Where Rainbows End (38 page)

Singing in the rain, my bum.

Notice I’m writing to you today and not e-mailing and that’s due to the guy in the Internet café downstairs catching me one too many times staring 328

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at him. I think he’s on to me so I decided to stay home tonight. The other reason for me writing is that I’m pretending to Katie that I’m studying. We both have Christmas exams coming up and I told her she needed to take them more seriously. Well I walked myself straight into that one. So here we both are, crammed at the kitchen table with our books, folders, papers, and pens pretending to look intellectual.

I have so much study to catch up on that I haven’t been able to cook dinner all week. So it’s been downstairs’ delights for the past few days. Luckily Sanjay is giving us forty percent off our takeaway meals and he’s even created a new dish called Rosie Chicken Curry. He sent it up free last night with our order. We tasted it and sent it back down. Just joking. It’s basically chicken and curry. All he did was add the Rosie. I’m flattered all the same at the sight of my name on an Indian menu and it’s interesting late at night to hear my name being yelled by drunken men in deep slurred voices. I keep thinking that my Romeo is standing on the pavement below my window calling me and throwing stones up to awaken me from my slumber. Then I remember that it’s Saturday night, one o’clock in the morning, the pub has just closed, drunken men are shouting their special order over the counter, and the stones against my window are the rain. But a girl can always dream.

Speaking of dreams I had one last night that I was a chicken and that I was being chased around a huge hotel kitchen by chefs, waiters, and the guests and they were trying to kill me. Take from that what you may.

Every time I pass by Sanjay’s wife she rolls her eyes and tuts. He’s still asking me out on dates, he even asks me when she’s standing right beside him. So I say very loudly that what he is asking me is wrong considering his marital status, that he needs to have more respect for his wife, and that even if he wasn’t married I would say no. I say it so loudly so that she can hear but yet she stills tuts and Sanjay smiles at me and throws a few poppadoms in the bag for me for free. The man is insane.

Rupert (my other neighbor) asked me if I want to go to the National Concert Hall at the weekend. Apparently the National Symphony Orchestra is playing Brahms Piano Concerto Number 2 in B flat major, op. 83, which is his absolute favorite. It’s not a date or anything. I think Rupert is completely asexual and that he just likes company. That suits me because that’s how I love, rosie

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define myself right now anyway. Plus the “I Love Mother” tattoo on his arm would be a real turn-off. That quote by James Joyce really upsets me too, because Rupert is so tall that when I look straight ahead I’m faced with his chest and I constantly read this “Mistakes are the portals of discovery.” It’s like a sign or something, like Rupert was put in the flat beside me to make me understand. Only I wish the message made more sense than that. Mistakes are more like the potholes of discovery. It’s a bloody long bumpy road to discovery and you’re more likely to die in a car crash than a plane accident. I wish it said “Chocolate is good” instead.

Speaking of mistakes, I still haven’t spoken to Alex and it’s been over a year. All we’ve been doing is sending stupid cards back and forth to each other. It’s like we’re having a staring competition and neither of us wants to be the first one to blink. It’s silly really, because I miss him like crazy. There are so many things that happen to me, silly little everyday things that I go to tell him, like the postman this morning was delivering the post across the road and that stupid little Jack Russell dog called Jack Russell was attacking him again.

So I looked out the window and I saw the postman shaking the dog off his leg as he does every morning but this time he kicked the dog in the stomach by mistake and the dog fell over and didn’t move for ages. Then the owner came outside and I watched as the postman pretended that Jack Russell was like that when he got there. The owner believed him and there was pandemonium as they tried to help the dog. Eventually Jack Russell got up and when he took one look at the postman he whimpered and ran away into the house. It was so funny. The postman just shrugged and walked off. He was whistling by the time he got to my door. Things like that would have really made Alex laugh, especially as I had told him all about the stupid dog keeping me awake all night barking and always stealing my post from the poor postman.

Despite my loneliness for him I know this phase isn’t going to last forever. He’ll come around sooner or later. I just hope I won’t be six feet under by the time he does. Katie is trying to sneak a peak off my page . . .

MASLOW’S THEORY OF HIERARCHY

Ha ha, that’ll put her off the scent. OK I better go now and actually do some work. See you both soon. Tell Dad I said hello and that I love him.

Oh by the way Ruby has set me up on a blind date on Saturday night. I 330

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nearly killed her but I can’t cancel it. Cross your fingers for me that he’s not some sort of serial killer.

Lots of love,

Rosie

You have an instant message from: ROSIE

Rosie:

Hi Julie. I’ve signed you up to be one of my instant message buddies. Whenever I see that you’re online I can send you messages.

Julie:

Not unless I block your name from my list.

Rosie:

You wouldn’t dare.

Julie:

Why would you set up an instant messaging service with me when I am in the next room?

Rosie:

It’s what I do. It means I can multitask. I can speak to people on the phone and also do business with you online. What is it that you do, Ms. Casey? All I see you doing is terrorizing innocent children and having meetings with pissed off parents.

Julie:

That’s about all I do Rosie, you’re right. Believe me you were one of the worst kids to teach and one of the worst parents to meet with. I hated calling you in.

Rosie:

I hated coming in.

Julie:

And now you’ve added me to your messaging list. How times change. By the way I’m having a little get-together for my birthday next week and I was wondering if you would like to come.

Rosie:

Who else is going?

Julie:

Oh just some other kids that I used to scare the hell out of 20 years ago. We love to gather and reminisce about the days gone by.

Rosie:

Seriously.

Julie:

No, just a few friends, a few members of my family for a few drinks and a few nibbles for a few minutes to mark the occasion and then you can all leave me alone.

Rosie:

What age will you be? I only ask so I can buy you a birthday card with a number on it. Maybe get a badge for you too.

love, rosie

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Julie:

You do and you’re fired. I’m going to be 53.

Rosie:

You’re only 20 years older than me. I used to think you were ancient.

Julie:

Funny isn’t it? Imagine I was only your age by the time you left this school. The kids must feel that you’re ancient now too.

Rosie:

I feel ancient.

Julie:

Ancient people don’t go on romantic blind dates. Come on, spill the beans, what was he like?

Rosie:

His name is Adam and he is a very, very attractive man. All through the night he was polite, a terrific conversationalist, and very funny.

He paid for the meal, the taxi, drinks, absolutely everything and wouldn’t let me open my purse (not that there was any money in it to spend). He was tall, dark, and handsome, dressed impeccably, and I could tell a lot of attention to detail was paid. Plucked eyebrows, straight teeth, and not a nose hair in sight.

Julie:

What does he do for a living?

Rosie:

He’s an engineer.

Julie:

So he was polite, handsome, and had a great job. He sounds too good to be true. Is there the possibility of meeting again?

Rosie:

Well after the meal we went back to his penthouse apartment. He lives along Sir John Rogerson’s quay, the place was fabulous. I stayed over, he asked me out again, and I said no.

Julie:

Are you crazy?

Rosie:

Probably. He was such a good man but there was nothing there.

Julie:

But it was only your first date. You can never really tell these things by a first date. What did you want, fireworks?

Rosie:

No actually, quite the opposite. I want silence, a perfect moment of quietness.

Julie:

Silence?

Rosie:

Oh it’s a long story. But last night only proves that you can put me with a guy that’s perfect in every way and too good to be true and I’m still not ready. Everyone around me needs to stop rushing me.

Julie:

OK, OK, I promise I’ll stop trying to set you up with men until you give me your permission. How’s the studying going?

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Rosie:

It’s tough working, studying, and being a mother all at the same time. I end up staying up till all hours of the night pondering life, the universe, and all that’s in it.

Julie:

Don’t worry, we’ve all had those days and believe me by the time you get to my age you stop caring. Is there anything I can do to help?

Rosie:

Yes actually a pay rise would be a terrific help.

Julie:

No chance. How’s the saving going?

Rosie:

It would be going fine if I didn’t have to feed, clothe, educate my child as well as pour rent money into the shoebox I’m living in.

Julie:

That always seems to get in the way of things, that whole looking after your child part. Have you spoken to Alex yet?

Rosie:

No.

Julie:

Oh Rosie, you are both being ridiculous. It’s been over a year now. I spent my life trying to separate you two from each other but now the fun is over. Tell him Ms. Big Nose Smelly Breath Casey has given you both permission to sit beside each other again.

Rosie:

That’ll never work; he never listened to you anyway. And it’s not like we’re not in contact at all, Katie keeps in touch with him all the time and I send cards for every occasion and he does the same back.

Every few months I get a postcard from a different exotic country with boring weather reports from him, and when he’s not holidaying he’s working all hours. So we’re not completely ignoring each other. It’s a very civilized kind of argument we’re having.

Julie:

Yes, apart from the fact that you don’t even talk. Your best friend has a 6-month-old baby that you haven’t even bothered to meet. All I’m saying is that if you let this carry on much longer, the years will multiply and before you know it it’ll just be too late.

DEAR ROSIE AND KATIE DUNNE,

SEASON’S GREETINGS FROM ST. JUDE’S HOSPITAL.

MY WIFE, TWO SONS, AND I HOPE THAT THE YEAR AHEAD BRINGS YOU

AND YOUR LOVED ONES GOOD HEALTH AND HAPPINESS.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM THE STEWARTS.

ALEX STEWART, M.D.

TO ALEX STEWART MD RIP BLA BLA BLA,

MAY THE COMING YEAR BE FILLED WITH WARM WISHES FOR YOU AND

YOUR FAMILY.

BEST WISHES,

ROSIE DUNNE R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

You have an instant message from: ALEX

Alex:

What do you know about respect?

Rosie:

Oooh, talking to me now are you?

Alex:

It’s been long enough. One of us should be adult enough to make contact, remember I’m not the one who started this in the first place.

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Rosie:

Yes you did.

Alex:

Rosie, no I didn’t.

Rosie:

Yes you did!

Alex:

Oh
please!
Last year I told you Bethany was pregnant at which point you went ape shit and ranted about how being male is some sort of disease. And for your information I proposed to her one night before we went to an award ceremony. Bethany said yes, and naturally being excited, she told her parents at the table (as any normal person would do). Her father was presented his award and during his speech he announced that his daughter has just gotten engaged (as a normal proud father would on just learning that his daughter was to be married).

The press was there; they went back to their desks and reported on the evening in time to make the next day’s papers. I went out and celebrated my engagement with my fiancée and her family. I got home to bed and woke up the next day to phone call after phone call from my family wanting to no why the hell hadn’t I told them I was getting married. My inbox was full of e-mails from confused friends and I was just about to deal with them when I got an instant message from you accusing me of doing all sorts of things.

So I sent you and Katie a wedding invite anyway thinking that even though you disapproved of my choice of wife and concocted pathetic stories about why I was marrying her, you might still have behaved like the friend you claim to be by attending my wedding and being supportive.

Clearly you couldn’t do that and stopped all forms of communication for months so I didn’t think it was necessary for me to continue making an effort when you obviously couldn’t be bothered.

But in the meantime I have received your array of Christmas cards, happy new year cards, St. Patrick’s Day cards, postcards, and gifts for Theo and likewise and I hope you have received mine. So I apologize for the last card you received, your name was on my mailing love, rosie

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list, but this particular card was intended for my patients and not you. Anyway, I didn’t think you would appreciate the family photo in front of the Christmas tree. It’s not something I imagine that’s being displayed on your mantel.

Rosie:

I didn’t receive any wedding invite!

Alex:

What?

Rosie:

I got no invitation to your wedding. There was one for Katie alright but none for me. And Katie couldn’t very well go because she was only 13 and where would she stay? And I couldn’t bring her over because frankly I couldn’t afford to—