Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [18]
“You say that things are bad enough for you, Noel? Right?”
“Well they are bad.” He sounded defensive.
“Like you have terminal cancer?” she asked him. “Like you were abused when you were in foster care? Like you are going to be dead a month from now, before you see the only child you will ever have? No, indeed, Noel, none of these things has happened to you, yet you just said things are very bad for you.”
He was stricken.
“That’s all you think. You think how things are for you, Noel. Shame on you,” she said, her face full of scorn. This was the nearest he had come to having a best friend and now she was turning against him.
“Emily, please sit down. You asked me what was wrong, so I told you.”
“Yes, you did, Noel.” She made no movement to sit down.
“So? Won’t you stay and discuss it?”
“No. Why should I join in this charade, as you call it? Don’t make faces at me, Noel. These are your words. Why should I not think of the perilous tightrope that I am walking in my life? I’m sorry, but everyone in all this is becoming … what did you call it—‘unhinged in the head’? Why should I let people surround me with their fantasies?” She was almost at the door.
“But they’re not fantasies, Emily. It’s what happened.”
“That’s right. They’re not fantasies. It’s what actually happened. But hey, what the hell? It’s got nothing to do with you, Noel. Good night. I’m sorry, but that is all I feel capable of saying.” And she was gone.
He had thought that this day just couldn’t get any worse. That’s why he had told her. In a few short hours two women had turned away from him in disgust.
And somehow it had made the day worse than ever.
Betsy,
There is a drama unfolding here which we would have considered compelling when we were kids and went to the movies on Saturday afternoons. But oddly it’s too sad to talk about just now. I will tell you how it turns out.
OF COURSE you should go out with Eric! I told you a hundred times he is not interested in me. He just said that as a devious way of getting to know you better.
I know! I know! But the longer I live, the more crazy I think everyone is.
Love,
Emily
Katie Finglas was locking up the hair salon. It had been a long day and she was tired. It was Garry’s night out. Once a week he and a group of the lads kicked a ball around a pitch and planned strategy for the year.
Katie would have loved to have gone home and had a long bath while he made them some French onion soup. Then they could have sat by the fire and talked about the big decision they had to make. People thought that Katie and Garry had plenty of time to talk to each other all day since they worked together in the salon. Little did people know how rarely they had a chance to snatch a five-minute coffee together. And then there were always people within earshot and it was impossible for Katie and Garry to talk about their plans.
So she was looking forward to a proper discussion. One where they would put all the arguments on one side and then the other. They would list the reasons why they must lease the flat over their salon: they needed to expand, they had no storage place, they had no proper staff areas, they would be able to install little manicure stations and could fit in tables and mirrors for at least six more customers, how it would mean that they would be able to compete on equal ground with the successful health and beauty salons in Dublin.
It was too much to take on. Too big and spread out so they would use only half the space upstairs. And just suppose they did do it—then they would have to do up some of the rooms and sublet them in order to try to get a return on their money. And just suppose that they did rent them—what kind of people would they get? Suppose they turned out to be the tenants from hell, making a lot of noise and leaving litter, making nonsense of all Katie and Garry’s hard work?
Katie sighed as she set the alarm outside her premises.
Across the street she saw Father Flynn, that cheerful priest from the center down the road, the one who had introduced her to poor Stella Dixon