‘Don’t apologize. It sounds wonderful to me.’ I stored away everything he said and imagined my mother licking vinegar from her fingers as she munched on a salty feast. It was a nice thought.
‘Have you visited Kilmore Quay, with your mother?’ Tattoo man asked.
‘She’s dead,’ I blurted out in a strangled shout, as the Black Eyed Peas sang that tonight’s gonna be a good night. I don’t know why I told him that, because I’m usually good at diverting from subjects that are painful to me. But there was something about him. Something that made me want to tell him all my truths.
‘Ah, I’m sorry. My mother’s dead too. Shit, isn’t it? Every day, but today it’s more shit than any other, I think.’
He was right. I’d made a plan to run to the toilets when the DJ stuck on ‘Auld Lang Syne’. I watched Tattoo Man watching me and I felt a connection to this giant of a man.
A knowing, a recognition.
‘I can’t hear myself think here. And we’ll both be hoarse from shouting. Will we go somewhere else for a chat?’
I wanted to, but I felt nervous. OK, we’d shared a nice conversation loudly over the noise of the pub, but I didn’t know him. He saw doubt flood my face and quickly reassured me, ‘I know what you’re thinking. This fella is mad as a bag of cats. He’ll probably cut me up into a thousand pieces. And if one of my sisters went off with a stranger they’d met minutes before, I’d kill them. But I’m not crazy. I suppose you can only take my word for that. But I have this hunch that you and I might get on.’
I had a feeling he might be right. But that didn’t mean I could leave Katrina on her own. I was on wing-girl duty tonight.
‘I suppose we could stand here all night screaming into each other’s ears then swap numbers at the end of the night and hopefully go out tomorrow or the next day. But we’d probably have no voices by then. So how about we go across the road to the Stop Inn for a coffee and a chat? It’s a grand little diner. Do you know it? Then we can come back here in a bit.’
I opened my mouth to say no. The whole idea was ridiculous. But instead I found myself turn into a nodding dog. ‘I need to tell my friend Katrina.’
He followed me as I squeezed my way round the pub. I found her enjoying a neck nibble from Nas. Watching her mouth fall open in shock was kind of cool, as I filled her in on what was happening. It was nice to surprise her the odd time. ‘I told you that you would find Mr Rock here. New York has someone for everyone. Even you. Text me every hour though.’ Then she stood on tiptoes and shouted something in Tattoo Man’s ear, which made him wide-eyed.
We walked across the street to the diner, which as Dan said was only a short walk from our pub. If he turned out to be an asshole, I could run back up the road to Katrina. When we stepped into the warm diner, a waiter called out in greeting, ‘Dan!’
It was then that I realized I hadn’t even known his name.
‘You come here a lot then?’ I said, nodding towards the waitress who obviously knew him.
‘Where everybody knows your name …’ Dan sang the Cheers song off-key. ‘I suppose I’m the Stop Inn’s Norm! I’d never eat a decent meal if I didn’t come in here every other day.’
When the waitress walked over, Dan said, ‘Howya, Denise. Give us one sec. Are you hungry, blue eyes?’
As Denise gave me the side-eye, looking me up and down, I wondered if Dan took many girls here for coffee.
I shook my head. ‘Just coffee for me please.’
‘Grand so. Two coffees, but we’ll share a plate of chips too.’
‘He means fries. Don’t you?’ I asked, trying to be helpful.
‘I do. But Denise knows what I want, she’s used to us Irish. I made the chips/fries mistake only once, the first time I ordered a burger and asked for a side of chips. Tayto, I wouldn’t have minded, but the potato chips that arrived in a bowl were the blandest things …’
Denise leaned in, ‘I have some of those goujons you like too, Dan. Big man needs lots of food.’
‘Why not? Throw on some of those as well. Good woman.’
I looked around the diner as Denise busied herself pouring coffee for us into two large white mugs that were turning grey with age. The booths were burnt orange, with white Formica tables. Posters and photographs were scattered across the walls, some new, others there for decades. There was no denying there was a strong Irish influence here. As the waiter joked about how much sugar Dan was putting into his mug, I realized that Denise knew this man better than I did.
‘I really am sound as a pound. Go on, ask me anything,’ he said, reading my mind. I would learn over the coming months that this was a knack of his.
‘Thanks to Denise, I know your name is Dan. Do you live in Woodside?’
‘I do. My dad’s first cousin Billy lives on 61st. He’s been here since the Nineties. Got one of the Morrison lottery visas in ’93. I’d never actually met him before I got here, but he put me up when I arrived green off the flight.’
‘When was that?’
‘Six months ago or so.’
‘A New York newbie. What do you do?’
‘I’m an accountant for an advertising agency. Our firm has a branch in Dublin. I worked there for five years but wanted a change. I asked them for a job over here. It took about a year for a position to come up. And here I am.’
I took another look at him. From his long, messy, dirty-blond hair that was almost too long, to the shadow of a beard on his jawline, to the black Metallica T-shirt worn over scruffy jeans. He was the most unlikely-looking accountant I’d ever seen.
‘I scrub up well. I can rock a suit when I need to,’ he said, mind-reading again. ‘What about you, blue eyes? What do you do to earn a crust?’
‘I run my own business. With my friend Katrina.’
‘The girl who was playing tonsil hockey with yer man?’
I giggled. I’d not heard that phrase before, but I liked it. ‘That’s the one. We run an agency that looks for missing people. What did she say to you, by the way?’
‘A detective,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met one of those before. Very cool.’
‘Not always that cool. Sometimes, though.’
‘Please tell me you wear a trench coat.’
‘Please tell me you don’t have a fetish for a trench coat.’ I shook my head in mock despair and he laughed. It was a good laugh, I decided.
‘I like your banter. I always wanted to be a detective when I was little,’ he said.
‘Me too. My dad has always been obsessed with anything to do with solving mysteries. Poirot, NCIS, Sherlock … I was brought up watching them all.’
‘I knew there was something about you when I saw you in Saints and Sinners. As for your pal back there, she’s some mouth on her. She said she’d hunt me down and stuff my testicles in my mouth if I hurt you.’
I spluttered my coffee onto the table between us. ‘She would too. Serbian, and the biggest badass I know.’
‘I wondered where her accent was from. Mostly New York, but with a twang.’
‘She’s been in America almost her entire life, but she never quite lost her accent. She used to live next door to me when we were kids. But she has her own place now, uptown.’
‘So you go way back,’ he said. ‘Says a lot about a person, the length of time their friendships last.’
‘We’ve been best friends – and partners in crime, if you will – for a couple of decades. We did everything together as kids. We walked to school linking arms. We sat in the yard and ate our lunch together, swapping foods that we didn’t like. Katrina taught Stephanie – she’s our other friend – and me how to put on make-up. Katrina always knew much more about everything than we did. She still does.’
‘It helps to have someone like that. Roger is my Katrina, you could say. My best friend from home. Knows everything.’
‘Brings a whole new definition to the term “Roger that”.’
He laughed at my joke and gained himself another set of brownie points.
>
‘Well, it’s good to know that you pass the friendship test with flying colours,’ Dan said.
I felt a bit like a fraud. I’d not spoken to Stephanie in months. OK, I’d tried to get in touch with her and left messages several times this month alone. But still. While it could be that she was just loved up with her boyfriend, maybe there was something wrong. Of all the people she could have ended up with, she’d chosen Jimmy Del Torio from school. A complete and utter knucklehead then, and he was even worse now. I turned my attention back to Dan, pushing my friend to the back of my head, focusing on the man in front of me. ‘It’s my turn to ask questions. Do you still live with your cousin Billy?’
‘Nah. He had feck all space. I was in the way – although, to his credit, he never once made me feel like that. But his fella and him needed their privacy. I got an apartment not far from St Joseph’s Church. Close enough that I can call in for a cuppa or a beer when I want company, but not so close that we’re in each other’s pockets. I like it in Woodside. It has a nice vibe. Lots of different cultures all hanging out together. But enough Irish to keep any homesickness at bay.’
‘My mother came to America on one of those lottery visas too, like your cousin Billy did.’
Dan raised his coffee mug in a toast. ‘To Senator Bruce Morrison. Good man.’
I clinked his mug with mine and smiled.
‘You’ve a nice smile,’ Dan said.
‘Don’t start throwing meaningless lines my way. I hate them.’
‘It wasn’t a line. You were smiling and it was nice.’
‘Fair enough.’ And I smiled again.
‘Will you tell me what made you smile?’
‘The fact that if someone had told me this morning that I’d be toasting Senator Bruce Morrison with a virtual stranger in the Stop Inn, I’d have laughed.’
‘Isn’t life and its surprises great?’ Dan smiled at me and I had to bite back a cheesy line of my own to him. Because never mind me, he had a cute smile. Normal white teeth, without a Hollywood veneer in sight. One of my biggest turn-offs in a man. ‘Never trust a man whose teeth you can see in space’ was a dating motto that had served Stephanie, Katrina and me well.
‘Are you going to tell me your name?’ He leaned into me.
‘You haven’t asked me,’ I said, unsure why I felt the need to be contrary.
‘I’m asking now. What’s your name, blue eyes?’
I liked that he had already given me a nickname. ‘Beatrice O’Connor. But everyone calls me Bea.’
‘I like that name. Both versions. Suits you. I don’t think I’ve met a Beatrice or a Bea before.’
‘Named after my maternal and paternal grandmothers’ middle names, which by pure fluke were the same. Both grandmothers were Irish too. But they lived very different lives on either side of the Atlantic.’ I didn’t add that I’d never met my maternal grandmother. He looked confused, so I explained a little more. ‘Dad is second-generation Irish, born in New York. His parents, my grandparents, emigrated in the late Fifties.’
‘And your dad met your mam here? You said she came over on a visa?’
I nodded. ‘It was supposed to be for the summer initially, to see how it worked out. As it turned out, she never left.’
‘She found the American Dream,’ Dan said. ‘I’m not sure I’ll go back either. Some days I get so homesick I can’t breathe. But that passes. And I feel feckin’ lucky to be here, living this life.’ He looked at me intently, then asked, ‘So with that many Irish in your family, do you identify as Irish or American?’
‘Both really. I feel Irish. My Irish heritage has always been very much part of who I am. I march side by side with my family in the New York Saint Patrick’s Day parade every year. I Irish-danced my way through school and I can still do a pretty decent jig. I know the words of every Irish song from “Whiskey in the Jar” to “Danny Boy”. And I can sing a decent rendition of “Isle of Innisfree” on command. Which incidentally is what our house is named after. Does that make me Irish?’
‘I think it might,’ Dan said. ‘My mam used to sing “Danny Boy” to me every night before I went to sleep. A lullaby. I thought for the longest time she’d composed it herself. I think I was ten or eleven before I worked out that it wasn’t about me at all.’
‘Your mam sounds lovely.’
‘She was. How long is your mam dead?’ His voice lowered a fraction. I could only see interest and concern on his face, so I found myself opening up to him in a way I rarely did, whenever the subject of Mom came up.
‘She died when I was three. Knocked down running across the street after our dog that had escaped when she opened the door to accept a parcel from the postman. Mom thought she could make it to the other side of the street but misjudged the speed of a car heading her way. Witnesses said she stopped in the middle of the road. A split-second decision to turn back the way she had come. The dog ran on to the other side. The car swerved to the left, thinking she’d follow the dog. Mom didn’t stand a chance. She died shortly after the paramedics got her to hospital.’
Dan didn’t say anything. No trite comments came from his mouth because he knew there was nothing to be said. He leaned in over the table between us and touched my hand lightly. Only for a moment. Then he let go, respectful of my space. We both took a sip of our coffee and let the silence find a spot to sit comfortably for a moment.
‘It was breast cancer that took my mam. Two years ago. She didn’t have a lump or anything. No sign that the nasty bugger was growing inside of her until it was too late. By the time she went to the doc because she was feeling off, the cancer was at stage four. Aggressive little shit. A few months later and that was it. She was gone. No more “Danny Boy” lullabies for me.’
I wondered what was worse. Losing a mother as young as I had, never knowing her. Relying on stories from family members that were scarce and unsatisfactory. Clinging to mentions of her hometown just to find a way to feel connected to her. Or losing a mother as Dan had, with a lifetime of memories to pierce and comfort at once. I didn’t have an answer to that. My hand found his, as his had found mine moments before, and I squeezed it back.
Denise arrived with our food at exactly the right moment. If we allowed it, we could have taken a turn into maudlin New Year’s Eve town.
‘I put an extra scoop of fries on for you, Dan. And your pretty lady,’ Denise said.
‘They look delicious,’ I said, and my stomach growled in agreement.
‘Salt and vinegar?’ Dan asked.
I nodded. ‘Lots of it. Plus ketchup. And mayonnaise too, while you’re at it.’
He squeezed a blob of Heinz onto the side of the plate, then squirted a blob of mayonnaise on the opposite side. ‘Not quite the Saltee Chipper, but right now, pretty damn good.’
We both dipped our fries then bit into the crunchy golden potatoes. They were as good as any fries I’d ever eaten.
‘Do you know what I’d love to do tonight?’ Dan asked.
I raised my eyebrow, no idea what he was going to say. ‘Steady.’
He laughed as I hoped he would. ‘I’d love to go into Times Square, see that big disco ball drop.’
‘It’s a ticketed event. We won’t get near it.’
‘Ah but I know a fella who knows a fella who owes me a favour. If you want to go, I’ll get us in.’
His confidence wasn’t arrogance, I realized. This was a man who knew that he could make this happen.
‘Katrina …’ I said, but I’d already made up my mind. Something was happening to me. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I felt an unravelling inside of me. I would follow this man anywhere. I’d lived in New York my entire life, but despite this fact I’d never been to Times Square to watch the ball drop at midnight on New Year’s Eve. As a child, Dad said it wasn’t a suitable place for me. And Gran and Grandad always said it was too touristy. Not to mention the cost factor, because it was expensive to get a ticket. This strange wonderful Irish man was going to be the one to take me t
here. And that felt right. Once we’d finished our food, we paid Denise and then we rode the subway into Times Square. I texted Katrina to fill her in on the new turn of events. And sure enough, Dan’s friend of a friend came through and about thirty minutes before midnight we were with the lucky few, behind the barriers in Times Square. It started to rain, but Dan had that covered too and produced a hat from his coat pocket, pulling it over my mop hair.
Dan and I stood amongst the thousands of tourists in Times Square, and I couldn’t help but get carried away with the excitement of the crowd as the rain licked our cheeks. When he reached over to hold my hand, as the tick-tock of the clock bounced around the square, amplified on speakers, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. We joined in with the chanting crowd, counting down the seconds towards midnight. When the sparkling ball dropped, marking the start of a new year, I held my breath until it hit the ground.
It was a spectacular moment. A once-in-a-lifetime, never-to-forget moment.
Fireworks exploded into the inky blue sky behind the Capital One digital clock as they simultaneously exploded into my heart.
Then a saxophone began to play ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and Dan put his arm around me. The crowd began to sing about old acquaintances and we all swayed together in time to the music. Dan leaned down to wipe a tear from my eye that I hadn’t realized was there.
‘My mom.’ And he nodded, understanding and unquestioning. Then the music changed and the saxophone morphed into the croon of Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York’. The song kicked up the mood and the tempo, revellers jumped up and down, kissing their loved ones and strangers alike. And as we all sang about our blues melting away and how we were gonna make it anyhow, I looked at Dan and thought, I’ve made it already.
The Moon Over Kilmore Quay Page 5
