Read Online This Charming Man by Marian Keyes - Free Book Online
Authors: Marian Keyes
Tags: General Fiction
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day?’
‘Mushroom.’
‘Okay. And cup coffee.’
‘Latte? Cappuccino? Espresso?’
‘Er… latte.’
‘Soy milk? Skinny?’
‘Er… skinny.’
Not expecting so much choice.
Found self asking, ‘So, where you from?’
Cripes! Have become irritating person who instigates conversation with everyone she meets, which I so am not. In Dublin, make point of principle to talk to as few people as possible. Especially when buying things. Have you noticed lately how shop assistants have been told to say validating bon mot about purchase when wrapping it? They say, ‘Gorgeous colour!’ Or, ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
Always find self wanting to say, ‘Actually no, dislike colour very much. One of least favourites.’
I mean, would hardly buy it if didn’t like it!
But they are just doing their job. Not their fault.
‘From Egypt,’ Ol’ Prune Eyes said.
Egypt! Multinational! Is like cast of Lost here in Knockavoy!
‘You are long way from home!’ Thinking, What a stupid thing to say. Sound like wolf in Little Red Riding Hood .
Then I say, ‘You must miss warm weather.’ Thinking, That is also stupid thing to say, and bet everyone says it.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘That is what everyone says. But more to life than weather.’
‘Like what?’ Suddenly curious.
He laughed. ‘Like three meals a day. Like freedom from political persecution. Like opportunity to provide for family.’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘I see your point.’
Feel bit better. Have connected with another human being.
Warmish glow interrupted by man at the end of the bar – slumped, unkempt creature – calling, ‘Osama! Enough of chat! Where’s my pint?’
I asked, ‘Is your name really Osama?’
Thinking, Cripes! That would be hard cross to bear. Even worse than Ol’ Prune Eyes. No wonder he got political persecution!
‘No. Is Ibrahim. Osama nickname from locals.’
Late afternoon
Walked home by seafront. Passed funny old house. Houses on either side had been modernized – PVC windows, fresh paint – but this one was weather-beaten and sort of slumped-looking. Faded blue paint on front door was coming off in handfuls. Reminded me of time I’d had chemical peel. On window sill, sea anemones, pebbles, sand, periwinkles. No curtains, so could see right into front room. Fishing nets hanging from ceiling, starfish shells, conches, driftwood pieces like sculpture. Name of house, ‘The Reef’.
Magical place. Wanted to go in there.
18.03
Mobile rang. Recognized number: Grace Gildee, charismatic journalist woman. Was stalking me! Threw mobile into handbag as if red-hot. Get away, get away, get away! Ten seconds later, double beep of message. Get away, get away, get away!
Deleted message without listening. Afraid. Obviously no one can make self talk if self doesn’t want to talk. But still afraid. Grace Gildee pushy, persuasive, determined. Also – possibly – nice.
20.08
Grocery-cum-newsagent-cum-DVD-shop
Brandon and Kelly on duty again. On Brandon’s recommendation, got The Godfather . Kelly tried to steer self in direction of Starsky & Hutch . She said, ‘Two hunks like them, they’ll take your mind off your fella getting married to someone else. So did he tell you to your face?’
She was agog to hear and I was agog to tell. As soon as I said, ‘Paddy de Courcy,’ she exclaimed, ‘I know that name! Politician man, yes? I’ve seen him! In VIP ! Get it!’ She directed Brandon to the magazine rack. ‘Go on, get it, get it!’
She devoured pictures. Made many comments. Said Paddy was ‘way lush’ ‘for older man’ and Alicia was ‘minger’. Brandon said Alicia was ‘bowler’, word I hadn’t come across before. Learnt it means same thing as minger. Increase your wordpower. Both of them very impressed that my ex-boyfriend was in a celebrity magazine, even if it was only an Irish one.
‘Anything about him in Heat ?’ Kelly asked. ‘Or Grazia?’
‘No.’
‘Well, sure, never mind. And you knew nothing
‘Mushroom.’
‘Okay. And cup coffee.’
‘Latte? Cappuccino? Espresso?’
‘Er… latte.’
‘Soy milk? Skinny?’
‘Er… skinny.’
Not expecting so much choice.
Found self asking, ‘So, where you from?’
Cripes! Have become irritating person who instigates conversation with everyone she meets, which I so am not. In Dublin, make point of principle to talk to as few people as possible. Especially when buying things. Have you noticed lately how shop assistants have been told to say validating bon mot about purchase when wrapping it? They say, ‘Gorgeous colour!’ Or, ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
Always find self wanting to say, ‘Actually no, dislike colour very much. One of least favourites.’
I mean, would hardly buy it if didn’t like it!
But they are just doing their job. Not their fault.
‘From Egypt,’ Ol’ Prune Eyes said.
Egypt! Multinational! Is like cast of Lost here in Knockavoy!
‘You are long way from home!’ Thinking, What a stupid thing to say. Sound like wolf in Little Red Riding Hood .
Then I say, ‘You must miss warm weather.’ Thinking, That is also stupid thing to say, and bet everyone says it.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘That is what everyone says. But more to life than weather.’
‘Like what?’ Suddenly curious.
He laughed. ‘Like three meals a day. Like freedom from political persecution. Like opportunity to provide for family.’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘I see your point.’
Feel bit better. Have connected with another human being.
Warmish glow interrupted by man at the end of the bar – slumped, unkempt creature – calling, ‘Osama! Enough of chat! Where’s my pint?’
I asked, ‘Is your name really Osama?’
Thinking, Cripes! That would be hard cross to bear. Even worse than Ol’ Prune Eyes. No wonder he got political persecution!
‘No. Is Ibrahim. Osama nickname from locals.’
Late afternoon
Walked home by seafront. Passed funny old house. Houses on either side had been modernized – PVC windows, fresh paint – but this one was weather-beaten and sort of slumped-looking. Faded blue paint on front door was coming off in handfuls. Reminded me of time I’d had chemical peel. On window sill, sea anemones, pebbles, sand, periwinkles. No curtains, so could see right into front room. Fishing nets hanging from ceiling, starfish shells, conches, driftwood pieces like sculpture. Name of house, ‘The Reef’.
Magical place. Wanted to go in there.
18.03
Mobile rang. Recognized number: Grace Gildee, charismatic journalist woman. Was stalking me! Threw mobile into handbag as if red-hot. Get away, get away, get away! Ten seconds later, double beep of message. Get away, get away, get away!
Deleted message without listening. Afraid. Obviously no one can make self talk if self doesn’t want to talk. But still afraid. Grace Gildee pushy, persuasive, determined. Also – possibly – nice.
20.08
Grocery-cum-newsagent-cum-DVD-shop
Brandon and Kelly on duty again. On Brandon’s recommendation, got The Godfather . Kelly tried to steer self in direction of Starsky & Hutch . She said, ‘Two hunks like them, they’ll take your mind off your fella getting married to someone else. So did he tell you to your face?’
She was agog to hear and I was agog to tell. As soon as I said, ‘Paddy de Courcy,’ she exclaimed, ‘I know that name! Politician man, yes? I’ve seen him! In VIP ! Get it!’ She directed Brandon to the magazine rack. ‘Go on, get it, get it!’
She devoured pictures. Made many comments. Said Paddy was ‘way lush’ ‘for older man’ and Alicia was ‘minger’. Brandon said Alicia was ‘bowler’, word I hadn’t come across before. Learnt it means same thing as minger. Increase your wordpower. Both of them very impressed that my ex-boyfriend was in a celebrity magazine, even if it was only an Irish one.
‘Anything about him in Heat ?’ Kelly asked. ‘Or Grazia?’
‘No.’
‘Well, sure, never mind. And you knew nothing
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