy was incredibly organized and seldom forgot anything – but she was far from normal.
‘Now you know all about me,’ he said. ‘Tell me about you, about your family.’
Peggy had a well-rehearsed story about a small family who lived in a bungalow in a town in the centre of the country: a gentle mother who loved needlework and knitting, and a father who was a mechanic. He’d come from a farming background, while her mother had been born in Dublin’s city centre.
‘No brothers or sisters, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I’d have loved to be part of a big family like yours. I’m jealous. I was such a tomboy when I was younger, climbing trees with the boys, having fights!’
Normally, people lapped up this story and laughed at the notion of Peggy getting into fights. It was a perfect distraction and nobody had ever questioned the truth of it. Until now.
David’s brow furrowed.
She looked at the face she wanted to touch, so she knew each contour and felt a yearning gap inside. It had to end and soon.
‘I can’t see you having fights,’ he said finally. ‘You’re too gentle. You’re joking, surely?’
Peggy summoned up a smile in the middle of her misery. ‘No, I was a tomboy, honestly.’
‘Apart from the knitting and sewing, then,’ David said, still looking as if he didn’t believe her.
‘Oh, yes, apart from that,’ Peggy agreed.
He was too clever, too able to see inside her, she thought. How had he got inside her head so quickly?
In bed that night, unable to sleep, she practised different ways of telling him it was over: ‘I’m too young, David, too young for the picket fence and the two-point-five children.’
Even in her head, the mental David had an answer to that argument: ‘How do you have two-point-five children? I’ve always wondered.’
She’d never left anyone properly before. She’d had dates and boyfriends over the years, but nothing serious, nothing that couldn’t be undone by packing up and moving on. She had no experience of how to handle this.
Two days later, she was so preoccupied trying to come up with a way to end it that she somehow found herself agreeing to go back to his house for dinner on their third date.
‘The lads are out for the evening – I almost had to bribe them. They want to see this woman I can’t stop talking about,’ he told her on the phone.
Peggy beamed at the thought of David talking about her.
‘And I cleaned the house and told them that, if they messed it up, I would destroy Brian’s electric guitar and put Steve’s precious football jersey, the one signed by the Irish team, into the wash.’
They both laughed.
‘You’d never do that,’ Peggy teased.
‘What, you don’t think I can be cruel and dangerous?’ he said, laughing.
‘No,’ she said quietly.
How easy
Similar Books
