Free Something in Common by Roisin Meaney Page A

unscrewing the cap. As she drank, she conjured up her first Christmas with Cormac, just a few weeks after they’d met. The marvel of what they’d found still new and fresh, their hunger for one another all-consuming.
    This house had been their sanctuary, all they needed under its roof. The Christmas Day chicken drying and shrivelling in the oven, everything forgotten in the wonder of their entwined bodies, the miracle of the love that had swept away everything else.
    People passed in the street outside, their cheerful shouts climbing the dark stairs to her. She pressed a black-jacketed sleeve to her wet face, remembering the length of tinsel that he’d threaded between her toes, trailed up her calves and thighs and across her abdomen and breasts. She remembered the tantalising tickle of it along the mounds and valleys of her body, the delicious tease of its feathery touch making her hot with desire, forcing her finally to pull it away from him and draw him closer—
    She put the half-empty bottle down gently and bowed her head to rest it on her knees. Her sobs shuddered from her and merged with the sound of the group on the street outside who had gathered with their collection buckets to singabout angels they had heard on high.

Sarah
    ‘T his is awful.’
    Neil made no response.
    ‘This book review, it’s horrible, really cruel. Here, have a look.’
    He glanced at the newspaper page but made no move to take it. ‘What’sthe book?’
    ‘It’s a debut novel, a thriller, and Helen O’Dowd is tearing it to shreds. Imagine how he must feel.’
    ‘How who must feel?’ Hiseyes drifting back to the sports section.
    ‘The
author
, of course. I hate when you only half listen to me. Read it and see – it’s awful.’
    ‘I’m already reading,’ he pointed out mildly. ‘Or trying to. I’ll get toit later.’
    ‘Sorry.’ She dropped the newspaper onto the bed as Helen Reddy began to sing. ‘Oh, I love this, it’s so spooky.’ She reached out and turned up the radio before leaning back to lift his arm and slide under it. ‘I adore Sunday mornings, don’t you?’
    ‘Mmm.’
    She turned to look up at his face. The rectangle of the window was reflected in both lenses of his glasses. ‘You have a lot to put up with, don’t you?’
    He smiled, eyes still on the paper.
    ‘I never let you read in peace, do I?’
    ‘Nope.’
    She grinned as she settled into his chest. ‘But you married me, so you’re stuck with me forever.’
    ‘Or until divorce comes in.’
    ‘In holy Catholic Ireland? Not a hope.’ She eyed the newspaper section she’d just discarded, lying in a crumpled heap on the eiderdown. ‘I’ve a good mind to write to her.’
    ‘Hmm?’
    ‘I feel like writing to Helen O’Dowd and saying I thought she was far too harsh.’
    Neil lowered his paper. ‘My dear soft-hearted wife, the woman is reviewing a book. It’s her job to tell it like it is, even if it’s not what you want to hear. If you had your way, nobody would ever say anything vaguely negative, in case someone’s feelings were hurt.’
    ‘But she’s being so cruel,’ Sarah insisted, reaching again for the page. ‘Just listen to this bit –
If he wants to write so badly, let him keep a diary: that way, nobody else has to read it.
Now you have to agree that that’s just downright nasty. It doesn’t add anything to the review. Stop
smiling
.’
    ‘It’s funny, though. Helen O’Dowd has a sharp tongue, you know that, but she’s also entertaining. She loves to court a bit of controversy – it’s what makes her interesting. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.’
    ‘Well, I’ve read it now, and I think it’s too harsh.’
    ‘And have you read the book she’s talking about?’
    ‘That’s beside the point. Even if it isn’t much good, the review is still cruel.’ She folded the newspaper. ‘I’m going to write and protest. I think it needs to be said, even if I’m the only one saying it. It might make