Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [21]
But she was also her father’s daughter.
True to her libertarian principles, Delia never fed Katherine a pack of lies of how her daddy had been killed tragically in a war or car crash or bizarre ploughing accident (tick as preferred). From an early age, Katherine knew that her father was a snivelling, bourgeois coward called Geoff Melody, who had got Delia into bed by a mixture of drugs and empty promises that he’d leave his wife.
Although there was no contact – or love lost – between Delia and Geoff Melody, Delia repeatedly impressed upon Katherine that if she ever wanted to contact her father she’d do her best to facilitate it. But she wasn’t taken up on it until Katherine was nineteen. Of course Katherine’s fatherless state was cause for scorn in the school playground. At least, on the rare occasions when Tara wasn’t hovering protectively by her side. But Katherine responded with admirable aplomb whenever her classmates – one anxious eye out for Tara’s return – started up their chant of, ‘You’ve no dada, you’ve no dada.’
‘How can you miss something you’ve never had?’ she’d ask calmly. Then she’d give an enigmatic smile, while the others faltered in confusion, their chant dying away. Why wasn’t she crying like she was supposed to? Why did they feel like the stupid ones? And where did Tara Butler learn to do such a good Chinese burn?
When, finally – her heart having recently been broken for the first time – Katherine said she wanted to contact her father, Delia willingly supplied his last-known-at address. ‘Though it’s twenty years old, he’ll probably still be living there,’ she said. Adding spitefully, she couldn’t help it, ‘He was that type.’
Agnes came to the phone and spoke to Katherine. Said she was having a grand birthday and thanked her for the two matching silk scarves she’d sent. ‘I’m getting great use out of them,’ she said. Which was the truth. They’d come in extremely handy the evening before when the hinge fell off the hen-house door, and something was needed to re-tether it to the post. How’s London?’ Agnes asked wistfully. ‘Still godless?’
‘Absolutely, Granny,’ Katherine said enthusiastically. ‘Worse than ever. Why don’t you visit me, and you can see for yourself?’
‘Ah, no,’ said Agnes. ‘It mightn’t be as bad as you say and I’d be disappointed. No, I’m better off here with my imagination.’
8
Katherine swung out of the red-brick, converted house in which she had her first-floor flat and a passing motorist nearly mounted the pavement while he gazed intently at her. In her grey suit, she looked fresh and crisp, and not a single hair on her head was out of place – it wouldn’t have dared. At the gate she paused and feasted her eyes on her pride and joy, her powder-blue Karmann Ghia. Katherine loved her car very much and would have kissed it if she hadn’t been afraid that one of her early-rising neighbours might see her.
People were often surprised that Katherine owned such a stylish car. But what they didn’t realize was that Katherine was the type of person who aimed high. When she chose to aim at all.
People were also surprised that Katherine owned such an unreliable car. The Karmann Ghia was the one reckless thing in her almost entirely careful life. Though her heart and her bank balance were nearly broken by it, Katherine remained devoted. So frequently was she round at the VW garage, that she joked with Lionel, the mechanic, that she’d call her first-born after him. He was charmed and she felt he didn’t need to know that she had no intention of ever having children.
Katherine didn’t normally drive to work, but as it was Saturday, and the streets were clear, she did. To her amazement, she was able to park right outside Breen Helmsford, the advertising agency where she was the accountant.
‘Praise the Lord,’ she muttered. ‘It’s a miracle.’
As with the car, people were often surprised to discover that Katherine worked in advertising. They didn’t think she was dynamic and gung-ho enough. She was too serious and reserved. Luckily, as an accountant it wasn’t part of her job description to be wildly