Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [127]
‘You weren’t there,’ Katherine said, bad-temperedly. ‘He was so pushy, wouldn’t leave me alone…’
‘Was it actual harassment?’ Fintan asked. ‘Was your job in danger if you didn’t do what he wanted?’
‘No, but…’
‘Did he touch you? Or make sexual innuendo?’
‘Yes!’ Katherine said stoutly, remembering how he’d told her he loved her accent, and that she was fabulous.
‘Compliments aren’t the same thing.’ Fintan could be very astute. ‘And didn’t he go away as soon as you told him to?’
‘Yes, but until then he was pushy,’ Katherine said stubbornly. ‘He kept, he kept – talking to me.’
‘Listen to yourself, you head case.’
‘And he asked me out for lunch at least four times.’
‘You’re digging yourself in deeper. You’re well on the way to being as loopy as your mother. Now, it’s very simple – apologize, then ask him out for a drink. So what if he says no? The word no never killed anyone. Go on, you know you want to.’ He twinkled at her roguishly.
‘I do not,’ she insisted, stoutly.
‘Yes, you do. I know you, you’re very stubborn. You wouldn’t have even smiled at him if you really hadn’t wanted to. Sure, I’m only a catalyst. For all the complaining you’re doing about me, it’s very handy for you that I got sick, Katherine Casey.’
Deeply uncomfortable, Katherine tried to figure out whether he was joking or not.
‘Isn’t it a godsend for you and your love life!’ Fintan laughed.
‘How can you say such a thing?’ Katherine protested frantically. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong. I only smiled at Joe Roth to get you off my back.’
‘All right,’ Fintan said cheerfully. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it, consider me still on your back.’
Was there no way out of this? Katherine struggled, trying to get free.
‘Please, Katherine,’ Fintan urged, ‘you’re my only hope. There’s no chance that soft-hearted, yellow-bellied Butler will leave the dread Thomas. If you want something done, ask Katherine “Dependable” Casey – she won’t let you down.’
Katherine had a swell of pride before she realized he’d just tightened the trap. ‘You’ve changed.’ She sighed. ‘You’ve become very manipulative.’
‘But you’ll try?’
What else could she say? ‘I’ll try.’
‘Now feast your eyes on me, Katherine,’ Fintan declared. ‘You’re looking at a man of leisure!’
‘Man of leisure’ conjured up suave and urbane pictures: David Niven moustaches, cigarette holders, martini glasses, speedboats, coupés. She took in Fintan’s bony skull-face, his veiny eyes, his meagre, and becoming more meagre by the hour, hair. Christ. ‘How come?’
‘I’ve been sacked!’
‘By who?’
‘By my boss, who d’you think? Dr Singh? Dale Winton? Richard and Judy? Rikki Lake? God,’ he was sidetracked by wonder, ‘my world has become very small.’
‘But I mean…’
‘It was Carmella. Herself. In sharply tailored, coke-crazed person.’
‘You mean she came into the hospital and sacked you in bed? But why? Can you be sacked for being sick?’
‘She was concerned – get this – that I’d give the wrong image of the company.’
Suddenly Katherine understood. ‘She thinks you’re HIV positive.’
Fintan nodded.
‘But that’s so unjust,’ Katherine protested. ‘And I thought the fashion industry was very accommodating to people with HIV.’
‘Well, maybe she sacked me because I’m not HIV,’ Fintan said tartly. ‘I don’t know.’ He set his mouth in a hard line. Then his mutinous face dissolved as his bottom lip started to spasm and tears filled his red-veined eyes. ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ he choked. ‘What’s going to happen? It’s not just the money.’ Katherine was dumbfounded by helplessness. ‘I’ve worked for her for eight years,’ Fintan said miserably. ‘I thought she was my friend. She said she depended on me, and now I’ve been thrown away, human detritus. I never asked to get this horrible illness, and I love my job. I feel so alone. At least if I had Aids, there’d be others in the same boat and we could talk about T-cells and do all that huggy, touchy-feely stuff and… and… make a quilt!’
‘There are support groups for people with Hodgkin