by Marian Keyes
However, a relief to note that everything still in full working order, emotionally speaking. And otherwise speaking.
10.20
Rang Bridie. ‘Had sex with Jake.’
Silence. Then whimpering sound. ‘I’m so jealous,’ she mewed. ‘I’mso jealous. What was it like?’
‘He is demon for different positions.’
‘Oh!’ she howled. ‘Now you are just taunting me!’
Throughout day
Good wishes continue to pour in from everyone who has heard about me and Jake.
16.12
Supermarket
Buying treats for trannies for tonight. Mini-rolls and suchlike.
Had question for Kelly and Brandon. Hadn’t seen the heartbroken woman traipsing the beach in a while.
‘Where is she?’ I asked.
‘Jennifer? Better,’ Kelly said. ‘Gone back home. Left all her lopsided pottery behind.’
‘She got the ride from Frankie Kiloorie,’ Brandon said. ‘Put the smile back on her face.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Lives out the Miltown Malbay road. Carpenter. Good with his hands.’ Vulgar snigger.
‘Jennifer’d never look at him in Dublin because he hasn’t bought new clothes since 2001, but he did the trick all right!’
Ribald laughter from both Brandon and Kelly, but I was uplifted. A victory for one is a victory for all.
‘Everyone goes through same thing here,’ Brandon said airily. ‘Crying, walking the beach, artistic leanings. On home stretch when they get the ride from some horny-handed man of the soil.’
‘Or the sea,’ Kelly chipped in, waggling her over-plucked eyebrows at me.
‘Or the surf!’ Brandon actually elbowed me!
Kept face haughty while they descended into snorty laughter. No secrets in this town, no secrets at all.
I cleared throat. Abrupt change of subject. ‘Have you got my clothing revenge DVD?’
Brandon pulled himself together and placed a DVD box on counter.
‘Funny Face?’ I asked. ‘Since when is Funny Face a revenge film? Is Audrey Hepburn!’
Brandon didn’t speak. Simply placed another DVD on counter. Unforgiven.
‘Double bill,’ he said. ‘Funny Face and Unforgiven. Best I can do for you, Lola. No such thing as revenge film about clothing.’
18.59
And here they come. Punctual creatures, trannies.
They dived straight into kitchen where new purchases were laid out.
‘Blanche,’ I called through shut door, ‘if you need help getting into your new underwear, please call me.’
Did not relish thought of having to wrestle Blanche’s manhood into submission, but am a professional.
‘Also do not apply make-up. Have special stuff for you both.’
Have to say, had unexpectedly pleasant evening. Blanche amenable to my suggestions. Permitted me to dress her in beautiful new clothes, paint her fingernails, demonstrate how to apply a discreet maquillage and give lesson in deportment.
‘I’m feeling Jackie Kennedy, in the White House,’ I said. ‘I’m feeling Jack in the Oval Office, Jackie at his shoulder, wearing simple classic shift dress and single string of unfarmed pearls. I’m feeling perfect hair, low-key lips, super-soft cashmere cardigan.’ (Sort of thing you have to say as stylist. Is expected of you.)
Blanche thrilled with my monologue. Quite a different woman by time I finished my work. In fact, she might actually get away with being large-boned, mannish woman. (In light shed by 30-watt bulb.)
We shared bottle of wine, ate one mini-roll between us and waxed lyrical about Audrey Hepburn.
Now and again Noel jumped to his feet and danced around in his trashy party-girl outfit, peevishly saying he wished he could go to a disco. But each to their own.
22.20
Trannies depart. Buoyed up by own goodness decided go to the Oak for quick drink. Walked in. Brandon serving behind the bar. Moment of severe dislocation. Had I entered supermarket by accident?
‘You’re all right,’ Brandon called. ‘You really are in the pub.’
‘Where’s…?’ Cripes, what was Ol’ Prune Eyes’ real name? ‘Ibrahim.’
‘Osama? Night off. Has worked ninety-two days straight without a break.’
‘Ninety-two days! And he is always so cheerful.’
‘So why begrudge him a few hours in Ennis at the pictures?’
‘Am not begrudging, Brandon. Simply surprised.’
23.37
Home
Knock at door. Jake. Quite surprised to see him. Genuinely hadn’t expected to again. Him very, very, very sexy. The eyes, the hair, the mouth, the body.
‘What you doing here?’ I said. ‘Another booty call, is it?’
Him offended. ‘Is not booty call. I am fucking crazy about you.’
‘You talk good game, mister.’
Offended again. ‘Is no game. Let me show you how serious am.’
Immediate kissing. Joined at lips, backed into house, already removing clothes. Aflame with lust. Thrilling.
Sex, however, frustrating. Would be just starting to get into rhythm and enjoy self when would be picked up, twirled about like majorette’s baton and entirely repositioned.
Eventually asked, ‘Jake, you on mission to do every position in Kama Sutra over two-day period?’
Offended again. ‘Just want you to have good time.’ Look of sincerity in devastating silvery eyes. Touched. Paddy had been so different, especially towards end. Had forgotten what it felt like for a man to be nice to me.
Finally hit on compromise: no more than four different positions per shag. Everyone happy.
Saturday, 1 November 7.32
Early morning sex, then Jake left to ‘catch some waves.’
8.14
Call from Bridie. ‘Has he been in touch?’
‘Yes, called here again last night, looking for sex.’
She wailed so loudly, my ear tingled.
‘Have you been in magic bedroom yet?’ she asked.
‘No. But might tonight. He is cooking dinner for me.’
13.15
The Oak
Congratulated Ol’ Prune Eyes on his first night off in ninety-two days.
‘Went to Ennis to movies. Wim Wenders double bill. Immensely enjoyable.’
‘Good for you!’
Sudden change in his demeanour. Cleared his throat. Looked down at bar counter, then up again, fizzog set in quite formal expression. ‘Ah! Ahem! Lola, perhaps you would accompany me next Friday night? Ingmar Bergman season starting.’
‘Friday night? Oh Ibrahim, cannot. Any other night of week, no problem, but not Friday.’
‘But Friday night only night off I get. How about following Friday?’
‘All Fridays bad, Ibrahim.’ Terrible pause. Felt I had to say something. Picking up his loneliness, the fact that he was Egyptian far, far, far from home, in non-Muslim country with peculiar weather systems and ingrained drinking culture.
But what could I say? Cannot come because am hosting trannie party?
Suggestion: ‘What if you swapped your night off to a Thursday? Or a Saturday? Or any day other than Friday?’
He shook his head, his pruney eyes mournful. ‘Has to be Friday. Only night Brandon can manage the pub. Because only night Kelly’s mother can help out in supermarket.’
15.15
Into supermarket to return DVDs. As soon as through door, Brandon fronted me up. ‘Hear you wouldn’t go to pictures with poor Osama. Is it because you are racist?’
Swallowed hard. ‘Am not racist. Am very fond of Osama, but busy Friday nights.’
‘Busy with what? Watching DVDs about clothes and revenge?’
Can have no privacy in this town, no privacy at all!
‘Why don’t you let Osama watch DVD with you? He loves films.’
‘Sorry, but cannot be done.’
‘Why not?’
Cripes.
16.03
The
Dungeon
Not even in it. Just passing it, when Boss yelled out at me, ‘Heard you turned down poor Osama. Didn’t have you pegged as racist, Lola.’
19.48
Clutching bottle of wine, show up at surf boys’ house. Jake opens door but does not permit me to enter. Instead leads me down steps to beach where table and two chairs set up on sand, white cloth snapping in breeze. Candelabra, flowers, small bonfire, wine cooling in bucket, night sky pricked with stars. Standing at discreet distance noticed Cecile and her little turtle dove.
Asked, ‘What they doing?’
‘Our waiters for evening.’
Couldn’t stop laughing. Said, ‘This is too much. You are hysterical. You are like fantasy man.’
Evening very chilly but kept warm by bonfire, cashmere blanket wrapped around shoulders and warm glow from within.
‘Food delicious,’ I said.
‘Cecile helped. Well –’ slightly shame-faced look –‘Cecile did it all. Cannot cook to save life.’
‘Thank God. So you are not entirely perfect.’ Then uncontrollable laughter began again.
Eventually repair to magic bedroom – every bit as magical and breathtaking as imagined – where enjoy much four-positions-per-shag sex.
Sunday, 2 November
In magic bed all day.
Monday, 3 November
Ditto.
Tuesday, 4 November
Ditto.
Wednesday, 5 November 16.17
Had to get up and go home. Had responsibilities, to wit: deliveries of trannie clothing. Over last couple of days hadn’t cared, not a jot, that Niall the DHL man might be calling with boxes of chicken-fillet bra fillers and glittery sandals in size eleven. Wild and carefree and having such a wonderful time, hadn’t given a damn.
Jake wrapped his arms and legs around me and refused to let me go. Was pleasing to push against him and feel his muscles locked hard and tight.
‘Have to go,’ I said. ‘Really. Must. But we could see each other tonight.’
Slight hesitation. Loosening of arms and legs. ‘Lola, let’s take couple days’ breathing space.’
Looked hard at him. Was he dumping me? His silvery eyes gave nothing away, just staring blandly into mine. Cold lurch in pit of stomach. Abruptly, it went; just disappeared. Realized wonderful thing about having been destroyed by Paddy: cannot be hurt by other men.
‘Breathing space?’ I said. ‘Yes, let’s.’
Hurried home. Was not going to think about Jake. Other anxieties. Head full of disaster scenarios. What if Niall had left packages of trannie clothing outside front door and they had been half-eaten by cows?
No boxes stacked up against house, but note from Rossa Considine: he was holding three days’ worth of deliveries for me.
Looked. His eco-swot car in his driveway. At home.
17.29
Considine uncharacteristically gracious. Helped carry boxes of trannie clothing to my house. (Naturally did not tell him what was in boxes and he did not ask.)
‘Owe you drink,’ I said.
19.29
Mrs Butterly’s
Opportunity to buy Considine drink arrived sooner than expected. Him sitting at Mrs Butterly’s counter drinking pint. No sign of Ferret-Face.
Mrs Butterly made me ham sandwich, beckoned me closer and in loud whisper asked, ‘Is it true you agreed to marry Osama in the Oak, then reneged on bargain because he is Muslim?’
‘What?’ Cripes above, was this story still doing the rounds? ‘No! No! He asked me to go to cinema – as friends! – but have another standing engagement on Friday nights. That is all!’
‘Knew it! Didn’t think it could be true! You are nice girl, Lola, that is what I told them.’
‘Who?’
‘Oh nobody. Just nosy parkers, poking noses into other people’s business.’
I cut eyes to Rossa Considine. He was staring into his pint.
He looked up, all injured innocence. ‘What?’
‘Did you tell Mrs Butterly about me and Osama?’
He shrugged. ‘Course not.’ Then added – quite unnecessarily, I felt –‘What you get up to is your own business.’
Confused. Just what was he getting at? Jake? Narrowed eyes at him.
‘In fairness,’ Mrs Butterly murmured, ‘it wasn’t him.’
Rossa Considine finished his pint in big swallow and swung himself off stool. ‘I’m away.’
‘Ah stay,’ Mrs Butterly urged. ‘Don’t leave in a temper.’
‘Not in temper. Meeting Gillian.’
‘Oh well, have enjoyable evening, so.’
1.01
No word from Jake.
Thursday, 6 November 11.15
Bridie rang. ‘Has Love-God dumped you yet?’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘He’s dumped me.’
‘Was only joking. But, sorry, Lola, was bound to happen. He was –’
‘Yes, I know. Too good-looking for me.’
‘Are you upset?’
I sighed. ‘What is life but fleeting moments of happiness strung together on necklace of despair?’
‘But are you upset?’
‘… Is hard to describe. Am sorry I had anything to do with him. Didn’t even fancy him to begin with. Now feel… dunno… shit. But had been feeling atrocious anyway. Put it this way, don’t feel any worse.’
12.11
Frenzied phone call from SarahJane Hutchinson. ‘Lola, have met new man –’
‘Congratulations.’
‘– we are going Sandy Lane for Christmas and New Year and have nothing to wear. Shops full of sparkly red dresses!’
‘Relax, relax. Resort-wear.’
‘Resort-wear?’
‘Yes. Any designer worth their salt does special collection at this time of year for this very purpose. Called resort-wear. Or sometimes Cruise Collection. But don’t worry, don’t have to be going on cruise in order to wear it.’
Got on blower. Phoned Dublin, London, even contact in Milan.
17.57
The Dungeon
Boss and his crew had just discovered Baby Guinnesses (shot glasses of Kahlua topped with Baileys) and were charmed by them. Bought me unfeasible number. Sickly but potent.
Almost walked by Jake’s house on way home. Persuaded self not to.
Despite sweetness of drinks, was quite bitter.
Friday, 7 November 10.23
Weather reflecting mood. Blue skies have finally gone. Grey, misty, drizzly, cold. Uncle Tom’s cabin has central heating. Thank God. Couldn’t be dealing with coal. Am not a coal person.
14.22
Supermarket
Brandon in state of high excitement. ‘Have revenge film about clothing! Legally Blonde. Lots of clothes in it and she gets her own back on people.’
Had seen Legally Blonde and knew it to be more of a comeuppance film than a pure revenge one, but lavished praise on Brandon. Is good to encourage those who have made effort.
‘No, wasn’t my discovery,’ Brandon admitted. ‘Was Osama!’
‘Well… er… will thank him.’
‘Why won’t you let him come tonight? He is lonely and lives for the movies. Is what you get up to on Friday nights so depraved that he cannot come?’
Couldn’t say anything. All twisted up with conflict. Dreadful guilt about Osama but fear of giving away Blanche’s secret and Noel stopping my dole…
14.44
On way home
Woman I didn’t even know shouted across the street, ‘Why you not let Osama watch DVDs with you? He is refugee, you know. Have you no Christian charity?’
Called weakly, ‘He is not refugee, he has work permit and everything.’
Woman not convinced.
In despair. Everyone hates me.
19.02
Arrival of trannies. I let them get into their glad rags before outlining Osama situation for them.
‘Could we change from Friday to another evening?’ I suggested. �
��Any evening?’
Grim shakes of head. Noel has to do homework with kids and Blanche muttered something about having to get up very early every other day except Saturday. Didn’t really understand – maybe cows get lie-in on Saturdays? Life of a farmer alien to me.
‘In that case will have to permit Osama to join our little group.’
‘No way.’ Noel was tight-lipped.
‘All of Knockavoy thinks I am a racist! No one can understand my reluctance. Safer to give in. Drawing attention to situation by holding out.’
‘I will stop your dole.’
‘Do it, then,’ I said wearily. At that moment suddenly felt full disappointment of Jake’s disappearance. ‘Maybe it’s time I went back to Dublin. Am sick of all this.’
Blanche scandalized. Started to cry.
Noel also pretty scandalized-looking as he saw his ‘safe house’ disappear. I experienced – indeed savoured – moment of satisfaction.
Silence all round. Only sound that of Blanche’s sobbing. Noel spoke up. ‘Can he keep his mouth shut? This Osama chap?’
‘Don’t honestly know. He seems decent type but it’s a chance we have to take.’
Noel and Blanche had lengthy, muttered, head-to-head talk.
‘… certain could get him deported if he tells on us…’
‘… cannot go back to old life. Need this outlet…’
‘… need never see us in our civvies…’
‘… all day long looking at cows’ backsides…’
Some sort of resolution finally reached. ‘Okay,’ Noel said to me. ‘Invite him. So long as he doesn’t come until after we are changed. We need to keep our identities secret.’
