No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [31]
A fat woman in her fifties took their orders. To say she wasn’t in a good humour was an understatement. When Ivan made a joke she smacked him over the head with her order book. Ivan had laughed but Sam was unwilling to risk further injury at the hands of a crazy Kerrywoman.
Over lunch they conversed easily. Sam liked Ivan mostly because he was easygoing and not intrusive. The guy was more interested in talking about fish than asking probing questions. He found himself relaxing, although it was obvious that Mary had seen him and was steering clear. The crab salad was to die for and Ivan had gone to great lengths to explain why. “I’m talking about fish too much,” he ended sheepishly.
“You really are, man,” Sam agreed, but he was enjoying himself.
Ivan liked the American too. He wouldn’t have stayed on for a pint with him if he hadn’t.
Mary made herself busy chopping onions in the kitchen so that she could avoid her neighbour. If he hadn’t asked her to recommend a place to eat and if she hadn’t been so dismissive, she wouldn’t have felt the need to hide. Having said that, he had asked and she hadn’t volunteered her own establishment. Seeing as she’d drawn blood, the offer of a free lunch was possibly the least she could do in recompense. Of all the frigging places.
Jessie wondered why she was staying in the kitchen. “I chop. You lord it over everyone. What’s changed?” she asked insultingly.
“I’m hiding,” Mary admitted, and Jessie was suddenly interested.
“From who?” she asked, on her way to the door.
“Jessie!” Mary called.
Jessie didn’t even have to open the kitchen door before she copped it. “It’s the American,” she noted triumphantly.
Mary was impressed. “How did you know?” she asked, despite herself.
“Why wouldn’t you hide? He looks like an arse-crack.”
“He’s not,” Mary answered, without thinking.
Jessie’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
She looked at Pierre, who grinned. “Ah, chérie, you like him, no?”
“What?” Mary was alarmed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
The enemies had converged, nodding at one another, enjoying her moment of torment.
“Arse-crack is a disgusting expression, that’s all I’m saying,” she said, chopping into her eighth red onion.
It was over the third pint that Ivan offered to take Sam out in the boat with him. Sam was enthralled by the idea of fishing so Ivan promised they’d go the next day, adding that as it was Sunday he had to eat with his family so it would have to be late afternoon. Sam could see no problem with that and it would give him time to finish his book. He insisted that his new friend allow him to pay for his meal.
He made his way home, feeling a little dizzy but full and happy. He also felt a little guilty. Drinking three pints was as close as he’d got to oblivion since rehab. He wasn’t an alcoholic so drinking wasn’t entirely against the rules. But does it make me want to get high? No. Definitely not. OK, this is cool. I’m just a little happy. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. This was a relief, but he’d have to keep an eye on himself. He wasn’t strong enough yet: he was still on a precipice and the slightest ill wind could knock him off.
7. Past and Present
It was the third time in six months that Penny had been awakened by the smell of her own vomit but, hung-over, she remained unaware of it until she looked into the bathroom mirror and discovered the extent of the previous night’s debauchery. Oh, sweet God! Disgusted with herself, she stripped off and got into the shower. The water was pounding against her skull, which felt as fragile as her mother’s ugly fine-bone china. Her legs were shaking under the weight of her surprisingly heavy head. She leaned against the wall and slid down towards the shower tray. She didn’t attempt to stop herself, and sat with her knees under her chin and her hands cupping her head to protect it against the water.
Later she took painkillers with a pint of chilled water and made coffee while two DJs bantered about Madonna and her latest religion. She had three espressos before she opened her emails. She answered some of her