This Charming Man (57 page)

‘What you want, Bridie?’ Attitude of coldness.

‘Checking you okay.’

‘Not checking on me. Gloating.’

‘Not gloating. Caring, yes, caring, Lola, caring. So he hasn’t rung yet?’

‘How could he ring when you are constantly cluttering up bloody line?’

Sudden noisy rapping on front door.

‘Bridie, someone is at door! Is probably Paddy!’

‘How he know where you are?’

‘He is powerful man. Can find out these things. Goodbye, Bridie, goodbye.’

Ran to door and swung it wide, having convinced myself that Paddy would be leaning against jamb. But not Paddy. Jake. Tangle-haired, tanned, silvery-eyed, large-lipped.

Disappointment crushing. Stared and stared, unable to believe it was wrong man.

‘I come in?’ he asked in croaky voice.

He sat on couch, hands hanging between his knees, looking abject as can be. ‘Have you had chance to think about us getting back together?’

Looked at him and thought, Oh cripes.

Had gone off him anyway, with his request for ‘space’ and his indignation that I hadn’t stalked him, but now that feelings for Paddy had revived, all residue of lust for Jake had dissolved like footprints in sand.

Horrors – no longer thought he was most good-looking man on planet earth. Actually thought he looked – terrible thing to say about another human being – slightly deformed. That mouth. Not sexy. No. Instead looked like lip augmentation procedure had gone wrong. Too much puffing and pouting, as though stung by wasp on bottom lip.

Simultaneously discovered had gone off his odour. Previous to this had enjoyed his natural unwashed smell, it had seemed authentic, unapologetic and, yes, manly. But now faint studenty miasma of unwashed socks hung around him like cloud.

He pulled me to him and said, ‘Please, Lola,’ at same time as slipping his hand beneath the waistband of my pjyamas. Recoiled! Bum skin goosebumped with desire to be not manhandled by him, and prospect of multi-positioned sex no longer seemed remotely inviting.

Jake pressed his erect boyo at me, through thin fabric of my pyjamas, and whispered, ‘See how much I want you.’

Gak! Yes, gak! Even I was surprised it was that bad. He took my hand to rub against his mickey, but I stepped away from him, freeing my bottom from shuddery revoltingness of his handfeel. His expression was one of great surprise. I looked into his silvery eyes and thought, What peculiar colour for eyes. What is wrong with brown or hazel?

‘You not want me to touch you, Lola?’ he asked.

Saw the confused boy in the body of a man and had moment of cold realization. Knew had to be brutally honest with him. Otherwise
would end up sleeping with him, out of kindness, and my skin and soul were curdling at such a scenario.

‘Jake,’ I said. ‘Am very sorry, but it’s a no go, you and me. Was fun but let’s just leave it at that.’

‘Admit have been stupid fucker,’ he said. ‘But have apologized and am willing to change.’

‘No need,’ I said. ‘Is pointless. There is someone else. Another man.’

‘You have met someone else
already?’

‘No, no. Someone else all along.’

‘Thanks for telling me!’

‘But it was only bit of fun, you and me! That’s what you thought too!’

‘Yes, but didn’t realize was going to fall for you.’

Exasperated. ‘Is hardly my fault.’

‘Very mature, Lola!’ He had turned sneery. ‘Very responsible.’

‘But if had fallen for you and you hadn’t fallen for me, you would tell me, It was just bit of fun, sorry you have fallen in love with me, now sling your hook.’ Was true. Had happened to me often enough with other men.

Tired now. ‘Jake, look! Tide is in! You must go surfing.’

He looked out window. Easily distractable, thank God. Like jingling a lead at a dog and shouting, Walkies, walkies!

‘Okay, am going,’ he said. ‘But you will change your mind.’

‘Won’t.’ Tried to sound kindly. ‘Swear to you I won’t.’

Once got rid of Jake, returned to phone vigil. At 10 a.m. on the button, phone rang. But still not Paddy! This time Treese, sounding grim.

‘Heard about your late-night phone call from de Courcy. Listen to me, Lola.’ Tone low and angry. ‘You make sure you get back with that surf boy.’

‘Too late, Treese, have just shown him the door.’ Chirpy.

She moaned with – it sounded like – despair. ‘Paddy de Courcy ruins everything for you.’

‘What he ruin?’ Was actually curious.

‘Apart from your career and your sanity? He almost ruined your friendship with me, Bridie and Jem.’

‘… What?… How?’ Frightened. Where did this come from?

Treese sighed. ‘We never saw you. You stopped coming out with us. You were always with him. Or – worse – waiting for him.’

Oh yes, this was familiar. Had heard it before. ‘Yes, but, Treese –’

‘I know, Lola, yes, know he worked long, unpredictable hours. If I had latrine for every time you told me that, every home in Malawi would have full sanitation. But he didn’t see you every night, did he?’

‘… Not every single one.’

‘But you made yourself available every night for him?’

Uncomfortably I said, ‘You know what it’s like when you’re in love.’

‘Yes. Do.’ She meant Vincent (gak). ‘And I still see my friends.’

‘But Treese, Paddy is
politician
. Session in Dail can go on very late. No idea when will end.’

‘All more reason for you to make own arrangements for nights when he can’t commit.’

‘No, all more reason to be ready to see him at end of his long, stressful day.’

‘You’ve been brainwashed.’

Stunned by her harshness. Frankly stunned. Said as much.

‘Lola, we’ve been so worried about you. Getting free of him is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.’

Shaken after hostile call from Treese. Returned to gazing at phone, urging it to ring.

Morning elapsed without call from Paddy. Of course Jem rang.

‘Bringing up the rear,’ he said. ‘Urging you, at Bridie’s behest, to have sense.’

At 1.17, wondered if had misunderstood arrangement with Paddy. Perhaps we had agreed that I was to ring him, not him ring me. (Of course, knew the truth. Am not stupid. Merely delusional.) Tried his mobile, landline, office line.

Voicemail, voicemail, voicemail.

And all feeling horribly familiar.

Paddy didn’t call that day. Or the next day. Or the next day. Or the next day. I gave up trying to contact him.

Admitted unpalatable truth to self. Bridie had been right. It had been a booty call. Tried but couldn’t reachieve that magic state which had facilitated call in first place – Paddy would ring me
only if I didn’t
care about him
. But as long as I wanted him to ring, it meant I cared about him, therefore he would not call. Universe can be perplexing.

Yes, eventually did succumb to strong doses of vitamin B – dispatched Boss to Ennistymon with detailed list. Not that said vitamins did any good. Still leapt like scalded cat each and every time the phone chirruped.

Other interesting behaviour from universe – as though seeking to demonstrate how unattractive unrequited love was, Jake became obsessed with winning me back. He kept showing up at the house, urging that we should ‘try again.’

‘But Jake, this is crazy,’ I kept saying. ‘You weren’t even that into me.’

‘I
know.’

‘Am not even your type.’

‘I
know.’

‘Am not as good-looking as your other girlfriends.’

‘I
know.’

‘Or as good in bed.’ (Had taken guess on this.)

‘I
know.’

‘So why you want me?’

‘Because I do.’

He made charming picture of good-looking anguish, but my heart was cold as stone in my chest. Jake was spoilt, immature, had always had life too easy and wanted me only because couldn’t have me.

Good for him, bit of disappointment. Character-forming. I mean, look at me, character very formed.

I pitied him. But was 100 per cent certain that if I suddenly exclaimed, ‘Right you are, Jake, you’ve persuaded me! Let’s be boyfriend and girlfriend again and be mad about each other and have sex all night long and buy a nice lamp and feed each other with our fingers,’ we would have three happy days before he would turn moody on me and let himself be coaxed into admitting, ‘It’s just not right, Lola.’

Do not relish causing him pain. But if it’s a choice between him and me, am afraid that the surf boy gets it.

Return from trip down memory lane
Phone still ringing.

SarahJane Hutchinson. Why she calling so late?

‘Great news, Lola! Have scored major coup. Zara Kaletsky will be keynote speaker at my charity. Know what you’re thinking, Lola, you’re thinking, Zara Kaletsky is nobody.’

Correct. Zara extremely nice girl but, in celebrity terms, could not get arrested.

‘Have inside-track knowledge. Zara Kaletsky just been cast in new Spielberg blockbuster. Starring role. Jermond’– SarahJane’s new beau –‘involved in the financing. I have Zara on board before movie press release even been issued. Just been speaking with her in LA. She is hot, hot, hot and she is mine, mine, mine. All those other bitches will have to bow down before me!’

Was glad. Glad for SarahJane. Also very glad for Zara.

‘She live in LA now? Thought she moved to South Africa?’

‘Oh God, no! Bel Air, Bel Air! Need you to fabulize us both for the lunch. Need something extra special. Only ten weeks away. Put your thinking cap on!’

Awoken by frenzied banging on front door. Incorporated it into my dream for as long as possible, then gave in and got up. Who was calling at this early hour?

Probably Jake to tell me how much he loves me. Usually is. Is bloody
ridiculous
. Is 7
a.m
. Pounded down stairs and wrenched door open.

Yes, Jake standing there, exuding wild defiance. Time was when I would have been stunned by his beauty. Now all could think was, I wish he would

a) put bag of frozen peas on his lips to stop the swelling

b) wash himself

c) piss off

‘Had sex with Jaz last night,’ he declared, flecks of spittle around his mouth. ‘What you make of that?’

‘Good, marvellous, excellent.’

‘You are glad?’

‘Thrilled. Nice to see you are moving on.’

He turned away, the picture of misery.

I almost had door closed, when he turned back and yelled, ‘You are shallow bitch.’

Oh abuse, now, was it?

A sign that he was healing. Like when a cut starts to itch.

The Oak
‘Morning, Lola,’ Osama said. ‘Keeping well?’

‘Good, yes, and you?’

‘Terrific, thanks!’

‘Excellent, yes, excellent!’

We smiled brightly at each other.

Quite honestly, relations with Ol’ Prune Eyes have been a little awkward since he joined us for trannie night. He came only once and couldn’t be persuaded to return, claiming it was due to calibre of movies. Has resumed his solo trips to the pictures in Ennis on Friday nights. In meantime, continues to be perfectly delightful barman and still laughs when I enquire, ‘Is it lumpy?’ about soup of the day – but perhaps
not quite as heartily as he used to
.

I looked around for a seat. Only other customers in pub were Considine and the ferret. Unusual to see them – Considine usually at work on a Friday. He and the ferret embroiled in intense-looking chat.

Considine spotted me. ‘Lola,’ he called. ‘Join us.’

Reluctant to. Quite shy around Considine and had never been introduced to Gillian the ferret.

But obliged to sit down and shake hand of Gillian, who looked exactly like cartoon ferret. How talented cartoonists are. They can take any creature – dingos, bulls, ferrets – and while retaining distinctive features, can render them cute. Gillian really very pretty. But, yes, undeniably like a ferret.

‘How are you, Lola?’ Considine asked.

‘Top-notch.’ Do not know what it is but have uncontrollable impulse for sarcasm every time meet him. ‘Yourself?’

‘Top-notch also.’ Yes, him sarcastic too.

Gillian spoke up. ‘Lola, Rossa would like to ask favour.’

And I’m thinking, Oh Mother of sweet suffering Jesus, what now? Is it not enough that I give my home over to trannies one night out of every seven? What more do they want?

‘Go on,’ Gillian urged Rossa.

‘Can I borrow your plunger?’

‘You mean coffee plunger?’ I asked.

‘No,’ Gillian said. ‘Other one. Am having problem with plumbing.’

‘Euphemism for girly innards?’

‘God, no. House plumbing.’

(She tried to explain. Something to do with ‘drains.’ Cannot supply further info. Whenever hear the word ‘drains’, momentarily black out.)

‘Plunger under your sink,’ Rossa said. ‘Borrowed it once before from Tom Twoomey.’

Handed him key to the house. ‘Go. Take the wretched appliance. Do what you need to do. Return it to where you found it. But please do not involve me because will faint.’

Off he went, leaving Gillian and me alone.

‘He should be at work,’ she said. ‘He took day off to help me.’

‘Kindly of him.’

More silence. Then she said, ‘Is wonderful thing you are doing.’

Not entirely sure what she was referring to. The plunger? The Friday nights?

‘Is great outlet for Rossa. Or should I say Chloe?’

‘Er, yes. And you don’t mind…?’

‘Worse things he could be doing.’

Impressive girl. Riddled with sangfroid. ‘The pity is,’ she said, ‘that I’m no use to him. I live in jeans and don’t wear scrap of make-up.’

Yes, her ferrety little fizzog free of all artificial unguents.

‘Is funny,’ I remarked. ‘He makes far better-looking woman than he does man.’

‘Oh yes?’ Smile fading. Expression faintly huffy. ‘You not think Rossa is good-looking man?’

Cripes! Had just insulted her boyfriend!

‘Of course is good-looking man. Simply meant is more groomed as a woman. Must go. Have urgent appointment in Galway.’

Luckily actually
had
urgent appointment in Galway, as would have driven the seventy miles to Eyre Square (centre of Galway) simply to extricate self from awkward situation.