The feng-shui junkie by Brian Gallagher

Author:Brian Gallagher
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Body, Feng Shui, Spouses, Revenge, Modern fiction, Fiction, General & Literary Fiction, Dublin (Ireland), Adultery, Mind & Spirit, General
ISBN: 9780752837109
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2000-08-15T07:00:00+00:00

34

The front door bangs.

Seconds later Mother appears in the kitchen where Sylvana and I are seated. Ignoring me, she passes through to the sink and washes her hands. I observe her in silence.

“That was a nice way to talk to your mother,” she says.

When she turns round again to dry her hands, she’s wearing this mischievous smile, which proves she actually enjoyed being shouted at like that.

“Just think of it, Sylvana,” she says. “You ring your own daughter to say you’ll be a bit late, and she tells you she’s sick to death of you.”

Sylvana giggles. “How did the bridge go, Gertrude?”

“She doesn’t go there for the bridge, Sylvana.”

“No,” Mother confirms, taking a packet of chocolate Hobnobs from her shopping bag, cutting the top with a sharp knife and putting one in her mouth. “I go for the men.”

She puts on the kettle.

“Anyone nice today?” I ask her.

“Yes, but they’re all single.”

“Why should that be a problem?”

“Married men are much more fun,” she replies.

“I love your mother,” cackles Sylvana.

“You don’t know her like I do.”

“Anyway, Julie, where have you been?” inquires Mother, munching her cookie. “I haven’t seen you since Saturday last.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I reply, grinning at my friend.

“I didn’t ask you how you were, I asked you where you were.”

“Like I told you, I’ve been staying with Sylvana. There’s this guy she’s trying to shake off and she wants me to stay over with her because she thinks I will repel him.”

Mother: “Now there’s a vote of confidence.”

“Anyway, I’m fine,” I lie.

“You’re feeling better after your bath, then?”

“Somewhat.”

“And I presume His Lordship will be home soon?” she asks, pouring boiling water into the pot and carrying it over to the table and sitting down.

“So I’m told.”

“He’s been behaving strangely for the last few days,” she says, pouring out the tea.

Sylvana: “The last few days? ”

“I don’t think he wants me staying here.”

“That’s only because you steal his Danish pastries,” I observe.

“He has this terrible long expression on him. He’s very humourless at the moment.”

“It’s a genetic character trait, Gertrude.”

“And now that the piano is here, he seems to want to play it whenever I watch TV. He does it to annoy me, I know he does…”

I’m laughing at this point. Sylvana isn’t.

“He thinks he’s musical. You should hear him on Chopin. He destroys the poor man, if the Master only suspected.”

“He acquired the Chopin disease in Paris,” I say. “It’s endemic.”

“Well, it’s certainly not contagious.”

“Chopin,” mocks Sylvana. “God! Who does he think he is? I mean, what’s his problem? ”

Mother grins happily at us. “Am I stirring it up? I love living here. There’s so much variety.”

She announces that it’s spaghetti for everyone, including Ronan whenever he returns. She fills a huge cauldron with water and puts it on the hob, turns on the switch, then takes out the spaghetti, the tomato puree and a tub of Parmesan cheese from the press, and puts them on the sideboard. “There’s something all women should know,” she intones.

“What’s that, Gertrude?”

“There are three remedies for unhappiness.

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