dreamed of meeting a ‘Wonderful Man’ – initially I simply dreamed of freedom.
Laren’s ‘Wonderful Man’ back then was Leonard Whiting, who starred with Olivia Hussey in Romeo and Juliet . She even persuaded me to skip ‘games’ one afternoon and go to the cinema with her to see it. But, somehow, the headmaster found out about this misdemeanour and I was gated. Laren’s mum, on the other hand, was just glad she was taking an interest in Shakespeare. I cried and cried at the unfairness of it. And afterwards I stared harder at the neon tetras than ever. Luxuriating in the way they darted with such carefree competence, in their big, beautifully maintained aquarium – completely unaware, it appeared, of their restrictions. And as I did so, Laren’s dreams of meeting some ‘Wonderful Man’ began to grow on me. It seemed some way beyond my own high walls. At weekends I sometimes stayed with her and she took me to films. Films where some man saw some woman at an airport and their eyes met and that was It. And then some schmaltzy music swelled the cinema and I was so moved I couldn’t even chew my Milky Mint.
Laren said she was going to marry young and have loads and loads of children. As a teenager I didn’t mention marriage myself, but I did want to be in love. And paint. And travel. And wear skirts as infrequently as possible. I had no idea of the kind of life I might be leading when I was thirty-eight, but I’m sure I didn’t suspect for one minute that I would grow so very keen on horticulture. In fact I only bought my cottage in Monkstown, County Dublin, five years ago because it had a garden at the front and at the back.
Each of them is now brimful with seasonal blossoms. Tonight, as I walk back up the pathway after work, I pause in royal fashion before various plants and have a brief chat with the new scented geranium, saying that I hope she’s settled in. Then I hear my elderly neighbour Mrs Peabody calling ‘Cooee, Alice’ and go over to her. She’s standing at the wicker fence.
‘Sorry to ask, dear, but would you do me a small favour?’ she says. ‘Could you pop round to the corner shop and get me a loaf of bread? My knees are a bit stiff today.’
‘Of course I will,’ I reply. As I say this the man who’s moved in round the corner saunters by breezily and calls out, ‘Hello, Mrs Peabody,’ in a cheerful manner. Goodness, they know each other already. And he’s even stopping for a chat. He’s standing at Mrs Peabody’s small iron gate. As Mrs Peabody says, ‘Come here for a moment, Liam, I’d like to introduce you to my neighbour,’ he opens the gate and walks up the pathway. I study him with detached interest. It’s hard to tell what age he is but maybe he’s a bit older than I’d thought. Around thirty perhaps, though he could easily pass as twenty-five. His broad, calm face looks mature, almost philosophical, but there is definitely a youthful twinkle about his deep brown eyes. He is tall and dark-featured. In fact he looks a bit Jewish. I’ve always admired those sorts of looks but since I’ve met James Mitchel other men’s handsomeness does not seem to affect me. That’s just the way it is with love, I suppose.
‘Alice, this is Liam,’ Mrs Peabody tells me. ‘He’s just moved in to a house on Half Moon Lane.’
I’m about to say I know this, but then think better of it. It’s best not to admit to voyeurism to new neighbours. ‘So, how are you settling in, Liam?’ I ask politely, trying to look him straight in the eye.
‘Well, I still have piles of boxes lying around the place, but I’m getting around to them gradually,’ he replies, equally politely. ‘It’s a lovely area. And I like being close to the sea.’
I was right, he does sound slightly American. Maybe he spent a few months in New York once and brought the accent back as a souvenir. I pick up accents quickly myself. Only the other day I was interviewing someone from Manchester. After an hour I
Laren’s ‘Wonderful Man’ back then was Leonard Whiting, who starred with Olivia Hussey in Romeo and Juliet . She even persuaded me to skip ‘games’ one afternoon and go to the cinema with her to see it. But, somehow, the headmaster found out about this misdemeanour and I was gated. Laren’s mum, on the other hand, was just glad she was taking an interest in Shakespeare. I cried and cried at the unfairness of it. And afterwards I stared harder at the neon tetras than ever. Luxuriating in the way they darted with such carefree competence, in their big, beautifully maintained aquarium – completely unaware, it appeared, of their restrictions. And as I did so, Laren’s dreams of meeting some ‘Wonderful Man’ began to grow on me. It seemed some way beyond my own high walls. At weekends I sometimes stayed with her and she took me to films. Films where some man saw some woman at an airport and their eyes met and that was It. And then some schmaltzy music swelled the cinema and I was so moved I couldn’t even chew my Milky Mint.
Laren said she was going to marry young and have loads and loads of children. As a teenager I didn’t mention marriage myself, but I did want to be in love. And paint. And travel. And wear skirts as infrequently as possible. I had no idea of the kind of life I might be leading when I was thirty-eight, but I’m sure I didn’t suspect for one minute that I would grow so very keen on horticulture. In fact I only bought my cottage in Monkstown, County Dublin, five years ago because it had a garden at the front and at the back.
Each of them is now brimful with seasonal blossoms. Tonight, as I walk back up the pathway after work, I pause in royal fashion before various plants and have a brief chat with the new scented geranium, saying that I hope she’s settled in. Then I hear my elderly neighbour Mrs Peabody calling ‘Cooee, Alice’ and go over to her. She’s standing at the wicker fence.
‘Sorry to ask, dear, but would you do me a small favour?’ she says. ‘Could you pop round to the corner shop and get me a loaf of bread? My knees are a bit stiff today.’
‘Of course I will,’ I reply. As I say this the man who’s moved in round the corner saunters by breezily and calls out, ‘Hello, Mrs Peabody,’ in a cheerful manner. Goodness, they know each other already. And he’s even stopping for a chat. He’s standing at Mrs Peabody’s small iron gate. As Mrs Peabody says, ‘Come here for a moment, Liam, I’d like to introduce you to my neighbour,’ he opens the gate and walks up the pathway. I study him with detached interest. It’s hard to tell what age he is but maybe he’s a bit older than I’d thought. Around thirty perhaps, though he could easily pass as twenty-five. His broad, calm face looks mature, almost philosophical, but there is definitely a youthful twinkle about his deep brown eyes. He is tall and dark-featured. In fact he looks a bit Jewish. I’ve always admired those sorts of looks but since I’ve met James Mitchel other men’s handsomeness does not seem to affect me. That’s just the way it is with love, I suppose.
‘Alice, this is Liam,’ Mrs Peabody tells me. ‘He’s just moved in to a house on Half Moon Lane.’
I’m about to say I know this, but then think better of it. It’s best not to admit to voyeurism to new neighbours. ‘So, how are you settling in, Liam?’ I ask politely, trying to look him straight in the eye.
‘Well, I still have piles of boxes lying around the place, but I’m getting around to them gradually,’ he replies, equally politely. ‘It’s a lovely area. And I like being close to the sea.’
I was right, he does sound slightly American. Maybe he spent a few months in New York once and brought the accent back as a souvenir. I pick up accents quickly myself. Only the other day I was interviewing someone from Manchester. After an hour I
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