Ordinary Miracles Read Online Free Page B

what I mean?’ Charlie smiles. ‘No inner angst there. Rosie just goes with the flow, and she’s never even been into Waterstones.’ He’s teasing me about all my self-improving books.
    As he turns towards me he knocks over his saxophone which has been propped up by the curtain. He picks it up to put it somewhere else, only Susan says, ‘I didn’t know you were a musician.’
    ‘He was in a jazz band for years – weren’t you Charlie?’ I say. ‘Go on – give us a tune.’
    After fiddling about a bit, Charlie raises the saxophone to his lips. And when the notes come out they fill the big sunbeamed room with a bruised kind of happiness and a sweet kind of sorrow.
    ‘That’s lovely, Charlie,’ I say as he looks over. ‘It really is.’
    I glance at Susan, who’s looking at Charlie in a way I’ve never seen her looking at anyone before.
    Then I gaze out the window at Rosie, who pauses from her scratching to look at him with a similar intensity.

Chapter 5
     
     
     
    ‘Huh – hullo – is that – that you, Jasmine?’
    Bruce is on the phone. From the rasping, broken noises he’s making I can tell he’s given up on words and is trying sound effects. He wants me to know that he’s in agony and I must return. He also wants to know how to make shepherd’s pie. He asks me this, I presume, to let me know that if I don’t return soon he will learn how to live without me. That he’s taking methodical steps in this direction and may soon even know how to put on the duvet cover alone.
    ‘How much mince do you need for two?’ he demands after I’ve wearily given him the instructions.
    ‘I dunno – two pounds I guess – and make sure it’s premium. The other can be fatty.’
    ‘I’m having Eamon round, that’s all.’
    ‘How nice.’
    Bruce pauses for a moment to prepare his party piece.
    ‘Everyone’s talking.’
    ‘About what?’
    ‘About you moving in with Charlie.’
    ‘It’s not like that. He offered me a place to stay, that’s all.’
    ‘But you don’t need a place to stay, Jasmine – you have your own home – here – with me.’
    ‘And Cait Carmody.’
    ‘Oh, come on, Jasmine – that’s all over now.’
    ‘Have you any idea what it felt like – finding her fake diamond hair grip in our bed?’
    ‘I know. I’m sorry.’
    ‘There I was, off at my adult literacy conference hoping you were managing alone, and…’
    ‘Jasmine – we need to talk.’
    ‘No we don’t.’
    ‘Of course we do. Katie’s very upset.’
    ‘No she isn’t. Not very. I spoke with her yesterday.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Look Bruce, I’m taking a break, okay? Other people take holidays from work – well, I’m taking a holiday from my marriage. I may come back or I may not. Now fuck off and leave me alone for a while.’
    Then I slam down the phone.
    A rather nice recent development is that I’ve become quite rude. Up until now other people’s rudeness always seemed like something I had to deflect, not counter. I used to think this was because I am a mild, sensitive person who desperately seeks approval. Now I see that anger spits and crackles inside me like a venomous volcano and could engulf entire continents.
    Deep down I must have always known it was there. After all I regularly practised the art of telephone invective during my years as a purchaser of household goods – fulminating about flexes and fibres – berating anonymous individuals about the indecipherability of manuals and delayed deliv eries. And now Bruce is getting a long overdue blast.
    At least it’s good that he’s acting contrite because, in my experience, guilt turns some people nasty. My first great love, Jamie, for example, was a total sod after he dumped me. The whole thing almost made me jump under a train at the time and now I can hardly remember what he looked like.
    Though I feel angry and hurt with Bruce I don’t think I could summon enough outrage to cut the sleeves off all his suits or pour paint over his new Volvo. Of