The Wish List by Eoin Colfer Page B

watched our television, and sat on our sofa. He sat on our sofa so much that it wasn’t ours anymore. It was his. With his big disgusting butt-print right in the middle.”
    Lowrie read the girl’s face. “And did he give you the odd whack?”
    There was silence for a moment, and Meg settled back onto the cracked seat. “Never mind changing the subject on me, McCall,” she said suddenly. “Who’s this Sissy woman? And how do you know she won’t split your bony face in two when you try to plant one on her?”
    Lowrie settled back against the window, pulling a sausagelike cigar from his breast pocket.
    â€œSissy Brogan,” he sighed, spinning the wheel on an ancient oil lighter. The flame, when it caught, was at least as pungent as the cigar. Meg watched, fascinated, as the smoke passed through her abdomen.
    â€œSissy Brogan was the woman I should have married. Never mind that old fish, Nora. Sissy was a real woman. They broke the mold when they made her. . . .”
    â€œWhat mold? Like a jelly mold?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œPlaster?”
    â€œShut up, will you?” growled Lowrie, his flow interrupted. “It’s an expression. It means she was unique. The one and only.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œWe went stepping out once. . . .”
    â€œOut where?”
    Lowrie could feel a headache coming on. “It’s an expression! On a date! I took her on a date!”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œFirst of all to a movie on O’Connell Street.”
    â€œWhat was it?”
    Lowrie scowled. “I don’t remember . . .” he began, then the lines on his brow softened: “It was The Mask of Zorro . I do remember.”
    â€œBig deal. That’s still on.”
    â€œI remember because I was doing all the sword-fighting bits on the way for chips. I was only a young lad.”
    Meg chuckled. “You? Playing around? I don’t believe it.”
    â€œI barely believe it myself. Maybe the old brain is filling in the gaps for me. Anyway it was a great night. A classic. They don’t come along every day. You get maybe half a dozen in a lifetime. Perfect days. I can see her now, with the red hair curling behind her ears. The height of fashion in those days.”
    â€œYeah,” muttered a thoroughly bored Meg. “That and outdoor toilets.”
    But Lowrie was far too immersed to be distracted by smart aleckry. His memories floated out of him. Wafting in luscious shades from his face and painting vague shapes in the air.
    â€œA perfect day . . .”
    â€œBut?”
    â€œBut I made a mess of it. As usual.”
    â€œHow? It sounds as though all you had to do was walk her home, give her a kiss good night and . . .”
    â€œI never kissed her.”
    â€œYou idiot.”
    Lowrie shook his grizzled head ruefully. “I know. Don’t you think I know? Not a day goes by. It was my hands, you see.”
    â€œHands?”
    â€œThey were sweating. Real bad. Like two lilies on a pond. I was afraid to put them around her waist. Stupid, I know. Stupid.”
    He got no argument from his ghostly partner.
    â€œI thought the feel of two big sopping palms would put an end to my chances. I thought—tomorrow, when it’s cool and my hands are dry. So I left it and went home.”
    â€œAnd you never saw her again?”
    The old man smiled mirthlessly. “Oh I saw her, all right. I saw her every day for four years. I saw the hurt in her eyes, then the coldness. I watched her marry my boyhood friend. And I had to stand there smiling, and hand over the ring like I was the happiest best man in the world.”
    â€œIf all this happened when you were young, then this Sissy must be ancient by now. When was the last time you were in touch with her?”
    Lowrie scratched his bristled chin. “Personally? Now you’re asking. Must be forty years.”
    Meg vibrated six inches off the seat. “Forty years! She