Whitethorn Woods by Maeve Binchy Read Free Book Online Page B

Neddy said it simply as if it were obvious.
       "Like what way, in God's name?"
       "Well, I have a great friend who does wrought iron, he could
    do you really nice windows outside, which would look well and also be good and strong against unwelcome visitors. And let me see, what else could we do? If the dancing girls were tired and wanted somewhere to stay, it's very peaceful by the woods where we live . . . Perhaps some of your dancers might need a nice restful holiday. They could come to stay with us. There's lots to see in Rossmore. There's even a wonderful well in the woods. People can wish there and it comes true." His good-natured face was straining with good ideas for Keno.
       I begged God not to let Keno mock him, or tell me I was marrying a simpleton. I spoke to God very strongly in my mind. "I never bothered you about things, did I, God? I didn't go up to that well rabbiting on to your grandmother, St. Ann, now did I? No, I sorted out my own problems and looked after my little sister. I didn't go round doing much sin, unless the dancing is a sin? But it's so silly, it can't really be a sin, can it? And now I want to escape from all this and marry a good man. So that's the kind of thing you're meant to be for, isn't it, God?"
       And God listened. This time.
       Keno turned on the shredder and put the pictures into it.
       "There aren't any more," he said. "Get your wrought-iron man to give me a ring, Neddy. And now get the hell home, the two of you, to plan your wedding. I have an ailing business to run here."
       And we walked out of the club together hand in hand and down the cobbled street.

The Singles Holiday

    Vera

    It was very clear from the moment I saw the advertisement:

    Holiday for Singles
fun, sun, sea and relaxation

    That was exactly what I wanted.
       And they were so slow back at the Active Retirement Association, and they were so scornful at the cardiac exercise class. They were positively hostile at the Gardening in Later Years Group. My cousins back in Rossmore were the most disapproving of all. They said that sort of holiday was only for young people. Undesirable young people, who would probably have sex on the plane on the outward journey, and be drunk for fifteen days when they got there.
       But where did it say anything about that in the advertisement?
       Nowhere.
       I paid my two-hundred-euro deposit and then the rest when they sent the invoice. At no time did anyone ask me my age. And proper order too. I had not asked them their ages. I turned up at the airport with my little purple and yellow label saying holiday for singles.
       That's what I was, single.
       I could easily have married Gerald, and quite possibly I could have married Kevin. But Gerald was very, very dull. So I didn't marry him. And the woman who did marry him went sort of mad from the tedium of it all. And I didn't try to make Kevin infatuated with me or anything because truly he was very unreliable. I wouldn't have had a moment's peace with him.
       And I never regretted being single. Never for one moment— except sometimes on holidays.
       You had to pay a single-room supplement. You were often given a very small, poky table away from other people's eyes. It was a bit lonely not having anyone to talk to like other people had, someone to laugh over the day with. That's why I was thrilled to see a holiday that catered to exactly what I needed.
       At the airport I saw lots of those purple and yellow labels and, yes, the fellow travelers did seem to be very young, like about forty years younger than me, but then that was just who I saw now. The older crowd would turn up later.
       They didn't, as it happened. And as I stood in the line waiting for check-in, I got a few odd glances. But then I have always had a few odd glances. A sixty-something woman in jeans and a big floppy sun hat does often attract a second look. People often look again just to check that they