ChapterOne
AMY
What is the magic number? How many men is it acceptable for a self-respecting woman to sleep with before she finds the right one? Because so far I’m at number five, with no joy – literally. If Barry the banker gets his way it’ll be six before the night is out.
Six is my lucky number; twenty-four years ago I was born on the sixth day of the sixth month. So I’ve been hoping number six will be the one that truly blows me away, in every sense of the word. Although letting Barry get his way now will rapidly dispel that idea. I’m quickly beginning to realise he’s not a keeper.
Sadly a mediocre date, followed by a mediocre fumble, is the highlight of my week. Barry seems like a decent guy. A good solid – and mostly importantly – safe bet. He has a great job, his own teeth and, as far as I can tell, no interest in rugby whatsoever. Mind you, they all say that to start off with. And having learned the hard way, it’s a deal breaker for me.
Though we’ve been dating for a month, I’ve been keeping Barry at arm’s length physically. Tonight however, he seems determined to progress to the next stage. Adding an extra notch to the bedpost simply for the sake of a bit of short-term pleasure grates wildly against the goody two shoes in me. And from the way Barry’s clumsily fumbling around like a newborn fawn, the pleasure will be all his and possibly short-lived at that.
It was the same with the five clumsy fumbles before him. Perhaps it’s me? Sex scenes in books and movies portray women arching their backs and shrieking with pleasure. Reaching the elusive O looks so straightforward on the big screen. My own experiences have proved very different.
I’ve been single for most of my life. A fact that never bothered me until recently. Yet since I moved back to Dublin from London, a few occasional pangs of loneliness have begun to creep in. Practically everyone I know is coupled up. So when I met Barry in a bar on New Year’s Eve, I decided to give him a chance. Sparks didn’t exactly fly between us, but when he asked me not once but twice, I agreed to go out with him. Honestly, I’m a bit of a yes person. I find it almost impossible to say no. I’ve been nodding my head and accepting the fate dictated to me for as long as I can remember.
As the youngest of four children, I was brought up to respect my elders and obey my parents. The one time I didn’t, the situation didn’t end well. So now, even when I desperately want to say no, the thought of actually saying it causes me to wince.
Tonight, however, I have to face facts. Barry is not for me, no matter how badly I hate hurting his feelings. There’s something missing. It’s the same thing that’s been missing from every man I’ve dated – smouldering, intense chemistry.
Is it unreasonable to hold out for a chemistry so strong it penetrates deep into my soul? I was beginning to think it might be, until I saw that precise type of attraction take hold of my brother and his now fiancée, Emma. When they’re in the same room electricity crackles between them. As his sister, it’s almost embarrassing to watch, but as a woman, it sets a high standard.
My best friend, Geri, says if you don’t have it in the beginning, you certainly aren’t going to find it at the bottom of your laundry basket ten years later. She should know, she’s married six years next month. Geri has a handbook full of weird and wonderful sayings – how many of them are true is another matter, but this particular one we firmly agree on.
A heavy grunt slips from Barry’s lips as he shifts on top of me, on my couch, in the wrong direction. I bite back my sigh and wriggle back higher underneath him, delivering the most obvious hint I can give, but apparently Barry doesn’t do hints. He continues with the same boring, methodical dry humping of my jeans he seems to favour.
Squeezing my eyelids tightly shut, I block the offensive lilac floral curtains from my peripheral vision. My mother decided to hang them in the sitting room of my pebble-dash cottage while I was at work today. Their granny-like qualities are doing absolutely nothing to make me feel sexy. Any hope of growing chemistry I’d been harbouring flees through the window with my laboured breath as Barry’s tubby torso continues to squash me.
How did I let it get this far? I can’t do it. Not with him. My hands push against his shoulders gently, but again, he doesn’t take the hint. His tongue rolls around in my mouth like a broken washing machine jammed on a never-ending spin cycle. Increasing the pressure, I push him again and wriggle out from underneath him.
‘Barry, sorry. This isn’t working for me.’ Locating an oversized hoody from the back of the armchair in the corner, I throw it over my head allowing it to submerge me long enough for the proverbial penny to drop. When my head emerges through the top of the cotton fabric Barry’s bushy eyebrows are raised in surprise.
His mouth opens in protest, but before we can discuss it further, I hear the familiar scrape of the metal lock twisting from the front door. I throw Barry’s jacket unceremoniously towards him as the door bangs from along the narrow corridor and heavy thudding footsteps echo towards us.
‘Amy?’ The deep booming voice of my brother resounds round my tiny cottage. Location is more important than size in Dublin. Well, when it comes to property at least.
Clearing my throat, I rack my brains for a suitable excuse to justify the presence of a man in my sitting room on a Friday night. Even if I am twenty-four years old. My brother is a tad on the protective side. He has his reasons though.
‘Wait in the kitchen, I’m just finishing up with a private client.’
Barry shoots me the filthiest look before whispering, ‘a client?’
‘Shh! I’ll explain later.’ Running my fingers through my spiralling dark curls, I pat down several stray strands, not that Barry’s mild sexual exploits could possibly have ruffled much. I’ve had better workouts alone.
His widening eyes mist with confusion as he awkwardly tugs on his checked shirt. ‘Amy, are you…?’
‘Ha! That’s the most imagination you’ve demonstrated all night, Barry, but don’t be silly. Trust me, if my brother thinks you’ve been trying to get into his youngest sister’s knickers, he’s likely to pummel you to death and bury your body underneath the garden paving, and no amount of physiotherapy would get you moving again.’
Barry’s eyebrows shoot skywards again, but he says nothing, appearing to appreciate the urgency of the situation.
The long, loud hissing of the kettle sounds from the tiny kitchen, meaning my brother bought my story, for now. If he didn’t he’d have been through in a hulk-like flash. I love him to bits, and tonight I’m beyond grateful for the intrusion, but there are times when I’m torn between resenting his overprotectiveness, and others when I’d hide under his wing forever. Me being me though, even if I was brave enough to tell him to butt out, I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
A quick glance in the shabby chic mirror reassures me I don’t look like a woman that was being inadequately groped thirty seconds earlier. Just to be sure, I pull my hair into the messiest knot I can muster on top of my head and assume an expression of boredom, which isn’t entirely off the mark.
‘Follow my lead,’ I whisper to Barry, whose sandy hair is cocked into a shell-shocked wave. He’s in for even more of a shock now when he meets Eddie.
With Barry trailing at my heels, I adopt a formal posture and the most professional voice I can assume, ‘Remember the exercises I showed you and be sure to do them twice a day. Try swimming as well; low-impact exercise is essential,’ I bite back my own giggle, ‘but I think you’re fairly good at knowing your limits.’ I might be a good girl, most of the time, but I do have a wicked sense of humour. It runs in the family.
Before Barry can bring himself to reply, he finds himself standing four feet from a living legend, my famous rugby-playing brother Eddie Harrington. Eddie’s six-foot-two frame towers four inches over him, while low lighting from a cheap Ikea lamp creates a threatening shadow looming menacingly from behind his muscular shoulders. The sound of Barry’s gulp catches in his throat and he freezes, one foot hovering a few inches from the ground. He appears unsure whether to step towards Eddie or run for the door. Staring at the man before him, his gaze transforms from one of terror to obvious awe. His mouth opens and closes three times, yet all he can muster is a shallow gasp.
