Champagne Kisses (34 page)

There were a lot of things I wanted to tell him. Thank him for.

I didn’t thank him enough for all the support, financial and friendship-wise, he gave me. He was my rock when the good times got rough, even if he was often a pain in the arse.

Without him, I would have been living in a gutter somewhere. When I woke up I’d make sure to tell him that. Well, if he hadn’t managed to strangle me first.

Over what seemed like weeks everyone I ever knew had passed by my bedside, with all of them crying.

Keeping a protective vigil, my parents must have etched their backsides into the chairs they banged about beside me.

As my mum fussed about, washing my face and brushing ‘the little bit of hair left sticking out from under the bandages’, my father did his usual moaning, and God knows what untold damage to my right hand as he continued to squeeze the life out of it.

It was such a comfort knowing they were with me. It was the closest I had felt to them in years.

Why did it have to take such an accident for my mum and dad to show their love for me?

My emotions would bounce from frustration with
them
to an overpowering sense of contentment.

Of course on my bad days I’d blame my mum’s eccentricities for all my difficulties in life, but on my good days it was a totally different story. I loved her and my dad no matter what our differences, and deep down I rationalized that without their stance on my lifestyle I might have been lost in transit for a very long time indeed.

Maddie being Maddie checked in with me every day, had her little cry, sprayed me with perfume and filled me in on all of Woody’s latest antics. Today he woke himself with a massive fart, apparently, and managed to scrape stripes across his nose with his razor sharp fingernails, leaving him looking like a mini Adam Ant.

Lisa keeps bringing in tropical bouquets of flowers, which my sister constantly complains ‘makes the place look like the bloody Botanic Gardens’.

But it’s the late-night calls from Michael, Café Michael, that give me the most pleasure.

He told me he bribed the night doorman, and that it didn’t take much, only a twenty, but then teased that he woulda stretched to € 23, maybe € 24, but nothing higher. Anything over €24 was far too rich for his blood.

We’ve talked for hours. Obviously he’s never heard my side of the conversation, but I definitely hear his. Each evening he brings me a red rose. ‘Which is kinda tacky,’ he mused, ‘but I’m a traditionalist at heart.’ Like on any other dates, he talks about his family and
friends
, his hopes and dreams, and lavishes me with compliments such as, ‘You’re looking very attractive this evening in pink PJs’ and, ‘You are by far the best-looking coma patient on the ward.’

Amid the pain and the frustration of not being able to be myself, he has me smiling on the inside. When I hear sadness creep into his voice, he makes silly jokes like, ‘In bed already? You really are a cheeky minx.’ But my favourite part of our ‘dates’ is when he steals a kiss from me.

Before he leaves he leans in over me, smelling all manly, and gently presses his lips against mine. They’re soft and warm, and even though I can’t kiss him back, I imagine I do.

Then he whispers, ‘Don’t give up the fight, Eva. I think we could have a lot of fun together. I’ll be waiting for you when you wake up. Sweet dreams, my dear.’

It is just a matter of time before my body heals itself.

The doctors and nurses are doing their best to fix me. And going to great lengths to reassure my mother, but it’s getting easier for them to stay positive as apparently I’ve started to respond to stimulus.

With so much time to think, I’ve had time to sort out my head, and really get a grasp of what it was that I want out of life.

I want to write, I want success, and all that other 2.4 kids crap too.

Obviously I need to wake up from my coma
first
, but it’s coming. I can feel it, just like I can feel Michael’s kisses and his honesty. It’s a nice trait in a man, a novelty compared with the men that I was used to meeting.

I no longer hanker after my wild lifestyle of forgotten drunken nights and sordid one-night-stands. That’s not who I want to be any more.

Sharing champagne kisses with him is a while off yet though, but I’m not letting go. I’ve someone to fight for, and someone fighting for me.

Maybe this accident was the best thing that ever happened. It may have been the bang on the head that I needed to knock a bit of sense into me.

Yes, my mind is made up once and for all. It has taken some time, but now I’m definite about the happiness in my life.

Because I’ve hope on my side, an army of good friends behind me, and a bright future with Michael, Café Michael, in front of me.

THE END

Acknowledgements

Wow. Finally it’s time to say thank you to all the people who helped me along my journey.

Writing this novel was as lengthy a process as making a baby for me, but while any plans to ‘Go for the girl’ are definitely shelved, this experience has only ignited my passion for writing. I’ve loved every late night and long weekend creating it.

And while my name, in especially large print, graces the cover, I unfortunately can’t take all the credit for this baby.

So here goes.

To the man I interrogated on a long four-hour car journey to Milan airport and from whom I learnt all there is to know about writing a novel, thank you Eoin Corry. You undoubtedly equipped me with the knowledge to do this.

To Ita O’Driscoll my agent, and Aine McCarthy at Font International, you have both been invaluable. Ita, you had to endure endless phone calls from me, so thank you sincerely for all your support.

As for my editor Francesca Liversidge, thank you from the bottom of my heart for seeing the potential in
CK
. You had the belief in me to make this happen and for that I will be eternally grateful. Thank you, of course, to the rest of the Transworld team, Lucie Jordan, Eoin McHugh and Lauren Hadden.

Special thanks go to the two men who claim to have created Amanda Brunker – I use the word create in a very loose form – John Sheils and Robbie Fox. Thank you for everything.

To the
Sunday World
, who have been the best employers a lost directionless former Miss Ireland could have ever imagined, thank you. Especially my editor Colm MacGinty.

Thank you to Alan Boyce and his creative team at Toni&Guy for always giving me fabulous hair.

And thanks to everyone on the social scene for inspiring me – and just in case you’re vain enough to think that there is a character based on you, get over yourself. This is not an autobiography – it’s fiction darhling!

Special thanks go to my great mates Joan, Ciaran, Cindy, Richard, Anna and Blathnaid. You’re all a pain at times, but I love ya’s.

I’d like to thank all my readers for buying
Champagne
Kisses
, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I wanted you to.

And lastly I’d like to thank my family – again – for everything. Norman, I told you I’d get here eventually! To Dad and Linda for following your dreams and encouraging me to follow mine. To my fabulous mum, Betty, you’re a legend. Without your support (and babysitting) none of this would have been possible. I love you loads.

To Mrs McLaughlin, thank you for nurturing Edward and listening to my moaning. And to Carol for listening to Philip’s.

And lastly to Philip, my partner in life. Thank you for taking the kids all those afternoons to Dundrum for me to get some peace. Thank you for rescuing me and helping me build a home and a family. And also to believing in me 110 per cent. I love our little family.

About the Author

Amanda Brunker is a
Sunday World
journalist and a former Miss Ireland. Glamorous and outspoken, she’s rarely out of the public eye.

TRANSWORLD IRELAND
An imprint of The Random House Group Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London SW1V 2SA
www.transworldbooks.co.uk

CHAMPAGNE KISSES
A TRANSWORLD IRELAND BOOK: 9781848270022
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781407036830

First published in Great Britain
in 2008 by Transworld Ireland
Transworld Ireland paperback edition published 2009

Copyright © Amanda Brunker 2008

Amanda Brunker has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual pesons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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