Skin Paper Stone

by Máire T. Robinson

  ‘Who? Bibi … Bibi …’. Kavanagh repeated, the words feeling strange on his lips. ‘This is some strong weed.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s HPW.’

  ‘HPW?’ The sounds emerged slowly from Kavanagh’s mouth, floating towards the ceiling and popping like bubbles.

  ‘High-powered weed. The good stuff.’

  ‘Oh …’ Kavanagh tried to grasp the thought as it floated away from him.

  ‘That’s Bibi …’ Alex pointed at the film.

  Kavanagh looked at Alex’s lips making random shapes and tried to focus on the sounds. ‘Huh?’

  Alex laughed. ‘Who’s Bibi Andersson? Jesus, do you listen to a word I say?’ He shook his fist at Kavanagh before gesturing towards the film.

  ‘Ah!’ said Kavanagh, with all the delight of Newton discovering gravity. He pointed at the film. ‘Your one there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Alex. ‘That’s her. She’s in Persona as well, and The Seventh Seal.’

  Kavanagh felt the fog of his mind starting to clear. ‘I haven’t seen The Seventh Seal yet. Is it any good?’

  ‘You haven’t seen The Seventh Seal ? Seriously? Jesus, what have we been doing all this time? Right, we’re gonna watch it straight after this. I can’t believe you’ve never seen it!’

  ‘So it’s about a seal then, is it?’ Kavanagh looked at Alex with rapt attention. ‘I love films about animals. And there’s seven of them? Jesus, that sounds class altogether.’

  ‘Fuck off, Kav.’ Alex tried to contain his smile.

  In the film, Bibi was sitting under a tree and smoking a pipe as she chatted to the professor dude. ‘Actually, do you know who looks like Bibi?’ said Kavanagh.

  ‘Who?’ said Alex.

  ‘Stevie.’

  ‘The girl you’re meeting?’

  ‘Yeah. She even smokes a pipe.’

  ‘Fuck off. She does not smoke a pipe.’

  ‘No, seriously. She used to do archaeology and they can’t smoke when they’re on digs because of the ash or something, so they all smoke pipes.’

  ‘Wow. If things don’t work out with you two can I have her number?’

  Alex was in good form tonight. Kavanagh decided to seize the opportunity. ‘Here, Alex, there’s a couple of Polish fellas I work with, sound lads. They were asking me could I sort them out with some weed. What do you reckon?’

  Alex thought about this for a moment, shifting position in his chair and leaning back. ‘How did they know to ask you?’

  ‘Eh, I don’t know really. I didn’t think of that. I suppose I just have that look about me, you know? I look like a reliable sort, capable of getting things.’

  ‘Capable of getting stoned anyway. I dunno, Kav. What do you reckon? Do you think it’s safe enough?’

  ‘Ah yeah, it’ll be grand,’ said Kavanagh. He could tell from Alex’s body language that he wasn’t convinced. ‘Sure who would they be telling?’

  Alex shook his head. ‘I don’t want Pajo showing up at my door.’

  ‘I can appreciate that. He’d ruin your beautiful wood floor by dragging his knuckles over it.’

  Alex laughed. ‘Yeah, I think it’s best to leave it for a while. Just to be sure.’

  ‘Okay, that’s fair enough.’

  Chapter 15

  Stevie discovered that Christmas was a season that suited Galway. The days were short and the nights were long. Open fires and pints of stout beckoned. It seemed as though the city collectively awakened from the temperance of November and Mí na Marbh. Even though she hadn’t partaken in November’s tradition of avoiding alcohol, she could feel the spirit of abstinence that prevailed throughout the month. She had found it difficult to leave the comfort of her home in November and do battle with the endless drizzle and darkness. December felt different – it brought the warmth of fairy lights and Christmas trees to counteract the coldness. The season of the dead was over, and now it was the turn of the living as people returned home to see friends and family. Eyre Square was transformed with a Christmas tree, market stalls, and a German beer hall where people sat at long tables drinking Weissbier and clinking heavy glasses as they toasted each other over the din. Caro-singers attempted wobbly harmonies and shook their collection buckets like maracas on Shop Street. The balloon modeller switched tack and revealed the festive balloon figures in his arsenal: children clutched balloon Rudolphs and Santas. They skated at the ice-rink on Nimmo’s Pier, their bandy legs like newborn deer on the unfamiliar surface. They laughed and fell and cried and got back up again as they moved around the rink in circles – a juddering circuit of unsteady dancers – exhaling into the crisp winter air dotted with stars hanging in the cold Atlantic night.

  Stevie put down her book as she saw Orlaith enter the bar, trailing a dripping umbrella after her.

  Orlaith dropped her bag and umbrella on the floor as she slumped down in the chair opposite Stevie. ‘I apologise in advance if I’m shit company.’

  ‘Rough night?’

  ‘Staff Christmas party. Did the dog on it. Myself and the geography teacher were up dancing on tables at one stage. Fucking morto. Then the PE teacher was trying to get me to do that lift from Dirty Dancing.

  Stevie laughed. ‘Does he look like Patrick Swayze?’

  ‘No, his deformed cousin maybe. He’s surprisingly fat for a PE teacher as well. You’d think they wouldn’t allow that.’ Orlaith rested her arms on the table and put her head in her hands. ‘Oh God, why do I do these things to myself?’

  Stevie laughed. ‘Because you’re an idiot?’

  ‘You’re not supposed to say that. You’re supposed to tell me it’s not that bad. Reassure me. Lie.’

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ said Stevie.

  ‘I’m seriously shame-spiralling at the moment. You know when you’re in the horrors and stuff keeps coming back to you, a series of mortifying images?’

  Stevie nodded. ‘Oh yeah. Sometimes I think my life is just a succession of shame-spirals and I’m just spinning away through it all like a particularly mortified starling.’

  Orlaith groaned and then lifted her head up and rested it on her palms. ‘I was supposed to do my Christmas shopping today, but if I do I know I’ll end up punching someone.’

  ‘The shops are manic, so that’s a very real possibility. Online shopping, it’s the only way to go.’

  ‘Stevie, you’re a fucking genius. Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Hair of the dog?’

  ‘Oh God, no. I’ll just have a pint glass of coke, thanks, Stevie.’

  Stevie smiled and stood up from her chair.

  ‘Actually …’ called Orlaith, ‘maybe a hot whiskey would be good. I can feel myself getting a bit of a cold.’ She put her hand up to her throat and gave an exaggerated cough.

  ‘Good call. A hot whiskey should nip that in the bud. Sure, it’s medicinal. I might have one myself just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Getting sick just before the holidays too. Bloody typical.’

  Stevie ordered the drinks at the bar. ‘Fairytale of New York’ was playing over the speakers. The Christmas CD must be on a loop. The same song had been playing when she came in. She set the drinks down on the table and sat down.

  ‘Deadly, thanks.’ Orlaith took the hot drink in her hands to warm them. ‘Sorry I haven’t seen you in so long. School has been flipping mental with exams and everything.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Stevie stirred the whiskey and watched the granules of brown sugar dissolve at the bottom of the glass. ‘Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy with research and visiting some of the sites. I still have so much to do though. I haven’t even made a dent in it really.’

  ‘Ah, it’s early days. Give yourself time. Have you been talking to Caitríona recently?’

  ‘No, I’ve been meaning to call
her actually. How’s she getting on? How’s baby Oisín?’

  ‘Oisín’s doing well, but they had some bad news. Phil lost his job.’

  ‘Oh no!’

  ‘Yeah, she said they’re thinking of moving to Canada if he can’t find anything in the next few months.’

  ‘Oh wow. That’s a big decision with the baby and everything.’

  ‘It mightn’t be so bad. Apparently there’s loads of engineering work over there so Phil would definitely get something. Sure I might follow her over myself.’

  ‘What about your job here?’

  I’m only on maternity cover. And everyone keeps telling me how lucky I am to have anything. You’re not allowed to complain about your job these days.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, who knows what’ll happen in the next few months? I mightn’t have a job this time next year.’

  ‘Would you want to live over there?’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Orlaith. ‘I was thinking it might be nice to go and live in a big city. I mean, Dublin’s small in the grand scheme of things, but could you even call Galway a city?’

  ‘Of course it’s a city.’ Stevie found that she felt protective of her adopted home.

  ‘More like a glorified town. There’s nothing to do here besides drink. They don’t even have a museum or an art gallery.’

  ‘Ah, they do. The museum’s really cool actually.’ she and Kavanagh had visited it just last week. They had stood arms entwined, marvelling at the view from the top floor of the river and the Claddagh stretching out beyond. ‘Besides, how often did you go to galleries in Dublin?’

  Orlaith smiled. ‘Yeah, fair enough, but at least I knew I had the option of going. How are you finding it here anyway? Have you heard from Donal at all since?’

  Stevie shook her head. ‘I haven’t, no. I’ll probably see him when I’m home for Christmas though.’

  She realised that she had barely given Donal a thought. She traced her finger over the brown sugar particles that had fallen on the table. Something prevented her from telling Orlaith about Kavanagh. The last few weeks had been filled with them spending time together, but somehow to give voice to it, to explain it in words, would be to jinx it, to burst this bubble that contained the two of them. She hadn’t spoken about him to anyone.

  She smiled to herself thinking about him. It had thrown her off guard how quickly it had happened, this feeling of closeness. It made sense, their being together, the fact of it. She loved the moment after they had made love before they drifted off to sleep. They fit together, their two bodies entwined, and she found herself smiling as she ran her fingers over his skin and the images that were there. She had committed them to memory, and as they lay together in the dark she traced the lines of them – the cobalt tiger with paws that stretched across his shoulder onto his arm; the flames along the length of his right forearm that remained unquenched by the blue swirls of water that mingled with them; the Celtic knot on his leg and the marks above it….

  ‘Do you reckon something might happen?’

  ‘What? Sorry …’. She looked at Orlaith in surprise.

  ‘Donal. When you see him do you think you might end up together?’

  ‘Oh, God no. Sure he has a new girlfriend now, was I not telling you? We’d just be seeing each other as friends.’

  Orlaith laughed. ‘You can’t be friends with your ex.’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘Oh, Stevie.’ Orlaith shook her head in disapproval. ‘Absolutely not. There’s always feelings on one side or the other.’

  ‘There really isn’t with us though. It was an amicable break-up.’

  ‘No such thing. That’s like saying it was a neutral war. Besides, why would you even want to stay friends with an ex? I remember reading this interview with Julie Burchill once and she said she never stays friends with her exes. She said why would I keep an orange I’d already sucked all the juice out of?’

  She pointed towards Stevie’s nearly empty glass. ‘Same again?’

  ‘I thought you were just having the one.’

  Orlaith smiled. ‘A bird never flew on one wing.’

  Chapter 16

  Bing Bong – Jacqui Maloney to the checkouts, please! – Ksssssshhh – That’s Jacqui Maloney to the check …–ksssssshhh – thank …–ksssssshhh – you.

  Jacqui sighed and finished hanging up the stack of T-shirts on the rail. That new girl hadn’t a clue how to use the intercom properly. She weaved her way through the busy shop floor as she made her way to the checkouts. Festive music blared throughout the store and the place was heaving with shoppers. Jacqui used to love the buzz and bustle in the run-up to Christmas, but this year was different: it would be her first Christmas without her mother. Last year she had sat with her in the hospice watching bad television with one eye and the clock with the other. Her brother arrived in half an hour before visiting hours were over for the evening with no explanation as to why he was late. She scowled at him, ready to give him a bollocking, but when she saw her mother’s face light up, she bit her tongue.

  When her brother was born, she pretended he was hers. She pushed him in his pram around the estate. Everyone smiled at her and everyone wanted to meet him. They laughed at his scowl. He never smiled. She was patient with him when he roared and screamed as a child. He always had snot running down his nose no matter how much she wiped it with a tissue. He hit the other children in the playground. Nothing was ever his fault. Then there was the trouble with the guards as he got older, the warnings. He wasn’t 18 yet, so they couldn’t touch him, and he knew it. Then there was his carpentry apprenticeship, an honest trade, and he seemed to be doing well. Their mother was hopeful, but then he fell out with his boss over God knows what. All he’d done since then was hang around, drink and do whatever drugs he could get his grubby hands on. Not that Jacqui was an angel by any means, but Maloney didn’t know when to call it quits. That’s all his life was now and he accepted it, seemed to languish in it.

  Carol, the duty manager, was waiting for her at the checkouts. ‘Hiya, Jacqui. Someone’s after toppling a display in the kids’ section. Would you mind sorting it out for me?’

  Jacqui nodded and strolled off. The place was in a heap with baby shoes strewn all over the floor. She picked up the shoes and placed them back on the stand with great care. So tiny and perfect. She liked working in the children’s section. Mothers came in with their babies and they picked up the little clothes and shoes.

  A small boy dropped his teddy bear and started to cry. Jacqui longed to take him up in her arms, rock him gently and whisper hush hush little baby. She picked the toy up off the ground and smiled as she held it out to him. He took it in his little hand and he smiled at her, a chubby-cheeked grin that showed his one tooth.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the child’s mother. ‘He’s forever dropping that thing.’

  ‘No bother. Isn’t he a dote?’

  The child’s mother smiled. ‘Say bye-bye.’

  ‘Bye-bye,’ said the boy, waving his pudgy hand.

  ‘Bye-bye,’ said Jacqui. She could feel a lump in her throat. She laughed and smiled at them both and busied herself with tidying the tiny clothes on the hangers as the mother pushed the child off, away from her.

  The thought of having a baby had crept up on her recently. She imagined what it would be like to be a mum, to be part of a new family, one she had created herself. She had dreams of pushing a pram down Shop Street. Maybe she would have a little girl and she would bring her to Griffin’s for cake. Every day she would tell the little girl that she was beautiful, and she would mean it. Or she would have a little boy who looked just like Pajo, and everyone would say, isn’t he the spit of his father?

  Chapter 17

  As the coach trundled along the motorway towards Dublin, the radio droned over the speakers and Stevie looked
out the window at the snow-covered scenery passing by – houses, trees, fields – changed by their christening of cold whiteness. She had the peculiar sense that the coach was not moving, rather that it was the landscape that was rolling past while she, the coach and its passengers remained static as the stagnant air became more stagnant still, and they all inhaled and exhaled as one unsettled entity.

  The coach stopped at Eden Quay and passengers piled off, bundled up in warm coats. The driver wished people a Merry Christmas as he unloaded their luggage from the storage hold and they shuffled off along the icy streets, their breath visible in the cold night air. As she waited on O’Connell Bridge for a bus to her parents’ place in Monkstown, Stevie realised she had made the right decision to leave her car in Galway. The paths were icy and treacherous. For some reason, the footpath on the bridge over the River Liffey had been gritted only halfway across. A man sat on a piece of cardboard at the division like a shabby gatekeeper at a toll bridge, asking for a fee that nobody passing would pay as he blew on his hands and rubbed them together for warmth. The side of the bridge just beyond where he was sitting was covered in glittering ice. A girl walking past the bus stop skidded. Her hands reached out and grasped at air as she fell backwards like an unsteady toddler, and landed with a smack on the footpath, her two legs sprawled in front of her. She sat in stunned silence for a moment before her boyfriend helped her up and she started to laugh as they inched their way along the path, arms entwined.

  The bus lumbered south through slush-filled streets and on into the suburbs. Snowmen stood in white gardens and Christmas trees were visible in front windows. Smaller roads off the main bus route were not gritted, and the empty snow-covered paths had an eerie glow under the streetlights. Stevie reached the shortcut to the housing estate where her parents lived. It was filled with about fifty identical pebble-dashed houses. They could be reached off the main road by car, but there was a gap, in the wall beside the green that was a quicker way to reach the houses on foot. Stevie climbed over the gap and after a couple of shaky footsteps found that it was safer to slide her feet along the icy path than to make any attempt to walk at her normal pace. This familiar ground where she had played countless games of football and rounders as a child was different now, cast with a strange spell – otherworldly, dreamlike – but at the same time, potentially dangerous. It was impossible to continue wheeling her suitcase when she got into the estate. The snow was too thick, so she lifted it up and walked along carrying it by the handle until she reached number thirty-four.