The Colour of a Kiss

By M Sharkey

Cathy; the main protagonist, finds herself in the midst of a disastrous affair with a married man. Self sufficient and assertive, the life she is leading is in contradiction to the person she is. The self destructive road she is ensuing on, is part of the paradox of her life which began 17 years earlier when her one and only true loved died tragically leaving her pregnant and confused. Her parents and family had to make decisions, acting in her best interests but with dire consequence for the grief stricken Cathy. She muddled through life in a state of shock refusing the prospective of love keeping herself at arms-length from anyone remotely available, hence she found herself encapsulated in a non-conclusive love affair. Can Cathy ever love again? Can she be open to the pain of grief when laying oneself bare in love or does she shroud herself in a malevolent cover to best save herself from having to choose?

Mags, Cathy’s best friend, who she grow up with, the only person that knows the true pain of Cathy’s past, lives a life of comfort and privilege. After 12 years she returned from America with her husband and two children. Mags blissful world is turned upside down with the diagnosis of breast cancer. Her husband is on the verge of ground breaking career move, can the serene and sincere, Mags hold her fragile world together? With true friendship she man-overs as best she can but has fate other needs for her?

Mags blissful world is turned upside down with the diagnosis of breast cancer. Her husband is on the verge of ground breaking career move, can the serene and sincere, Mags hold her fragile
world together?

Sally – the one who binds the trio of friends with laughter and wit but also laced with a delicacy un seen by others fudged by her boisterous ways. Her large and strong persona belies the sensitive woman beneath. Copping with lost and unrequited love Sally has plied years of protective fat around her body, a cocoon shutting out all thoughts of love, thus protecting her from unwanted attention from the opposite sex, as her heart was so badly bruised, the bruising, in time, morphed into anger. And so it goes. The rocky road of love is paved with shards of glass, and precipice cliffs. Large amounts of chocolate have become her lovers. Beneath her brash and often loud behaviours’ manner, one always with a quick joke and smart-assed comment, masks a formidable character, one to be reckoned with. As the spiteful “Angel” the arch-enemy at Horizon, and the three girls nemesis would find out. But Sally hoards a secret, one when exposed makes those around her take stock of what they perceived her to be. All is not as it seems.
You will want to turn page after page to find out how the lives of the three girls evolve!

• Language: English
• Publisher: M Sharkey
• Release date: Jul 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476076089

M Sharkey

I live in the west coast of Ireland. A lonely cloud filled rainy place under the shadow of a mountain. I love to laugh and observe life in all its mad and wondrous facets! Having sloughed through the first 40 odd years I look forward to the rest of my life with perhaps and that is only perhaps a better understanding and perhaps less expectations. Am I a little more learned? God Knows!!!

Book preview

Prologue

I curled one strand of untamed hair around my tiny finger. I did that when I was thinking or nervous. If my memory serves me, I was only four at the time. The rushes in Brady’s field grew higher than me. They give me shelter. I could create a whole new world out there. My world. I could make it whatever I wanted. I wish I could do that now.

Chapter 1

Dublin February 2008

‘Cathy, what the hell is this?’ I heard the familiar screech.

Sally was waving the laminated design template accusingly as she crossed the room.

‘That my darling, is my new design for the ‘Amorphous’ cover. What’s the problem Honey, don’t you like it?’ I replied tartly.

‘Like it, like it! What the bloody hell has that got to do with anything? It’s great but there are four hundred million potential readers out there who won’t have a flying clue where you are going with it! Sally barked. And yes, yes I am making a concise effort not to use the real f word!’ She added noticing my raised eyebrows.

She liked to stress her points, and her points were often stressed! She had a PhD in profanity.

I loved doing illustrations; it wasn’t part of my job, I done it as a hobby in the evening, art was really my first love, so to speak. It also saved the company a substantial amount of money in not having to tender it to an illustrator.

‘Ah ha, and there in lies the mystery! It will get them thinking, and we are targeting the thinkers, remember. This is no, lollipop and hemlines book, not a bleached blonde in sight. This is the thinking person’s tome’ I retorted. By the way we will be sufficiently happy with four hundred thousand potential readers, no need to exaggerate!’

‘Mmm’ she acquiesced.

‘I know I’m right again! Hate it, but you know you have to live with it…..’ I got up and did a little conceited bow. And we both laughed.

‘Besides, once they see Marsha Millers name on the cover, it is practically a done deal.’ I added as I resumed typing.

Sally flopped her oversized frame into the chair opposite me, it groaned in duress.

‘Yeh your right, well at least I hope you are. What do you actually think of the book? I personally think it’s a heap of garbled shite.’ Sally had pouted her lips and curled her face in distaste.

‘I don’t think we should add ‘garbled shite’ to our press release next week!. In fact I am working on the cover synopsis now want to hear it?’

‘This’ll be good; roll it’ She crossed her arms over her ample bosom, and smirked in anticipation.

I cleared my throat, in mock formality

‘Marsha Miller, exceeds herself. Amorphous, is a gastronomic fête in the exiguous offerings for the intellectual palate. She transcends literature to bring us to a new level of alternative thought.

Amorphous is the story of a displaced girl lost in the subconscious of her own reality. Trying to thread tiny shards of realism she brings us on her journey through the labyrinths of her mind. Capturing the creation of thought at its most embryonic form.

Amorphous will stimulate even the most advanced cerebral persona, orchestrating a symphony of verbal skill into a carefully constructed melody’

‘Well?’ I queried, as I peered over my monitor at Sally.

‘Bravo.’ she clapped her hands together. Did I say garbled shite? Marsha Miller isn’t a patch on you. Why don’t you write your own book of literary prose, she said trying to inject a D4 accent on top of her midlands brogue?’ Sally sputtered through a deep laugh rising from the pit of her stomach; a very large one at that!

I had to join her, she was right, I did have apt ability at spewing crap it came easy to me. Someone once told me I should have a Phd in bullshit. I think they were right.

Sally was so great to work with. We had worked together for twelve years at Horizon Publishing House. Even at our darkest times we could laugh. Humour always found a home in our company, along with our other closest friend, Mags who used to work with our competitor publishing company Joyce and Jones. The Three of us under any circumstance could probably laugh at a frog race. I was fortunate to have such friends.

‘I actually liked the book’ I said as our laughter subsided ‘It is different perhaps not terribly entertaining in the literal sense but definitely thought provoking’

‘I even hated proof reading the fecking thing. I kept falling asleep’ Sally growled. Anyway, are we for the town tonight or what?

‘Yeh, I guess. Since we are semi man less, possibly a good idea to go out and visit an altered state of reality’ I said pretending deep thought, index finger on chin.

‘OK Freud that’s a date. Seven, we hit the Oak for a few pre dinner bevies, then La Pinto for some mind blowing Italian, and we’ll finish off at that nice new wine bar; the one just off Wicklow street; then to round it all up we’ll drag our sorry arses home at one. Revise, mine and your sorry ass. Mags is perfectly sound but we just won’t go there right now! Then a deep inebriated sleep. Perfect.’ She finished by slapping the top of the desk, almost like shaking on a wager.

‘Think I will forgo the last part, I’m getting too old for that. I wonder will Mags go?’ I said hopefully. Pete’s out of town so a babysitter could be a problem.’

‘I hope so crying into our Chardonnay without her, just ain’t the same.’ Sally added as she stretched to retrieve an archived folder from a shelf a tad too high for her large frame but small stature.

Chapter 2

I heard myself let out a sigh, as the warm water of the shower went to work on my tired limbs. Friday. Thank you Jesus or any other deity that happened to be listening. Was it that or I was getting older and found day to day life just harder? Or was I just weary? I wasn’t sure. I think weary had crept in uninvited at some point unknown to me.

I stepped out of the shower. I grabbed a warm cosy towel of the heated rail and wrapped it around me. I went over to the mirror and pushed the moisture to one side with my hand. The face staring back had sad eyes. I wasn’t quite sure who I was anymore. There were lines etched around the thirty-five year old hazel eyes. I dropped my towel and viewed myself with scrutiny through the steamed filled mirror; droplets of moisture had begun to run, from where I had rubbed it. The view was distorted; like me in some ways. David had said I was beautiful. I wasn’t quite sure if he meant it or was it what he thought I wanted to hear. Or even a per-functionary compliment? Did it matter?

Oh, God. David. How had I let myself come to this? The tears started again, with a mind of their own they streamed down my face. I hated feeling sorry for myself but I was in such a disastrous position even if I wasn’t me, I would feel sorry for me.

David was a married man I was seeing. A cloak and dagger love, that I swore I would never do. I had always said if there is a love you can’t be proud of and shout from the rooftops; then it has no place. Now I had a love with no place.

I sighed again, shrugged, and with the back of my hand wiped the tears forcefully from my face, annoyed with them; with me. I needed to buck myself up. Sally would tell me I was a snivelling bitch, and to grow myself a set of balls and dump the bastard. Mags would lean over and touch my hand, her eyes written with heartfelt sympathy.

I walked into my bedroom padding still wet feet on the polished wooden floor. I had bought this apartment three years previous, after years of lackadaisical renting, when I realised it was time to invest. My time at Horizon publishing had proved fruitful. It was a small but prestigious company, only selecting the crème of Irish writers. To get signed with Horizon and have their gold Fleur de Lys insignia on your cover was a writers dream regardless of the revenue return. I suppose there was a degree of literature snobbery in it.

I had started as a basic clerk. I had gained entry by having good degree in computer literacy which was then still in its infancy. They had wanted to compile a database of writers and books. But first I had to build a programme suited. This was a formidable task. A virtual Liberian; in a sense. It was mind destroying work but I thrived in the environment especially after working for three years with an American computer company writing software programs, I had had enough. I had got my degree in computer electronics and Physics at college. I had enjoyed the challenge but I always felt something was lacking. My parents had pushed it believing it to be a better career option. I had wanted to do Fine Arts but at the time I made the choice I wasn’t exactly corpus mentis. I never felt at home with my work even though I showed a strong aptitude for it. So even data entry at Horizon along with a come down in salary had made me feel more alive.

My passion for books and writing had shone through during my first year at Horizon. Invariably debates over the latest book reviews and new authors on the block had arisen and many more global issues. I was an avid reader and had a strong opinion on what I read and I was never afraid to offer it perhaps too readily at times!

Myles, the managing director and founder of Horizon, and I had clicked from day one. I think he was intrigued about how I ended up in Information Technology when clearly; my field of propensity lay elsewhere. He and I developed a symbiotic working relationship. I was very fond of him; he was my mentor. He reminded me of how my grandfather may have been as a younger man. My views on the latest offerings arriving into horizon, were sought more and more. Then one evening I was given my first manuscript to read. My feedback was my test and my response secured my place in the prestigious publishing house. Twelve years later I was now senior editor.

Myles had taken a back seat in latter years after developing an appetite for property investment. Having divorced six years earlier, succumbing to a thirty year sentence called marriage; Myles had met a woman sixteen years his junior to his fifty seven years. In her he found the companion and lover he had thought were merely dreams. With Myles’s good fortune also came mine. I took over his role in the company as he was mostly absent.

I opened my free-standing wardrobe, the door creaking and groaning, showing its age. It was a beautiful antique Victorian walnut armoire wardrobe with two bevelled mirrors and carved detail work above them and on the door. The abstract floral carvings were striking. The keyhole on the door had a metal ring pull escutcheon which also served as a latch. It was at home in my spacious bedroom with high Georgian ceiling. There were some interior design gurus that would have had a minor cardiac at placing a wrong period piece in the different era of house. I loved this piece of furniture. I had found it in a small coffee shop, of all places, in the Wicklow hills. The owner of the ‘Jumping Bean! Best served coffee in Ireland’ shop had also a penchant for antiques. David and I visited the place frequently. It was true, that the aroma of delicious smelling coffee, would come wafting through the air would greet us as soon as we pulled up outside. David had bought the wardrobe for me as a surprise last year since I had admired it so much.

Staring inside I looked at the clothes dangling silently from their hangers. I awaited some fashion inspired epiphany. Not a word. Old faithful was called upon. Black. I pulled a pair of black trousers, black top and black jacket out and laid them on the bed. I loved black at times like these; it took no thought to dress. I dropped the towel, dressed and put on make up, applied a smile and set off to meet my friends.

Chapter 3

Savouring the last of our fabulous Italian gourmet delight, the three of us sat nursing our glasses of wine, engrossed in Sally’s latest tales from home.

‘And so Angela, got up, roared across the bar ‘isn’t that right Pat, isn’t Frank shagging his mother in law?’ Sally was practically doubled over with laughter.

‘Well come on, it’s like some skit out of the Snapper or a really bad episode of Fair City! These people are caught in a time warp.’ She said as tears of laughter oozing from crunched eyes.

Sally was retelling a story form her last encounter with some school friends on a return visit to her hometown; a small village near Mullingar. They all still went to the same bars, same faces, just older. Sally always thought perhaps time stood still when she went back to Dublin, nothing ever seemed to change. But her old friends were mostly happy; they never asked too much from life and were content with their lot.

Sally had left home seventeen years earlier to attend UCD, where she studied Arts, gaining a degree in literature. The rough edges of her personality and rhetoric hid a profoundly intelligent, sensitive and a kind human. She used her often uncouth vocabulary to give the impression of a hard shell which ultimately protected an extremely soft interior. She had worked hard at culturing it. She often remarked that Sister Agnes, her elocution teacher, would turn in her grave if she could hear some of Sally’s more colourful choice of adjectives and verbs.

When I had first met her I was taken aback by her sense of presence she could light up a room. She was very slim then. A wonderfully curvy petite body that was adorned with a beautiful face. But her relationship with Mike, her childhood sweetheart had, after ten years together, ended in bitter regret. She had eaten her way through her grief for two years solid, gaining a momentous six stone on her slight frame; she was now obese. She had remained so ever since. Sally had lamely attempted diets. I felt she wore her ‘fat body’ as a protective cloak against future hurt. Finding humour as always, in everything, she now referred to Mike as the ‘limp bastard’ and his girlfriend as the ‘blonde bitch’. I know she really didn’t mean this but it helped mask the pain.

‘So Mags, wassup?’ I asked her. She was the most sedate of our infamous three, but far from dull.

‘Up? what could be up?’ she said with a subdued air. Same old, same old.

Her beautiful auburn hair framed a finely sculpted face; with the most astounding green eyes that held a sardonic glint. I had looked fondly into those eyes all of my life. Mags and I had grown up on the same street, started school together, loved and lost together. It was like she was part of me. Apart from a period in which she lived in New York for six years we had never been apart, even at that we kept in touch on a weekly bases. She had met Pete in New York and they returned back to Dublin after she had had her first child. It was great having her back. They were now well established financially; Pete had his own company working in communications networks. On her return Joyce and Jones had offered her old job back. She had been a great team player and a diligent worker. She had chosen some of their most successful publications. But Mags choose to stay at home with their two sons Peter and Colm, rather than juggling jobs and motherhood. She was fortunate, she was in financial situation in which she was able to choose, but I admired her for her choice.

‘Not like you to be down in the mouth’ I inquired, leaning my hand over to touch her arm.

Sally was in the meantime was trying to get the very handsome waiters attention for another bottle of wine. She was watching appreciatively at his rear end as he attended the table next to us. I got a dig in the side.

‘What an ass, I bet he is cyclist, nothing could be that pert and firm without work, and defiantly foreign, has to be French. Mags what do you think?’ Sally whispered across the table with a devilish grin.

Mags grinned in reply, she couldn’t help it, Sally always did this to her.

‘Well let’s just say I wouldn’t be in hurry to shove him outta bed!’ she replied, eyeing the very favourable view.

The waiter turned around armed with dishes. He was indeed very handsome. He had Mediterranean good looks dark and striking, if not a little too young. Thirty perhaps. Sally referred to the age bracket of twenty to thirty as ‘trainable’.

Sally raised her hand.

‘Garcon?’ she said in her best Mullingar French accent.

‘Yes Madame’ he said in a strong Dublin accent.

Sally’s face visibly fell with disappointment. Myself and Mags lowered our heads to cover our smirks. But this didn’t deter the brave Sally for long. Sitting up straighter in her chair and pulling her shoulders back; her extremely large breast pushed forward, she flicked her hair back and with her best seductive pout said

‘My friends and I would love another bottle of your delicious Chardonnay’ the delicious part was rolled from her mouth in a long three syllable drool, in an accent I couldn’t quiet place. A bad mix of Joanna Lumely/Kate Hudson. The waiter couldn’t contain the grin that was forming at the corners of his mouth, knowing exactly what she was at. He played along.

‘Oh, but qui Madame, pour moment, si vous plais,’ He replied softly, in a passable French tone. I wasn’t quiet sure but did his eyelid form a slight wink?!

As he walked off, Sally lifted her napkin to fan a pretend flush.

‘Wow! Yum, Yum, very edible. Did you see that? he winked!’

‘So, Mags are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ I asked, sipping the cool Chilean wine savouring the taste. Mmmm, thank you Bacchus, I thought to myself as I laid the glass down, and stared directly in the troubled green eyes across from me.

‘Yeh’ added Sally, so tell us, are you doing something delectably, deliciously illicit with the milkman, postman or anyone, doesn’t really matter as long as there are graphic details. In fact I can answer that. A definite no. There is only one mindless twat in our gang that would get herself into a god-awful mess.’ She said glaring at me. ‘I can understand a bit of romp, but you don’t fall in love with dip-shit of the year. Its true Cathy, I know you don’t want to hear it, but he is an asshole and you are a fool’ she gasped at mouthfuls of air as she continued on her diatribe. ‘I hate to see you throw your life away on a non starter like him; you know he will never leave his trophy wife or life’.

She could read the pained expression on my face, and pulled back a little. ‘I don’t like to be so hard hitting but you are living in a dream and time is slipping by. There is some other wonderful guy out there, who could be fortunate to meet you, if you would only come to your senses.’

‘She right, Cathy.’ Mags said wearing a sad understanding expression.

‘Thing is, I know your right, girls, but how do I stop loving him’ my eyes had filled with all too familiar tears.

‘Easy. Just keep imagining him shagging goldy locks in that posh house of theirs on Howth Hill. Nights snuggled up in front of their log filled fire, him stroking her hair. Meanwhile, you are curled up on your sofa in an empty soulless apartment, writing your endless pitiable poetry. Vis-u-li-sa-tion, I read about it, in the Gospel according to Cosmopolitan.’ She added confidently. I think that should be effective as long as you don’t dwell on it too much and turn into Charles Manson. I used the technique for getting over limp bastard. Viola it worked.’ Sally was on a run. ‘Enough about that prick. Mags, back to you. Spill the beans.’

‘I have a lump’ she said quickly, almost if she said it very fast then it isn’t real or we wouldn’t notice what she said.

‘Where’ Sally and I said in unison.

‘Breast. I just found it yesterday, I really don’t know how I missed it, it is quiet large and solid, near my armpit. I went to Dr. Stevens this morning, he seems concerned. He has arranged for an emergency appointment in Vincent’s on Monday’

‘Is it a consultation, or will they do a biopsy? I asked.

‘Both. I am not that worried, really. No point in trying to pre-empt. What’s bothering me more, is Pete.’

‘Why?’ asked Sally confusedly. Mirroring my own thoughts.

‘I haven’t told him..I…he.. Its just he is under so much pressure at the moment, negotiating this new contract, with the American company, you know the one I told you about, WSATC(world satellite and terrestrial communications.) They have been contracted to re-establish network communications in Iraq. And they are interested in sub contracting Pete’s company’

‘I still don’t get it, Jesus, Mags, this is more important than some stupid fucking contract.’ It wasn’t like me to use too much profanity except when moved or angry.

‘You don’t understand, this is really important for his company, they would be talking about a huge expansion, jobs, you know. He is under so much pressure and he needs to stay focused. And besides, it could turn out to be nothing and I would have worried him needlessly.’

She was so selfless, but also foolish. She was trying to protect Pete, but she also needed him now, and that’s what husbands are for.

‘It’s your choice, but this isn’t about choosing a new sofa, Mags. Pete would want to know, but it’s your call. I will go with you on Monday, Sally can cover for me’ Sally glared at me.

‘I want to go too!’

‘I’m the boss, I get to say. Besides you would end up putting the whole hospital into disarray. It’s good to be the king’ I said giving her a playful punch in the arm.

‘Bitch. Sally muttered ‘Sorry Mags we’re getting a little off the point.’

‘That’s it there is nothing else to say about it. No point in anyone getting frazzled until there is something to frazzle us. Right?’ She said optimistically. She lifted her glass. ‘To us’

‘To us’ we joined.

None of us had the heart to drag the night out. We delayed over the meal, and some Irish coffees, chatting incessantly as we always did. But decided to call it a night by eleven.

Mags got a taxi to Killiney, while Sally and I shared one. The taxi dropped her off at an apartment she shared with her sister in Rathmines. I carried on further, to my apartment in Rathgar. The Taxi pulled up along side the wrought iron railing of my red bricked Georgian house. The area was nice. Trees lined both sides of the residential road. I stood looking up toward the window of my first floor apartment, and I considered the unlit window. Would I ever return home to find a welcoming glimmer emanating from there? I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat, I had forgotten gloves and it was freezing. A harsh easterly breeze grazed the side of my face, dispelling the fogging affects of the wine. I walked up the street reluctant to go inside. I felt I had aged ten years tonight. I was worried about Mags, she wasn’t given to dramatics and was nonchalant about things. She was a great believer that everything worked out. I wish I