He hadn’t seriously considered her as Amy’s replacement, had he? Of course not. OK, he had to admit, she was cute enough looking, she’d have done for a fast fuck and he’d been interested in what had happened to their baby. But not that bloody interested. And what kind of woman would consider aborting her own child? Even worse, what kind of woman would considering aborting one of his children? Sick, that’s what she was.
Lorcan conveniently forgot that he was a proponent of the locking-the-stable-door-after-the-horse-has-bolted school of contraception and marched priggishly into the night.
A powder-blue Karmann Ghia roared past, briefly distracting him. Lorcan enjoyed a good car as much as the next man. Just as he recognized Katherine behind the wheel, he also saw that she was laughingly giving him the finger!
What was happening?
What was the world coming to?
On he stalked, the shock of Katherine’s rejection continuing to assail him with fresh blows. It had never happened before. It had literally never happened before. He was thirty-nine years old and, in living memory, a woman hadn’t ever turned him down. Perplexed, unnerved, he ran his hands through his hair trying to calm himself. And his powerful striding faltered and stumbled as a street-lamp revealed a clump of red tresses tangled up in his fingers. Jesus Christ! I mean, Jesus Christ!
A woman had just told him to sling his hook. His hair was deserting him. He had no job. Suddenly all his angry energy dissipated and he felt terribly old. Old and frayed and past it. Knackered, exhausted, depressed.
Then he thought of Amy. Sweet Amy. Patient, good-natured, loyal Amy. She wouldn’t turn him down. She’d welcome him back with open arms, soothe away the hurt, boost his morale. What had he been thinking of when he’d decided it was time to grant her her freedom? He’d been out of his mind!
He started to hurry towards her. He must have been mad to have dallied with Katherine. And that girl, Deedee, he’d been with earlier in the evening. Amy was much more beautiful. In fact, once he thought about it, perhaps he… perhaps he… perhaps he loved Amy.
He hurried even more, wishing he had money for a taxi. It seemed urgently important to see Amy immediately, to tell her how he felt. He’d thought he’d never want to get married again. But he wanted a safe haven with Amy, somewhere to lay his weary (balding) head. Perhaps even finally have a couple of kids. Give up on the acting, it was only a mug’s game, full of shallow egomaniacs. Get a proper job. An honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.
On the empty road a taxi appeared with its light on. Lorcan joyously hailed it. Amy would pay when he arrived.
When the taxi drew to a halt outside Amy’s, Lorcan said to the driver, ‘Just give me a minute. I need to get money from my girlfriend.’
‘Leave your jacket as insurance.’
‘I’ll only be a sec.’
‘The jacket stays.’
‘Oh, all right.’
Amy answered the door on the third ring. She was wrapped in a towel and she’d clearly been asleep. ‘Oh, hi.’ Her voice was flat.
‘Hi.’ His smile embraced her. He couldn’t stop grinning, so happy was he to see her, his sweetie, his angel, the woman he loved.
She made no move of admittance so, still beaming, he gestured. ‘Can I come in?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. About the other night, about that girl Katherine. I was only kidding around, flirting. You know what I’m like.’ A rueful I-can’t-help-it grin.
‘I do know what you’re like,’ she agreed. ‘Benjy’s been filling me in.’ Benjy had appeared in the hall behind her.
‘Hiya, Benjy, man,’ Lorcan said absently, then he turned his attention back to Amy. ‘You and I need to talk.’ His smile held a promise of goodies to come. ‘You may, as they say, learn something to your advantage.’ Irritably he noticed that Benjy was still hovering in the hall, so he frowned his piss-off-and-leave-us-alone frown. ‘Amy and I are just having a little confab here,’ he said, with heavy meaning.
When Benjy didn’t leave, Lorcan frowned again. ‘Would you mind, man?’
It was only then that Lorcan realized that something was amiss. It was gone two in the morning. What was Benjy doing in Amy’s? Why were they both wrapped in towels? What was going on?
‘We’re in love,’ Benjy announced.
A honk of mirth-free laughter exploded from Lorcan. ‘I know you are,’ he mocked. ‘You’ve always been into her. But she’s mine.’
‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘I’m Benjy’s.’
The muscles of Lorcan’s face were twitching up and down, in and out, like an accordion. He didn’t know whether to laugh or roar, sneer or question. ‘But I love you, Amy,’ he finally plumped for.
‘And I love Benjy,’ she said simply.
She didn’t really. But she was fond of him and she might grow to love him in time. She was too bruised by Lorcan to be bothered with him any more. All she’d ever wanted was a quiet life with a man who worshipped the ground she walked on. Benjy had promised always to be faithful and to love her for ever.
‘Not all men are bastards,’ he’d assured her. ‘Me, for instance.’
And she believed him.
He wasn’t good-looking enough to be one.
‘Have you actually –?’ Lorcan choked, looking from Benjy to Amy and back again. ‘Have you actually done the deed?’
‘Oh, yes.’ They both nodded confidently.
‘I don’t believe you,’ was the only thing Lorcan could come up with.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘You will in time.’
‘You’re some fucking friend,’ Lorcan turned on Benjy. ‘After all I did for you. After all the advice I gave you on how to get a girl and this is how you repay me. Nice one, you bollocks.’
‘Your advice stank. And I didn’t need it,’ Benjy said smugly. ‘My honest love for Amy was all that was required.’
Amy began to close the door and Lorcan realized in panic that he had yet another problem. ‘Hey,’ he yelped, ‘could you loan me a fiver for the taxi?’
‘No.’
And the door was closed in his face.
The taxi-driver had been robbed several times, and now kept a kango hammer under the seat for such eventualities. He was not afraid to use it.
Lorcan Larkin’s goose was not only cooked, it was served, eaten, the remains put in the fridge, made into sandwiches the next day, fricassée the day after, curry the day after that, then the carcass was boiled for stock at the end of the week.
At a flat in Battersea, Joe Roth opened his front door to find Katherine standing there.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry it’s so late, but can I tell you a story?’
Epilogue
At the chrome and glass Camden restaurant the skinny receptionist ran her sparkly turquoise nail down the book and muttered, ‘Casey, Casey, where’ve you got to? Here we are, table eighteen. You’re the –’
‘– first to arrive?’ Katherine finished for her.
‘No, I was going to say you’re the table in the window. Some of your mates are already here.’
Joe and Katherine hurried across the room to Tara, Liv and Milo.
‘Sorry we’re late,’ Katherine apologized. ‘Hair crisis. Anyway, happy birthday, Tara!’
‘What’s happy about it?’ Tara grinned. ‘How happy were you on your thirty-second birthday?’
‘Extremely, actually.’ Katherine smirked at Joe.
‘So was I,’ Liv contributed.
‘I can’t remember mine, it was so long ago,’ Milo said. ‘But I’m told I was content.’
‘How’s the pregnant woman?’ Katherine asked.
‘She’s fine,’ Milo answered, proudly. ‘Puking like the Exorcist most mornings, but grand by lunchtime.’
Liv gave a benign, earth-mother smile, her hands clasped maternally across her midriff even though she was only nine weeks advanced and her stomach was as flat as a board. Contentment rolled off her in serene waves.
/> ‘Are you all right, there?’ Milo asked her anxiously. ‘Would you like a cushion for your back? Has the urge to eat newspaper gone off you?’
‘Newspaper?’
‘I ate the television page yesterday,’ Liv admitted, shyly. ‘He was cross.’
‘Don’t be telling them that,’ Milo chided gently. ‘I wasn’t cross. All I said was “Next time will you eat the financial pages instead…” Oh, here’s Fintan and Sandro.’
A taut wire of tension pulled everyone upright. It was three months since Fintan had finished his course of chemo and he’d had his first check up with the oncologist that afternoon. Everyone hoped he’d been told he was in the clear.
His progress across the restaurant floor was observed by the staff and most of the clientele. Tall, gaunt, leaning on a walking stick, his scalp was tufted with a transparent layer of pale-gold duckling down. Baby hair – according to JaneAnn, he’d been blond when he was born.
‘Aids,’ the Friday-night clientele mouthed and nodded in a frenzy of excitement to each other. ‘Definitely Aids.’
‘Could be alopecia.’
‘Nah, look at how thin he is. And I bet that’s his boyfriend with him. A tenner says it’s Aids.’
Sandro hovered at Fintan’s elbow and they were both smiling. Did this mean that the news was good? ‘Happy birthday!’ They descended on Tara. ‘I know it’s not actually until tomorrow, but happy birthday!’
‘Never mind that. Tell us what the oncologist said,’ Tara clamoured.
‘He reckons I’ll last the evening.’
‘Ah, but seriously. The long-term prognosis?’
‘The very long-term prognosis is that I’m going to die.’ At the circle of appalled faces, Fintan laughed, ‘We’re all going to die.’ But his laughter was joyous, rather than bitter.
‘But has the cancer, you know, like, stopped?’ Milo asked anxiously.
‘It’s certainly behaving itself at the minute. Gone underground. Keeping a low profile. But they’re at pains to tell me that it might come back. Not definitely, but it might.’
‘But it might not,’ Sandro emphasized.
‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’ Fintan agreed. ‘I suppose I’m still in the Last Chance Saloon, but it’s not so bad.’
Tara turned to Fintan and heard herself ask a question. ‘Don’t you mind the uncertainty?’
The words were out of her mouth before she realized; then she wanted to shoot herself for being so tactless. But Fintan smiled, a smile filled with light and life and pleasure. ‘No.’ Then he surprised her by asking, ‘Do you?’
‘Do I what?’
‘Mind the uncertainty.’
She opened her mouth to protest that her life expectancy had no uncertainty, then stopped and bit her lip ruefully. It was so easy to forget everything she’d learnt over the past year. ‘No.’ She grinned. ‘I’m glad of it, really. When I remember, it makes everything more – don’t laugh at me – precious.’
‘Who’s laughing?’
‘Well, this calls for champagne,’ Joe announced.
‘Now, tell me, Tara,’ Fintan asked, eagerly, ‘how was your lunch date with – what was his name? I find it hard to keep up – Gareth?’
‘Yeah, Gareth. Put it this way, you can hold off on the his ’n’ hers towels for a while.’
‘Disaster?’
‘Not exactly a disaster. But he didn’t have much of a sense of humour.’
‘Ahjamean?’
‘Gareth,’ she sighed heavily, ‘is the kind of man who’d take you on holidays to the jungle, just so he could point out the window and say, “It’s a jungle out there.” You know?’
‘All part of life’s rich tapestry,’ Katherine consoled.
‘Yes indeed, and my tapestry is very rich at this stage.’
‘But so long as you’re having fun.’
‘Oh, I am.’
‘And when you’re finished having fun, you can settle down with your devoted Ravi.’
‘Jesus, Mary and holy St Joseph, don’t go there! Would you all shut up about Ravi?’
There was a contrite silence then Milo murmured, ‘Methinks she doth protest too much.’
‘Methinks the very same.’ Joe nodded.
‘Methinks too,’ Katherine agreed.
‘Speak English,’ Liv begged.
‘All right, all right, all right!’ Tara gave in. ‘Have it your way. I’m mad about Ravi and we’re going to get married.’
‘This comes as no surprise,’ Fintan said calmly.
‘Would you stop! I’m ready for my presents, Mr De Mille. I hope you all bore in mind that I’m furnishing a new flat and I’m tired of boiling water in a saucepan and sleeping on a knackered sofa-bed.’
‘We’ve heard nothing else for the past month.’
‘Excellent. So which one of you got me a bed?’
‘Was it me?’ Fintan asked anxiously. ‘I’ve to work a back-month until I get paid and I’m job-sharing so I’m only on half pay.’
Tara passed Fintan a parcel. ‘No, you gave me this. The day will come,’ she said, dreamily, ‘when Carmella Garcia will arrive on bended knees and beg you to come back to work for her.’
‘Sure, I don’t care any more,’ Fintan said, tearing off the wrapping paper. ‘Good luck to her. What’s this? A sharkskin tablecloth?’
‘It’s a shower curtain.’
‘Oh, very nice. Happy birthday, doll. Do you accept butter vouchers?’
As Tara oohed and aahed over her new kettle, inflatable pouf, giraffe CD holder, Aero voucher and shower curtain, Fintan said, ‘Do you mind me asking, but did Ravi give you a birthday present?’
Tara looked discomfited and eventually said, ‘Yeah.’
‘Can I ask what it was?’
‘Actually,’ Tara’s squirmy embarrassment began to be overridden by enthusiasm, ‘it’s this wonderful stuff. You know my long search to find an indelible lipstick?’
They all nodded, slightly wearily.
‘Ravi tracked down this great gear called Lipcote that you put on over your lipstick. It’s just a colourless liquid, you leave it for a minute to dry, and then a world war wouldn’t shift it. And guess what – it works! It actually bloody works! Look.’ She picked up her gin and tonic and said, ‘Watch as I press my lips against the glass. I’ll give it a good snog. Now, see – no trace of lipstick on it… well, only the merest hint. Isn’t he amazing?’
‘Amazing.’
The champagne arrived. Joe popped the cork, and Fintan and Sandro sniggered and nudged each other as the white spume gushed out.
‘Sorry, Liv, none for you,’ Katherine said, pouring it into six glasses.
‘Now, we must have a toast.’
‘To Fintan, obviously,’ Tara insisted.
‘No, to Tara, it’s her birthday,’ Fintan said, magnanimously.
‘No, no, something a bit more worthy, please,’ Tara protested.
‘To what, then?’
‘To life,’ Liv suggested, lifting her tumbler of milk.
‘That’s a good one,’ the others noisily agreed, grabbing and raising their champagne flutes.
‘And men with big willies,’ Fintan threw in.
‘Even better!’
‘To life!’ Seven glasses clinked in the middle of the table while seven voices chorused, ‘And men with big willies!’
Table of Contents
Cover
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Last Chance Saloon
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
&nb
sp; 23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
Epilogue