Ordinary Miracles
Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
| Ordinary Miracles |
| Grace Wynne-Jones |
| Pocket Books (1996) |
Jasmine Smith will be forty next month and not ready for it; married to a man she likes and not prepared to give up on love; smothered by life's mundanity, and yet drawn towards its mystery. She wants the sort of love that makes her feel more alive, she wants wild sex in stalled lifts with film stars. She wants something else...Jasmine Smith is in desperate need of a miracle. And with the help of an adventurous school friend, a man called Charlie and a pig called Rosie she is about to find one. This work is a sharp, funny, moving novel and an exhilarating invitation to step out of quiet desperation and re-discover the magic in life and in love.
Ordinary Miracles
Grace Wynne-Jones
Published by Accent Press 2007
Copyright © 1996 Grace Wynne-Jones
ISBN 1905170645/9781905170647
The right of Grace Wynne-Jones to be identified
as the author of this work has been
asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission from the publisher: Accent Press, The Old School, Upper High Street, Bedlinog, Mid Glamorgan, CF46 6SA
Printed and bound in the UK
Cover design by Joëlle Brindley
The publisher acknowledges the financial support of the Welsh Books Council
Dedicated to the luminous memories
of my parents and dear brother, Vere
PRAISE FOR ORDINARY MIRACLES
‘Ordinary Miracles has that rare combination of depth, honesty and wit…and all of this backed by a deliciously soft, gentle and loving humour…If you try one new author, try Grace Wynne-Jones.’ - OK MAGAZINE
‘Ordinary Miracles is about relationships and love and sex and a little bit of guilt. Jasmine is a worried and witty heroine…an engagingly high-spirited and perceptive debut.’ - THE IRISH INDEPENDENT
‘Wynne-Jones’s sense of humour and the self-mockery of her heroine makes it both funny and touching.’ - TIMES LITERARY SUPPLEMENT
‘The belly-laugh being a rare enough commodity on this planet, this promises to be one of my favourite novels of the year…very very funny.’ - In Dublin
‘Grace Wynne-Jones writes up a storm of wit in her first novel…a fine new writer.’ - RTE GUIDE
‘She has an assured style and a wonderful insight into the separated lady’s lot…I couldn’t put it down. I literally read it from cover to cover.’ Muriel Bolger, ‘No Jacket Required’ RTE RADIO ONE
Acknowledgements
A very big “Thank You” is due to Lisa Eveleigh of the Lisa Eveleigh Literary Agency for being such a supportive, insightful and talented agent. Heartfelt thanks also go to Hazel Cushion of the wonderful Accent Press for her savvy, encouragement and dedication. I am also extremely grateful to Joëlle Brindley for the wonderful jacket artwork. Warm thanks are also due to Marian Keyes, Katie Fforde and Catherine Alliott for enjoying the book and saying nice things about it!
Many others have also helped along the way in one way or another: Kate, who was so encouraging and kind, Aidan Mathews, who has helped me a great deal with my writing, Dermot Bolger, Ray Lynott, Philip Casey, who has not only provided much support but also designed my website, Jo Frank, Clare Ledingham, Karina Casey, Joe Keveny, Nicola Warwick, Alberto Villoldo, Eve Dolphin, Maura Clesham, John Cantwell, Karen Ward, Anne Regan, Michael Dalton, Noirin Callanan, Colin Morrison, Suzanne Power, Margrit Cruickshank, Janetta Mellet, Eunice Borland, Anna Lee, Bernadette O’Sullivan, Margaret Burns, Margaret Madden, John and Eleanor Casey, Jo Nolan, Carmen Cullen, Puddy, Stanley Warren, Maura Egan, Angela Corbett, Aideen Quigley, my four brothers, who got such a kick out of their ‘little sister’s’ first novel being published, my dear and special Mum and Dad who encouraged me so much with my writing when they were alive, the very wise Paddy McMahon, plus the many other pals who offered me much kindness and encouragement.
And of course I must mention the character ‘Jasmine’ herself and our mutual ‘friends’ who gave such help and guidance in their own way, and who seemed so keen to have this story told.
Contents
‘To be young, really young,
takes a very long time.’ Picasso
I can’t believe I’ll
be forty next month.
Forty seems something you should be ready for – not
something that lands smug and like-it-or not in your life
– a
long with Gillian McKeith.
Bruce bought me one of her books to boost my morale.
It’s not the kind of publication I would have purchased myself. I tend towards books with embarrassing titles such as
No Need to Panic: Courageous Acts of Change in Women’s Lives.
Still, it was a kind thought. One of the occasional small acts that show Bruce may still love me in his way, though there isn’t much romance left in our relationship. ‘You know what, Jasmine,’ he announced happily on our nineteenth anniversary, ‘one
of the great pleasures of marriage is being with someone
you can fart with.’
When he came he used to shout ‘Oh God!’ These days he
just says ‘Ah’. He scarcely glances at me when I’m in the
shower. When we first got married he used to love the way
I squeezed spermicide around the inside of my diaphragm. I
did it with such fierce concentration, he said, that I looked like I was making an airfix model. Now he likes watching
me watch television. He says I make funny faces without
knowing it.
I like that he likes that. And I like that he thinks he can
sing when he can’t. But like doesn’t make my heart leap. Like
isn’t what that woman felt when that photographer from the
National Geographic
landed on her doorstep in Madison
County
. Of course it’s nice to day-dream that exactly the
same thing might happen here in Glenageary but, frankly,
there aren’t enough bridges. There are lots of burned ones
all right, but you can’t photograph those.
Now that my daughter Katie’s at college in Galway the
mornings seem very quiet. I miss that moment when, having
got her off to school, I made myself a cuppa and turned on
the radio. Back then time to myself was something I snatched
and savoured – now there’s a lot of it about
and I must work out what to do with it.
Of course I have my animal rights and adult literacy, and
then there’s the housekeeping and fantasising about the actor
Mell Nichols. And there’s missing people – missing myself
even
–
that takes up a lot of time.
Sometimes, when I feel like this, I go upstairs and open the
cupboard where I keep Katie’s toys. I gave some away but I’ve kept the ones I liked. I wind up the little hen and watch her pecking her way along the carpet and falling over, and
then I give Teddy a hug and tell him not to be lonely, that I still care.
You wouldn’t think to look at me that all this stuff is going on in my head. Apparently I appear very settled and cheerful
–
not at all wistful. The thing is I don’t think I can keep all
this to myself much longer.