On way out, another one, face like satsuma (squat, orange, pores big as manholes) was saying: So I said to him, you’re welcome to ride me, but I’m going to sleep!
Banshee shrieks of laughing, but not from Detta. Not smoking, but only ’cos illegal. She looked like she would if could.
Smiling absently and sort of staring into space. Took couple of pics on mobile, in case they’re of any interest to Harry Big—but how could they be? This is so fucking boring, but I’ll tell you something, Anna, am getting paid bloody fortune.
Then one from Mum.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Latest update
There is none. No blasted update. Helen is spending all her time in Mr. Big’s hedge. We are still being scourged with the dog poo, twice this week. I am going to Knock on Saturday, it’s been a while since I did a pilgrimage, and I feel I need one because I am upset by so much “venom” being directed on me. I will dedicate the Sorrowful mystery to you, Anna, that our good Lord will bring you peace and acceptance over your circumstances.
Your loving mother,
Mum
P.S. Has Jacqui said the Bon Von Jodi line yet?
P.P.S. Will you tell Rachel that if she wants to wear cream, then she should wear cream. It’s her wedding. It’s just that I think that cream always looks a bit “dirty” on a wedding dress. But that’s just “me.”
“Hey, Anna.” Some man had left me a message. “It’s Kevin. I’m in town on business.”
It was Aidan’s brother. My heart sank.
Poor Kevin, I was fond of him, but I just couldn’t face him. I didn’t even know him that well. What would we say to each other? “I’m sorry your brother died.” “Thanks, well, I’m sorry your husband died”?
It was hard enough speaking to Mrs. Maddox on the phone every weekend, never mind spending an entire night in the company of Kevin.
“I’m here until the weekend and I’m staying at the W,” he went on. “We could maybe get some dinner or something. Give me a call.”
I looked helplessly at the answering machine. Sorry, Aidan, I know he’s your brother, but I’m just going to have to be rude and ignore him.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Update
Colin drove me in Austrian-blinds mobile for meet with Harry Big today.
Told Harry: I’ve been trailing Detta for weeks and she hasn’t seen Racey O’Grady at all.
Him: So?
Me: So, I want to put a tap on her phones, I’ll need your help with her mobile, and I need copies of her mobile bills.
Him (uncomfortable): It doesn’t seem right. It’s an invasion of her privacy.
Me (thinking, what a gobshite): You’re paying me to trail her, day in day out and report every time she lights a cigarette—
Him (all alert now): What? She’s smoking again?
Me: Smoking? She never stops.
Him: But she said she has. She has to for her blood pressure. How much is she smoking?
Me: At least twenty a day. She buys twenty after mass every morning, but she might have more stashed in the house.
Him (going into visible slump): You see, she’s lying to me. But leave her phones alone. Keep on watching her.
Jesus, Anna, the boredom is killing me.
I had a sudden thought…
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Colin
Helen, what does Colin look like?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Colin
Big, burly, dark-haired, sexy. Not bad. Like him best when he puts gun in waistband of his jeans. View of sexy stomach and space to slip hand in. And down, of course…
You see, that was the difference between Helen and me. I’d just be afraid that with his gun stuck in his waistband, he might accidentally shoot himself in the flute.
Your next question will be, Do I fancy him? Yes. But sometimes he talks about giving up crime and going straight and then I think he’s gobshite. Sexy beast or deluded gobshite? Can’t decide.
57
Rachel, you have to go to the beach,” I said. “Because if you don’t get your fix of sunlight, you might get depressed and ‘go pure mental on the drugs again,’ as Helen so sensitively puts it.”
“Yes, but…,” Rachel sounded helpless.
“And I can’t go because of my scar,” I said, brooking no argument.
“I’m so sorry,” Rachel said guiltily.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s fine.”
And it was. I wanted to go to the spiritualist-church place. Very quickly, it had become part of my Sunday routine. I liked the people who went; they were very kind, and to them, I wasn’t Anna with her Catastrophe—well, maybe I was—but they’d all had catastrophes, too. I was no different.
But I told no one—especially not Rachel or Jacqui; they wouldn’t understand. They might even try to stop me. Luckily, Rachel was off my case because the hot weather was continuing and Jacqui worked such irregular hours that I was often in the clear with her as well. As for Leon and Dana, they only ever wanted to see me in the evenings when we could go somewhere fancy for dinner.
All the gang was there, sitting in a line on the benches in the corridor.
Nicholas saw me. “Cool! Here’s Miss Annie.” Today his T-shirt said FREE KATIE. Mitch was slouched back against the wall and he shifted forward to get a look at me.
“Hey, peanut.” He stretched out his leg to touch me with his foot. “How was your week?”
“Oh, you know,” I said. “How was yours?”
“’Bout the same.”
We took our places in the circle of chairs, the cello groaning started up, and several people got messages, but nothing for me.
Then Leisl slowly said, “Anna…I’m seeing the little blond boy again. I’m getting the initial J.”
“Because his name is JJ.”
“He really wants to talk to you.”