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Tomorrow's extract: http://myreading-corner.blogspot.co.uk
Extract 4
I used to make
excuses to avoid visiting her and her doily-draped furniture. Used to pretend
to be too busy to eat with them when she came to visit us. It was never pleasant
to witness her struggling with her dentures, the half-wit dribbling by her
side. Her death was a mixed blessing.We got the house. But we also got Alice’s
imbecilic brother. The house is quite a pile on Pembroke Avenue. The brother
goes by the name of Eugene.
Alice begged me
to let her keep him. Until now, that was the biggest upset in our marriage. Bad
enough to have a child, but this was a 27- year-old, fifteen-stone dolt we were
talking about. Eventually, I had him accommodated
in a home for
the ‘mentally handicapped’, or those with ‘special needs’, or whatever they are
calling them this year, at considerable personal expense.
When we got
engaged, I made it very clear that children were not on the agenda. Well, I
said I didn’t want children, and she agreed. I should have got that in writing.
She must have been extraordinarily besotted with me to sacrifice something so
fundamental to her in order to marry me. Maybe she thought I would change my
mind, because it seems that lots of men do. Or maybe she knew that if I didn’t
marry her, I’d marry the next quiet one that came along.
Of course, five
years into our marriage, Alice began to whinge, and grew more shrill with each
passing month. I reminded her of our agreement. She claimed that at the time,
that was what she had wanted too, but now she desperately wanted a child. I am
nothing if not a man of my word.
I couldn’t
depend on her to protect herself, so I took control. I made a ritual of bedtime
cocoa with a little crushed pill as an added extra. Alice thought that was so
romantic.
I haven’t
exactly been a saint within our marriage. Women, by and large, are attracted to
me and I do not like to disappoint them. Women you would never expect. Even
Moya, for God’s sake. I eventually resent the ones who try to cling.
In later years,
I had begun to satisfy myself with some tarts that operated near the canal. I
never objected to them, even before I became a client. They were objects of
curiosity. They were cheaper and more desperate, mostly addicts with raddled
bodies and ropey veins, but perfectly adequate for my needs. I would order them
into a shower before any congress was allowed and I always provided a new
toothbrush. Some of them took it for a gift. Pathetic. They are usually too
emaciated to be good- looking. One would think that they might make an effort
to make themselves attractive. Alas, they were only selling their various
orifices; the packaging was immaterial. But still, they held a fascination for
me. After all, my mother was one, or so my father said.
Oliver Ryan is a handsome and
charismatic success story. He lives in the suburbs with his wife, Alice,
who illustrates his award-winning children's books and gives him her
unstinting devotion. Their life together is one of enviable privilege
and ease -
enviable until, one evening after supper, Oliver attacks Alice and
beats her into a coma.
In the aftermath, as everyone
tries to make sense of his astonishing act of savagery, Oliver tells his
story. So do those whose paths he has crossed over five decades. What
unfolds is a story of shame, envy, breath-taking deception and masterful
manipulation.
Only Oliver knows the lengths
to which he has had to go to get the life to which he felt entitled. But
even he is in for a shock when the past catches up with him.
Don't forget to visit
http://myreading-corner.blogspot.co.uk
http://myreading-corner.blogspot.co.uk
tomorrow for the next extract!
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