The Mystery of Mercy Close by Marian Keyes

Author:Marian Keyes
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781405911832
Publisher: Penguin Books
Published: 2013-04-10T23:00:00+00:00

35

Home-made ginger ale indeed. Who would have thought I’d have ended up dating a man who indulged in such practices? Or who had kids who did, at least? So odd, the whole romance thing, the way the most unlikely people got together.

Like, take Bronagh and Blake – you’d never have put them together. When they hooked up about four years ago, I was quite shocked and not just because I’d sort of thought it would always be just me and her. It was because Blake was a rugby-loving, boomy-voiced, money-mad Alpha, the type who automatically married slinky, long-limbed blondies, even if they’d been declared medically brain dead. You wouldn’t in a million years have thought that Bronagh would be his type.

And I would have bet the farm that he wouldn’t be Bronagh’s type either, but there they were, suddenly mad about each other.

At the time Blake was an estate agent but he was quick to reassure everyone that that was only temporary. Blake was a man with a plan: he was going to become a property developer, he was going to be wildly successful, he would buy cars with throaty roars and a mansion in Kildare and another mansion in Holland Park and a part-share in a private jet.

When I tried to mock him by saying, ‘Only a part-share, Blake? Why not the whole plane?’ he quickly cut me down by saying, ‘And pay for upkeep, airport fees and hangar costs? Joking me, Helen? The smart man goes for the part-share: all the convenience, none of the fixed costs.’

So, you know, I wasn’t exactly wild about him, but I had to admire his taste: he totally got Bronagh. He let her be as mad as she was. Bronagh would never be a trophy wife – to put it mildly. Bronagh, even if she lived to be a thousand, would never throw perfect dinner parties. But still Blake included her as a pivotal part of all of his client-wooing outings.

There was one night when Blake organized tickets to a play at the Abbey for some of his glamorous potential clients and I can’t remember why but I was invited along too. It started off nice and civilized – pink champagne in the bar and handshakes and lots of ‘Pleased to meet you’s. But once we’d taken our seats and the lights dropped it all went to hell. Within moments Bronagh had started insulting the crap dialogue. I was expecting Blake to nudge her and hiss, ‘Shush! Not in front of the glamorous potential clients.’ But he didn’t utter a word.

At one particularly clunky line, Bronagh said really, really loudly, ‘OH, FOR GOD’S SAKE!’ And when I looked at Blake, he was shaking with laughter.

The minute the interval came – and I’m sure it couldn’t have come soon enough for the poor thesps up on the stage – Bronagh directed us to the bar, where she drew us all together in a cluster and said, ‘I’m organizing a breakout. Let’s abandon this pile of shite and have a drink in every pub between here and Rathmines.

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