The Misremembered Man by Christina McKenna Read Free Book Online

I’ll come out an’ knock ye off it!” Slope warned.
    “Hey’ya, Slope!” Sproule’s head disappeared momentarily from view and then shot back up again. “Hey, Slope,” he shouted, “blessed are the squinty-eyed for they shall see God twice!”
    Slope dashed to the door and yanked it open, but by then young Sproule had taken off like a whippet down the main street.
    The bartender banged the door shut and returned behind the counter, his face flaming. Jamie put a hand to his mouth, stifling a grin.
    “There’s nothin’ funny about it, McCloone!” Slope glared in his general direction.
    “I’m gonna ’ave a word with that rascal’s mother,” said Maisie, casting a hostile eye at Jamie. “But then his father spent most of his days in the pub, and a wild dog never reared a tame pup, as you well know, Mr. O’Shea.”
    “You’re right there, Maisie!” Slope deposited the money into the pegbag, “There ye go: six pounds and four pence.”
    “Thank you very much, Mr. O’Shea.”
    “Tell ye what would fix Jamie’s bad back, Maisie,” he added, addressing a spot north of Maisie’s eyebrows, “a good rub-down with one a your relics. Have him leapin’ about like a billy goat. Have you got one a them handy?” He grinned, exposing a fence of broken teeth, the legacy of a customer he’d insulted some months before.
    “I’ll thank you not to be coarse, Mr. O’Shea.”
    She turned her back and stooped to stuff the collection money into a plastic shopping bag. Jamie had a sudden urge to flex his left leg and kick her big, tweed arse. But it was only a thought.
    “Cheerio then,” she said, turning to face him. “And I hope to see you at Mass when your back’s mended, Jamie.”
    “Oh, I’ll be there right enough, Maisie.” Jamie observed her and for an instant saw her big eyes change through the lenses to a jungle of beer bottles and some blue sky as she made for the door.
    “Right ye be then,” she said, satisfied with her mission.
    “Right ye be, Maisie,” both men chorused.
    The door clanged shut and the bar returned once more to its restive, smoky silence.
     
     
    The public library was enjoying a lull when Lydia pushed through the main doors. Sean, the part-time junior—young, handsome and aware of it—was sprawled over the desk, chewing the end of a Biro and engrossed in the sports section of the Derry Democrat . He did not register Lydia’s approach and she had to cough to get his attention.
    “Oh hello, Miss Devine.” He looked up but didn’t bother to stand. “She’s having her break. You can go on in if you want to,” he said to the open page, once again engrossed.
    “Good day to you too, Sean. See you’re working hard as usual.”
    She walked away, gratified that the insult had hit its target, and sensed him straighten up and glare at her retreating back as she knocked and went through the door marked “Private” at the far end of the room.
    Daphne was glad to see her friend as always.
    “What a coincidence: I was just thinking about you, Lydia. Haven’t seen you in ages,” she said, embracing Lydia warmly. “I expect you could do with a nice cup of tea.”
    “Oh, no thanks, dear. I’ve just had some.” Lydia set her purse on the floor and sank down into the canvas Parker-Knoll chair.
    “Sure? Just freshly made.” She held up the teapot.
    This relaxed attitude was the quality Lydia prized most in her friend. Daphne never seemed distracted or pulled off balance by anything. She was solid, dependable; was not afraid to shine a light into the darkest corners and offer solutions to problems Lydia believed insoluble.
    “No, really. I have to collect Mother from the Cut ’n Curl shortly. Just wanted to ask your advice about something.” She hesitated. “That’s if you have the time?”
    Daphne settled herself in the chair opposite. “All the time in the world. His lordship is very underworked, as you probably noticed.” She nodded in the direction of the