by Paddy Kelly
There was only one way to patch up the situation (besides calling Alice, which he wasn’t going to do). He topped up his wine glass and settled down to compose a message to Anja. He had to move fast before she noticed he'd been viewing her profile and decided to send a pissed-off message to him instead, wondering why he hadn't called her. That could on no account be allowed to happen. Eoin was not quite sure why, but that would without a doubt be the worst thing ever.
He tapped in the final full stop and sat back to read it. “Hi Anja.” His throat was dry; some wine would fix that. “We have to stop bumping into each other like this! I hope you're well. I meant to get back to you after the midsummer party, sorry it took so long. So, I was wondering, do you want to have a drink next week? Eoin.”
He studied the message—friendly and neutral and saying just enough. He moved a few words around, studied it some more, moved the words back, ran it through a spell-checker and gave it a final glance-through. Maybe he should break it up into paragraphs? Or maybe—
Oh, what the hell. He pressed send. Then he jumped up, filled his wine glass, checked on Damien, dusted a few shelves, turned the toilet paper in the bathroom so it hung the right way around after Damien had moved it earlier, straightened his shoes in the hall, checked on Damien again, cleaned out the fragments of food in the sink with the red bendy scraper, and then slid back into his chair.
Messages: none.
He groaned and scratched his head furiously. He checked Anja's profile again and saw she was now offline. But was she offline because of his message, or was she just offline in general?
Eoin went back to her guest book. What had Middle Mum written there? Nothing exciting, just some “Hi girl, hope you're good, see you over the weekend!” kind of stuff. His fingers itched. There was Middle Mum, her shiny black hair and summery laugh just a few clicks away, but nevertheless totally unclickable.
It just wouldn't work, arranging to meet Anja for a date while at the same time flirting with her friend. It would make him look like a complete dick as well as making things unbearably complicated, and they were already complicated enough. No, there was no way whatsoever that Eoin could contact Middle Mum on the dating site. He'd just have to forget about it, no matter how tempting it was, or how tanned and lean her arms were, or how brightly her eyes sparkled…
Suddenly a very dangerous thought popped into his head. Oh no, he couldn't do that—could he? Something that dishonest? Well why not? It wasn't evil, it was just a bit, well, edgy. But definitely not evil.
Eoin glanced at his wine glass. How many times had he filled it tonight? Surely not enough to affect his judgement. Because this was clearly a very good idea. And as he continued to consider it, the better it became.
He grinned. Yeah, why not? He sipped some wine, studied Middle Mum's photograph once more, and got down to work.
This, without a doubt, would be brilliant.
Chapter 14
Rob stood, hands on hips, and stared at the tottering pile of crap crammed into his little chicken-wire basement. What the hell were all these things? He didn't remember getting a single one. Did he go shopping when he was drunk? Did somebody else break in and leave their own stuff behind? Did this tangle of boxes, suitcases and old furniture somehow breed and multiply when he wasn't looking?
Worse than this mountain of unexpected detritus was the fact that the one thing he actually wanted, the little fold-out bed, was hidden somewhere behind it. This wasn't good at all, and not a job that could usefully be done this early on a Monday.
Rob wondered if he should go get some coffee. That place up on Hornsgatan did some great cappuccinos, plus you could sit there and read all the newspapers. Maybe there were some jobs in the papers, or a cute waitress to ponder, or—
But no! This had to be done. Karen was on her way and there was nothing ready for her. At the very least he wanted the bed ready so if she popped up late one evening he wouldn't be forced to give her his bed and have to kip on the floor.
He tucked in his t-shirt and got down to work. He hauled, pulled and tugged, cursing as items slid from their perches and clattered onto his head. He uncovered books, bags, boots, shelves, blankets, and a dozen boxes from electronic items that had long since ceased to be. Finally, with the sweat sticky on his bare arms, he took a step back to survey the newly arranged mess, and reached the one inescapable conclusion—no bed.
He glared at the miscellaneous crap that wasn't his fold-out bed, daring it to part like a Red Sea of rubbish to reveal what he was looking for. But no such luck, the bed simply was no more. Rob pulled up a stool—when exactly had he bought a stool?—and sat on it.
So where was it then? Had he lent it to somebody? Or had Hanna, his ill-advised live-in girlfriend from a couple of years back, taken it when she'd emptied his basement of her possessions, along with some of his that she'd liked the look of?
Yeah, Hanna, that was it. The mistake that just kept on giving. As he stared at the bedless mess a dark and hopeless realisation settled on him. He didn't get that feeling very often but when he did he knew there was no point in fighting it. Even though he'd rather poke out his own eyes with a fork, he would have to submit to it, body and soul. Not only submit but embrace it, welcome it, take the pain and suffering like a man. That was the only way to overcome it, to beat the horrid festering evil of which no other evil could ever be an equal.
There simply was no other way out. He would have to go to Ikea.
Eoin wondered why Rob had texted him to ask what time he got off work, and why he'd sent a minimalist reply of “Okay, see you then” when Eoin had said it would be about five.
What was Rob up to? Probably squeezing in a daytime tumble with some woman before it was time for Eoin to head over and spend the evening working on the website. He couldn’t deny he was looking forward to it. There had been nothing to do in work, and he'd spent the morning making flow-charts and sketches for the project. Then, with that out of the way, he'd wasted the afternoon fretting about what to do with Alice.
He had sent her a text message on Saturday—Hi Alice, how goes it?—but her reply, coming some time after, had not left him encouraged.
Doing my best, 2 sick kids, running out of coffee, see you Monday!
She hadn't called him back, not all weekend. Something was definitely wrong and Eoin was at a complete loss about how to deal with it. It had to do with Andy, obviously, but what was he supposed to do about that? How did Alice and Andy even know each other? Would Andy tell him? Was he allowed to ask? Would Alice tell him if he pushed her? Or was he imagining a problem where no problem existed?
Either way, she hadn't been in work today either. Alice did travel quite a bit as the HR manager but it still felt a bit too strange, and Eoin didn't like strange.
He turned his mobile over in his hands, tingling with self-doubt, hoping Alice would call but not prepared to call her himself. The plus side of all this fretting about Alice was that his fretting about Anja was temporarily on hold. She had agreed (quite cheerfully) to meet him for a drink on Wednesday. His plan concerning Middle Mum was also coming along but had to be taken slowly. It was a fine plan, despite its inherent dishonesty, and he would keep it to himself until he got it rolling. Alice, assuming she would ever speak to him again, would surely be proud of him.
He returned his attention to his sketches and decided that a trip to the stationery room was in order as he'd soon need a highlighter pen in another colour.
That cheered him up. A trip to the stationery room, on a day like this one, was really about as exciting as it got.
Just before five Eoin closed his laptop and stuffed his notes and sketches into his bag. There was no jacket to worry about, just a light sweater, and then he was off. There was no sign of Rob in the lobby downstairs, or outside on the steps by the door. Eoin glanced at his watch and looked around, wondering if he should call him.
The sound of a car horn made him jump. He looked around, shading his eyes, and spotted somebody wavin
g to him from the window of a small green Toyota.
“Come on in Eoin, yer seat's all warm!”
Eoin hurried over to the car. Rob was leaning out of the driver's window, a cigarette jammed in the corner of his mouth and a gormless grin on his face. He thumped the door panel.
“Not the prettiest beast in the paddock, but she'll do the job!”
Eoin nodded. “Right. Uh, Rob, what's the car for?”
“Slight detour Eoin, sorry. Have to go to Ikea.”
“Do we.” Eoin couldn't suppress a shiver. Jenny had liked Ikea far too much, but he'd never got used to the sheer scale of the place. All that choice, unending oceans of choice flowing up to the distant roof and leaving him feeling confused and ill. Give Eoin three or four things to pick from and he was happy, but that much choice was simply unhealthy.
“Won't be long, just a couple of things I need, and then we'll drive back! Still have loads of time to work on the site!”
Eoin couldn't be bothered to argue. Anyway, it could be nice to take a ride in a car. Neither he nor Jenny had a license, and taxi rides in Stockholm, being so expensive, were far from an everyday event.
He settled into the passenger seat and pulled the creaky door closed. The car smelled of cigarettes, and not just from Rob’s actual cigarette but from the souls of other long-departed cigarettes.
“Whose car is this anyway?”
“Eamonn's,” Rob said, snapping his head around to check his reversing. The car made an unnerving grinding sound as he forced the gears into position. “Annika was away, and Andy doesn't like lendin' his car out. Well, not to me anyway.”
“But you have a license, right?”
Rob gave a “duh” look which Eoin took to mean yes. He drove a lively circle around the parking lot, pulled out onto the road and headed south. The traffic was light enough and even with the evening rush they didn't have to hang around at any set of traffic lights very long. And anyway, Eoin didn't mind. He had the window open, his sunglasses were on and his elbow was sticking out. It was a nice feeling.
Rob's red shirt was rolled up past the elbows. He had one hand resting lightly on the wheel and the other, holding a cigarette, was dangling out the window. They talked about the website as they moved along, with Eoin pressing his hands to the dashboard every time Rob slid the car into an intersection at a brash and adventurous speed. It was a bracing trip.
Forty minutes later they pulled into the vast parking lot of the world's biggest Ikea and Rob brought the Toyota to a jerky halt. It was summer, and a Monday at that, but half of the parking places were already taken. Going out for the day to buy tea-candles, invisibly-supported shelves and plastic mood-lighting seemed to be for the Swedes a legitimate summer evening leisure activity.
“So what was it then, a bed?”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “For my sister, whenever the hell she shows up. And there's a whole bunch of other stuff I need. Ye know, plates, cups, forks and all. Could never have more than two people over without them eatin' off saucers with their fingers. Time to fix that, I figured.”
They sauntered through the lobby and up the main escalator, their heads turning automatically left and right to take in the cutting-edge bookshelves and TV benches on display. They stepped into the first section, loud with crying children and the clank and trundle of trolleys, and started their grim circuit.
After having made it through a fraction of the store, Eoin was already carrying a tottering pile of knick-knacks and had to find a yellow “in store” bag to put them all in. He studied each item as it slid it in, not having realised that he needed that particular thing at all, but at the same time sure it would make his life better in some small but significant way. He shook his head in subjection. It must be some drug they put in the air system, and all one could do was give in and consume.
Rob had managed to find less to buy than Eoin, probably because he'd yet to pick up the bed. He had however located a kitchen set with six of everything, a couple of towels, and a large plastic salad bowl. He slid in one more item, a set of cheap kitchen knives, with a nod to Eoin. “Bribe for Eamonn,” he explained.
After that they had a quick wander in the office section, lay on a few beds, nodded appreciatively at the latest in LED lighting fixtures, and ended up by one of the many cafés, mentally drained and physically weary. With a nod they agreed on the need for coffee and a sandwich and sat themselves down.
Eoin placed a sugar lump on his spoon, lowered it into the coffee and removed it after a couple of seconds. He deposited the un-melted half of the sugar on a napkin, stirred the coffee and sipped it. Rob watched this ritual with interest before draining his own coffee in a single noisy slurp. He went off immediately to get some more.
Eoin watched Rob as he poured the coffee and flirted with the girl at the till. Here he was again, spending more time with this guy he'd not even known two months ago. He was even going to Ikea with him, the Swedish equivalent of getting engaged, but actually knew very little about him. He realised that was his own fault for never asking, and had a mental image of Alice wagging an accusing finger. So when Rob returned he cleared his throat and presented his question.
“So Rob, um … why are you here?”
Rob looked around in surprise. “Buying a bed?”
“No, I mean, why are you here at all, in Sweden?”
Rob opened his sandwich in silence, removed half the cheese and the fat wedge of tomato, and closed it up again. Eoin performed a similar ritual on his own sandwich, evening out the lettuce, slicing up the tomato thinly, arranging it between the ham and cheese and finally sprinkling pepper along the whole thing.
“I dunno,” Rob said. “I came here on Erasmus about eight years back. I did my project and I went home. But then I didn't quite finish uni and things were a bit slack in Ireland so a guy I'd met on Erasmus invited me back. And I decided, ye know, why not? So four years ago I came back and I got a job.”
“Not an erotic refugee then? No woman involved?”
Rob shrugged as he bit off some rubbery sandwich and began to chew. “Nah, not then. There was Hanna for a while, but we broke up. After that I was just stayin' on to finish things up before headin’ home. I mean, no point hanging around without a reason, right? But it sort of never happened, so I'm still here.”
Eoin nodded as he stirred his coffee. He offered a silence for Rob to continue, or to pose a question in return, but nothing was offered. Rob just sat there, looking thoughtful as he tore a hole in his sandwich. They drifted into a mutual silence.
As soon as the coffee was gone they abandoned their partially eaten sandwiches and forged on towards the distant exit. They passed curtains, carpets and frames and finally arrived at the warehouse section where people were diligently doing Ikea's work for them, pulling items from shelves and stacking them on trolleys.
Rob located the aisle and shelf he needed and tugged out a plastic-wrapped bed. (Not the one on top, of course, as everybody knew you didn't take the one on top). They manhandled it onto the trolley and moved off, now within sight of the outside world.
They didn't get far because coming towards them was a short girl with bleached blonde hair and very blue eyes, wearing pointy blue boots. She put a heeled foot on their trolley, pretending to stop it from moving, and nodded.
“Hi there Rob.”
Rob smiled. “Oh, hi Emilie.” He took a clumsy step forward, gave her a clumsy hug—hugging was one thing that didn't come natural to any Irishman—and stepped back to look at her from a metre's distance.
Eoin was studying the both of them and noticed that Emilie was a lot more pleased to see Rob that Rob probably realised. He also found himself judging Emilie immediately on her appearance, and not because of her shape, size, colour or perceived political leanings, but because she had a face piercing. And Eoin just didn't like face piercings.
“So, yeah,” Rob said. “What ye up to then?”
“Not much. Bought a few chairs.” She nodded to a trolley behind her. �
��And a plant.”
Her gaze flicked to Eoin where they lingered for a moment before returning to Rob. “Oh yeah,” Rob said. “This is Eoin. Eoin, Emilie.”
Eoin shook her hand. Her nails were long and painted blue and the ring in her eyebrow kept on drawing his suspicious gaze. She turned back to Rob and the two of them got chatting. Rob pushed his trolley towards the checkout, Emilie pushed hers beside him and Eoin, suddenly on the outskirts of things, had a sudden premonition of where all this was leading.
“That's a lot of stuff, Emilie. Ye have a car, yeah?”
Emile shook her head. “I can manage. I'll take a taxi from the tunnelbana.”
“Well we have a car, we can give ye a ride, no problem!”
Sure, Eoin thought, arranging a ride for this lady was definitely not a problem for Rob. Rob's the name and rides are definitely the game.
“Really?” Emilie glanced at Eoin, and nodded. “Yeah, sure, thanks, that would be nifty.”
Nifty? Eoin wrinkled his nose. Where had she learned her English to come up with a word like nifty? In a sixties diner?
They checked out their items and piled the small ones into the blue carry-home bags, which were also good for fetching firewood, storing things you didn't really care about in the basement, and hauling laundry to and from the washing room. Then Rob and Emilie, still chatting about nothing that mattered, led the way to the car. Eoin tagged along behind them, wondering how an easy-going trip with Rob had suddenly turned into Rob-meets-a-chick-and-well-you-know.
Rob started up the car as soon as the doors were closed. They made it out of the car park and onto the motorway after a few flamboyant swings. Eoin was squeezed into the back seat with only the plant for company. He was not terribly surprised when, after driving for a few minutes, Rob dropped a casual question on him.
“So I'll drop ye home Eoin, alright? And we'll continue with that thing tomorrow, yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” Eoin said flatly. “Sure.” He noticed Emilie throwing him a glance in the rear-view mirror and felt once again his irrational hatred for her eyebrow-ring and most of the rest of her.
