in one week I’ve seen him in the papers.
Everywhere I turn his striking face is looking out at me. There’s just no escaping it.
I’m looking for Dad’s reaction as he skims through the interview. But I get none. After a few minutes he turns the page. Soap stars hold little interest for someone like my father. Anyway he doesn’t really read the newspapers, he just pretends to.
I need to get out of the house. It’s suffocating. Perhaps I’m suffering from writer’s block. If I am, it’s a positive sign. It means I’m a real writer, doesn’t it?
I’d like a shower but Mum’s already hogged the bathroom. God, I didn’t even hear her come in from tennis. At times like this I wish I were living elsewhere. Sometimes I’m just so thankful I’m an air hostess and that for a couple of nights a week I get to have the luxury of my own bathroom.
When I first joined the airline, I wondered what happened on overnights. I wondered if the cabin crew had to share rooms. Did you get to choose whom you’d share with or could you end up sharing with an old cow that snored? So you can imagine my delight when I discovered we had our own huge hotel bedrooms, all to ourselves.
I’m waiting in my room for my mother to vacate the bathroom when I hear a beep beep on my mobile phone. I check who has sent me a message. Adam Kirrane’s name flashes. Oh My God. OHMIGOD. OK, calm down Katie. Deep breath. I press the digits excitedly. IN TOWN. WANNA MEET UP?
I stare at the text, my right hand gripping the mobile. This is just brilliant, isn’t it?
This is a fairy tale and I’m bang in the middle of it. I haven’t been this enthusiastic about anything since I fell in love with Paul all those years back in UCD.
I’m wondering what I should do. Should I text him back straight away and say I’d love to hook up? Then again, would it be better to wait a while. Play it cool. As if I’m inundated with requests from TV stars asking me out. Oh God, what are the rules and how do I play them?
I’m really glad I didn’t ring back that time now. It’s always best not to get too excited. Of course you’ll often meet women who say it’s only fair to meet men half way. That they shouldn’t be expected to do all the chasing. Isn’t it funny though that the well-meaning women who dish out that advice are usually single? Not being flippant or anything but if you were sick you’d go to a doctor, if you wanted justice you’d talk to a lawyer, and in my opinion, if you want advice on how to get a man, it’s probably best to ask a woman who already has one!
Anyway, what am I doing hanging out with Dad when I should be in town? One never met a man by hanging out with one’s parents! I’m off to Boston tomorrow, by the way, but haven’t packed. But there’s nothing new about that. Of course I hate packing but unpacking is worse. There’s nothing worse than unpacking and Mum always gives out about the stink from my suitcase. I try to explain that it’s just the company I keep on my trips. I have to be sociable, I protest. I can’t just ignore my colleagues and retreat to my bedroom while they go off smoking, dancing and drinking, can I?
She doesn’t accept my excuses but I don’t get worked up about it any more. I’m too old for that now. Sorry, I’d actually forgotten to tell you my age earlier. I’m twenty-seven but look younger. So men in bars tell me anyway. My birthday was only six weeks ago but my mother still shouts, ‘You’re nearly twenty-eight!’ every time we argue about me not being the perfect daughter. I’m used to it. When I was nineteen she used to yell, ‘You’re nearly twenty, blah, blah, blah’ and so on. I don’t quite know what her point is but I refuse to take it to heart. After all, she’s my mother. If she can’t figure out when exactly she gave birth to me, then what hope has anyone else?
My mobile rings suddenly, making me jump. God, why am I always so surprised when anyone rings my mobile?
Everywhere I turn his striking face is looking out at me. There’s just no escaping it.
I’m looking for Dad’s reaction as he skims through the interview. But I get none. After a few minutes he turns the page. Soap stars hold little interest for someone like my father. Anyway he doesn’t really read the newspapers, he just pretends to.
I need to get out of the house. It’s suffocating. Perhaps I’m suffering from writer’s block. If I am, it’s a positive sign. It means I’m a real writer, doesn’t it?
I’d like a shower but Mum’s already hogged the bathroom. God, I didn’t even hear her come in from tennis. At times like this I wish I were living elsewhere. Sometimes I’m just so thankful I’m an air hostess and that for a couple of nights a week I get to have the luxury of my own bathroom.
When I first joined the airline, I wondered what happened on overnights. I wondered if the cabin crew had to share rooms. Did you get to choose whom you’d share with or could you end up sharing with an old cow that snored? So you can imagine my delight when I discovered we had our own huge hotel bedrooms, all to ourselves.
I’m waiting in my room for my mother to vacate the bathroom when I hear a beep beep on my mobile phone. I check who has sent me a message. Adam Kirrane’s name flashes. Oh My God. OHMIGOD. OK, calm down Katie. Deep breath. I press the digits excitedly. IN TOWN. WANNA MEET UP?
I stare at the text, my right hand gripping the mobile. This is just brilliant, isn’t it?
This is a fairy tale and I’m bang in the middle of it. I haven’t been this enthusiastic about anything since I fell in love with Paul all those years back in UCD.
I’m wondering what I should do. Should I text him back straight away and say I’d love to hook up? Then again, would it be better to wait a while. Play it cool. As if I’m inundated with requests from TV stars asking me out. Oh God, what are the rules and how do I play them?
I’m really glad I didn’t ring back that time now. It’s always best not to get too excited. Of course you’ll often meet women who say it’s only fair to meet men half way. That they shouldn’t be expected to do all the chasing. Isn’t it funny though that the well-meaning women who dish out that advice are usually single? Not being flippant or anything but if you were sick you’d go to a doctor, if you wanted justice you’d talk to a lawyer, and in my opinion, if you want advice on how to get a man, it’s probably best to ask a woman who already has one!
Anyway, what am I doing hanging out with Dad when I should be in town? One never met a man by hanging out with one’s parents! I’m off to Boston tomorrow, by the way, but haven’t packed. But there’s nothing new about that. Of course I hate packing but unpacking is worse. There’s nothing worse than unpacking and Mum always gives out about the stink from my suitcase. I try to explain that it’s just the company I keep on my trips. I have to be sociable, I protest. I can’t just ignore my colleagues and retreat to my bedroom while they go off smoking, dancing and drinking, can I?
She doesn’t accept my excuses but I don’t get worked up about it any more. I’m too old for that now. Sorry, I’d actually forgotten to tell you my age earlier. I’m twenty-seven but look younger. So men in bars tell me anyway. My birthday was only six weeks ago but my mother still shouts, ‘You’re nearly twenty-eight!’ every time we argue about me not being the perfect daughter. I’m used to it. When I was nineteen she used to yell, ‘You’re nearly twenty, blah, blah, blah’ and so on. I don’t quite know what her point is but I refuse to take it to heart. After all, she’s my mother. If she can’t figure out when exactly she gave birth to me, then what hope has anyone else?
My mobile rings suddenly, making me jump. God, why am I always so surprised when anyone rings my mobile?
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