Free The Acid House by Irvine Welsh Page A

Oh yes, your wife ... what happened to her, if you don't mind me asking?
    — Eh, an accident. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about it, I said, shoving a forkful of that lettuce into my mouth. I'm sure it's a garnish rather than there to be eaten, something to do with where it's positioned on the plate. I was never one for etiquette. Joanie, you'd have kept me right.
    — I'm really sorry, Jim, she says.
    I smile. The accident. On this boat, on this cruise. An accident? No.
    She'd been down for a while. Depressed. The change in life, or who can say what? I don't know why. That's the most horrible thing about it, I don't know why. I thought that the cruise would do her the world of good. It even seemed to, for a while. Just as we got towards the end of the Adriatic, on the way back into the Med, she took the pills and just slipped off the side of the boat into the night. Into the sea. I woke up alone; I've been alone ever since. It was my fault, Joan, the whole blessed thing. If I'd tried to understand how you felt. If I hadn't booked this bloody cruise. That's stupid old bloody idiot Jim Banks. Take the easy way out. I should have sat you down and talked, talked, and talked again. We could have sorted it all out, Joan.
    I feel a hand on mine. Marianne's. There's tears in my eyes, like I'm some damned funny fella.
    — I've upset you, Jim. I'm really so sorry.
    — No, not at all, I smile.
    — I really understand, you know I do. Mother ... she was so difficult, she says. Now she's starting the waterworks. What a blessed pair we are. — I did all I could. I had my chances to make a different life for myself. I didn't really know what I wanted. A woman always has to choose, Jim, choose between marriage and children and a career. Always at some point. I don't know. Mother was always there, always needing. She won by default. The career girl became the old maid, you see.
    She seemed so hurt and upset. My hand stiffened on hers. The way she looks at the floor and her head suddenly rises as her eyes meet mine: it reminds me of Joan.
    — Don't sell yourself short, I tell her. — You're an exception ally brave lady and a very beautiful one.
    She smiles, more composed now, — You're a real gent, Jim Banks, and you say the nicest things.
    All I can do is smile back.
    I was enjoying being with Marianne. It had been a long time since I'd been like this with a woman. Since I'd had that intimacy. We talked all night. No subjects were taboo and I was able to talk about Joan without seeming maudlin and bringing the company down, as would have happened had the Kennedys been present. People don't want to listen to all that on holiday. However, Marianne, with her bereavement, could relate to it.
    I talked and I talked, nonsense mostly, but to me beautiful, painful memories. I'd never talked like this to anyone before. — I remember on the boat with Joanie. I got into a terrible situation. There were some Dutch folk, lovely people, at the table next to us. We shared a table with a rather stand-offish French chap and a lovely Italian girl. Real film-star looks. Strangely, the French chap wasn't interested. I think he may have been, well, that way, if you know what I mean. Anyway, this was a proper old League of Nations. The thing was that we had this elderly couple from Worcester who did not like Germans one bit, thinking back to the war years and all that stuff. Well, I feel that those things are best left in the past. So old Jim Banks here decided to play the peacemaker . . .
    God, how I rabbitted on. My inhibitions seemed to dissolve with every sip of the wine, and we were soon on the second bottle, Marianne nodding conspiratorially at me as I ordered it. After the meal we proceeded to the bar where we had a few more drinks.
    — I've really enjoyed myself tonight, Jim. I just wanted to tell you mat, she said, smiling.
    — It's been one of the best nights I've had ... in years, I told her. I was almost going to say,