Marian Keyes - The Brightest Star in the Sky
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Marian Keyes: author's other books
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Marian Keyes
Marian Keyes
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Epilogue
Four Months Later...
Its a Saturday afternoon, at the end of November, and Im flying over the streets of Dublin, looking for Star Street. Number 66, to be precise. My mission is to find my future parents. According to my informationwhich, by the way, isnt half as detailed as Id likeat least one of them will be living there. Another pregnancy happened there four months ago, to a pair called Matt and Maeve, so it looks like a fertile sort of a spot.
But were off to a bad start. It takes me ages to find the place and time is of the essence. There arecount emnot one, not two but three Star Streets in Dublin. The first Star Street showed up in jig time, but number 66 turned out to be a taxidermists showroom. So I set off again, but the second 66 Star Street was an office block, all locked up because its a Saturday.
Anyway, my traveling companion, who is killing time with mehes always killing something, that same fellowsaid he knew exactly how to get to the elusive third Star Street. He keeps going on about what an experienced traveler he is, always down here, he says, ending peoples lives when they least expect it. So I put it up to him and said, all right so, show us this other Star Street, and he said, grand, I will, but I cant show you right now because Ive got my mission to carry out, and its very time-specific and you might as well come with me.
I was worried. Some in my situation get days, weeks, even months to identify their prospective parents, but Id been given less than twenty-four hoursjust the luck of the draw. Whatever was going to happen for me, it was going down today, and I wanted to get the lie of the land in 66 Star Street as soon as possible. On balance, though, I thought Id be better off sticking with someone who actually knew how to get there. Waste some time to gain some time, as it were. So, swept along on my companions self-important coattails, we arrive in the center of Dublin. I suppose you could say were an odd couple, me about to give life and him about to take it away. But we arent such an unlikely pair as we seem; life and death often work together, matching each other hit for hit.
Were in a wide street where some public rally is underway. I start reading the banners and listening to the chants and it appears to be a protest against the low conviction rate for Irish rapists and, as you might expect, the crowd is mostly women. Like, you wouldnt expect turkeys to be campaigning for extra Christmases.
Fast worker, my knowledgeable friendin no time, hes spotted his mark: a lanky unkempt-looking yoke, name of David, one of the few men present. No surprises, David is with a girl; you wouldnt get too many lads going along to a rape protest on their own. And a lovely girl she is too: tall and slender, with a gap between her front teeth that doesnt look like she needs to go to the dentist for a brace, but just makes her all the better-looking, if you get me. Steffi is her name. And this David seems to be well aware of how lovely Steffi is, because his arm is clamped around her waist like a vice, like hes afraid shes going to do a legger.
Now, wait till I tell you something weird. Davids vibrations are muted and harmless-seeming, but Im picking up distress from Steffi. She doesnt want to be at the march. Shes only there because David was so insistent! And she doesnt like the way hes holding on to her so tightly. All of a sudden she cant take it for one more second and she pops herself out from the rigid hold and he gives her this look and she says, sort of apologetically, Too tight. And he gives her another look, very wounded-l ike, then he grabs her hand and squeezes it until it hurts.
My know-all companion is watching the sky, then eyeing the protesters, then watching the sky again. You wouldnt describe him as anxious, exactly, but attentive. His job, as he keeps telling me, calls for a lot of precision. Well, so does mine, as a matter of fact.
And then hes all smiles. Ah, here it is.
Far above us, a plane has entered Irish airspace and its flight path is going to take it over the center of Dublin. Im not liking this one bit. What has he lined up? A bomb? A crash? How many innocent people will be killed in order to take out this one individual?
No. My companion laughs darkly (he does most things darkly; its his way). Nothing like that. Its quite ingenious, actually.
He points at the sky. Up there, about a mile above us, a lump of ice is coming loose from the underside of the plane. Any second now itll start to plummet to earth and itll land right on top of me boyo here.
Im impressed. I gaze upward, then back at the unkempt David, who hasnt a clue that hes living out his final seconds. Ive a mad urge to alert him to do something really worthwhile with what remains of his life, but its not like hed listen. People never do. Anyway, a short way back in the march, hes just seen a couple of people he recognizesa blondy-haired cheruby woman and a smiley man that you wouldnt exactly call plump, but you wouldnt exactly call not plump either, if you get me... Actually, hold on a minute, its Matt and Maeve. From 66 Star Street. David has been hoping theyd be here and now that hes spotted them he lights up like a Christmas tree, but the kind theyd have in hell. Badness, blackness, that sort of thing. No stars or angels. Skulls, instead. Rotten teeth. Dead bats. And his vibrations start hopping with extra-strength venom. Id had him all wrong.
Aha! David is thinking. Ill go back there and taunt the pair of them. Ill introduce them to Steffi . Ill say that its a crime that so many Irish rapists walk away free. Itll kill them!
Steffi ! Theres someone I want you to meet.
Who? Christ, you never saw anyone looking as miserable as her.
My ex-girlfriend Maeve. Come and meet her.
Steffis confused and afraid and, God, she really doesnt like him. Why would I want to do that?
Just come on, would you?
No, David.
He tugs at her arm, pulling her with him, and she digs her heels in, so he gives her another hoick, much harder this time, and she wrenches herself backward, breaking free of him, and people are starting to look at him.
Suit yourself, he says. Then he adds, You bitch. And a cluster of banner-carrying girlsstrangers, likegasp in shock. You cant be going round calling your girlfriend a bitch. But David doesnt care. He just steps forward, all business, and everyone around him scoots back and gives him space, because they know hes a bad hat.
Meanwhile, Matt and Maeve have spotted him and are presenting expressions of defiance. With a nasty little laugh, David walks one large pace, then another, deaf to the faint whistling sound that has suddenly started above his head, and oblivious of the breeze thats interfering with his already very messy hair.
Now watch this, my companion murmurs to me.
And the very next thing, a smallish boulder of ice hurtles from the heavens and collides with Davids head, sending him toppling to the ground. His head, shoulders and chest are covered with the jaggedy frozen ball and, from the way his blood is oozing out from under the ice, theres no doubt that hes dead.
Theres a long silence and then everyone starts howling and yelping and running and tearing their hair and putting their arms protectively over their heads and gazing horror-struck at the sky and staring, their eyes bugging out of their heads, at the ball of ice, with the lower half of a body sticking out from under it.
However, and full credit to my companion here, in spite of all the hoo-ha, no one else is hurt, not even a scratch from a stray ice chip.
See, he says, swaggering around like the big man. Talk about a precision strike.
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