Some Girls Do

by Murphy, Clodagh

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise it was a secret.’

  ‘That we’re sleeping together? Yeah, it kind of is.’

  ‘Why? Are you ashamed of me?’

  ‘No, of course not! But that doesn’t mean it’s something I want to discuss with my mum.’

  ‘Your mum’s cool. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Oh, she wouldn’t. She was saying it was okay for you to spend the night here.’

  ‘Really?’ Luca paused in what he was doing and raised his eyebrows. ‘So I have your mother’s permission to have my wicked way with you under her roof?’ he asked, with a crooked smile.

  ‘But I said we were just friends, and I told her about Mark, and then you come in and say that—’

  ‘Sorry.’

  She sighed. ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘We could be friends with benefits.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She knew her mother wouldn’t bat an eyelid, and it would be handy if Luca could stay here sometimes. She took a handful of glasses from the sideboard and began putting them around. ‘You don’t have to stay for the music, by the way, if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I’d like to.’

  ‘They’re pretty good. Jim plays the uilleann pipes, and Mum plays the bodhrán. But feel free to leave any time, if you get bored.’

  ‘So, what about you? Do you play any instrument?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said, blushing. ‘I mean I do kind of join in the sessions sometimes, but it’s not exactly an instrument …’

  ‘Do you sing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘It’s kind of embarrassing,’ she said, wincing.

  Luca grinned. ‘Is it a comb and paper?’

  ‘No! Though that’s not far off.’

  ‘Go on … tell me.’

  ‘Spoons,’ she mumbled. ‘I play the spoons.’

  Luca threw back his head and laughed. ‘You play the spoons? Seriously?’

  ‘Hey!’ she said, punching his shoulder playfully. ‘Jim taught me when I was a kid.’

  ‘So is it just the spoons, or do you play any other kitchen implements? Garlic press? Cheese grater?’

  ‘Okay, it’s not a sexy instrument, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘It’s not an instrument. It’s cutlery.’

  ‘Well, it’s more than you can play.’

  The doorbell was ringing as she finished setting the table. Espie led everyone into the sitting room and introduced them to Luca.

  Lily was a stooped, white-haired lady with a kind, wrinkled face. ‘Luca, I’ll try to remember that,’ she said, as she shook his hand. ‘My memory’s not what it used to be. Lady Gaga, that’s me.’

  It was a joke she had made many times before, but Espie, Claire and Jim laughed anyway.

  Mary was next, a stout woman with a shock of wiry grey hair and a permanently harried expression, carrying a violin case. ‘Lovely to meet you, Luca,’ she said, as she took his hand in her gnarled, twisted fingers. ‘I brought the fiddle,’ she said, to Espie and Jim, ‘but I don’t know if I’ll be able to play. The arthritis has been very bad this past week. But I’ll give it a go and see how I get on.’

  Espie’s neighbours, Nancy and Michael, were carrying guitars. They had lived across the road from Espie since they had moved to Dublin from Cork almost twenty years ago.

  Everyone dumped instrument cases and greeted each other before taking their places at the large round table. They were a motley collection of people, brought together at various stages by Espie, but they had forged strong friendships over the years, and Claire was touched by their joy in each other’s company.

  ‘So, we have new blood,’ Jim said, rubbing his hands as he sat beside Luca.

  ‘Do you know how to play forty-five, Luca?’ Espie asked him.

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’

  ‘Ah, not just new blood,’ Jim said. ‘Prey!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t let them fleece you,’ Espie said.

  ‘We only play for small change,’ Claire said to Luca, as she sat beside him.

  As the evening wore on, Claire kept them supplied with a steady supply of food and booze. It was good to see her mother enjoying herself, and she was glad that Luca seemed happy too. He was a big hit with the ladies, who fussed over him, plying him with pizza and cake, and telling him how handsome he was.

  ‘It’s good to have another man to swell the ranks,’ Michael told him. ‘We’re sorely outnumbered, aren’t we, Jim?’

  ‘Aye. We’re a dying breed,’ Jim agreed.

  ‘Well, women live longer,’ Espie said, ‘because we’re tougher and lead exemplary lives. Speaking of which, you must come for my birthday next month, Luca. We’re having a bit of a party.’

  ‘Great! I’d love to.’

  ‘I’ll be sixty-nine, but I’m celebrating anyway.’

  ‘So, where are you from, Luca?’ Jim asked, during a lull, while they waited for Lily to play a card.

  ‘I grew up here, in Dublin. I was adopted from Romania.’

  ‘Romania? Were you in one of those awful orphanages?’ Nancy asked, with a pitying expression.

  ‘Yeah. I was in a couple, actually.’

  Claire shot him an apologetic look and he gave her a little shrug, seemingly not bothered.

  ‘Ah, that’s terrible,’ Jim said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry for that.’

  ‘Have another piece of cake,’ Mary said, sliding the plate across to him. ‘Sure there isn’t a pick on you.’

  ‘They were desperate places, weren’t they?’ Michael shook his head sadly.

  ‘It was no Disneyland,’ Luca said.

  ‘Shooting was too good for that bastard Ceauescu and his wife,’ Espie said.

  ‘But you’re here now,’ Jim said consolingly, putting a hand over Luca’s on the table. ‘That’s the main thing.’

  ‘And you’ve got a great girl there,’ Michael added, giving Claire a wink.

  Claire squirmed, but Luca grinned as he took another huge slice of cake.

  ‘It’s still your turn, Lily,’ Espie said, nudging her.

  ‘What’s trumps again?’

  ‘Diamonds,’ everyone chorused patiently.

  ‘Do you have any songs of your people, Luca?’ Michael asked later, as they all set up to play.

  ‘He’s from Dalkey,’ Claire said.

  ‘Sorry. I haven’t been in Romania since I was seven. Anyway, I’m not a singer.’

  ‘He only sings for Claire’s benefit, apparently,’ Espie said archly.

  ‘Actually, do you have any paper?’ Luca asked Claire.

  ‘Sure.’ She went across the hall to the room she used as a study and grabbed a sheaf of A4.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, when she handed it to him, and produced a pencil from a pocket. ‘Do you guys mind if I sketch you?’ he asked, raising the pencil and paper.

  ‘No, not at all,’ Espie said, and everyone agreed.

  Luca’s fingers flew over the paper as they began to play, and Claire watched him, fascinated not only by his skill but by the way he seemed to capture the very essence of each person with just a few strokes. Soon the table was covered with sketches. ‘They’re really good,’ he said, nodding at the shambolic group of musicians.

  ‘They are.’ They were all playing well, and Nancy and Jim, who took turns singing, both had beautiful voices.

  The only discordant note was the violin, which constantly jarred on the ear as Mary kept hitting wrong notes. ‘Sorry, that was brutal, wasn’t it?’ she said, when they had finished the first song. ‘I can’t seem to get my hands to do what I want them to do.’

  ‘It was grand, Mary!’ Jim said. ‘We all know what you meant.’

  ‘Maybe I should stop playing,’ she fretted. ‘I don’t want to spoil it for everyone.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Espie said. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without you.’

  ‘Oh, well if you’re sure …’ Newly emboldened, Mary scraped away for the r
est of the evening, missing more notes than she hit, but clearly having a whale of a time.

  ‘I take it all back,’ Luca said later, when they were alone in the kitchen. ‘Spoons is a very sexy instrument.’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, one hand sliding up underneath her shirt to caress the bare skin of her back. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. ‘It seems like ages since you’ve been in my bed.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too.’

  He bent to kiss her again, and Claire clung to him, kissing him back, her breathing becoming ragged.

  ‘I won’t be able to see you next week either,’ she said. ‘There’s a book launch at the shop on Thursday, Mark’s coming over on Saturday, and I don’t want to leave Mum on her own too often.’

  ‘Mark’s coming over?’ He frowned, releasing her.

  ‘Just for the night.’

  ‘But you’re still sticking to your five-date rule?’

  ‘Yeah. I still need more practice.’

  ‘Okay. Good. Don’t let him rush you into anything.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she said, laughing at his grumpy expression and his over-protective attitude. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost have thought he was jealous.

  ‘Ready, Luca?’ Jim said, appearing in the doorway. He had offered Luca a lift home.

  ‘I’ll see you the Saturday after next, then,’ he said, as Claire saw them to the door. ‘You’re still coming to Ali’s party with me?’

  ‘Definitely. I’ll pick you up.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  It’s Different for Women

  The trouble with threesomes is that everyone wants the same thing, so no one gets what they want: paradoxical, but true. Try this – picture a threesome. What do you see? (I’ll come back to you at the end of class.)

  I’ve always found the idea of a threesome very exciting. In fact, it’s a favourite fantasy of mine, and recently I found out that Mr Strange feels the same way. So, happy days, right? We both want the same thing. But what I see when I fantasise about a threesome is me and two members of the opposite sex, and I suspect it’s the same for most people. So, probably not happy days.

  Still, when Mr Strange started making noises about a threesome, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and asked exactly how he saw that panning out – just in case he’d surprise me, just on the off-chance that he’d be the tenth dentist – the one who recommends the regular toothpaste. Who would be the players in this three-way, I asked him.

  Reader, I was not surprised. Sure enough – ‘The two of us and another woman, of course,’ he answered, quick as you like. Almost as if he’d given this some consideration. I got the feeling he thought I was worried that I wouldn’t be one of the number. ‘Of course you’d be there, babe,’ he told me reassuringly. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without you.’ Sweet.

  I asked him to tell me about his fantasy threesome and he described it in detail – how I might be sucking his cock while this other girl sat on his face; how he would fuck me while she fingered his arse; how I and this player-to-be-named-later would team up to give him a blowjob, touching each other and putting on a show for him. It was a very erotic fantasy, and he got hard talking about it. He touched me as he spoke, and we both got very turned on.

  It was such an exciting fantasy for him that I wanted him to have it. I told him I would do it – but only if he could reciprocate.

  What do you mean, reciprocate?’ he asked. He already wanted to say yes to whatever I wanted, I could tell – he was so eager to make this happen. I wondered if he already had another girl picked out – if the player-to-be-named-later had in fact been named already.

  So I told him I would do his fantasy threesome with him if he would do mine. I started describing it to him in detail, like he had – how he might hold me from behind, fondling my breasts while he watched the other guy go down on me—

  I didn’t get any further. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘You think about having a threesome with two guys?’

  ‘Yeah – of course,’ I told him. ‘Same as you. I fantasise about being double-teamed by two members of the opposite sex.’

  While his mouth was flapping open, I continued to tell him my fantasy – how he would whisper things in my ear as he held me, dirty things that would make me wet. The guy with his mouth on me would tell Strange how turned on I was. When my body started to thrash and convulse with orgasm, Strange would restrain me, pushing me back to the bed and holding me down, so I couldn’t escape the biting pleasure, and I would cry out at the intensity of it. He would hush me, whispering soothing things in my ear while I came and came. And then I would have their cocks in me – first one and then the other, in my cunt, in my mouth.

  I told him the whole fantasy with many variations. It made me very wet telling it, and I could tell he was excited too, by the thought of me with two guys – watching me get fucked, seeing me suck someone else off. He kissed me and touched me as I spoke, and we ended up fucking for a very long time. When I came and my body bowed off the bed, he pushed me back down and held me there, as if remembering something I had said.

  ‘That was very hot, listening to your fantasy,’ he said later.

  ‘So, do you still want to do a threesome?’ I asked.

  ‘Us and another woman? Hell, yeah.’

  ‘But not us and another man? You just said it was hot. It obviously turned you on.’

  ‘Yeah, listening to you talking about it. But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t be with a guy.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m not gay!’ he finally shouted, as if it was obvious.

  ‘But neither am I, Strange.’

  Neither am I.

  He tried to tell me that it was different for women. He said women’s bodies are softer, more beautiful, more desirable. They just are, according to him – it’s not subjective. He started talking about girls’ boarding schools, pillow fights …

  ‘That’s a male fantasy,’ I told him. ‘I’ve never been to boarding school.’

  I tried to convince him that I didn’t want to be with a woman any more than he wanted to be with a man, but he didn’t get it. I blame porn. I blame Madonna and Britney. And Katie Perry. No wonder men think straight women should always be up for a little girl-on-girl action. All it takes is daring, or a bit of persuasion, and next thing you know, there you are, kissing a girl and liking it.

  So I don’t think Strange and I will be having a threesome any time soon. Because we both want the same thing: to be double-teamed by two members of the opposite sex.

  (So, what did you see? You and two members of the opposite sex, right? Well, a girl can dream.)

  On Thursday evening, Bookends was packed for the launch of Rosy Sinnott’s debut novel. Tom and Claire were kept busy manning the till and bagging books, while Yvonne poured wine and sparkling water.

  ‘Have you read it?’ Tom asked Claire, nodding to the stacks of Rosy’s book that were piled up beside the till.

  ‘Yes – I thought it was brilliant. You?’

  ‘Same.’ Rosy’s novel was already being called the literary debut of the year, receiving rave reviews in the press.

  ‘Ooh, I need one of those,’ Rosy said, approaching the counter and pointing to the tray of drinks.

  ‘Help yourself,’ Yvonne said, and Rosy took a glass of white wine.

  ‘Well done, Rosy,’ Tom said to her. ‘You’ve got a great turnout. I loved the book.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Tom. That means a lot.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Claire said to her, as Tom turned away to serve a customer. ‘I hope it’s a great success.’

  ‘Thanks. This is so exciting,’ she said, looking around at the guests, the big displays of her book, and the posters of the cover. ‘Nerve-racking, but exciting.’

  ‘I’m really pleased for you, Rosy. The book is brilliant – you deserve it.’

  ‘I still can’t believe it! It’s just so amazing to see my name on a real book.’ She took a slug of her wine
. ‘I really hope you’ll be next, Claire.’

  ‘Me too,’ Claire said, with a wistful smile. Rosy knew she was a writer. Their paths had crossed several times at writing and publishing events.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Rosy’s editor approached, touching Rosy’s elbow. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said to Claire, ‘but I think we should start the speeches now, okay?’

  ‘Sure,’ Rosy said, putting down her glass. ‘We’ll talk later,’ she said to Claire, as her editor led her to the lectern they had set up in a corner of the shop.

  Claire had always felt a twinge of envy at events like this, and now, even though she had a publishing deal, she still felt a little jealous of Rosy as her editor made a glowing speech about the book. She wondered if she would ever have a night like this, and imagined Mark making a speech about her, telling everyone what a wonderful writer she was, what a great book she had written. As thrilled as she was that he was publishing the blog book, it would be amazing to have a book published that she could actually put her name to – one she could tell her family and friends about, something that would make her mother proud.

  She needed to make more time to work on her novel. She had been neglecting it lately, preoccupied with looking after her mother, seeing Luca and writing her blog. But she wanted to get it into shape so she could let Mark read it. It was another reason why it was the right time to wind up the blog – it would free her to work on her novel. Because this was what she wanted, she thought, as Rosy was introduced and took the microphone. She wanted to be standing where Rosy was some day, and she had to do everything in her power to make that happen.

  On Saturday Claire got ready to go out for her third date with Mark. He had flown into Dublin in the afternoon and she was meeting him for dinner at a restaurant close to the Merrion Hotel, where he was staying. It was a pity that he didn’t have more time, but he had just managed to squeeze in a quick visit between a friend’s stag in London last night and travelling to Edinburgh tomorrow for a christening. She was flattered that he had made such an effort just to spend a few hours with her.

  ‘You look lovely,’ her mother said, when she came downstairs.