We are all made of glue by Marina Lewycka

Author:Marina Lewycka
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Jewish women, Jewish, Single mothers, Fiction, Real estate agents, Female friendship, General
ISBN: 9781905490233
Publisher: Fig Tree
Published: 2009-07-15T10:37:55.189000+00:00

28

Ancient and inexplicable

It poured with rain next day, and I sat at my laptop trying to think about adhesives. Bonding. For some reason, my mind kept drifting to Velcro—fascinating stuff. All those sexy little hooks. After a while, I gave up trying to work, put my wellies on, and went round to feed Mrs Shapiro’s cats. They were waiting for me as I approached Canaan House, circling disconsolately out in the rain. The porch where they usually waited was one huge puddle. I looked up and saw that water was now pouring down from the broken gutter I’d first noticed nearly a fortnight ago, and splashing straight into the porch. I fed the cats in the kitchen, and shooed them out through the back door. I noticed Violetta sneaking round the back towards the derelict outhouses, and a few minutes later Mussorgsky slunk off in the same direction. I watched to see whether Wonder Boy would follow, but he was still hanging around for the last scrapings out of the tin. I dished it out slowly, to give the lovers the best chance I could. Then I went home via the Turkish bakery and treated myself to a Danish pastry.

As soon as I got in I phoned Mr Ali. He was hesitant at first when I described the problem.

“I am a handyman not a builder. Big ladders needed for this job.”

But he agreed to take a look. Next, I rang Northmere House. I was annoyed but not surprised to discover that Mrs Shapiro was barred from receiving phone calls as well as visitors. No doubt her mail would be censored, too.

Fortified by my cup of tea and Danish pastry, I returned to my desk. Adhesives. Bonding. Bondage. Mark Diabello. The trouble was, I caught myself thinking, as I stared at the screen of my laptop, that we didn’t have anything at all in common. Once the initial excitement of sex wore off, I found him—I hadn’t been able to admit this to myself before—a bit, well, boring. Maybe that was the trouble with The Splattered Heart. Those romantic hero types can be limited in their appeal. What I needed was someone I could talk to: someone intellectual; preferably someone hunkily intellectual.

I’d deleted Nathan’s message without writing down the new deadline. Should I ring him to check? I hesitated. He already thought I was pretty stupid. I pictured him sweeping back his black hair in exasperation from his craggily intelligent brow—he was sitting down at his desk so you couldn’t tell he was rather short. Anyway, size doesn’t matter, does it? I dialled his number.

“Nathan, I’m sorry, I deleted your message by mistake. What’s the new deadline?”

He sighed and tutted in a way that suggested he wasn’t really cross.

“March twenty-fifth. D’you think you’ll be able to have it ready in time, Georgie girl?”

“I think so. Actually, Nathan,” I lowered my voice, “I keep on getting distracted.”

“Oh? Anything interesting?” he breathed. I wavered. No, better not mention Velcro.

“Nathan, have you ever heard

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