around my shoulder. I leaned in to kiss him, but he didn’t seem interested. He just wanted to talk.
***
“Is he gay? Is he gay and just not telling me? Because, honestly, I don’t mind if he’s using me, because he’s incredibly sexy, but I do want something in return for all of this. He talks. He talks and he talks and he talks. This isn’t normal, Barry. It’s scaring me. I was brought up to believe that boys are an evil corrupting influence that are only after one thing, damn it!”
“Emily, remember what we said before about the melodrama?”
“He won’t shut up about the bloody band! That’s all I hear about! And every time I see Sarah in school she’s yapping on about it as well. It’s driving me up the wall. I want a boyfriend who’ll try to get my clothes off, not one who tells me I’m pretty and smart. I mean, ‘pretty’? ‘Pretty’ is for shoes and dresses and wallpaper. It’s not for the object of your lust. And smart? I don’t know where he’s getting that from, but it’s not a turn-on.”
“Have you ever considered the possibility that you’re a nymphomaniac?”
“Every day of my life.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“A girl has needs, Barry.”
“Talk to him.”
“I’ve tried. He just changes the subject.”
“It can’t hurt to try again.”
“I suppose.”
“Or, failing that, I suppose I’ll volunteer myself to show him how it’s done.”
“That means a lot to me, Barry.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I think we can add Natasha to the list of people who think we’re destined to be together,” I tell Barry as I return to the dance floor. “It’s clearly fate. We should probably just declare our love to the world.”
“You’re right.” He nods. “The people deserve to know the truth.”
I laugh, and twirl around. “It’s crazy, though, isn’t it?”
“Not really. We’re close, people assume it’s more than what it is.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“And people are silly.”
“Yes, yes they are,” I say. “Especially Roisín,” I add, noticing that she’s giving me more pointed looks. “She thinks there’s a spark between us. There’s no spark.”
“No, no spark.”
“People are just . . .”
“Silly.”
“Hey, what time is it?”
“Nearly three.”
“Yeah, that’d explain the tiredness.”
“Are you getting a lift with Andrew and Lucy?”
“I think so. I don’t know when they’re leaving, though.”
“We could get a taxi.”
“Yeah, we could.”
“We could.”
“Or.”
“Or we could do something crazy.”
“We could start dancing on the tables.”
“That’s old. People were doing that earlier.”
“We could show off our Irish dancing skills.”
“What skills?”
“Exactly.”
“We could sing.”
“Oh, that’s just cruel. We couldn’t inflict that on people.”
“You’re right. They’d never recover.”
“We could start a food fight.”
“There’s no food left, though.”
“Ah, forget it. I’m tired.”
“Come on, let’s go home.”
***
We wish Lucy a happy birthday once again and wait outside for the taxi. It’s freezing, and I am in my impractical dress. Barry, being chivalrous and also sick of hearing me whine about the cold, offers me his coat.
I think about what everyone says about the two of us, and how they’d be greatly amused to see me wearing his coat. And it would be romantic – if it wasn’t him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I sleep gloriously late on Saturday morning. Lie-ins are the ultimate luxury, I think. Especially when you’re sensible the night before and drink in moderation. Ah, being sensible. It’s not something I have very much experience with but it seems to be a good thing.
Janet’s at home for the weekend, naturally, and she’s sitting at the kitchen table eating her lunch when I go downstairs. Lunch, because of course she’s been up since eight and has already had her breakfast.
“That can’t be healthy,” she says as I
***
“Is he gay? Is he gay and just not telling me? Because, honestly, I don’t mind if he’s using me, because he’s incredibly sexy, but I do want something in return for all of this. He talks. He talks and he talks and he talks. This isn’t normal, Barry. It’s scaring me. I was brought up to believe that boys are an evil corrupting influence that are only after one thing, damn it!”
“Emily, remember what we said before about the melodrama?”
“He won’t shut up about the bloody band! That’s all I hear about! And every time I see Sarah in school she’s yapping on about it as well. It’s driving me up the wall. I want a boyfriend who’ll try to get my clothes off, not one who tells me I’m pretty and smart. I mean, ‘pretty’? ‘Pretty’ is for shoes and dresses and wallpaper. It’s not for the object of your lust. And smart? I don’t know where he’s getting that from, but it’s not a turn-on.”
“Have you ever considered the possibility that you’re a nymphomaniac?”
“Every day of my life.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“A girl has needs, Barry.”
“Talk to him.”
“I’ve tried. He just changes the subject.”
“It can’t hurt to try again.”
“I suppose.”
“Or, failing that, I suppose I’ll volunteer myself to show him how it’s done.”
“That means a lot to me, Barry.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I think we can add Natasha to the list of people who think we’re destined to be together,” I tell Barry as I return to the dance floor. “It’s clearly fate. We should probably just declare our love to the world.”
“You’re right.” He nods. “The people deserve to know the truth.”
I laugh, and twirl around. “It’s crazy, though, isn’t it?”
“Not really. We’re close, people assume it’s more than what it is.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“And people are silly.”
“Yes, yes they are,” I say. “Especially Roisín,” I add, noticing that she’s giving me more pointed looks. “She thinks there’s a spark between us. There’s no spark.”
“No, no spark.”
“People are just . . .”
“Silly.”
“Hey, what time is it?”
“Nearly three.”
“Yeah, that’d explain the tiredness.”
“Are you getting a lift with Andrew and Lucy?”
“I think so. I don’t know when they’re leaving, though.”
“We could get a taxi.”
“Yeah, we could.”
“We could.”
“Or.”
“Or we could do something crazy.”
“We could start dancing on the tables.”
“That’s old. People were doing that earlier.”
“We could show off our Irish dancing skills.”
“What skills?”
“Exactly.”
“We could sing.”
“Oh, that’s just cruel. We couldn’t inflict that on people.”
“You’re right. They’d never recover.”
“We could start a food fight.”
“There’s no food left, though.”
“Ah, forget it. I’m tired.”
“Come on, let’s go home.”
***
We wish Lucy a happy birthday once again and wait outside for the taxi. It’s freezing, and I am in my impractical dress. Barry, being chivalrous and also sick of hearing me whine about the cold, offers me his coat.
I think about what everyone says about the two of us, and how they’d be greatly amused to see me wearing his coat. And it would be romantic – if it wasn’t him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I sleep gloriously late on Saturday morning. Lie-ins are the ultimate luxury, I think. Especially when you’re sensible the night before and drink in moderation. Ah, being sensible. It’s not something I have very much experience with but it seems to be a good thing.
Janet’s at home for the weekend, naturally, and she’s sitting at the kitchen table eating her lunch when I go downstairs. Lunch, because of course she’s been up since eight and has already had her breakfast.
“That can’t be healthy,” she says as I
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