Read Online The Other Side of the Story by Marian Keyes - Free Book Online
Authors: Marian Keyes
Tags: Fiction
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who could help, but I scrolled through the options and found thin pickings.
1) Siblings of mine? None.
2) Caring and supportive spouse of mine? None.
3) Siblings of Mam's? Also none. Like me, Mam was an only child - obviously it runs in the family.
4) Siblings of Dad's? Check! Two sisters — but one lived in Rhode Island and the other in Inverness - and one brother, Uncle Leo, who had died nearly seven months ago of a massive heart attack while buying a new bit for his drill in Woodys. The shock was appalling, and made far worse when his wife, Margot, who was one of Mam's best friends, died only five weeks later. Of a broken heart, you're probably thinking. Of taking a corner too fast on a wet night and coming into collision with a pebbledashed wall, actually. It was horrific, especially so soon after Uncle Leo - Margot was a hoot and although I'd only seen her at weddings, Christmas and other family beanos, even I missed her.
5) Neighbours? The best I'd come up with was poor maligned Mrs Kelly. This I struggled to comprehend because when I was growing up the cul-de-sac felt like a community; all the families seemed to be roughly the same age. Now, without me having noticed, it had switched over to much younger families. When did it all change? When did everyone start dying or settling in those easy-to-manage apartments which are the final port of call before the great three-bed, semi-d in the sky?
6) Friends? Mam and Dad weren't exactly part of a large, glittering set and any of Mam's friends were also Dad's friends - they were a 'couple', they went out with other 'couples', they talked about people being 'a lovely couple'. There were 'the Bakers' - Dad played golf with Mr Baker. And 'the Tyndals'.
7) Mam's spiritual adviser? Father something or other - worth a try.
You picked a fine time to leave us, Noel Hogan, you prick. Didn't scan but I liked it all the same. I couldn't help thinking, What if he never comes home? What if it's always like this? How will I cope if Mam starts to hyperventilate every time I leave her house? How will I hold down my job? How will I have a life?
7
I had to go to work on Monday morning. I really, really had to. Davinia had requested a face-to-facer, plus I needed to go to Kildare to check on the site and ensure that the marquee was being erected in the correct field. I know this seems like a total no-brainer, but it had actually happened to Wayne Diffney, from the boyband Laddz (you know him, he's the 'wacky' one with the extra-stupid hair). His wedding marquee was put up in the wrong field and there wasn't time to take it down and reassemble it, so an extortionate sum had to be paid to the farmer who owned the land. It wasn't our agency, thank God, but nevertheless it shook the foundations of Irish Event Organizing.
So on Sunday night, feeling guilty and defensive, I pressed 'mute' on the telly and said, 'Now, Mam, I absolutely must go to work tomorrow.'
She didn't answer, just sat staring at the silent images, like she hadn't heard me.
It had been a terrible day - Mam hadn't gone to Mass, and it's impossible to convey how serious this is to someone unfamiliar with the Irish Catholic Mammy. The ICM won't miss Sunday Mass even if she's got rabies and is foaming at the mouth — she'll simply bring a box of tissues and brazen it out. If her leg falls off, she'll hop. If her other leg falls off, she'll walk on her hands while still managing to wave graciously at neighbours passing by in cars.
At ten o'clock on Sunday morning, I interrupted Mam who was sitting passively in front of the telly watching a weekly round-up of the stock market. 'Mam, shouldn't you be getting ready for Mass?'
(At that point I suddenly remembered who the fourth Mary who'd moved was. It wasn't a Mary at all. It was Mrs Prior - Lotte . No wonder I hadn't been able to remember. The incipient Mass must have prompted it because Mam had once said, 'I'm very fond of Lotte, even if she is a Lutheran.' But the
1) Siblings of mine? None.
2) Caring and supportive spouse of mine? None.
3) Siblings of Mam's? Also none. Like me, Mam was an only child - obviously it runs in the family.
4) Siblings of Dad's? Check! Two sisters — but one lived in Rhode Island and the other in Inverness - and one brother, Uncle Leo, who had died nearly seven months ago of a massive heart attack while buying a new bit for his drill in Woodys. The shock was appalling, and made far worse when his wife, Margot, who was one of Mam's best friends, died only five weeks later. Of a broken heart, you're probably thinking. Of taking a corner too fast on a wet night and coming into collision with a pebbledashed wall, actually. It was horrific, especially so soon after Uncle Leo - Margot was a hoot and although I'd only seen her at weddings, Christmas and other family beanos, even I missed her.
5) Neighbours? The best I'd come up with was poor maligned Mrs Kelly. This I struggled to comprehend because when I was growing up the cul-de-sac felt like a community; all the families seemed to be roughly the same age. Now, without me having noticed, it had switched over to much younger families. When did it all change? When did everyone start dying or settling in those easy-to-manage apartments which are the final port of call before the great three-bed, semi-d in the sky?
6) Friends? Mam and Dad weren't exactly part of a large, glittering set and any of Mam's friends were also Dad's friends - they were a 'couple', they went out with other 'couples', they talked about people being 'a lovely couple'. There were 'the Bakers' - Dad played golf with Mr Baker. And 'the Tyndals'.
7) Mam's spiritual adviser? Father something or other - worth a try.
You picked a fine time to leave us, Noel Hogan, you prick. Didn't scan but I liked it all the same. I couldn't help thinking, What if he never comes home? What if it's always like this? How will I cope if Mam starts to hyperventilate every time I leave her house? How will I hold down my job? How will I have a life?
7
I had to go to work on Monday morning. I really, really had to. Davinia had requested a face-to-facer, plus I needed to go to Kildare to check on the site and ensure that the marquee was being erected in the correct field. I know this seems like a total no-brainer, but it had actually happened to Wayne Diffney, from the boyband Laddz (you know him, he's the 'wacky' one with the extra-stupid hair). His wedding marquee was put up in the wrong field and there wasn't time to take it down and reassemble it, so an extortionate sum had to be paid to the farmer who owned the land. It wasn't our agency, thank God, but nevertheless it shook the foundations of Irish Event Organizing.
So on Sunday night, feeling guilty and defensive, I pressed 'mute' on the telly and said, 'Now, Mam, I absolutely must go to work tomorrow.'
She didn't answer, just sat staring at the silent images, like she hadn't heard me.
It had been a terrible day - Mam hadn't gone to Mass, and it's impossible to convey how serious this is to someone unfamiliar with the Irish Catholic Mammy. The ICM won't miss Sunday Mass even if she's got rabies and is foaming at the mouth — she'll simply bring a box of tissues and brazen it out. If her leg falls off, she'll hop. If her other leg falls off, she'll walk on her hands while still managing to wave graciously at neighbours passing by in cars.
At ten o'clock on Sunday morning, I interrupted Mam who was sitting passively in front of the telly watching a weekly round-up of the stock market. 'Mam, shouldn't you be getting ready for Mass?'
(At that point I suddenly remembered who the fourth Mary who'd moved was. It wasn't a Mary at all. It was Mrs Prior - Lotte . No wonder I hadn't been able to remember. The incipient Mass must have prompted it because Mam had once said, 'I'm very fond of Lotte, even if she is a Lutheran.' But the
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