Part 16 (1/2)

I opened can five. *Excuse me . . . but you're not in this for, y'know . . . the money, by any chance?'

*Of course not. I don't mean it to sound that way. You think I'd choose to live here even if my daughter wasn't the Messiah, if I was interested in money? I'd have a decent job in Belfast or somewhere . . .' She sighed. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if the possibility of ever going to Belfast to get a proper job existed now only in her dreams. Then she opened them again, took another swig of her Tennent's and burped. *Excuse me,' she said, then tutted. *I hate to keep bringing this back to pop music, but youngsters can be destroyed by too much exposure; think how much worse it's going to be for Christine.'

*But she's the Messiah . . . surely she can . . .'

*We don't know that!' Moira cut in. *How do any of us know what she can do? All I know is she's my wee girl, or nine tenths my wee girl and the other tenth is His . . . I don't know whether she's going to do party tricks or destroy the world, all I can do is provide the best possible environment for her: for now it's Wrathlin; by the time she's up a bit and wants to get her message across, she's going to need deals to enable her to do that. Do you understand?'

I nodded. In a strange way, I did. I was probably the only person on Wrathlin who would understand. Besides Patricia. *I take it you haven't discussed all this with Father Flynn. Or his gloomy sidekick.'

*Father White?' She shook her head. *They wouldn't get it. Flynn . . . could probably be persuaded. He's a nice guy . . .'

*His heart's in the right place.'

*Stop it. But I think the concept of a world stage is a bit beyond him. I don't think he can imagine much more than a revival meeting on the Ormeau Road. White . . . he's just creepy.'

*He reminds me of Telly Savalas.'

*Who?'

*Doesn't matter.'

*Dan . . .?'

*He was Sue Barker's doubles partner. But no, I think you're right. I don't think either of them are equipped to take this onto a world stage. You need a mover and shaker. Like a Richard Branson or a Bill Gates.' We nodded together for a while, imagining. *Come to that, you don't need me to write the book, you need a Shakespeare.'

*No, I need it to be understood by the man in the street.'

*Shakespeare was the people's . . .'

*Pish, I haven't a notion what he was rattling on about, and I'm not stupid.'

I would have argued, but she had a point. *Fair enough. So you'd be going more for Tom Clancy than Salman Rushdie.'

*No, I'd be going for you.'

*Flattered as I am, why me?'

*Because Flynn recommends you. And you seem like a nice bloke. And you're sitting here having a can with me instead of slabbering round me or kissing my a.r.s.e like the rest of them. I reckon you'd get the message across okay, whatever it turns out to be.'

I shrugged. It was quite a compliment, under the circ.u.mstances.

I opened another can and said, *There's so much I have to ask you about all of this.'

She smiled. Warmly. *Ask whatever you want, Dan. But, first, can I ask you something?'

*Sure.'

*Do you want to f.u.c.k?'

17.

There are some questions a lady should not ask a gentleman. But then it was suddenly obvious that Moira was no lady and I'd never been accused of being a gentleman. I was red-faced, spluttering, and Moira was grinning widely.

*That was a bit out of the blue,' I managed.

*I haven't had s.e.x in such a long time,' she said wistfully.

I nodded. She handed me another can. She wasn't much under five seven, standing; she'd a nice, trim figure and a sarcastic charm that was quite alluring. She'd long removed the pink housecoat. Beneath it were black ski pants, gutties, and a fading blue T-s.h.i.+rt with Bahamas Yacht Club written across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which were neither mountains nor molehills. Somewhere in between. Drumlins. Her skin was pale and she wore little make-up. Her nose was short but sharp. Her teeth were white and her smile keen. She said, *Are you sizing me up?'

*Yes,' I said.

*Do I frighten you?'

*No.'

*Do you think I'm drunk?'

*No.'

*So give me one good reason why we shouldn't go to bed.'

*I'm married. I love my wife. Your daughter is sick upstairs. You're the mother of G.o.d.'

*That's four reasons.'

*Although I wouldn't want to jump to any hasty decisions. Opportunities like this don't come along every day.'

She smiled. *You've been unfaithful to your wife before.'

*Did Christine tell you that?'

*No. Father Flynn.'

I nodded.

*And she to you.'

*It was a while back. We're better now.'

*That's not your son, is it?'

I shook my head.

*I don't see anything of him in you.'

I shrugged. I s.h.i.+fted in my seat. I glugged. It is possible to have s.e.x with someone without being unfaithful to your partner. If it is just an opportunistic physical act which will have no consequences for those involved or connected to those involved. Just a moment or two of pleasure stolen from a difficult life. It can be a giving experience: helping somebody sad and lonely or in pain to get through their moment of crisis; you don't necessarily have to enjoy it yourself. And it beats the h.e.l.l out of masturbation.