watched our television, and sat on our sofa. He sat on our sofa so much that it wasnât ours anymore. It was his. With his big disgusting butt-print right in the middle.â
Lowrie read the girlâs face. âAnd did he give you the odd whack?â
There was silence for a moment, and Meg settled back onto the cracked seat. âNever mind changing the subject on me, McCall,â she said suddenly. âWhoâs this Sissy woman? And how do you know she wonât split your bony face in two when you try to plant one on her?â
Lowrie settled back against the window, pulling a sausagelike cigar from his breast pocket.
âSissy Brogan,â 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.
âSissy 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
âWhat mold? Like a jelly mold?â
âNo.â
âPlaster?â
âShut up, will you?â growled Lowrie, his flow interrupted. âItâs an expression. It means she was unique. The one and only.â
âOh.â
âWe went stepping out once. . . .â
âOut where?â
Lowrie could feel a headache coming on. âItâs an expression! On a date! I took her on a date!â
âRight.â
âFirst of all to a movie on OâConnell Street.â
âWhat was it?â
Lowrie scowled. âI donât remember . . .â he began, then the lines on his brow softened: âIt was The Mask of Zorro . I do remember.â
âBig deal. Thatâs still on.â
âI remember because I was doing all the sword-fighting bits on the way for chips. I was only a young lad.â
Meg chuckled. âYou? Playing around? I donât believe it.â
âI barely believe it myself. Maybe the old brain is filling in the gaps for me. Anyway it was a great night. A classic. They donât 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
âYeah,â muttered a thoroughly bored Meg. âThat and outdoor toilets.â
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.
âA perfect day . . .â
âBut?â
âBut I made a mess of it. As usual.â
âHow? It sounds as though all you had to do was walk her home, give her a kiss good night and . . .â
âI never kissed her.â
âYou idiot.â
Lowrie shook his grizzled head ruefully. âI know. Donât you think I know? Not a day goes by. It was my hands, you see.â
âHands?â
âThey were sweating. Real bad. Like two lilies on a pond. I was afraid to put them around her waist. Stupid, I know. Stupid.â
He got no argument from his ghostly partner.
âI thought the feel of two big sopping palms would put an end to my chances. I thoughtâtomorrow, when itâs cool and my hands are dry. So I left it and went home.â
âAnd you never saw her again?â
The old man smiled mirthlessly. âOh 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
âIf 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?â
Lowrie scratched his bristled chin. âPersonally? Now youâre asking. Must be forty years.â
Meg vibrated six inches off the seat. âForty years! She
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