Less Than Perfect Read Online Free PDF Page A

years. Referendums in Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland would hopefully secure public endorsement of the agreement.
    The phone rang and I picked it up, knowing who it was even before he spoke.
    â€˜Are you watching the telly?’
    â€˜Yes, Dad.’
    â€˜This is an important day, Caitlin, a day to remember.’ He sounded a little giddy. He’d always said that peace wasn’t possible without both Britain and the Republic of Ireland giving up some of their claim on the North. This agreement validated his views. I could see him in my mind, a smile of genuine satisfaction brightening his face, a celebratory glass of red wine in his hand.
    â€˜Aye, Dad. I know.’
    â€˜Goodnight, so.’
    â€˜ ’Night, Dad.’
    Josh and I celebrated in our own way. That night, in the narrow single bed, he moved inside me for the first time. The bedside lamp was on and I saw wonder and ecstasy on his face, and knew that he could see the same expression on mine. It was as though the last barrier separating us had lifted away, and the fact that we had waited and not rushed this side of our relationship made it all the more significant and precious.
    â€˜I love you,’ he said afterwards.
    Of all the times he told me he loved me, I remember this one the most vividly.
    â€˜I love you too.’
    We fell asleep, bodies entwined, the lamp casting us in a gentle glow.
    The following month we voted in the referendum, holding hands as we arrived at the voting hall, walking past flyers thrust in our path and ignoring last-minute pitches from party representatives. Technically we represented opposite sides – I was Catholic and Josh Protestant – but we wanted and voted for the same thing that day: peace, an end to violence, a better future.
    Do you support the agreement reached at the multi-party talks on Northern Ireland and set out in Command Paper 3883?
    Yes, we do.

Chapter 4
    Loving Josh wasn’t easy. It was wonderful and full of surprises, frustrating and hard work. He wore a hearing aid behind each ear, which enabled him to hear the odd word. He filled in the rest by reading lips. If we were out somewhere that had background noise – a pub or a busy street – the hearing aids didn’t function properly and then all Josh had to rely on was lip-reading, which wasn’t always possible. Things became particularly difficult when we were out socially with friends. He hated not being able to hear the banter, the one-liners, people talking over each other. Even though he was usually philosophical about his limitations, sometimes he became so frustrated he would walk off. I’d follow, steering him to a quiet corner where he could vent.
    â€˜I feel like the village idiot, only understanding half of what’s being said,’ he’d cry.
    â€˜I’ll remind them to slow down and to look at you as they speak …’
    â€˜Don’t! Don’t say anything.’
    â€˜What do you want then?’
    â€˜I want to be able to fucking well hear properly!’
    Obviously, there was nothing he or I could do to make this happen. All I could offer was silence: an acknowledgment of how unfair it was.
    â€˜Do you want to go home?’ I’d ask out of courtesy. I knew that he didn’t. In his heart of hearts Josh was a social being; he liked to be part of a crowd, despite occasionally feeling peripheral and left out.
    â€˜No, of course I don’t. Oh, for fuck’s sake, let’s go back.’
    Hand in hand, we would return to the group, everyone guessing why he’d stormed off and, for a short time, making a greater effort to include him.
    When we were in Belfast, we socialised with my friends, students from my English or sociology classes, or with Mandy, who was training to be a hairdresser in a salon on Ormeau Avenue, and her boyfriend, Brendan, a mechanic. Josh liked Mandy and Brendan more than he did my university friends. He found it amusing