by Marian Keyes
This Charming Man
By the Same Author
Watermelon
Lucy Sullivan is Getting Married
Rachel’s Holiday
Last Chance Saloon
Sushi for Beginners
Under the Duvet
Angels
The Other Side of the Story
Further Under the Duvet
Anybody Out There?
This Charming Man
MARIAN KEYES
MICHAEL JOSEPH
an imprint of
PENGUIN BOOKS
MICHAEL JOSEPH
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published 2008
1
Copyright © Marian Keyes, 2008
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Brightness Falls by Jay McInerney © Jay McInerney, 1992. Extract reproduced by permission of Bloomsbury
Publishing and Alfred A. Knopf. The Four Loves by C. S. Lewis © C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd, 1960. Extract reprinted by permission. ‘Devil Woman’, Words & Music by Terry Britten & Kristine Sparkle. All rights on behalf of Warner/Chappell Music Ltd and SGO Music Publishing Ltd. Reproduced by permission. ‘I Got You Babe’, Words & Music by Sonny Bono, © 1966 Cotillion Music Inc. and Chris-Marc Music Ltd. All rights on behalf of WB Music Corp administered by Warner/Chappell Music Ltd, London W6 8BS.
Reproduced by permission
Every effort has been made to contact copyright holders. The author and publisher will nevertheless be happy to correct any error or omission at the earliest opportunity
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book
978-0-14-190977-6
For Caitríona Keyes, the funniest person I’ve ever met
Acknowledgements
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.
What! You too? I thought I was the only one.
C. S. Lewis
‘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
De Courcy to Wed
Women throughout the land will be donning black armbands with the news that Ireland’s most eligible politician, Paddy ‘Quicksilver’ de Courcy, is to hang up his gloves and settle down. Over the last decade, de Courcy, a popular figure in the VIP rooms of Dublin’s hot nightspots, and often said to physically resemble John John Kennedy, has been linked with a number of glamorous women, including the model-turned-actress Zara Kaletsky and Everest mountaineer Selma Teeley, but, until now, showed no signs of making a permanent commitment.
Not much is known of the woman who has won his notoriously wayward heart, one Alicia Thornton, but she’s certainly no model or mountaineer – the only climbing she seems interested in, is social. Ms Thornton (35), allegedly a widow, has been working for a well-known property agency but plans to give up her job once married, in order to ‘devote herself’ to her husband’s burgeoning political career. As the wife of the famously ambitious ‘Quicksilver’, she’ll have her work cut out for her.
De Courcy (37) is the deputy leader of New Ireland, the party founded three years ago by Dee Rossini and other TDs disaffected with the culture of corruption and croneyism prevailing in Ireland’s main political parties. Contrary to popular opinion, de Courcy is not one of New Ireland’s founding members, but joined eight months after the party’s inception, when it became clear that it was a viable prospect.
Lola
Day Zero. Monday, 25 August 14.25
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.
18.01
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.’
18.05 to midnight
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.’
Bridie had got married last year, but Bridie unsentimental. ‘Love, yes, very nice, but no need to live in each other’s pockets. You were always cancelling on us.’
‘Paddy’s time is precious! He’s a busy man! I had to take what I could get!’
‘Also,’ Bridie said, ‘you never read the papers, you know nothing of current affairs.’
‘I could have learnt,’ I said. ‘I could have changed!’
Tuesday, 26 August
Feel the whole country is looking at me, pointing and laughing. Had boasted to all friends and many clients about Paddy and now they know he is marrying someone else.
My equilibrium destroyed. On a photo-shoot in the Wicklow Hills for Harvey Nichols Christmas catalogue, I ironed oyster-coloured silk bias-cut Chloé evening dress (you know the one I mean?) at too high a heat and burnt it! Scorch mark in the shape of the iron on the crotch of iconic dress worth 2,035 euro (retail). Destroyed. Dress was intended to be the pivot of the shoot. Was lucky they didn’t charge me (i.e. bill me, not have me arrested, but could be either, actually, now that I think about it).
Nkechi insisted on taking control – she is an excellent assistant, so excellent that everyone thinks she is my boss – because my hands were trembling, my concentration was in ribbons and I kept having to go to portaloo to vomit.
And worse. Bowels like jelly. Will spare you the details.
20.30–0.34
Bridie and Treese visited me at home and physically restrained me from driving round to Paddy’s apartment and demanding audience with him.
3.00
I woke up and thought, Now, will go! Then noticed Treese was in bed beside me. Worse, was awake and prepared to wrestle.
Wednesday, 27 August 11.05
Constant loop in my head: He is marrying another woman, He is marrying another woman, He is marrying another woman. Then every few hours I think, What? What do you mean, he is marrying another woman? As if discovering it for the first time, and SIMPLY CANNOT BELIEVE IT. Then am compelled to ring him, to try to change his mind, but he never picks up.
Then the loop starts again, then the surprise, then I have to ring him, then I get no answer – again and again and again.
Saw picture of this so-called Alicia Thornton. (In the newsagent buying a Crunchie when I saw it on the front page of the Independent.) Snapper had caught her coming out of her Ballsbridge offices. Hard to be certain but looked like she was wearing Louise Kennedy. Said it all. Safe. Elegant but safe.
Realized I reco
gnized Alicia Thornton – she had been photographed four times with Paddy in glossy society pages over last few months. Caption had always read, ‘Paddy de Courcy and companion’. When photo number three appeared, I had felt emboldened enough to question him about her. He accused me of not trusting him and said she was a family friend. I believed him. But what family? He has no family!
12.11
Call from Bridie. ‘We are going out tonight.’
‘No!’ I cried. ‘Cannot face world!’
‘Yes, you can! Hold your head up high!’
Bridie is very bossy. Known as Sergeant-Major to her nearest and dearest.
‘Bridie, I’m in shreds. Shaking and everything. Cannot go anywhere. I’m begging you.’
She said, ‘Is for your good. We will take care of you.’
‘Can you not come over to my flat?’
‘No.’
Big long pause. Pointless putting up a fight. Bridie is the strongest-willed person I’ve ever met.
I sighed. Said, ‘Who is going?’
‘The four of us. You, me, Treese, Jem –’
‘Even Jem? He got a pass from Claudia?’
Claudia is Jem’s fiancée. Very possessive of him, even though she’s good-looking and thin.
‘Yes, he got pass from Claudia,’ Bridie said. ‘I fixed her.’
Bridie and Claudia shared much mutual antipathy.
Jem was great friends with me, Bridie and Treese, but oddly he wasn’t gay. Not even metrosexual. (Once he actually bought a pair of jeans in Marks & Spencer. Saw nothing wrong with it, until I gently pointed out the error of his ways.) We lived on the same road when teenagers, him and me. Bonded at cold bus stops, on rainy mornings, in duffel coats, on our way to college. Him to be brainy engineer, me to get diploma in fashion. (Just for the record, my duffel coat was electric-blue vinyl.)
