Anybody Out There - Marian Keyes by Anybody Out There Read Free Book Online

you
genuinely connect, then you never see each other again. It's very nice. Usually.

But I didn't want my encounter with this Aidan to be a one-off and for the following few days I
was a little expectant in every ringing-phone and incoming-e-mail situation, but nada.

     6
H elen was clattering away at the ancient Amstrad, which lived in the hall, on top of the
hostess trolley, and if you wanted to sit down to send an e-mail, you had to open the trolley doors
and sit on a low stool, with your knees in the hot shelves.

"Who are you e-mailing?" I called.

She stuck her head around the door, winced at the sight of the tassels, and said, "No one, I'm
writing a thing, you know, a telly script. About a detective."

I was speechless. Helen claimed--proudly--to be practically illiterate.

"I might as well," she said. "I've plenty of material. It's actually very good, I'll print it off for
you."

The ancient printer screeched and squeaked for about ten minutes, then Helen proudly ripped off
a single page and gave it to me. Still speechless, I read it.

     Lucky Star

     By and about Helen Walsh

Scene One: small proud Dublin detective agency. Two women, one young, beautiful (me). Other
old (Mum). Young woman, feet on desk. Old woman, feet not on desk because of arthritis in
knees. Slow day. Quiet. Bored. Clock ticking. Car parks outside. Man comes in. Good-looking.
Big feet.
     Me: What can I do you for?
Man: I'm looking for a woman.
     Me: This isn't a knocking shop.
Man: No, I mean, I'm looking for my girl friend. She's gone missing.
     Me: Have you spoken to the boys in blue?
Man: Yes, but they won't do anything until she's been gone twenty-four hours. Anyway, they
just think we've had a row.
Me (whipping feet off desk, narrowing eyes, leaning forward): And have you?
Man (morto): Yes.
     Me: About what? Another man? Someone she works with?
Man (still morto): Yes.
     Me: She working late a lot recently? Spending too much time with her colleague?
Man: Yes.
Me: It's not looking good for you, but it's your dime. We can try and find her. Give all the
details to the old woman over there.

"Excellent, isn't it?" Helen said. "Especially the line about the knocking shop? And about it
being his dime. Hard-boiled, isn't it?"

"Yes, very good."

"I'll do more tomorrow, maybe we could even act it out. Right, I better get ready for work."

At about 10 P.M. she reappeared at my door; she was dressed for surveillance work. (Dark, close-
fitting clothes that are meant to be waterproof but aren't.)

"You need fresh air," she said.

"I got fresh air earlier." No way was I going to sit in a wet hedge for eleven hours while she tried
to catch photos of unfaithful men leaving their girlfriends' apartments.

"But I want you to come with me."

Even though it would have been hard for Helen and me to be more different, we were close:
maybe it was because we were the two youngest. Whatever the reason, Helen treated me like an
extension of herself, the part that got up to bring her glasses of water in the middle of the night. I
was her playmate/toy/slave/best friend, and needless to say, everything I owned was
automatically hers.

"I can't come," I said. "I'm injured."

"Boo hoo," she said. "Boo bloody hoo."

It wasn't that she was trying to be cruel, it's just that my family doesn't believe in
oversentimentality. They think it makes you more upset. Brusque chivvying, making no
allowances--that's their modus operandi.

Mum appeared and Helen turned to her in complaint. "She won't come with me. It'll have to be
you."

"I can't," Mum said. Dramatically she flicked her eyes in my direction, like I was mentally ill--
and blind. "I'd better stick around here."

"Oh, ding-dong," Helen griped. "I'm off to spend the whole night sitting in a wet hedge and none
of you care."

"Of course we care." Mum produced something from a pocket and gave it to Helen. "Vitamin-C
sucky sweets; it might stop you getting those sore throats."
"No." Helen squirmed away and this confirmed