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Authors: Marian Keyes
Tags: General Fiction
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about the other woman? Nothing AT ALL?’
I shook head.
‘I’d have killed him,’ she marvelled. ‘Killed him with my bare hands.’
‘You could just sit on him,’ Brandon said, with unexpected venom. ‘That’d do the trick. Not many men would survive being sat on by your arse.’
She responded with gusto. ‘All You’d have to do is breathe on someone!’
Revised original assessment that Brandon and Kelly were boyfriend and girlfriend. Brother and sister, more likely.
‘And now you’re down here in Tom Twoomey’s house nursing a broken heart.’
‘We get a fair bit of that,’ Brandon said. ‘Women. Arriving here. With broken hearts. Don’t know why. Maybe they think the waves will fix them. Walking the beach twenty times a day. Often they go exploring up on sand dunes. Don’t realize they’re owned by golf club. Suddenly find themselves in middle of the eleventh hole, balls whizzing past their heads. Escorted off in buggy. Usually very upset.’
‘Very upset,’ Kelly said.
Strange pause ensued. Then both of them convulsing with laughter.
‘Sorry,’ Brandon said, shaking with mirth. ‘Is just… is just –’
‘– they think they’re being all soulful,’ Kelly said, face contorted from laughing. ‘Communing with nature… and then… and then… they nearly get brained by golf ball…’
‘Have no intention of walking on any beach or up any sand dunes,’ I said coldly.
Is not nice to laugh at heartbroken women.
Abruptly they stopped laughing. Cleared their throats. Kelly said, ‘You might start painting. Getting all that heartbreak out of your system.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, happens a lot. Painting.’
‘Or poetry,’ Brandon interjected.
‘Or pottery.’
‘But mostly painting. Let’s face it, better than cutting off your man’s lad with a bread knife.’ Brandon gave Kelly meaningful look.
‘What?’ She turned and yelled into his face, ‘That was an ACCIDENT!’
Then to me, ‘We have crayons and copybooks, but if you need proper paints and all, there’s shop in Ennistymon.’ (Ennistymon nearest proper town.)
No intention of starting painting.
Or poetry.
Or pottery.
Things bad enough.
23.59
Godfather marvellous film. Simply chock full of revenge. And quite fancy Al Pacino. Hopeful sign. All evening only picked up the phone to ring Paddy three times. Or thrice, if you prefer. Like that word. Got it in Margery Allingham book.
0.37
‘Turned in’ as they say in Margery Allingham. Strange saying. But so are many sayings when think about it. Example, ‘Don’t go there!’ That is very odd saying, unless you are talking about Afghanistan, or Topshop on Saturday afternoon, two weeks before Christmas.
2.01
Jerked awake, in the absolute horrors. Gripped by terrible compulsion to get into car and drive straight across country to Dublin, to find Paddy and beg him to be with me. Began flinging things into bag. Heart pounding. Mouth dry. Waking nightmare. He was getting married to someone else? But that couldn’t be!
Should I have shower? No. Should I get dressed? No. No, yes . What if I actually found him? Couldn’t be like an asylum escapee in my pyjamas. What should I wear? Couldn’t decide. Couldn’t decide. Muzzy from sleeping tablet but thoughts going too fast. Whizzing past before could snag one.
Bumped first bag down stairs. Must go to bathroom to collect things. No. Leave them. Who cares? It’s just stuff. Opened front door, cool night air, flung bag into car boot, back into house for other bag.
But by the time I was lugging second bag down stairs, my heartbeat had slowed. Thoughts more ordered. Saw my lunacy. Pointless driving to Dublin. He wouldn’t see me. That had been his plan all along and was hardly likely to change his mind now.
I sat on front step in my pyjamas, staring out at darkness. Fields out there, couldn’t see them.
Trip down memory lane
Funny thing is, when first met Paddy de Courcy in graveyard, didn’t think would end up
I shook head.
‘I’d have killed him,’ she marvelled. ‘Killed him with my bare hands.’
‘You could just sit on him,’ Brandon said, with unexpected venom. ‘That’d do the trick. Not many men would survive being sat on by your arse.’
She responded with gusto. ‘All You’d have to do is breathe on someone!’
Revised original assessment that Brandon and Kelly were boyfriend and girlfriend. Brother and sister, more likely.
‘And now you’re down here in Tom Twoomey’s house nursing a broken heart.’
‘We get a fair bit of that,’ Brandon said. ‘Women. Arriving here. With broken hearts. Don’t know why. Maybe they think the waves will fix them. Walking the beach twenty times a day. Often they go exploring up on sand dunes. Don’t realize they’re owned by golf club. Suddenly find themselves in middle of the eleventh hole, balls whizzing past their heads. Escorted off in buggy. Usually very upset.’
‘Very upset,’ Kelly said.
Strange pause ensued. Then both of them convulsing with laughter.
‘Sorry,’ Brandon said, shaking with mirth. ‘Is just… is just –’
‘– they think they’re being all soulful,’ Kelly said, face contorted from laughing. ‘Communing with nature… and then… and then… they nearly get brained by golf ball…’
‘Have no intention of walking on any beach or up any sand dunes,’ I said coldly.
Is not nice to laugh at heartbroken women.
Abruptly they stopped laughing. Cleared their throats. Kelly said, ‘You might start painting. Getting all that heartbreak out of your system.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, happens a lot. Painting.’
‘Or poetry,’ Brandon interjected.
‘Or pottery.’
‘But mostly painting. Let’s face it, better than cutting off your man’s lad with a bread knife.’ Brandon gave Kelly meaningful look.
‘What?’ She turned and yelled into his face, ‘That was an ACCIDENT!’
Then to me, ‘We have crayons and copybooks, but if you need proper paints and all, there’s shop in Ennistymon.’ (Ennistymon nearest proper town.)
No intention of starting painting.
Or poetry.
Or pottery.
Things bad enough.
23.59
Godfather marvellous film. Simply chock full of revenge. And quite fancy Al Pacino. Hopeful sign. All evening only picked up the phone to ring Paddy three times. Or thrice, if you prefer. Like that word. Got it in Margery Allingham book.
0.37
‘Turned in’ as they say in Margery Allingham. Strange saying. But so are many sayings when think about it. Example, ‘Don’t go there!’ That is very odd saying, unless you are talking about Afghanistan, or Topshop on Saturday afternoon, two weeks before Christmas.
2.01
Jerked awake, in the absolute horrors. Gripped by terrible compulsion to get into car and drive straight across country to Dublin, to find Paddy and beg him to be with me. Began flinging things into bag. Heart pounding. Mouth dry. Waking nightmare. He was getting married to someone else? But that couldn’t be!
Should I have shower? No. Should I get dressed? No. No, yes . What if I actually found him? Couldn’t be like an asylum escapee in my pyjamas. What should I wear? Couldn’t decide. Couldn’t decide. Muzzy from sleeping tablet but thoughts going too fast. Whizzing past before could snag one.
Bumped first bag down stairs. Must go to bathroom to collect things. No. Leave them. Who cares? It’s just stuff. Opened front door, cool night air, flung bag into car boot, back into house for other bag.
But by the time I was lugging second bag down stairs, my heartbeat had slowed. Thoughts more ordered. Saw my lunacy. Pointless driving to Dublin. He wouldn’t see me. That had been his plan all along and was hardly likely to change his mind now.
I sat on front step in my pyjamas, staring out at darkness. Fields out there, couldn’t see them.
Trip down memory lane
Funny thing is, when first met Paddy de Courcy in graveyard, didn’t think would end up
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