Ride On

by Stephen J. Martin

  Aesop lifted his left hand onto his chest and Jimmy put one of his on top of it.

  ‘I know you’re in a bit of pain. He says that’ll go away. And your other arm is a bit fucked, and your leg, but he says you’ll just need to get to work with a physio when you feel a bit better. You’ll be back playing the drums in no time at all. Right? As soon as you’re ready, we’re going to be back. The Grove, man. Look, I know all about Helen and all. That must have been fucking terrible for you. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. We heard from Alison that you wanted to pack it all in and join Leet. I understand that completely. I do. Fuck knows, I’m the one who always gets the shite kicked out of me over women, right? I know how it feels. Just getting the fuck away from everything and trying to forget about it always seems like the best idea. But c’mere, it doesn’t have to be like that. We don’t need to do any of that. They can all get fucked, right? Me and you. Soon as you’re better, we’re going to start playing again. Anything you want. Megadeth, Anthrax, Pantera … all that horrible shite you like, whatever you want is fine with me.’

  He thought he saw the smile get a tiny bit bigger.

  ‘I’m telling you, man, I’ll play any fucking thing at all just as long as you get yourself better. Fuck sake, I’ve been listening to nothing but the new Maiden album since you’ve been in here. Don’t mind all that Celtic stuff I was on about before. Trad and all. I know you hate that stuff. And we don’t have to do it, right? But I was talking to Dónal. He’s on for your girl trad band idea. We can work on that together. Whatever you want to call them. That’s grand with me. We’ll have a laugh, right? It’ll be deadly. Just … just you get better and then we’ll put The Grove back together. Properly. Get a bass player. Do the tour, do another album. They way it should have been. Fuck Senturion and all that. Fuck Leet. They can all go off and do what they want. That’s not us. It’s not you. We’ll go ahead and do things our way, okay? The way we always have. Fuck them. They can all … they can all …’

  Jimmy’s eyes were moist and stinging now.

  ‘They can all go and … and …’

  The hand came up and Jimmy leaned in. Aesop stretched out a finger and put it on Jimmy’s lips.

  ‘Sshhh …’

  It was barely audible, but Jimmy caught it and stopped talking.

  Then the hand fell back onto the bed and Aesop started to grab at something. Jimmy leaned over to see a pad and a pencil at Aesop’s other leg. He picked up the pencil and put it into Aesop’s hand, positioning the pad under it. He wiped at his eyes and nose while Aesop wrote. And then he leaned over and picked up the pad to read it.

  You had me at ‘stupid fucker’.

  Jimmy’s eyes filled up again, properly this time, as he tried to laugh. This was the first time that he knew something the doctors wouldn’t or couldn’t tell him.

  His best mate was going to be okay.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Jimmy felt a weight lifted off him when Aesop was finally fit to be moved to Dublin to finish getting better. He’d been up and back to Cork so many times in the last two months that he reckoned he could probably fly the bloody plane himself. Being in Dublin meant that it was easier for everyone. Things were getting back to normal now. They all still thought of Aesop constantly, called him and dropped in, but now that he was out of danger and the extent of his recovery was down to the work he was doing with the physio, they were able to drift back to their jobs and lives. Jimmy realised that it was happening after he got a call from Shiggy to meet him in town. He found the little guy sipping on a pint in McDaids on his own.

  ‘What’s the story, Shiggy?’

  ‘Hiya Jimmy. Pint?’

  ‘Yeah, lovely.’

  When two fresh ones were calming on the bar in front of them, Shiggy turned to Jimmy.

  ‘Jimmy, I go home tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh. Right. I see. Aw man, that’s a shame.’

  ‘Sorry Jimmy. Have to go.’

  ‘Not at all, Shiggy. Christ, you’ve been here for weeks longer than you were meant to be. You’re very good to hang about. They must be going mad in work.’

  ‘Ah, fuck work, Jimmy. I don’t care.’

  ‘Don’t be silly man. You’ve been there … how long now?’

  ‘Twenty years. Too many.’

  Shiggy sighed, rubbing his head, and looked at his pint.

  ‘Twenty years, Jimmy. Is enough. More sings in rife than Kyotosei, ne? When Aesop get hurt, I sink I need … need to change sings.’

  ‘I think we all did. Shit like that … puts things in perspective.’

  ‘Yeah. I want to pray music. Ainu music, maybe. I buy tonkori. Go home and study. Quit job. Job is just … you know, Jimmy. You quit already. ’

  ‘Yeah. I know what you mean. And you’ll be brilliant on the tonkori, man. You’re brilliant on fucking everything, aren’t you, ye bastard? When you get the hang of it, come back and we’ll do that album. Irish rock and Ainu trad. Together at last!’

  Shiggy giggled.

  ‘Yeah. Deadry. You know, Jimmy, when I decide to quit job, first I sink I stay and pray with you guys.’

  ‘But Shiggy …’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Aesop can’t pray, so no Grove.’

  ‘Not for a long time yet, man. Might be a year. More, even.’

  ‘You find new bass prayer some day?’

  ‘He’ll be shite compared to you, no matter who he is.’

  ‘Yeah. Plobabry.’

  They both laughed and took a pull of their beer.

  ‘I miss you guys.’

  ‘We’ll miss you. It wasn’t the same when you left the last time.’

  Shiggy nodded.

  ‘Hey, when Aesop is better, if still no good bass prayer …’

  ‘I’ll be sending a plane ticket to Tokyo. I promise. But you’re sure?’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘About quitting your job? That’s a big step.’

  ‘Oh. Yeah. Sure. I have money, Jimmy. No plobrem. But, ne, I work hard for twenty years for other people. Now I work hard for Shiggy. Aesop is okay now, but first when he was … you know … everybody afraid … so, now I understand. Rife berry short, desho?’

  ‘Fucking tell me about it, Shiggy. What time is your flight tomorrow?’

  ‘Two o’clock.’

  ‘You going in to say goodbye to Aesop?’

  ‘Sure. I go in morning. Take morning off work. Work say “rah-rah-rah … where is Shiggy … oh, big plobrem … rah-rah-rah”. Ha Ha. Shiggy say “Fuck off, work! I quit!”.’

  Jimmy laughed and put down his empty glass.

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t tell them to fuck off.’

  ‘No? So … do what you do rast year is better?’

  ‘Eh … well, maybe not,’ said Jimmy, blushing at the mere memory of it. ‘Fair point.’

  ‘Is okay, Jimmy. Wait when I go back to Tokyo and then I quit.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They said nothing for a minute, each one remembering all that had happened between them. Then Jimmy looked up. He didn’t want to get all fucking depressed and bummed out again. There’d been enough of that shit going on around here recently. Too much. And anyway, Shiggy deserved a better send-off than that. There was only one fitting way for an Irishman to send one of his best mates away onto a plane.

  ‘Pint?’ he said.

  *

  When they’d finished making love and were lying there in the candlelight, Trish began to trace one of Norman’s scars with her finger. He didn’t move; just lay there looking at the ceiling.

  ‘Norman?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever be able to …’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘Be together.’

  ‘What? We are together.’

  ‘No we’re not. Not since the accident. And not really before that either.’

  ‘What do you mean, Trish?’

  ‘I love you Norman.’

  He paused.

  ‘I know.’

&
nbsp; ‘And you say you love me.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘But you won’t let me inside you.’

  ‘Jesus, Trish, you are inside me. I never stop thinking about you.’

  ‘Yeah. Maybe I’m in here.’ She touched his head. ‘But I need to be in here.’ Her finger went to the scar on his chest.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘I’m not. There’s too much other stuff in there already.’

  ‘Ah Trish, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You do, Norman. Sure, isn’t that the problem?’

  ‘There’s no problem.’

  ‘Of course there is. You can barely sleep at night. And over the past while, you’ve been getting more and more distant from me. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘I … I just have bad dreams sometimes. It’s nothing. It’ll go away.’

  ‘It’s getting worse!’

  ‘Look Trish, it’s nothing. Please, I just … it’s nothing.’

  She sat up and looked down at him.

  ‘Norman.’

  ‘What? Jesus, what is it Trish?’

  ‘Look at me.’

  ‘I am looking at you.’

  ‘Do I look like a feckin’ eejit to you?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘Tell me what those dreams are. Tell me what happened to you. And tell me what you’re planning to do about it, because I can’t help you if you don’t.’

  ‘Nothing happened. I don’t …’

  ‘What’s this?’

  She jabbed one of his scars.

  ‘And this?’

  She poked at another one.

  ‘And this one? This one goes all the way around your back for God sake.’

  ‘I told you about them …’

  ‘Collapsed lung my arse, Norman. Tell me.’

  ‘I … you don’t need … to know …’

  ‘I do! Because otherwise I don’t know you and I’m not spending the rest of my life with someone I don’t know.’

  ‘What? Who said …’

  ‘I’m saying, Norman. You think I’m only here for giggles? What’s your plan for us then, if it’s not that? Might as well tell me now.’

  ‘Jesus, Trish, I haven’t thought that far ahead. But of course … I mean, you’re everything I have.’

  ‘Am I? Come on then. You know my story. Everything. You know everything about me, good and bad. What’s your story?’

  He lay back again against the pillow and closed his eyes, his fists over them.

  ‘Jesus, Trish, I … I can’t.’

  She took a deep breath and got out of the bed. As she put on her dressing gown, she turned around to him.

  ‘You better find a way, Norman. Soon.’

  She went out and closed the door. She stood for a minute, waiting for him to call her back, and when he didn’t, she went into the bathroom and locked the door. Would he ever tell her? Whatever it was, it was locked up so deep inside him, filled so much of him, that he probably wouldn’t even be the same person if it was ever let out. She was afraid of that. She needed to know that the best of him would still be there. She needed to know now more than ever, because she’d lied to him earlier.

  There was one last thing about her that he didn’t know.

  *

  In bed, Norman was staring at the ceiling. A hand crept to his neck, to the bruised flesh that now covered the hole she’d dug in him to save his life. Another scar would cover the whole thing over one day. Now it was still tender and vulnerable. One day it would be hard and tough, like the rest of them. He might be able to forget about it then, as it just became part of him. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Forgetting things wasn’t his strong point.

  The images bubbled up from where he kept them, a place as familiar to him as the pocket of a favourite coat.

  They’d kept him for over a month in that cell. He got used to the pain after a while. He didn’t think he would, or could, but he did. What never went away was the fury. They’d come for another session with him and his head and chest would almost boil with a rage so deep that he’d wonder that his heart didn’t explode. He’d try and think of something else; scenes from the farm in Cork with Mikey Pat, hurling games he’d played, gigs with the lads, anything at all. But sooner or later all of these would be edged out of the way by that ferocious loathing that seethed inside him. They saw it and laughed and stoked it up even more.

  Later on he realised that he’d never be able to make anyone understand what it had felt like to be there each time they came for him. He didn’t even bother trying.

  So maybe now it was time to tell someone. Because he did love her. Now it was time, because … because he knew he had to go back and get the bastards. Because it would never fucking stop until he did. Ever.

  He turned his head and looked at the door Trish had just walked through.

  *

  Trish finished wiping her mouth with some toilet roll and flushed it down the toilet. Then she rinsed with the blue mouthwash from the windowsill. She checked the mirror and held her breath against the next wave of nausea that swept upwards from her stomach. She saw her reflection grimace, still not used to it.

  It had only started a few weeks ago.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Jimmy got a call from Dónal the next day. He was needed in the studio.

  ‘Sure,’ said Jimmy, checking his watch. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Ah, it’s a bit of a … well, not a problem exactly … but will you come in?’

  ‘What? Man, what’s going on?’

  ‘Just come in and we can have a chat about it. That all right?’

  ‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’

  Jimmy caught a taxi into town and pulled up outside Sin Bin. He trotted up the stairs and opened the door to the studio. Sparky was there as always, headphones on and pushing sliders around on his mixing desk. Dónal was there too, drinking coffee and taking notes on something.

  ‘Lads,’ said Jimmy, taking off his coat.

  ‘Howya Jimmy,’ said Dónal. ‘Thanks for coming in.’

  ‘No problem. How’s Sparky?’

  ‘Grand Jimmy. Just getting a bit done on the Leet album.’

  ‘Right. So what’s the story Dónal?’

  ‘Yeah, eh listen Jimmy, let’s sit down out there.’

  ‘Grand.’

  Once they were sitting opposite each other on the couch, Dónal put his hands together in front of his chest.

  ‘Right. The thing is, Jimmy, the album is going great guns.’

  ‘I know. It’s great.’

  ‘Yeah. Except there’s a lot of people out there who are wondering if it’s going to be the first and last one from The Grove.’

  Jimmy shrugged.

  ‘Everyone knows what happened to Aesop.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But things move on, y’know?’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Everything. Senturion and their US partner have been at me all week. Seems they misread your potential. That’s what they said. Fuckin’ eejits. Anyway, the fans are screaming for you and Senturion are screaming now as well.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘A tour.’

  ‘A tour? How are we meant to tour? There’s no band, Dónal.’

  ‘I know that. And that’s kind of the point. Look, in one way, The Grove is Jimmy Collins, right?’

  ‘No. It’s not, Dónal. It’s Aesop as well.’

  ‘But I’m just saying that you’re the songwriter, the front man … all that.’

  ‘Yeah. So what?’

  ‘So, if … and I’m just saying if here … you had another drummer and another bass player, then it wouldn’t be too bad, would it?’

  ‘It also wouldn’t be The Grove, Dónal, would it? It’d be me and some pair of cunts.’

  ‘Well … right. But that’s not how some people see it.’

  ‘Fuck some people. How do you see it?’

  ‘I’m just telling you what’s going on, Jimmy. That’s my
job. I’m with you no matter what. Whatever you want to do, that’s what we do.’

  ‘Well that’s good. Because I’m doing fuck all without Aesop and Aesop can do fuck all at the moment.’

  ‘Okay, okay. That’s fine Jimmy. But this thing will get cold on us, right? That’s what will happen. We’ll have to start again.’

  ‘Then we start again.’

  ‘Right. So … and you’re going to do nothing until Aesop’s better?’

  ‘I’m not doing gigs. We’ll just write new material and wait for him.’

  ‘Okay. But …’

  ‘Dónal, do you know what Aesop’s doing right now? While we’re sitting here shooting the breeze, I mean. He’s doing what he’s been doing for weeks. Staring at his bad hand and wondering if it’ll ever hold a drumstick properly and smack a drum ever again. He’s doing exercises eight hours a day or more, and he’s getting there, but the physio reckons he could be a year away from a gig. At least. And that’s assuming he keeps getting better, something no one’s giving any fucking guarantees about, by the way.’

  ‘I know that Jimmy. I know …’

  ‘And you want me to tell him I can’t wait? That we’re firing him and carrying on? The only thing in his fucking life, the thing that gives him a reason to wake up in the morning and not throw in the fucking towel as he’s sweating buckets lifting weights and squeezing rubber fucking balls, and you want me to take it away from him? Me bollix, Dónal.’

  Dónal held up his hands.

  ‘Jesus, Jimmy, I’m your manager and I’m just telling you what’s going on around you, okay? But we’re going to play this your way no matter what happens.’

  ‘Glad to hear it Dónal.’

  ‘Okay. So … would you consider a solo tour?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just you. Acoustic. A few small venues. Just to keep your face in the news while he’s getting better?’

  Jimmy sighed and thought about it for a bit.

  ‘Acoustic?’

  ‘Yeah. Just you on the stage. What do you think?’

  ‘Ah … Jaysis. Look … I’ll have to think about it, Dónal.’