This Charming Man

by Marian Keyes

  The girls exchanged glances and shrugged and one of them said, ‘Always knew it couldn’t last for ever.’

  Baffling response. Had expected wailing and gnashing of teeth and pleas to stay. Instead atmosphere of mature acceptance. Why? The disco before Christmas, that was why. Had shown the trannies that there was great big trannie world out there. They didn’t need me any more.

  ‘You’ve outgrown me,’ I said, then broke down into choking sobs. ‘You came to me as little fledgling chicks and now… now… YOU’REALLGROWNUP!’

  ‘Thought you’d be glad,’ Natasha said sourly. ‘You’ve done nothing but complain.’

  Saturday, 17 January 10.15

  Got up, got dressed and left house. After sleepless night was finally doing right thing. Was going to talk to Rossa Considine.

  Eco-swot car in drive, hopefully he at home and not down a pothole. Also hopefully not in bed with Gillian. Although they didn’t seem to do that – spend the day in bed. They were Up And At ’Em outdoorsy types.

  Considine opened door as if he’d been expecting me. Followed me into sitting room, where we perched on edge of couch, ill at ease and sad. Strange atmosphere prevailed as if we’d once been in love, but it was all over now.

  ‘You didn’t come last night?’ I said.

  ‘No. Told Noel to tell you.’

  ‘He did. Rossa, my behaviour that night we escaped from the guards, I assure you it won’t happen again –’

  ‘Is okay –’

  ‘I apologize, Rossa, I sincerely do. And to Gillian. From bottom of my heart. Am so ashamed. But will never happen again. Was just insane, adrenaline, mad moment. Please come back, we miss Chloe.’

  ‘Sorry, Lola,’ he said with regret. ‘Chloe’s gone for a while.’

  ‘I promise won’t lay finger on her –’

  ‘Nothing to do with you, Lola. Not your fault. Just one of those things… for the best…’

  ‘But –’ Tears in my eyes! For mythical character!

  ‘Sorry, Lola,’ Considine said with infinite kindness. ‘Know how much you liked her. Oh please don’t cry, Lola, come here.’ Took me on his lap the way Chloe used to and I sobbed against his shirt.

  ‘Will she be back?’

  ‘Probably, yes, at some stage, just… you know…’

  Didn’t. Must be something to do with Gillian. Maybe she’d finally started kicking up at her boyfriend wearing ladies’ clothing.

  ‘But by time Chloe comes back, I’ll be gone.’

  ‘What?’ Barked word out. He sat up straight, nearly sending me toppling onto floor. His body rigid and no longer comfortable to lean against.

  ‘Yes, Considine. Have to go back to Dublin. Twoomey family want the house and I need to go back to job.’ At thought of leaving, cried all the harder. Remarkably sad.

  ‘When you going?’

  ‘Don’t know. Haven’t decided yet. Can’t bear to. Soon, though. Next two weeks.’

  ‘Right.’

  His body sagged and although once again comfortable to lean on, it was different, not as pleasant, like a couch that has lost its oomph. Felt the weight of his head, leaning against mine. Mood a peculiar grieving one. Like we were both mourning loss of Chloe. Know it sounds stupid, but simply telling it like it was.

  Considine patted hand on my back and my sobbing slowed, then stopped. I closed eyes. Feeling a bit calmer. Warm. Nice smell from Considine’s throat. Big, big sigh came all the way up from pit of my belly. Exhaled in long, loose breath of acceptance. Pushed self away from him. ‘I’d better get up, Rossa Considine. If stay any longer, will fall asleep.’

  ‘Lola, sorry I’ve upset you –’

  ‘S’okay, s’okay.’ Had done my best. And was leaving Knockavoy anyway. Leaving all of this trannie-malarkey behind.

  ‘You want come over on Wednesday for Law and Order?’ he asked. ‘One final time?’

  ‘Thought it was on on Thursday night.’

  ‘New year. New schedule. On on Wednesday nights now. You come over?’

  ‘… okay…’ Hadn’t got what had come for, but okay…

  12.12

  Knockavoy main street

  Saw Jake and his mouth sauntering along in Love-God fashion on other side of street. Braced self for insults. But he gave cheery wave, devoid of bitterness, obsession, insanity. So it is true! According to usual sources (Cecile) he is fully restored to old cocksure self. He has reduced Jaz to shell of a girl, made casual, cruel attempt over Christmas/New Year wasteland of time to come between Kelly and Brandon and is now embroiled with engaged woman from ‘out Lis-cannor way.’ I am blip on his otherwise impeccable record.

  12.16

  Supermarket

  New Vogue in! Kelly had it on special order for self. Obliged to tell her to cease and desist as would be returning to Dublin. She expressed sadness at my imminent departure then turned attention to shockingly high cost of Vogue.

  ‘Nearly a tenner!’ she cried, clinking change out into my upturned hand. ‘And nothing in it but ads! Hey!’ All excited. ‘How you get that mark?’

  ‘What mark?’

  ‘That.’ She indicated small, baldy-looking circle of shiny pink skin in middle of my palm. ‘Is it burn? You self-harmer?’ she asked eagerly. Kelly fascinated by lifestyles of starlet types she reads about in cheap magazines – little girls with big handbags, bulimia and spells in rehab under their belt before eighteenth birthday. ‘Would love to meet real self-harmer.’

  ‘Birthmark,’ I said apologetically. ‘Born with it.’ Then added, because she looked so disappointed, ‘Sorry.’

  13.15

  Passing the Dungeon

  ‘Ho, Lola Daly! A word, if you please.’

  I stepped in.

  ‘Item of gossip for you,’ Boss said.

  ‘Hot,’ Moss said.

  ‘Red-hot,’ the Master confirmed.

  Shameful thrill ran through me. This trio know everything. Whatever they told me would be true.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Boss asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Gillian Kilbert…’

  ‘… also known as Ferret-Face…’

  ‘… and Osama the barman…’

  ‘… are an item.’

  Extreme shock.

  Gillian and Osama? Was seized with terror. This my fault? Had I driven wedge between Gillian and Considine, propelling Gillian on ‘revenge fling’?

  ‘Does Rossa know?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So how do you know?’

  ‘Expected it. Have watched situation with interest since they first began going to them Danish films together on a Friday night.’

  ‘Thought they were both ripe for it,’ the Master said. ‘Little bird tells me Considine and Ferret-Face haven’t done the needful for many weeks. In fact, not since the night they got back together.’

  ‘How the hell you know that?’ Bad, burny feeling at invasion of Considine’s privacy.

  ‘Small town. Anyway, sure enough, instead of coming straight home from Ennis, Gillian and Osama have taken to parking the car half a mile out the road there, and snogging the heads off each other.’

  ‘They didn’tgoto film at all last night,’ Boss said. ‘Just parked the car in their favourite spot… and… well, you know yourself.’

  Bad, burny feeling intensified. ‘Have you nothing better to do than spy on people?’

  Startled hiatus. ‘What’s up, Lola?’ Boss upset. ‘Thought you’d enjoy the bit of news.’

  ‘Not right that I know and that Rossa doesn’t.’

  ‘Someone will tell him soon enough.’ Moss seemed to think that this was good thing.

  But not!

  Sudden and extreme compassion for Considine. Proud man. And although sometimes cranky, a decent man. I too have been the rejected sap in my time.

  I should tell him.

  But could I? Despised all that nosy-parker, fake-sympathy, ‘Thought you should know…’

  Although my sympathy not fake.

&
nbsp; And if did break news to Considine, he would hate me for evermore. Messengers always got the blame. Did not want him to hate me for evermore. Discovered unexpected fondness for him.

  ‘You leaving?’ Alco’s Corner cried, as I got to my feet.

  ‘Yes.’ Needed to think about this.

  Left pub, to sounds of Boss muttering, ‘Don’t know what’sup with her.’

  Jesus Christ! As stepped out into daylight, first person I encountered was Gillian. I was rooted to spot with guilt, shock, then more guilt.

  ‘Hello, Lola, happy new year.’ She stopped for chat. Seemed in blithe good form.

  ‘… Erm…’

  ‘… You okay…?’

  Cripes alive. Was trying to decide what right thing was. She was right in my path – what were chances of that happening? Was she there for reason? But this was hard. A) I was fine one to bloody well talk, having made pass at her boyfriend, even though not him was interested in, but his lady alter ego. B) Interfering in other people’s affairs anathema to city person like myself.

  ‘Gillian.’ Cleared throat. ‘Is none of my business and am not passing judgement, really not at all, but heard… heard that you and Osama, I mean Ibrahim, have been…’

  What would I say? All sounded sordid. Fumbling in lay-bys?

  ‘… You know what am getting at?’ I said, mortified.

  She was staring, ferret-face immobile, eyes full of fear.

  ‘People talking about it,’ I said. ‘Rossa will find out. Would probably be better if he heard it from you.’

  ‘Where you hear? Not in there?’ She tipped her head at the Dungeon, her little face white as milk.

  I inclined chin in reluctant assent. Would not wish this fate on worst enemy – Boss, Moss and the Master being privy to their intimate business.

  ‘Fuck,’ she whispered. ‘Okay.’ She nodded, nodded, nodded, then scampered up the street and dived into the Oak, no doubt to consult Ol’ Prune Eyes.

  15.37

  Not spying. No. Simply happened to be cleaning windows in preparation for my departure when saw Ferret-Face and Ol’ Prune Eyes approach up the road, reeking of determination. Like gunfight at the OK Corral. At Considine’s they turned right into his boreen. Rapped on door and short while later were granted admission. Door shut firmly behind them.

  I listened hard, anticipating perhaps shouting and crashing of breaking crockery, but heard nothing.

  16.19

  Ferret-Face and Ol’ Prune Eyes emerged, heads bowed in what assumed was shame. Could discern nothing further.

  18.24

  Cleaning oven, although had barely used it during Knockavoy sojourn, when heard knock on the door.

  Rossa Considine leaning against door jamb, looking mildly dishevelled.

  ‘Badger’s arse,’ he said.

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Your badger’s arse night. You were promised one and you never got it. How you feel about doing it tonight? Right now?’

  ‘What wonderful idea! Let me just take off apron.’

  Of course, was simply being kindly person. Considine needed excuse to go out and get mouldy drunk to drown pain of ferret betrayal, and was dressing it up as gift to me. However was – yes, proud – he had picked me over his potholing buddies. Mind you, knowing those macho types, I expect they would mock him something ferocious. ‘Ha ha, you hear about Considine? So crap in bed his girl ran off with suicide bomber. HAHAHAHA!’

  18.37

  Standing in Knockavoy main street

  ‘Which pub?’ I asked.

  ‘The Oak.’

  The Oak? You blame me for expecting boycott of the Oak?

  Fair play to him. Man of forgiveness. Unless he planning to deck Osama?

  No. No decking. Purchased drinks from Osama. Aspect civil. Impressive. Rossa Considine like Gandhi! Osama, on other hand, was creeping about, eyes lowered with remorse. No sparkling, pruney-eyed smiles this evening.

  Couple of drinks in, Considine cracked and told me about Gillian and Osama. I behaved as if was first had heard of it.

  ‘Is tragedy,’ I said. Meant it. Other people’s break-ups give me pain, almost like it’s happening to me. ‘How you feel?’

  ‘Is end of an era,’ he said. ‘But had run its course. We should never have got back together after first time we broke up. Reasons we broke up were all still there – I had no interest in her depressing films and she had no interest in my, what you call it? Trannie-ism. Or potholing. And they’re happy, the pair of them.’

  ‘Not pleasant to be rejected,’ I prompted. Just little bit sick of men denying their feelings.

  ‘No. Stings. You’re right. But will survive.’

  ‘No need to put on brave face. Being cuckolded’ (Margery Allingham) ‘is humiliating.’

  He twisted round to look at me. In amazement he said, ‘You want me to be depressed?’

  ‘No. Want you to be honest.’

  ‘Am being honest.’

  ‘No, you not.’

  ‘Am, Lola, am. Me and Gillian, gone bad ages ago and me too… too… whatever… to do something about it. Hoped it would get better. Or hoped… just hoped wouldn’t have to do hard thing.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you relieved!’

  ‘Not relieved. Not so simple. But decision was pending. Now decision made. Actually, yes, now that you mention it, am relieved.’

  ‘God’s sake.’ Tutted to self. ‘Another drink?’

  20.49

  Still in the Oak

  ‘How you feeling now, Considine?’

  ‘Rough as badger’s arse.’

  ‘Wrong usage of phrase. We are not meant to feel rough as badger’s arse now! We are meant to feel rough as badger’s arse tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Surprisingly attractive smile. For moment he looked so like Chloe! ‘But will not see each other tomorrow morning.’ Little stumble in mutual eye contact. ‘So let’s say it now.’

  ‘… Er…’ Took me moment to recover from the eye awkwardness, then cried gaily, ‘Okay. Rough as badger’s arse it is!’

  21.17

  Still in the Oak

  Brandon and Kelly came in for post-work libation. Expressions wary when they saw me and Considine – news of the cuckolding had obviously reached them.

  ‘Lola, Rossa. How are you?’

  ‘Rough as badger’s arse!’

  21.21

  Still in the Oak

  Cecile popped over to say ’ello. ‘God bless all ’ere,’ she chirruped.

  ‘’Ow’s she cuttin’?’

  ‘Rough as badger’s arse!’

  We told everyone we met we were ‘rough as badger’s arse.’ Was crying with laughter. Really very funny and, of course, was quite drunk.

  ‘We are the badger’s arse gang!’ Considine declared.

  ‘The notorious badger’s arse gang. Let’s go and see Mrs Butterly before she goes to bed.’

  21.40

  Mrs Butterly’s

  ‘Oh hello, Lola, Rossa, how are ye both?’

  ‘Rough as badger’s arse, Mrs Butterly!’

  ‘No need for language. Or shouting.’ She looked almost alarmed as Considine and I clambered onto breakfast bar stools, gripped by weeping-style hilarity. ‘Or unbridled mirth without letting me in on the joke.’

  Tried explaining to her. But laughing too much. Also, what is funny about saying ‘rough as badger’s arse’ eight hundred times? She tried hard to understand but much shaking of head and saying, ‘No, still not funny to me. Now, Eddie Murphy, he is funny. You see him in Big Momma’s House?’

  Considine’s mobile rang. ‘Is Gillian,’ he whispered conspiratorially, even though had not yet answered phone so Gillian could hear nothing. ‘Wanting to know how I am. You ready?’

  ‘Yes!’

  He opened phone. ‘Gillian?’ Listened for moment. ‘Will tell you how I am.’

  Gleefully gave me the nod and we both yelled into mouthpiece, ‘ROUGH AS BADGER’S ARSE!’

  ‘Go home, th
e pair of ye,’ Mrs Butterly said. Irritable. Had had enough. ‘Am going to bed.’

  ‘To watch Eddie Murphy in Dr Doolittle!’ Considine snorted.

  ‘Or Beverly Hills Cop!’

  Considine and I almost incapable with merriment, as she ushered us down from our breakfast bar stools and towards door.

  22.01

  Knockavoy main street

  We staggered up road. Staggering not from drunkenness but from howling with laughter. Progress slow, as had to stop every four seconds to double over.

  ‘Ho, Lola Daly, Rossa Considine! Heard ye were on the rampage!’

  A summons from sulphurous interior of the Dungeon.

  In we went. Were bought many, many, oh many drinks.

  Bloody great night.

  Sunday, 18 January 10.03

  Only one way to describe how I felt – as rough as a badger’s arse. Worst hangover had had for long time.

  Concerned for Considine. Good chance last night’s badger’s arse glee had worn off and he was in the horrors – part hangover, part cuckoldage. Nothing worse than waking up morning after the day before when you were dumped. Especially if you had got mouldy drunk to drown sorrows.

  Texted him. Seemed silly urban thing to do, to text someone living next door, when could just get out of bed and communicate in person, but didn’t want to barge in on his sorrow.

  Also feared might vomit if I stood upright.

  Morning. Am ruff as badgers arse. U?

  Reply came quickly.

  Ruff as badgers arse 2.

  Sent another.

  U down a pothole?

  Speedy reply.

  U mean real pothole or emotional 1?

  Had meant real one, but this was leading question.

  Emotional 1?

  Immediate reply.

  No, think is just hangover.