Holding
Page 23
Then there was trying to manoeuvre his way into his chair. There was never enough room and someone always had to shuffle their seat forward. Outwardly they assured him it was no trouble, but he knew they resented all the space he was taking up.
The waiter approached him and asked if he’d like any bread and butter. Had PJ imagined the young man was smirking?
‘Yes please.’ This was even worse than he had been expecting. The thick carpet and starched tablecloths gave the room a hushed atmosphere. Was anybody speaking? All he could hear was the echo of cutlery on plates and his own breathing, which seemed to have been amplified somehow. He could feel a sheen of sweat forming on his brow. Could he use the napkin to wipe it away?
The bread basket with a small ramekin of butter was delivered. That waiter was definitely laughing at him. PJ waited till he had gone and then picked up a piece of bread and spread some of the butter on it. God, it was good. He allowed himself one more piece. Then another. Only one slice of bread remained. He would not have it. He wouldn’t give the smart-arse waiter the satisfaction of coming back to find the basket stripped of its contents. He stared straight ahead at a series of abstract paintings. How long had he been here? He looked at his watch. Five minutes. That was nothing.
Whenever the door opened he had to strain to see who it was; his table was just to the side of an alcove, so he could only see the bar area. An elderly pair obviously celebrating something, a group of three businessmen, a nervous young couple. PJ watched them hand their coats to the girl by the bar and then follow the waiter to their various tables. The place was almost full.
He heard the door open and saw the back of a woman wearing a camel-coloured coat. PJ didn’t recognise it. She slipped it off and revealed a navy blouse with a neat white collar. The woman touched her hair as she spoke to the maître d’. When she turned to follow him into the restaurant, her eyes found PJ’s. Brid Riordan gave him a small wave and smiled.
The last piece of bread was forgotten.
Acknowledgements
Writing a novel has been a long held ambition of mine, but the fact that you are actually holding this finished book in your hands is due to the encouragement, tenacity, support and general cheer leading of a great many people.
I couldn’t have asked for a better publishing house. Carolyn Mays made me feel like a fully-fledged member of the Hodder family and my editor Hannah Black worked tirelessly to make this book a reality. Her notes and suggestions were always wise and welcome, but perhaps most importantly she made me feel like a writer. Other members of the Hodder family that I must thank are Lucy Hale, Alice Morley and Louise Swannell for alerting the world to the fact I had written a novel. Alasdair Oliver and Kate Brunt for making it look so beautiful. Claudette Morris, Liz Caraffi, and Emma Herdman for all your expertise, help and patience!
Melanie Rockcliffe and Dylan Hearne and everyone at Troika Talent for cheering me on to the finish line.
My early readers for their enthusiasm and eagle eyed notes, Gill Sheppard, Niall Macmonagle, Rhoda Walker, Paula Walker, Becky Nicholass and Maria McErlane.
To my friends and neighbours in Bantry and on the Sheep’s Head in West Cork for making me feel at home and providing the inspiration for some of the locations (but none of the characters!) in the novel.
I am indebted to all my friends for feigning interest in this book for over a year and I am of course, supremely grateful to you for choosing to read my story. I hope you enjoyed it.
Table of Contents
About the Author
Also by Graham Norton
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Part Two
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Acknowledgements