ever. Did she drive a car? Well, it was hard to say; no one had seen her driving one or riding a bike. Most people found it hard to remember her second name. And still the program went from strength to strength.
A woman who was afraid to go into her house because she thought that there might be intruders inside rang Fiona. She said she didn’t want to bother the Gardai in case it was a false alarm. In minutes she had a posse of people to escort her, and it turned out that there
were
burglars inside, who were caught red-handed.
There was a lot about Fiona and her program in the papers on that occasion, but her only quote was to say that it was further proof that it was the listeners who made it all such a success.
Rory had always been very interested in Fiona and her program, as he had been one of her very first callers. His ex-wife had suddenly decided to let him have their nine-year-old daughter for the whole weekend. She would be arriving in two hours. Having only been able to see the little girl for three hours on a Saturday up to now he had no idea what a nine-year-old girl would want for a whole weekend. The airwaves were swamped with advice, all of it marvelous.
His daughter, Katie, had an unforgettable weekend, and even been invited to two children’s parties. It had formed the basis of all her future visits to him. He had written to thank Fiona and got a businesslike little postcard in return.
He listened to her phone-in regularly and twice he was able to help people who called in. He minded a cat for a weekend for an old woman who wouldn’t have gone away to a wedding otherwise, and he had faxed clear instructions on how to program a video for someone who needed desperately to set the timer and couldn’t manage it.
Rory had always hoped that Fiona would remember him when he called in, that she would say, “You’re the man with the nine-year-old girl! How good of you to come back to us.” He even fantasized that she might ring him and suggest they meet for a meal so that she could say a proper thank-you. He would be wonderful and lively and restless, and the meal would be interrupted from time to time with calls on her mobile phone and requests from other tables and waiters asking for her autograph.
In his dreams she would wear a black dress and a simple gold chain. Her frizzy hair would stand like a halo around her head and she would take off her glasses, showing big dark pools of eyes.
But Fiona never thanked him personally. At the end of her program she thanked all the good, kind people out there who proved that we were really all one big community ready to help each other if given the opportunity. And then, breathlessly, she would say good-bye, rushing her words at the end to be finished before the time signal and the next program started.
Rory envied her so much—busy, active, caring, rushed off her feet.
Wasn’t it amazing that some people had those kinds of lives while people like him had hardly any life at all?
Perhaps it was just as well that he would never meet Fiona. She would scorn him as his wife, Helen, had eventually scorned him. A man without passions, without interest, without any sense of living, that’s what she said he was when she left with their daughter, Katie.
“Why did you marry me, if I am all those things?” Rory had asked.
“Because I didn’t know you were like that, I thought you were just quiet.”
Helen had thought there were depths there, depths that apparently didn’t exist.
Rory was philosophical about this; it was probably true. He didn’t support any causes, he was on no committees, he had never carried a placard, he didn’t always vote at elections, he was not a member of a trade union. He read a little, watched some television; he cooked simple meals like lamb chops or else bought convenience foods. Rory thought of himself as Mr. Average.
Friends had introduced him to other women since Helen had left. But somehow he never followed anything up. He
A woman who was afraid to go into her house because she thought that there might be intruders inside rang Fiona. She said she didn’t want to bother the Gardai in case it was a false alarm. In minutes she had a posse of people to escort her, and it turned out that there
were
burglars inside, who were caught red-handed.
There was a lot about Fiona and her program in the papers on that occasion, but her only quote was to say that it was further proof that it was the listeners who made it all such a success.
Rory had always been very interested in Fiona and her program, as he had been one of her very first callers. His ex-wife had suddenly decided to let him have their nine-year-old daughter for the whole weekend. She would be arriving in two hours. Having only been able to see the little girl for three hours on a Saturday up to now he had no idea what a nine-year-old girl would want for a whole weekend. The airwaves were swamped with advice, all of it marvelous.
His daughter, Katie, had an unforgettable weekend, and even been invited to two children’s parties. It had formed the basis of all her future visits to him. He had written to thank Fiona and got a businesslike little postcard in return.
He listened to her phone-in regularly and twice he was able to help people who called in. He minded a cat for a weekend for an old woman who wouldn’t have gone away to a wedding otherwise, and he had faxed clear instructions on how to program a video for someone who needed desperately to set the timer and couldn’t manage it.
Rory had always hoped that Fiona would remember him when he called in, that she would say, “You’re the man with the nine-year-old girl! How good of you to come back to us.” He even fantasized that she might ring him and suggest they meet for a meal so that she could say a proper thank-you. He would be wonderful and lively and restless, and the meal would be interrupted from time to time with calls on her mobile phone and requests from other tables and waiters asking for her autograph.
In his dreams she would wear a black dress and a simple gold chain. Her frizzy hair would stand like a halo around her head and she would take off her glasses, showing big dark pools of eyes.
But Fiona never thanked him personally. At the end of her program she thanked all the good, kind people out there who proved that we were really all one big community ready to help each other if given the opportunity. And then, breathlessly, she would say good-bye, rushing her words at the end to be finished before the time signal and the next program started.
Rory envied her so much—busy, active, caring, rushed off her feet.
Wasn’t it amazing that some people had those kinds of lives while people like him had hardly any life at all?
Perhaps it was just as well that he would never meet Fiona. She would scorn him as his wife, Helen, had eventually scorned him. A man without passions, without interest, without any sense of living, that’s what she said he was when she left with their daughter, Katie.
“Why did you marry me, if I am all those things?” Rory had asked.
“Because I didn’t know you were like that, I thought you were just quiet.”
Helen had thought there were depths there, depths that apparently didn’t exist.
Rory was philosophical about this; it was probably true. He didn’t support any causes, he was on no committees, he had never carried a placard, he didn’t always vote at elections, he was not a member of a trade union. He read a little, watched some television; he cooked simple meals like lamb chops or else bought convenience foods. Rory thought of himself as Mr. Average.
Friends had introduced him to other women since Helen had left. But somehow he never followed anything up. He
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