Page 11 of A Good Heart is Hard to Find
Even Orla was finding it difficult, and she was not only terribly attractive but by no means picky.
At my age I was sure it would take considerably more than a couple of one-night stands to achieve the desired resulteven if I fancied that idea, which I didn’t; but equally I didn’t want the biological father hanging about interfering with my life.
And speaking of fathers, if Ihad an illegitimate child Pa would not just ring me to tell me I will burn in hell, but consign me to being eternal spit-roast on Hell’s Rotisserie, basted at frequent intervals by Satan and all his little minions.
Clearly the cons outweighed the pros: but hell, logic hadnothingto do with the issue of my Issue!
At this point the battery in my Maglite went out, which might or might not havebeen a sign from God. If so, it was unclear just what the message was.
Don’t think about it any more?
It then being too dim to write, and the sound of rain having ceased, I went out into the newly washed churchyard.
To celebrate the publication in February of my new novelNocturnally Yours, I treated Orla and Jason to dinner at the village pub.
Not that it was a novelty to go to the King’sArms, since we ate dinner there together most nights like some sad singles club, but one had to mark these twice-yearly occasions in some manner other than the obligatory bouquet of rather pleasantly funereal lilies from my publisher.
Orla and I got there first, giving us an opportunity to air our more personal preoccupations before Jason arrived.
‘I’ve got an American antique collector staying,’she confided. ‘He’s a bit old, but he’s not bad-looking. He’s gone out to dinner with local friends, or I’d have offered to cook him a little something.’
This was desperation indeed, for Orla absolutely hated cooking.
One of her phones jangled, and she snatched it up. ‘Hello, Song Language? Can I help you?’
‘Wrong phone,’ I hissed, because the leopard-print one is the B&B.
‘No, no, I didn’tsay strong language,’ Orla was saying soothingly. ‘You must have misheard me. This is Haunted Well B&B speaking. Can I help you?’
The phone quacked.
‘Certainly. From Friday? Yes, Bed and Continental Breakfast. No, only Continental. Yes, do let me know by tomorrow – I only have one vacancy for that weekend. Yes, goodbye.’
She put the phone down on the table next to the pink Barbie Glitter oneand sighed. ‘Honestly, do they think I’ve nothing better to do than run around cooking cholesterol in the mornings?’
The Barbie phone rang before I could answer that, as far as I was aware, nothing betterhadbeen offered lately.
‘Song Language. Tonight? Tarzanogram? I’m afraid all my operatives are fully booked this evening. Yes, it is late notice. So sorry. Bye.’
‘Youcould have gone,’ Ipointed out.
‘Not to a hen party. Same applies to you. And anyway, we’re celebrating!’
She raised her glass: ‘Here’s toNocturnally Yours,andto finding someone nocturnally mine!’
‘You will,’ I assured her. ‘There must be interesting unattached men out there somewhere.’
‘Well hidden,’ she said gloomily. ‘How about you? It’s nearly six months since Max left, and you must be missing the sex,if nothing else.’
‘Well, not really,’ I confessed. ‘It hasn’t been terribly memorable for a while, and sometimes I think Max goes through the motions out of habit now, and only gets excited thinking about a particularly good round of golf.’
‘I don’t know how you can live like that,orlike a nun now that he’s away.’
‘To tell the truth I don’t mind most of the time … but every so often I getthe urge so badly I feel like jumping on the postman. Do you ever feel like that?’
She looked at me, astonished: ‘All the time! Why don’t you do something about it? Not the postman, because poor old George isn’t up to it, and anyway, Agnes wouldn’t like it. But you could look for another man.’
‘I have lookedatother men, and I’ve discovered that I don’t find many of them attractive. Hardlyany, in fact, even when I was younger and lots showed some interest in me. I must be too choosy.’
