Despite the Angels - By Madeline A Stringer Page 0,123

friendly after that magical day. She didn’t actually refuse him now, when he approached her in bed, but she didn’t respond, just lay there and waited politely for him to finish. He had thrown away his precious picture of ‘Clothilde’ after she had fulfilled her purpose of emptying his tubes after the vasectomy, thinking he would not be needing her again. But he had had to buy another magazine. No Clothilde:- he fleetingly hoped she had moved on to a better job, as he transferred his attentions to Paulette, a busty blonde. She’s not much less responsive than Kathleen, he thought, smiling behind his hand and she never sighs.

“Kath?” said David, surprising himself. He didn’t usually start conversations these days, in the hope that peace would reign for longer and Kathleen might become more content.

“What?” Kathleen’s voice was dull and uninterested.

“Have you ever thought of getting a job involving travel?” Now where did that come from, David thought.

“Me. Someone has to keep trying round here. Get her out of your hair for a while and find out who you are for a change. Stop all these trips and save up for that piano you want.” Jotin was sitting on the sofa beside David, watching the television. He enjoyed good plays. Unfortunately, this was not a good play, so he was trying a bit of manipulation again. Probably won’t work this time either, he thought. This is one tough assignment. Wretched Trynor, if he’d got it right those two would need almost no minding at all, they’d be doing it themselves.

“Want to get rid of me, do you?” said Kathleen.

“Yes” said Jotin.

“No, of course not” said David.

“Coward” said Jotin. “Why don’t you just say yes and get it over with?”

David continued. “I just thought, you’re always so unhappy here, always wanting to go somewhere, that maybe if you could be, I dunno, a tour guide or something, that you might be happier. And it wouldn’t cost anything.”

“How could I be a tour guide? I don’t speak any languages well enough. And I’m too old to start being an air hostess, in case that was your next smart suggestion, trying to get me killed off in an air crash.”

“You’re not afraid of dying in an air crash when we’ve bought the tickets, why should you if you’re being paid?” David sat back and tried to think of some other job Kathleen could do. “How about presenting travel programmes? You’d have to get into RTE first, I suppose. How about improving your French, or learning a new language? An unusual one, so you’d be in demand? What about writing a travel guide? You know most of Europe inside out already. Just find an angle.”

“You write the bloody book. You present the programmes. You learn a language. Leave me alone!” Kathleen threw the atlas on the floor and ran out of the room, taking huge gulping breaths as she went. David closed his eyes. Up to bed, under the covers and cry, up two hours later and stamp into the bathroom for a hot bath, cucumber slices on the eyes and a demand for hot chocolate and an apology. The same every time. And I apologise. Every time. But what exactly have I done wrong? Just opened a discussion point. Idiot. Why didn’t I remember, Kathleen doesn’t discuss, Kathleen states. That’s it. No more discussions. Just ignore her as best I can from now on, do what she wants when I must. Trying to solve things is just too tiring.

Chapter 44

Spring 1991

David let himself into the house. He stood for a moment and listened. He was sure he was on his own. What a luxury, he thought, a few minutes to draw breath before the onslaught. In the kitchen, he filled the kettle and switched it on, then leaned over the counter to look out of the window. There was a bit more light in the sky every day now. Soon the grass would need cutting again. Soon the summer travel brochures would appear again and his sheets of calculations would have to start.

The water hissed and a cloud of steam engulfed him. David got out a mug and spoon and reached for the jar of coffee. Propped against it was an envelope, ‘David’ starkly on it. He took it and sat down, a million thoughts tumbling simultaneously through his mind, some bad, some good, but none of them simple. It was Kathleen’s writing, looking rushed, as always. Open it, you idiot, stop trying