This Charming Man

This book took an embarrassingly long time to write, also my short-term memory isn’t what it was – apparently this is what happens when you’re perimenopausal (not menopausal, I should stress; that’s still decades away, and by the time it happens I’ll be grand again and back winning
Mastermind)
– so there’s a very good chance that someone may have given me invaluable help at an early stage in the book and that I’ve now completely forgotten. If you are that person, I am truly sorry.

Thank you to my extraordinary, visionary editor, Louise Moore, and everyone on the team at Michael Joseph for their friendship, enthusiasm and phenomenal hard work on behalf of my books. Blessed am I, among authors.

Likewise, thank you to the legendary Jonathan Lloyd and all at Curtis Brown for their unstinting support. We have all – Louise, Jonathan and I – worked together for over eleven years and it’s been a blast.

Thank you to Bob Holt, who, along with his sons, Bobby, Billy and Jamie Holt, paid a weighty sum of money to the Bobby Moore Fund for Cancer Research UK for his wife, Marilyn Holt, to appear as a character in this book.

Likewise thank you to Angus Sprott, who handed over a similarly hefty wedge to Breast Cancer Campaign in order to have his name appear as a character.

As with all my other books, several people have acted as guinea pigs, reading the book as I wrote it, suggesting changes and improvements. Yes, many improvements. Although I may have cried at the time, I would like to stress that I am in fact very grateful for this service. Thank you Chris Baines, Suzanne Benson, Jenny Boland, Ailish Connolly, Debbie Deegan, Susan Dillon, Caron Freeborn, Gai Griffin, Gwen Hollingsworth, Cathy Kelly,
Mammy Keyes, Ljiljana Keyes, Rita-Anne Keyes, Eileen Prender-gast, Kate Thompson and Louise Voss.

Special thanks to Anne Marie Scanlon, who helped with my research and baldly demanded answers to the questions I was too morto to ask. And extra-special thanks to my sister Caitríona Keyes, who has given me so many funny stories and sayings over the years and which I have nicked shamelessly. In a belated attempt to give her credit for all her contributions, this book is dedicated to her.

As always, thank you to my beloved Tony, without whom none of this would be possible.

A quick explanatory note: part of this book is set in the unattractive, broken-veined world of Irish politics and I’ve taken the liberty of changing the names of Ireland’s two main political parties from Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael to the Nationalist Party of Ireland and the Christian Progressives. This wasn’t an attempt to avoid a libel suit – I really do think Irish politicians are as hideous as they appear in these pages,
worse,
if anything – it was just an attempt to make pronunciation, etc., a bit easier for non-Irish readers. Also, the acronym TD (short for Teachta Dála) indicates a member of the Irish parliament (called the Dáil). (Which is located in Leinster House.) (Finally, most Irish governments are coalitions.) (This is probably all the explanation you’ll need.)

While writing this book I had to do tons of research, which I absolutely hate, but people were incredibly generous with their time and patience. Any mistakes are mine. Thank you to Martina Devlin, Mary O’Sullivan, Madeleine Keane, Barry Andrews TD (see, TD, you know what that means now!); all at LHW Property Finance (especially Niall Coughlan); Ben Power, ‘Amanda’, ‘Chloe’, Natalie and all the girls.

Thank you to Andrew Fitzsimons for the word ‘fabulize’.

Thank you to everyone at Women’s Aid, at both the Irish and British offices. And finally, thank you to all the survivors of domestic violence who – anonymously – told me what had happened to them. When writing this book, it was my humble intention to honour their stories.

‘Everyone remembers where they were the day they heard that Paddy de Courcy was getting married. I was one of the first to know, what with working in a newspaper when word came in from David Thornberry, political correspondent (and tallest man in Dublin), that de Courcy was calling it a day. I was surprised. I mean, we all were. But I was extra surprised and that was even before I heard who the lucky woman was. But I couldn’t act upset. Not that anybody would have noticed. I could fall down dead in the street and people would still ask me to drive them to the station. That’s what life is like when you’re the healthy one of a pair of twins. Anyway, Jacinta Kinsella (boss) needed a quick piece on the engagement so I had to put my personalfeelings to one side and be a professional.’ Grace Gildee

‘It would have been nice if you had asked me first.’
Alicia Thornton

‘I was on the net, checking e-bid for owl handbag (by Stella McCartney, not just any ‘oul’ handbag) for a client to wear to a wildlife charity thing when I saw the headline.
De Courcy to Wed
. Thought it was a hoax. The media are always making stuff up and faking cellulite on girls who don’t have it and taking it off girls who do. When I discovered that it was true, I went into shock. Actually thought I was having heart attack. Would have called an ambulance but couldn’t remember 999. Kept thinking 666. Number of the beast.’
Fionnola ‘Lola’ Daly

‘Don’t you dare be happy, you bastard. That’s what I thought when I heard. Don’t you dare be happy.’
Marnie Hunter

The worst day of my life. When the first wave of shock released me from its fiendish grip, I couldn’t help but notice that Paddy hadn’t called me. Ominous. I was his girlfriend, the media was going wild that he was getting married to another woman, and he hadn’t called me. Bad sign.

Called his private mobile. Not his ordinary private one, but the
private
private one that only I and his personal trainer have. It rang four times, then went to message, then I knew it was true.

End of world.

Called his office, called his home, kept ringing his mobile, left fifty-one messages for him – counted.

Phone rang – it was him!

He said, ‘You’ve seen the evening papers?’

‘Online,’ I said. ‘I never read the papers.’ (Not relevant, but people say the oddest things when in shock.)

‘Sorry you had to find out in such a brutal way. Wanted to tell you myself but some journalist – ’

‘What? So it’s true?’ I cried.

‘I’m sorry, Lola. I didn’t think you’d take us so seriously. We were just a bit of fun.’

‘Fun?’
Fun?

‘Yes, only a few months.’

‘Few? Sixteen of them. Sixteen months, Paddy. That’s a long time. Are you really marrying this woman?’

‘Yes.’

‘
Why?
Do you love her?’

‘Of course. Wouldn’t be marrying her if I didn’t.’

‘But I thought you loved me.’

In a sad voice, he said, ‘Never made you any promises, Lola. But you are a great, great girl. One in a million. Be good to yourself.’

‘Wait, don’t go! I have to see you, Paddy, please, just for five minutes.’ (No dignity, but couldn’t help myself. Was badly distraught.)

‘Try not to think badly of me,’ he said. ‘I’ll always think fondly of you and our time together. And remember…’

‘Yes?’ I gasped, desperate to hear something to take edge off the terrible, unbearable pain.

‘Don’t talk to the press.’

Rang everyone. Including him. Lost count of number of times, but many. Can be certain of that. Double, possibly triple figures.

Phone was also red-hot with incoming calls. Bridie, Treese and Jem – genuine friends – offered much comfort even though they didn’t like Paddy. (Never admitted it to me, but I knew.) Also many fake friends – rubberneckers! – ringing to gloat. General gist: ‘Is it true that Paddy de Courcy is getting married and not to you? Poor you. Is terrible. Is really, really terrible for you. Is so humILiating. Is so MORTifying. Is so SHAMEing! Is so –’

Kept my dignity. Said, ‘Thank you for kind wishes. Must go now.’

Bridie came to see me in person. ‘You were never cut out to be a politician’s wife,’ she said. ‘Your clothes are too cool and you have purple highlights.’

‘Molichino, please!’ I cried. ‘Purple makes me sound like a… a teenager.’

‘He was too controlling,’ she said. ‘We never got to see you. Especially in the last few months.’

‘We were in love! You know what it’s like to be in love.’