Landing by Emma Donoghue

Author:Emma Donoghue [Donoghue, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Lesbian, Literary, Read list
ISBN: 9780156033787
Google: npV-00x-EuQC
Amazon: B002HJ3GOY
Publisher: Mariner Books
Published: 2007-01-01T23:00:00+00:00

Síle had dragged Marcus and Jael out to what sounded like a really interesting Danish one-man show, and now she was paying for round after round of martinis in an attempt to make it up to them.

"The way he kept going behind the screen, and taking painfully long to come back out in the mask of his mother," Marcus recalled.

Jael shook her head. "That wasn't the worst."

"Could it have been a reference to Hamlet?" suggested Síle.

"The worst bit," announced Jael, "was when he played that footage of the Twin Towers, and he stood naked in front of the screen and made flapping birdies with his hands."

Síle groaned. "I'd almost managed to forget that bit."

Marcus pointed at her. "You dragged me up from Leitrim on the first warm Saturday of the year for this multimedia caca."

"I've said I'm sorry! But at least you can spend the rest of the weekend with Pedro."

"Well, there's that," he said with a dirty grin. "So when do we get to meet this Jude character?"

"When she can find the price of the flight," said Síle, trying not to sound sullen.

"Bad sign," said Jael, shaking her head.

"Her job doesn't pay well."

"Maybe, to coin a phrase, she's just not that into you."

"Shut up, you cow," said Marcus.

"So what does Pedro think of your rotting manor?" Jael asked him.

"He drives down nearly every week; he says it's the only place where he can really switch off."

Jael rolled her eyes. "With the hormones bubbling away in the pair of you, Pedro would think a urinal was the Taj Mahal."

"Actually it's not so squalid now the roof's on; you and Anton and Yseult should venture down for tea," Síle told her.

"But I do miss him a lot of the time," Marcus was saying quietly.

"Blame Síle," said Jael, "she started all this."

"All what?"

"Falling for inappropriately faraway people."

"Leitrim to Dublin's only about four hours, hardly a longdistance relationship," Síle scoffed. "Canadians drive that far for a picnic." She knew she was exaggerating, but she couldn't help resenting the men's luck in being just a drive apart.

Marcus stole the olive out of her glass. "Oh, that was far enough when you were whining about all your friends moving down the country."

"Anyone beyond arm's reach in the wee dark hours is too far away," said Jael, draining her martini.

Síle was oddly moved by the image of Jael curling herself around Anton's sleep-fragrant body in the middle of the night.

"No insult to the Catalan or the Canadian," said Jael, "but they can't be worth the grinding effort of it all."

Síle and Marcus shared a conspiratorial smile. "Blame the zeitgeist," he said. "The new technologies let us get ourselves into tangles: They make these arrangements just about possible without making them liveable. Everyone's at it: I know several L.A.—New York marriages, with kids, even."

"Mm," said Síle, "I'm finding it's like some obscure health problem—irritable bowel syndrome, or head lice—as soon as I confess I'm having an LDR, people say 'Me too!'"

"Then cure yourself, woman," said Jael in exasperation.

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