UP FRONT:'JAYSUS CHRIST! Will you look at your man. A hundred if he's a day. How the hell can a Bluebeard like him pull such a young woman? The money again."
The popular theory is that Asian women marry Europeans for the readies. Alas for the theory and Margie. She married Ireland's most impecunious scribe. But now they both live in rare harmony and with a little style, thanks to her modest but hard-earned qualification as a pharmacy technician. What's the age difference? That's a state secret, but it's strongly rumoured to be nearer 40 than 30 years.
"How old are you really?" a group of Filipina students once asked him. "Twenty-one plus," he replied. One more astute than the rest, or better at maths, stood back. "Twenty-one multiplied," she observed.
Before he attempted writing books, our hero was a freelance journalist, mainly for the Irish Press Group. Prior to its demise, he borrowed for a house which he immediately leased out while he explored the other side of the world. "Go for it, you only live once - and bring home a young wife," Peter Stevens encouraged in Nesbitts. "Once was enough for that lark," he retorted.
Far from the coconut-fringed islands of the south, polluted Manila induced a headache which sent him racing to a pharmacy. The young girl who served him was friendly, helpful and smiling. If she were only a little older, he thought with lustful intent. Maybe he could reduce his age and attempt a pass?
He dropped back again the following day. "Her day off," a colleague informed, as she explained how the same Margie sent half her £50-a-month salary home. Lust turned to admiration. The following day, he reduced his age by a decade, and asked her out. Pollution does wonders for sunsets. That evening, they marvelled at the crimson ball which sank into Manila Bay.
He stopped to talk to some squatters beside an upturned boat. He gave them a few pesos. Margie was impressed. Rich foreigners, like rich Filipinos, see through squatters and the poor. She held his hand and admitted that she was really five years younger than the 25 she had professed before sunset.
Nine months later, they married in Molesworth Street, with prayers at nearby St Anne's and a horse carriage ride to a Merrion Row restaurant. "Beauty and the beast!" laughed Peter Stevens. The 30 guests were warned about toasters, but advised that a modest contribution towards proceedings would be overlooked. The net cost of the wedding was £150.
A year later, our hero's English-born daughter from his previous marriage spent £10,000 on her wedding. The Rolls-Royce broke down, but she reached the church in time - in a transit van. The daughter was at this stage 10 years older than Margie. "Well, it's a little strange," she admitted, before she also melted to Margie's charm. Now they are friends. It's Margie whom Karen calls when she has a medical problem, rather than her nearest pharmacist.
Many marriages between Filipinas and foreigners end in tears, an age difference hastens the funeral. So what's the secret of this unlikely success? Our hero's theory - "A little immaturity goes a long way!"
One day, her beau made Margie cry when he gave her some money and she bought muffins which he proclaimed he could not afford for himself. That decided her to work. She studied and passed the pharmacy technician's course and proceeded to bring home more loot than her husband had ever earned. "I want to speak to the Chinese wan. She explains things," is a familiar refrain in her pharmacy.
Like Paddy Kavanagh and the young girls, her beau treasures her youthful ways and her wonder at all things and, particularly, new knowledge. Her refreshing, unblemished innocence and spontaneity in a rampantly materialistic and manipulative society. Hitherto careless about his attire, he relishes the nice shirts she regularly purchases. She has also bought him time to write his precious books. Parsons Bookshop and its story of the antics of Behan, Kavanagh and scribes of the 1950s and 1960s owe much to this unlikely benefactor.
"What's it like being married to a younger girl?" is a constant question. "Like a breath of fresh air - or sunshine after a shower," he imparts, sometimes immodestly, as he strives unsuccessfully to cope with the destruction of the lovely way of life he found when he returned to pre-Celtic Tiger Ireland after 25 years in exile.
Margie invariably finishes her food before him. She likes horror movies, he hates them. But they walk together, laugh together, holiday together and hold hands at weekend meals in Bar Italia or the Khyber. He never admits it, but he's never lonely any more. He returned from London last week after an abortive attempt to sell a new book. Outside the airport barrier, that lovely welcoming smile, that flashing dark hair. She flung her arms around him. "The English have no taste - but you have!"