B is for Bublé. As in Michael. I ‘fangirl’ this highly talented young man. A voice to match ‘Old Blue Eyes’ and a very kind heart – did you see on the YouTubes how he got that youth up on stage to sing with him? (I keep ‘abreast’ of technology. Helen shows me how. She’s not good for much, but she’s good for that.) Yes, Michael Bublé is a consummate artist. And he has a lovely chunky pair of thighs on him.
C is for Cooking. Like all Irish women of my generation I have a great gift for cooking ‘good plain food’. Eating my food is not a. high-risk activity, as my daughters claim. It is not an extreme sport. It is not like playing Russian Roulette when all the chambers are loaded. They haven’t a clue, those girls. Boiling is a good thing; it kills off germs. And flavour is a bad thing; it can upset your stomach.
For years and years I was cooking dinners for them. I was trying this and trying that and getting recipes from the neighbours and tearing suggestions out of the paper, and all they ate was cornflakes, so in the end – ‘by popular demand’ says Claire – I gave it up. Yes, I had a ‘rush of blood to the head’ and I went and I put on my coat and I got my handbag and I said to Mr Walsh, ‘Come on, get up, we’re going out!’ ‘Where?’ says he, afraid he’d miss some of the golf on the telly. ‘OUT!’ says I. ‘And bring the cheque book.’
We went to an electrical shop and bought a microwave and a fine, big, upright freezer, the biggest they had, which I filled to bursting with convenience food. So now, any time any of them come into the kitchen, whinging, all pathetic like, ‘I’m huuuungry,’ I take them by the hand and open the freezer door with a flourish, demonstrating all the lovely frozen dinners that are in there. ‘Take your pick,’ I say. Then I lead them to the microwave and say, All hail the microwave, the handy little television-like gadget that will defrost that yoke in your paw. Befriend both of those machines, they will prove invaluable in your fight against hunger in this house.’
Yes, I felt guilty, of course I felt guilty. That’s my job as a mother. What’s that thing they say …? Oh yes, CA woman’s place is in the wrong!’ But there was no point me carrying on with the cooking, no point whatsoever; we’d all have ended up with scurvy.
The freezer and microwave were the very last gadgets I bought for the kitchen. Claire, who fancies herself as a bit of a ‘foodie’, calls it ‘The Kitchen That Time Forgot’. Now and again I hear people going on about kitchen aids and microplaners and I ‘tune out’. I couldn’t be more bored if you paid me to be. The worst present Mr Walsh could give me would be a blender. But I suppose that goes for most women (as in ‘Blender? I’ll give you blender … while you’re asleep … and you haven’t got your paw over your nethers like you usually do …’).
C is also for Confectionery. On account of not having any proper food in the house, we have plenty of biscuits, cakes, buns and ice cream, to compensate. I mean, we have to eat something. C is, of course, for Cornettos. We keep up with all the new ones. Most summers they ‘tweak’ Cornettos, adding new flavours and ‘limited editions’, but I must say Cornettos have really stood the test of time and are far handier to eat while driving, than a cone from a machine.
Magnums – late-comers to the party compared to the years of trusty service the Cornettos have given – are also big favourites in the Walsh household. As doubtless you know, Magnums ‘play around’ with the basic concept a lot, which can be fun. But the summer they launched the Seven Deadly Sins range, I could not rest easy until I had tracked down and eaten all seven of them and it took me for ever to find Lust. I finally located it in late August in a Texaco station in Westport five minutes before they closed. Mr Walsh says I shouldn’t regard those ad campaigns as an order. And I don’t. I see them as more of a challenge.
C is also for Cleanliness. My house is very clean and Mr Walsh does hoover under the beds, no matter what Helen might tell you. But I will admit that when I go on missing person cases with Helen and we have to break into houses to look for clues, I find it’s amazing how dirty people’s houses are when they aren’t expecting visitors. (Also I find it ‘comforting’. So shoot me, as they say.)
He just wanted a decent book to read ...
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MICHAEL JOSEPH
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First published 2012
Copyright © Marian Keyes, 2012
The moral right of the author has been asserted
These characters are fictional and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is entirely coincidental
Cover illustration by Rob Ryan
All rights reserved
Typeset by Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk, Stirlingshire
ISBN: 978-0-718-19827-5
Marian Keyes, The Mystery of Mercy Close
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