The Booker Prize winner continues his exclusive new story Celebrity Manager
JOE WAS exhausted by the time he got back up to his flat. There were the stairs. He could man- age them but they were hard work. And there was the chat with the kids. He’d for- gotten how tiring listening to children could be.
‘You are going to a party?’ said Dariya’s husband, Bogdan. ‘Yes,’ said Dariya.She was standing in front of their mirror, trying to decide if her scarf was right for the occasion, or very wrong.‘With a man?’
Old Folks by Roddy Doyle
It was cold this morning, a cold that reminded Dariya of winters at home – but damper. Her fingers were numb. She had difficulty getting the Chubb key into the lock. She had difficulty holding the key. She felt like a small child, a toddler.
Dariya’s key ring was heavy, too bulky for a pocket. It had her key, and the keys of the four houses she visited during the week. There were Union keys and Chubb keys, her loyalty cards and the gym membership card that she could no longer afford.She
She had to go to four houses every day. They were not far apart but, even so, it was difficult to do this, to be finished in time to get to the school in time to meet Bogdan as he came out. She worried that she would be delayed, that one of the old people
Brigita doesn’t actually slap us. She thumps us. Girls who haven’t been trained to thump should stick to slapping.
I shoot the Aislings. That is, I film them as they join the queue in Penney’s and smile at a black woman in front of them.
We’re on O’Connell Street, and Brigita, my partner – I love that word – has just given the two Aislings ten euro each and told them to spend it in the shop that’s parked and waiting right behind them, Penney’s.
Myself and Brigita are in the kitchen, planning Episode 3 of I’m Irish, Get Me Out Of Here, when the bell rings.