Marian Keyes has introduced readers to the lives, loves, and foibles of the five Walsh sisters -- Claire, Maggie, Rachel, Helen, and Anna -- and their crazy mammy. In this funny, heartbreaking, and triumphant new tale set in the Big Apple, it's Anna's turn in the spotlight.
Life is perfect for Anna Walsh. She has the "Best Job in the World" as a PR exec for a top-selling urban beauty brand, a lovely apartment in New York, and a perfect husband -- the love of her life, Aidan Maddox. Until the morning she wakes up in her mammy's living room in Dublin with stitches in her face, a dislocated knee, and completely smashed-up hands -- and no memory of how she got there. While her mammy plays nursemaid (just like all of her favorite nurses on her soaps), and her sister Helen sits in wet hedges doing her private investigator work for Lucky Star PI, Anna tries to get better and keeps wondering why Aidan won't return her phone calls or e-mails.
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
May 09, 2006
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Anybody Out There? by Marian Keyes
Mum flung open the sitting-room door and announced, "Morning, Anna, time for your tablets."
She tried to march briskly, like nurses she'd seen on hospital dramas, but there was so much furniture in the room that instead she had to wrestle her way toward me.
When I'd arrived in Ireland eight weeks earlier, I couldn't climb the stairs, because of my dislocated kneecap, so my parents had moved a bed downstairs into the Good Front Room.
Make no mistake, this was a huge honor: under normal circumstances we were only let into this room at Christmastime. The rest of the year, all familial leisure activities ' television watching, chocolate eating, bickering ' took place in the cramped converted garage, which went by the grand title of Television Room.
But when my bed was installed in the GFR there was nowhere for the other fixtures ' tasseled couches, tasseled armchairs ' to go. The room now looked like a discount furniture store, where millions of couches are squashed in together, so that you almost have to clamber over them like boulders along the seafront.
"Right, missy." Mum consulted a sheet of paper, an hour-by-hour schedule of all my medication ' antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, antidepressants, sleeping pills, high-impact vitamins, painkillers that induced a very pleasant floaty feeling, and a member of the Valium family, which she had ferried away to a secret location.
All the different packets and jars stood on a small, elaborately carved table ' several china dogs of unparalleled hideousness had been shifted to make way for them and now sat on the floor looking reproachfully at me ' and Mum began sorting through them, popping out capsules and shaking pills from bottles.
My bed had been thoughtfully placed in the window bay so that I could look out at passing life. Except that I couldn't: there was a net curtain in place that was as immovable as a metal wall. Not physically immovable, you understand, but socially immovable: in Dublin suburbia brazenly lifting your nets to have a good look at "passing life" is a social gaffe akin to painting the front of your house Schiaparelli pink.