Free In My Sister's Shoes by Sinéad Moriarty Page B

issue.
    Sam was my first love, the guy I lost my virginity to, and the nicest guy I ever dated. When I met him I was nineteen, and itching to finish my degree in media studies then get the hell out of Ireland to seek fame and fortune in London. I talked incessantly about leaving the backwater that was Dublin. Sam was studying journalism in the same college, although we never actually met. When we were introduced by Tara’s cousin Conor – who was also studying journalism – we had the most enormous row.
    I had asked Sam what newspaper he aspired to write for and when he said the Irish Independent , I laughed. ‘Yeah, right! Come on, you must want to write for Sports Illustrated or one of the big English papers. I mean the Irish Independent ’s a bit lame. You’ll spend your time writing about local football. How dull is that?’
    ‘It depends what you find interesting. Maybe in your world talking to arseholes who think they’re God and won’t give you the time of day is fascinating, but in my world that’s sad. Half the sports journalists in the UK have to make up their interviews because none of the sports stars will spit on them. Why would I want to waste my time chasing Alex Ferguson around for weeks only to be told to fuck off?’
    ‘Well, I’d rather spend my time chasing a great interview than waste mytalent standing on the sideline of some sad local hurley match in the pissing rain talking to spotty seventeen-year-olds.’
    ‘What the hell would you know about it?’
    ‘It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that writing for the Guardian or The Times would be a lot more exciting and challenging than some crappy Irish daily. You’d be working with really talented journalists on Fleet Street where you might actually learn something. I wouldn’t dream of wasting my time working in Irish television. The UK is where it’s at for people with ambition and drive.’
    ‘Two very overrated virtues in my book.’
    ‘There’s nothing wrong with ambition. Some men are intimidated by women who strive to succeed.’
    ‘There’s a subtle difference between being intimidated and being turned off. And, believe me, a woman behaving like a pit-bull terrier is a real turn-off.’
    ‘How dare you speak to me like that? Just because you – ’
    ‘Down, boy, there’s no need to bite.’
    ‘Listen, you…’ I said to Sam’s back, as he walked away, laughing.
    I was furious. Who the hell did this guy think he was, speaking to me like that? What was wrong with being ambitious and wanting a successful career? God, some men were pathetic. What a loser.
    Later that day when I met up with Tara I ranted about Sam for at least an hour. Eventually Tara cut to the chase. ‘So, is he cute?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Well, is he?’
    I had to admit he was very attractive, in a scruffy kind of way. He had that just-got-out-of-bed look. Tousled brown hair and crumpled clothes. At first glance he wasn’t much to look at, but up close his eyes got you. They were emerald green, and when he’d looked directly at me – as he had that afternoon – they had seemed to pierce right through me. Although I had spent the day seething because he had been so rude, I couldn’t get those eyes out of my head. ‘He has nice eyes, but the personality of a pig.’
    ‘I dunno, Kate, I think you like this guy. He’s the first person to challenge you in ages. You’re always saying how boring the guys we know are and now you’ve met someone who in one conversation has managed to totally wind you up.’
    ‘I’m not attracted to him. He’s a loser,’ I lied, picturing the gorgeous green eyes again. ‘See what you can find out from Conor about him. I’m not interested, just curious.’
    Tara duly called her cousin and found out the following:
    Sam was paying his way through college by working part-time as a hotel porter. He had one sister, Caroline – who was a real looker and Conor was hoping to hop on. Sam never mentioned his