and was welcomed by all. He was just one of those people who had—although I wouldn't have known the word for it in those days—charisma.
Claire articulated it best by saying, “If Shay Delaney fell into a pit of shit, he'd come out smelling of Chanel No. 5.”
Not only was he noticeably good-looking, but he had the decency not to rub people's noses in it, so he got a rep as a nice person in the bargain. And, of course, the tragedy of his father having walked out on the family generated a lot of sympathy for him.
Because he looked older and had the confidence and charm to smooth-talk his way past doormen, he went places that we didn't and inhabited worlds different from ours. But he chose to return to us, and he managed never to sound as if he was boasting when he regaled us with stories of drinking crème de menthe in a nurses'
dorm or going to some rich girl's twenty-first birthday party in Meath. Of course, he'd always had lots of girlfriends; they'd usually left school and were either working or in college, which impressed the other lads no end.
Anyway, I'd been going out with Garv for about six months and I was perfectly happy with him—then Shay Delaney began to pay attention to me. Giving me warm smiles and one-on-one conversations so low they excluded everyone else. And it seemed as if he was always watching me. We'd all be there, hanging around a wall, smoking, pushing each other—the usual messing around—and I'd look up to find his gaze upon me. If he'd been anyone else, I'd have assumed that he was flirting, but this was Shay Delaney and he was way out of my price range.
And then, after a week when he'd cranked up the intensity of his smiles and intimate conversations, there was a party. A fluttering in my gut let me know that something was going to happen and, sure enough, when Garv had been sent out to buy ANGELS / 49
more beer, Shay headed me off as I emerged from the kitchen, then pulled me into the cupboard under the stairs. I protested breathlessly, but he laughed and shut the door behind us; after some half-teasing compliments about how I was driving him mad, he tried to kiss me. Squashed up against his bigness in the dark, confined space, finally knowing that I hadn't imagined his interest in me, I felt him move his face down to mine and it was as if every dream I'd ever had had come true.
“I can't,” I said, turning my head away.
“Why not?”
“Because of Garv.”
“If you weren't with Garv, would you let me?”
I couldn't answer. Surely it was obvious?
“Why me?” I asked. “Why are you bothering with me?”
“Because I can't help myself,” he said, pulling his thumb along my mouth and making me dizzy.
I never really got to the bottom of why he wanted me. I was nothing like as good-looking as his other girlfriends, or as sophisticated. The best I could come up with myself was that as his father had left them and his home life was a bit chaotic, I represented stability. That my normalness was the most attractive thing about me.
So, shallow cow that I was, I broke it off with poor Garv. We kind of pretended that it was a mutual thing and insisted that we'd stay friends and all that other crap you talk when you're a teenager, but the truth of the matter was that I dumped Garv for Shay. Garv knew it as much as I did, and from the moment Shay had decided he wanted me, Garv hadn't stood a chance.
Later that evening Dad sidled into my room, a brown paper bag under his arm. “McDonald's!” he declared. “Your favorite.”
When I'd been eleven, perhaps, but I welcomed the company.
“Chicken nuggets,” he announced proudly. “With two different dips.”
“What's the occasion?”
50 / MARIAN KEYES
“You have to eat. And your mother”—he paused and sighed, his expression wistful—“well, she tries her best.”
Since the night I'd left Garv, the mere thought of food had been anathema—it didn't make me feel sick, just amazed. But this evening I was going to have
Claire articulated it best by saying, “If Shay Delaney fell into a pit of shit, he'd come out smelling of Chanel No. 5.”
Not only was he noticeably good-looking, but he had the decency not to rub people's noses in it, so he got a rep as a nice person in the bargain. And, of course, the tragedy of his father having walked out on the family generated a lot of sympathy for him.
Because he looked older and had the confidence and charm to smooth-talk his way past doormen, he went places that we didn't and inhabited worlds different from ours. But he chose to return to us, and he managed never to sound as if he was boasting when he regaled us with stories of drinking crème de menthe in a nurses'
dorm or going to some rich girl's twenty-first birthday party in Meath. Of course, he'd always had lots of girlfriends; they'd usually left school and were either working or in college, which impressed the other lads no end.
Anyway, I'd been going out with Garv for about six months and I was perfectly happy with him—then Shay Delaney began to pay attention to me. Giving me warm smiles and one-on-one conversations so low they excluded everyone else. And it seemed as if he was always watching me. We'd all be there, hanging around a wall, smoking, pushing each other—the usual messing around—and I'd look up to find his gaze upon me. If he'd been anyone else, I'd have assumed that he was flirting, but this was Shay Delaney and he was way out of my price range.
And then, after a week when he'd cranked up the intensity of his smiles and intimate conversations, there was a party. A fluttering in my gut let me know that something was going to happen and, sure enough, when Garv had been sent out to buy ANGELS / 49
more beer, Shay headed me off as I emerged from the kitchen, then pulled me into the cupboard under the stairs. I protested breathlessly, but he laughed and shut the door behind us; after some half-teasing compliments about how I was driving him mad, he tried to kiss me. Squashed up against his bigness in the dark, confined space, finally knowing that I hadn't imagined his interest in me, I felt him move his face down to mine and it was as if every dream I'd ever had had come true.
“I can't,” I said, turning my head away.
“Why not?”
“Because of Garv.”
“If you weren't with Garv, would you let me?”
I couldn't answer. Surely it was obvious?
“Why me?” I asked. “Why are you bothering with me?”
“Because I can't help myself,” he said, pulling his thumb along my mouth and making me dizzy.
I never really got to the bottom of why he wanted me. I was nothing like as good-looking as his other girlfriends, or as sophisticated. The best I could come up with myself was that as his father had left them and his home life was a bit chaotic, I represented stability. That my normalness was the most attractive thing about me.
So, shallow cow that I was, I broke it off with poor Garv. We kind of pretended that it was a mutual thing and insisted that we'd stay friends and all that other crap you talk when you're a teenager, but the truth of the matter was that I dumped Garv for Shay. Garv knew it as much as I did, and from the moment Shay had decided he wanted me, Garv hadn't stood a chance.
Later that evening Dad sidled into my room, a brown paper bag under his arm. “McDonald's!” he declared. “Your favorite.”
When I'd been eleven, perhaps, but I welcomed the company.
“Chicken nuggets,” he announced proudly. “With two different dips.”
“What's the occasion?”
50 / MARIAN KEYES
“You have to eat. And your mother”—he paused and sighed, his expression wistful—“well, she tries her best.”
Since the night I'd left Garv, the mere thought of food had been anathema—it didn't make me feel sick, just amazed. But this evening I was going to have
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