‘Rub along?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘When was the last time yourubbedalong?’
‘Listen, there is nothing unusual about us. It’s just your common or garden lacklustre marriage, nothing foryouto worryabout.’ But I was thinking about Red when I spoke. What would he say if he knew things between me and Michael were cool to the point of freezing? Would he pleased that my marriage hadn’t quite worked out for me or would he be sorry that I threw him and us away for lack-lustre?
‘And that’s good enough for you?’
‘It hasn’t been that bad,’ I insisted. ‘Michael’s a good person.’
‘With good teeth,’said Clodagh. ‘You forgot the teeth.’
‘Blinding,’ I agreed.
‘His teeth alone would get you home on a dark night in a power cut,’ she said.
‘But what about you Clodagh? What’s it been… six months? When is Maximus moving in? Or are you having cold feet?’ I hoped she was. What if she married him out of sheer loneliness, shackled to him for the rest of his life. ‘Are you hoping to be Mrs Max Pratt?Clodagh Pratt?’
‘It doesn’t go well, does it?’ she grinned. ‘But no. Not yet. Maybe never. Sometimes you need to be in a relationship to remember all the good things about being single.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like never compromising, not having to share your bed. Never explaining.’ She sighed. ‘I Miss that. And it means that I can eat yogurts for dinner and watchGame of Thronesand wear my old Waterboys’T-shirt and no one can judge.’
‘And is there any one you would give your Waterboys’ T-shirt up for?’
‘Apart from Mike Scott himself,’ she said, ‘no. Anyway, I don’t think Max has ever knowingly eaten a yogurt, or seenGame of Thronesor worn a T-shirt. He’s on the uptight spectrum. Rarely smiles. The only thing that makes him happy is work.’
I laughed. ‘You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.’
‘I can’t work out if he has some kind of facial paralysis and actually can’t, or doesn’t find anything I say remotely amusing or, perhaps, never learned how to. Grew up with fundamentalists or whatever.’ She stopped. ‘Actually, do you have any yogurts?’ she said. ‘I’m starving. Haven’t eaten since the morning. I know you have those nice ones. You always do.’
I stood up and fetched one and a spoon.‘You’ve got to eat more than a yogurt, you know. It’s not good for you.’
‘Of courseit’s not good for me!Of coursethis is wrong and terrible, but I can’t remember the last time I derived any pleasure in any food that wasn’t a yogurt since… since we were students and always stopped for a kebab on the way home. Do you remember? God, they were nice.’
‘So buy a kebab.’
She shook her head at me.‘You think this is easy, don’t you? You try being on television every night. You wouldn’t believe the letters I get. Fromwomen! They hate my hair, or my blouse, or my earrings. Or I look like I’ve put on weight. Or my make-up was all weird. Or that blue is not my colour or my mouth is a funny shape. And, if you were subjected to that, you’d be starving yourself as well.Andlooking at your mouthin the mirror all the time to see if it was wonky.’ She paused. ‘It’s not, is it?’
*
The sound of a key in the door. ‘Yoo-hoo! Mammy!’
‘Mammy?’ she mouthed, shaking her head. ‘When are you going to leave?’
I shrugged helplessly.
‘There you are!’ Michael opened the kitchen door. ‘And Clodagh…’ His smile died on his face. Unlike the farming community of Ireland, he was no fan of Clodagh. Shewas too brash for his liking, too loud. And she wasn’t much of a sycophant. ‘What a lovely surprise,’ he said. ‘Again.’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Clodagh, pleasantly. ‘And what brings you home,’ she said. ‘Brussels closed for business?’
‘Well, Clodagh,’ he said patiently, ‘Brussels is a city and therefore can’t technically shut. But if you are referring to the European Parliament then it is still openbut I’m just not there. I have Dublin business to take care of.’ He went over to the fridge and poured himself a glass of milk and drank it down in one. ‘Now milk is a drink, wouldn’t you say Clodagh?’
‘Yes, it’s a drink, you could say that Michael.’
‘No, but it’s adrink. It’s the kind of drink that men don’t drink.’
‘Don’t they?’ Clodagh looked puzzled. ‘Is there a law?’
‘There should be,’said Michael, a faraway look taking over his face. ‘Therecouldbe. In fact, I might do a focus grouping on the subject. I think if we made people – men – drink milk then it would be good for everyone. Good for farmers, good for bones, good for the Irish economy. It could be seen as a patriotic thing to do.’
