Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes [166]
‘What happened to you!’
‘Saturday night’s all right for fighting,’ he quipped. ‘A few nights ago. Bloke, drunk, looking for aggro. Oh, the joys of life on the streets!’
‘That’s awful!’
The words were out before Ashling could stop them. ‘Do you mind me asking, but why are you, er, homeless?’
‘Career move,’ Boo deadpanned. ‘I make two hundred quid a day begging, all us homeless people do, didn’t you read about it in the papers?’
‘Really?’
‘No,’ he scoffed sarcastically. ‘I’m lucky to net two hundred pence. It’s the old story. No job without an address, no address without a job.’
Ashling was familiar with the concept, but she’d never really believed it actually happened.
‘But don’t you have a, you know, um, family to help you? Like parents?’
‘Yes and no.’ With a slight laugh he expounded, ‘My poor ma isn’t in the best of health. Mentally speaking. And my da did a very good impression of the invisible man when I was five. I was brought up in foster homes.’
‘Oh God.’ Ashling was sorry she’d ever opened the discussion.
‘Yeah, I’m a walking cliché,’ Boo said ruefully. ‘It’s very embarrassing. And I couldn’t really settle in any of the foster homes because I wanted to be with my ma, so I managed to make my way through the educational system without passing a single exam. So even if I got an address, I probably still wouldn’t be able to get a job.’
‘Why don’t the corporation house you?’
‘Women and children first. If I could get pregnant I’d stand a better chance. But childless men are meant to be able to take care of themselves so we’re their lowest priority.’
‘What about hostels?’ Ashling had heard such things existed.
‘No room at the inn. More homeless people in this city than you can shake a stick at.’
‘Oh. Oh, that’s terrible. All of it.’
‘Sorry, Ashling, I’ve ruined your day now, haven’t I?’
‘No,’ she sighed. ‘It wasn’t going very well anyway.’
‘Hey, I finished Sinister Days,’ Boo called after her. ‘Those serial killers sure do know how to mutilate. And I’m halfway through Sorted! and I counted the word “shag” thirteen times on one page.’
‘Imagine that.’ She hadn’t the energy for Boo’s book ‘reviews’.
Ashling trudged up the stairs, poured herself a glass of wine and listened to her answering machine. After a lengthy absence, the messages from Cormac were back. Apparently, the hyacinth bulbs would be delivered next weekend, but the tulips would take a bit longer.
Then, sheepishly, Ashling rang Clodagh. She hadn’t spoken to her in a couple of weeks, since the weekend she’d been in Cork, actually.
‘I’m really, really sorry,’ Ashling prostrated herself. ‘And I’m probably not going to be able to see you until after this fecking magazine is launched. I’m there most nights until nine and I’m so tired I hardly know my own name.’
‘That’s all right, I’m going to be away anyway.’
‘Holiday?’
‘I’m going away by myself for a few days next week. Health spa in Wicklow… Because I’m stressed and overworked,’ Clodagh finished, with grisly defensiveness.
Suddenly Ashling remembered with ghastly clarity Dylan’s concern about Clodagh, the conversation they’d had earlier in the summer. All at once she was visited with a very, very bad feeling. A presentiment of disaster. Clodagh was in some sort of trouble and was hovering on the verge of a great unravelling.
Guilt and fear savaged Ashling. ‘Clodagh, something’s up, isn’t it? I’m so, so sorry I haven’t been around. Let me help, please let me help, it’s good to talk about these things.’
Clodagh began to cry softly, and then real fear took hold of Ashling. Something genuinely was wrong.
‘Tell me,’ Ashling urged.
But Clodagh just sobbed, ‘No, I can’t, I’m horrible.’
‘You’re not, you’re fantastic!’
‘You don’t know, I’m so bad, you’ve no idea, and you’re so good…’ She was crying so hard her voice became incoherent.
‘I’ll come over,’ Ashling offered wildly.
‘No! No, please don’t do that.’ After sobbing some more, Clodagh sniffed and announced, ‘It’s OK. I’m fine now. Really.’
‘I know you’re not.’ Ashling felt her slipping away.