Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [36]
Your hideous boyfriend? Katherine refrained from asking.
‘It could be hormones,’ Tara answered herself. ‘It’s a bit early but it would account for a lot of how I’ve felt today. All I needed was to fall down a flight of stairs and spend a month’s salary on a cute yellow corkscrew for the full complement of symptoms to be present. PMT gets worse as you get older, doesn’t it?’
Katherine agreed. ‘Except it’s PMS now,’ she corrected.
‘I didn’t know how lucky I was in my twenties,’ Tara said dreamily. ‘All that happened then was that for ten days a month I ingested a four-stone sack of sweets and cried if anyone so much as asked me the time, but in my thirties it’s mutated into full-blown psychosis! Roll on the menopause.’
‘You’re fine,’ Katherine told her compassionately. ‘And don’t forget I’ve a spare room if you ever need somewhere to sleep…’
Tara felt dreadful again. And she’d just been starting to feel better. Oh, well.
‘I rang Fintan,’ Katherine was saying, ‘and he said himself and the pony will come over.’
Tara’s spirits leapt. Fintan could always cheer her up and she felt her own personal dense grey cloud, which had dogged her all day, move away from being so close to the crown of her head.
‘I rang Liv too,’ Katherine said, ‘but Lars is in town. He arrived unexpectedly.’
Lars was the Swedish married man who Liv was walking out with. Or, rather, staying in with. He came to London every couple of months, always keeping the gap between visits just the right length to drive Liv mad with loneliness, yet not quite long enough for her to get over him. On account of the brevity of his visits, they spent most of their time in bed.
The bell rang, indicating that the boys had arrived. Katherine buzzed them in through the front door, then waited at the open door of her flat. Fintan thumped up the stairs, decked out in a horrifically expensive-looking pistachio-green sheepskin coat. He was all of a dither. ‘Come on, come on,’ he commanded, refusing to step into the flat. ‘Quick, girls! Just outside the gate I was nearly knocked to the ground by the überbloke to end all überblokes. Striding along like a Viking. Sandro’s keeping watch.’ He grabbed Katherine’s hand and tried to drag her towards the stairs. ‘He was huge,’ he related, ‘like a brick shithouse with – and I know you’ll find this hard to believe – gorgeous red hair. Red hair! I ask you. But he was delish… what’s up with you, Katherine? You’ve a face on you like a robber’s dog chewing a wasp.’
‘Nothing’s up.’
‘Come on out for a gawk at your man, so. Before he’s gone.’
‘But it’s raining.’
‘Have it your way, you miserable Margaret. Come on, Tara.’
‘Not tonight, Josephine,’ Tara said. She loved Fintan but she couldn’t be bothered to go out into the cold night and admire some fool with red hair. ‘Settle yourself. Come in and show us your fantastic coat!’
‘Et tu, Brute? I don’t know what’s up with you pair of moaning Minnies,’ Fintan complained. But he realized his Viking was probably out of sight by now, so he stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. There was the sound of running feet and Sandro appeared up the stairs.
‘The love-god is escaping,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘If we don’t hurry –’
‘Forget it, Sand,’ Fintan said. ‘They’re not interested.’
Sandro stared in horror and Fintan murmured, ‘I know.’ Then Sandro threw his eyes to heaven and Fintan murmured, ‘I know.’
Then Sandro said, ‘Girls!’ and Fintan murmured, ‘I know.’
Katherine scolded, ‘Get in here, the pair of you,’ and both men jumped with fright.
Meekly, they did so.
‘So, what are you doing chasing after men in the street and you two practically married?’ Tara interrogated Sandro and Fintan as they sat on the sofa, Fintan still wrapped in his pale-green coat.
‘What problem is there to look?’ Sandro grinned. ‘We didn’t kidnap him.’
‘Only because we’d left our big net at home.’ Fintan nudged Sandro and they both gave big, dirty laughs,