William could not explain why he liked this hobby so much. It sang at him, like a mermaid on a rock. When he was busy with his filing, he felt peaceful and at one with the world.
Beside William now, Amanda sighed heavily. She pressed the window button beside her seat.
The glass purred into the door frame.
Amanda called out to a group of young men who were holding up the walls on both sides of the entrance to a bookie’s shop. ‘Excuse me – ?’
The young men looked at one another and then back at Amanda. No one moved.
Amanda was in no mood for nonsense. ‘Ex-cuse me,’ she yelled again. ‘Could you tell me which way to go to get to the airport?’
One of the young men came slowly across to the car. ‘Which airport?’ he said. The others sniggered.
Amanda pressed the window button again, crashed the gears and, in a serious temper now, drove off. She pulled the headphones off William’s head.
‘William,’ she snapped. ‘Concentrate. Roll down your window and look up at the sky. See if you can see any aeroplanes . . . ’
Doreen was giving out the pay. She and her friend, Betty, were waiting at the corner of Del Delios, the local chipper. They had both ordered singles. Doreen knew well she shouldn’t be having chips. She was on a special banana-and-grape diet she had read about in the Evening Herald. But the smell coming from the chipper as she and Betty had walked past had driven her mad.
Of course Betty could eat chips until they came out her ears. She could eat lard straight off a pig’s back and not gain an ounce. Betty went to visit her auntie once in Glasgow and came back full of stories about eating deep-fried battered Mars bars. Sometimes Doreen could kick Betty from here to Glasnevin.
‘If this Jesus thinks I’m going to be nice to him,’ she said, ‘he has another think coming.
‘And how come that little brat gets to go to Spain? How come I’ve never been in an aeroplane in my life and I’m the oldest?’
‘I don’t blame you, Dor.’ Betty was full of sympathy. ‘Bloody Spanish students. Take over, they do. Every summer. Don’t know why they come here at all, to tell you the truth. Like a flock of bloody magpies they are. You can’t even get near the door of McDonald’s . . . ’
Sharon stopped dead when she saw the crowd inside the arrivals building. It was murder. The whole of Dublin seemed to have brought its kids here on a day out.
Babies cried. Toddlers screeched as they swung on barriers and made slides on the tiled floor. Nuns. Priests. Grannies. Bored teenagers. Dads clacking car-keys.
All faced the glass doors which separated the arrivals area from the customs mall.
She saw from the arrivals board that there was only one flight on the screen which did not have a star flashing beside it. Seven charter flights from Spain had just landed. Plus two from Italy. Not to speak of all the Ryanairs. And Aer Linguses. And some flights which had come from places with names Sharon had seen only as labels on handbags.
Sharon nearly cried. She just wanted to get back home to her nice quiet house in Dun Laoghaire. Not for the first time today, she was beginning to think that she might not be cut out for this job after all.
She nodded to a pony-tailed drug dealer whom she knew slightly.
Searching for Jackie’s bright blonde head, she pushed her way along the edges of the crowd. She was here now and she had to get on with it. Irlanda Exchange was relying on her. She gripped her clipboard tightly and tried to put on what she hoped was a confident expression.
At last! She sighed with relief as she spotted Jackie, standing at a little counter, sipping from a paper cup.
‘Thank God!’ Jackie threw back the coffee as Sharon reached her. ‘Coffee?’
Without waiting for an answer, Jackie left Sharon and went up to the counter. The girl who was serving took her order immediately. Over the heads of the people already standing there. It was like a miracle.
Sharon, too rattled to tell Jackie that she would have liked some milk and sugar, took a sip of the scalding, bitter liquid. ‘Where’s Norma?’ she asked.
‘Over there.’ Jackie waved an arm. ‘Her Italians are already in, she’s sorting them out.’
Sharon turned around and caught a brief glimpse of Norma’s frizzy black hair and purple jacket in the middle of a huge group of dark-skinned young people. She had no time to wave because Jackie had grabbed the clipboard from her.
Jackie riffled through the papers. ‘Now,’ she said briskly, ‘let’s divide our own little parcels into two neat lots, shall we?’
‘Oh – !’ She looked at Sharon. ‘Where’s your family file?’
Sharon went pale.
CHAPTER SIX
Sharon Does the Business
When the first colourful, chattering group of Spanish students came through the glass doors, Jackie and Sharon were still not ready for them. They’d been frantically working. They’d been trying to make up for the loss of Sharon’s missing file by using Jackie’s master list. Now it was too late.
Wave after wave of the students came through now. They poured into the space between the doors and the barriers. Packing it tightly.
‘Right,’ said Jackie grimly, ‘we’ll just have to do our best.’
Sharon felt like running away. She’d never handle this.
But she was given no opportunity to bolt.
‘You go over to the other side, do what I do.’
Immediately, Jackie held up her printed sign and began to yell. ‘Irlanda Exchange! Irlanda Exchange!’
Sharon looked in terror towards the crowd of students who were trying to fit themselves through two small exit corridors between the barriers. She swallowed hard. She held up her own sign and attempted to copy Jackie. ‘Irlanda Exchange?’ But it came out wrong, like a timid question.
She cleared her throat. ‘Irlanda Exchange!’ To her relief, a number of the students noticed her and began to make their way towards her.
The next fifteen minutes or so passed in a blur of writing, shouting, crowding, as Sharon matched names of students to names of host families and had them meet. She was still only halfway through her list, however, when her eye was caught by a really handsome youth.
This youth was standing back as though waiting for the lesser beings in front of him to be herded away. His brown curly hair shone with health. He was not as dark-skinned as most of the others. In the middle of the sweaty crowd, he appeared as cool as if he had just stepped ashore from a yacht.
Sharon made her way to him. ‘Buenos Dias,’ she said in Spanish, ‘name please?’
‘Jesus Martinez,’ said the youth.
Sharon searched her list. ‘From where? Donde?’
‘Catalonia.’
‘Catalonia?’ Sharon was taken aback. ‘I’m afraid you’re with the wrong group,’ she said slowly, making sure every word was clear. ‘You need to go over there to Norma. She’s the girl with the purple jacket. You see her over there?’ She pointed. ‘Norma’s taking care of Italy.’
She turned to the next student.
But the boy wasn’t going away. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Yes?’ Sharon was a teeny bit sharp. He was cool but not that cool.
The boy either didn’t or wouldn’t react. ‘Excuse me,’ he repeated calmly. ‘I think there is mistake. Catalonia is not in Italy. Is my country. I am from Barcelona.
Sharon covered up. She laughed. ‘Oh – ! Oh, I see – Barcel-ona! What am I thinking of? I’m so sorry. What’s the name again?’
‘Jesus Martinez.’
As she ran through the ‘M’s on her list, Sharon became conscious of the boy’s large eyes, his long lips, the smoothness of his skin. Come to think of it, she thought, he looked quite like River Phoenix. Except for the colouring and the curly hair.
At last she found his name on the list.
‘Ah yes,’ she said. ‘You are with the O’Connors. Come this way.’
Billy was totally pissed off. The tape in his Walkman had broken and a piece of it h
ad wound itself around the works inside. He wasn’t able to fish it out properly because of all the pushing and shoving that was going on around him.
And being this long in the company of his family with no possibility of escape was terrible.
He was sure that this Jesus was going to be a dweeb. And anyway, how was he going to bring someone named Jesus around with him? It was going to be pure torture. He’d be a laughing stock with his friends. He was sorry he ever heard of Barcelona. He didn’t want to go to Barcelona. He hated Spain. He hated this airport. He hated the way Granny Teresa kept saying: ‘I wonder would that be him, now? He looks like a Jesus.’
He hated his Ma’s bright expression and his Da’s pretend air of eagerness.
He wished he was an orphan.
‘Mr and Mrs O’Connor! Mr and Mrs O’Connor – ?’
There was that stupid girl with the stupid accent calling them now. She was waving at them to come over. This was it
This was the end of Billy’s life . . .
CHAPTER SEVEN
Billy Meets Jesus
Janet O’Connor looked at the young man standing beside Sharon Byrne. ‘That can’t be him,’ she hissed at her husband.
‘She called us, didn’t she – ?’ Jimmy wanted to get this over with.
‘But he’s much better-looking than that picture they gave us. He looks a lot older – ’ Janet was still doubtful.
Jimmy was having none of it. ‘You know what passport pictures are like. Come on, will you? I’m sick of this place. Billy, Granny Teresa!’ Jimmy rounded them all up. ‘He’s here.’
‘Check out that leather coat – ’ Granny Teresa was whispering as though she was in the chapel. ‘If I was only fifty years younger!’
They got there.
Sharon smiled brightly at the O’Connors. ‘Is William with you?’ Then she turned sharply to a thin boy of about fourteen or fifteen who was tugging at her sleeve. ‘Sorry?’ she said. ‘Yes, this is Irlanda Exchange, but you’ll have to wait until I get to you, I’m very busy. I’ll be with you in a moment. Please stand over there.’
But this boy, who had bad skin and dyed blond hair, wouldn’t go. He continued to stand there as Jimmy spoke in that posh tone he sometimes used and which Billy hated. ‘Yass,’ said Jimmy. ‘Oh yass.’
He pulled Billy by the arm and presented him to Sharon as though Billy was a prize in a raffle. ‘Here he is!’
Billy looked at the floor.
But Sharon was not talking directly to him. ‘William, meet your exchange partner. Jesus, this is William.’
All of them except Billy noticed that she pronounced Jesus as Kay-soos.
All Billy noticed was that his exchange partner was a good ten inches taller than himself. He hunched further down into the collar of his anorak.
‘Hello . . . Kaysus . . . ’ Janet said, speaking very slowly. ‘You’re . . . very . . . welcome . . . to . . . Ireland.’
Then, in a low voice to Sharon, ‘We call our son Billy, actually.’
‘Thank you very much, Mrs O’Connor,’ Jesus said. Then he turned to Billy.
‘Hello, Billy.’ He held out his hand. Billy shook it then took back his hand and shoved it in his pocket.
Janet stared. ‘Your English is very good.’
The boy shrugged and might have replied but Sharon wanted to move on to next business.
‘Sorry, Mr and Mrs O’Connor,’ she said. ‘Would love to chat, but I’m sure you all want to get home and get to know one another. You have the phone numbers? We’ll be in touch.’
Then, to Jesus: ‘Have a nice time now, Jesus, sorry about that Catalonia thing, it’s all a bit hectic, as you can see . . . ’
She turned away, raising her voice. ‘Carlos Sanchez, please. Where are the Lynchs?’
The boy with the bad skin and dyed hair tugged at her sleeve again. Sharon turned on him. ‘Please! I asked you before! Stand over there !’
She was gone.
Jimmy looked at Jesus’ luggage, piled high around his feet. ‘Well, Kaysus,’ he said, ‘would you look at all this stuff! Did you think you were moving here or what? And I see you even have your guitar. But where’s the castanets?’
Janet interrupted. ‘Jimmy!’
She turned to their guest. ‘Sorry Kaysus,’ she said. ‘My husband is a bit of a joker.’
Jesus smiled at both of the adults. ‘Of course. I bring only my guitar – ’
‘It’s my little joke,’ Jimmy laughed. ‘You’re not to mind me, Kaysus.’
The boy frowned. ‘Mind?’
‘We’ll explain all that kind of thing later, Kaysus,’ said Janet. ‘But your English is great,’ she added quickly. ‘Isn’t it, Billy? Great! We were told you’d hardly any English. I don’t know why you had to come here at all.’ She laughed.
Billy was disgusted. She was making her laugh sound like sleigh bells.
Billy’s heart sank under the weight of shame as his family went on making shows of themselves. There was his Ma, still laughing in that sickening way as she introduced Granny Teresa. And even Granny Teresa seemed struck dumb. They were all reacting to this guy as though he was a film star. Which, Billy had to admit to himself, might not be too far off the mark.
Then Jesus presented Billy’s Ma with a small packet, beautifully wrapped in gold foil and tied with silver ribbon: ‘This is for you, Mrs O’Connor, from my mother in Barcelona.’
Of course this nearly sent Billy’s Ma into orbit. Her hands were holding her throat and her voice went so high that Billy thought she might as well be trying out for a Joe Dolan album. ‘For me?’ she squeaked.
Luckily, Billy’s Da had had enough. ‘Let’s get out of here, Jan. This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.’
But Billy’s Ma wouldn’t stop. She went for the Oscar: ‘Oh God . . . This is too much.’
Billy wanted to strangle her.
‘Please,’ Jesus said back to her, ‘it is small gift only.’
Then Jesus turned to Billy. ‘Our gift to you, Billy, I have in my luggage – ’
Billy managed to say thanks without making a fool of himself. ‘Come on,’ he said. He grabbed Jesus’ guitar and led the way towards the doors. He was sure that, at this point, the guy must think they were all nuts.
Billy was trying to show him that there was at least one person in the group who was halfway normal.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Amanda and William Meet Their Jesus
Amanda had had to circle and circle in that damned car park. Then she’d almost come to blows with another motorist who’d claimed a space she said she had seen first.
In the end, she and William had had to park miles from the terminals. Then they’d had to run all the way to the arrivals building.
She thought crossly that this wouldn’t have happened if Hugo had seen fit to come with them, as Hugo had reserved parking.
Panting hard, she pushed her way through the crowd, towards the arrivals board.
Amanda was annoyed at herself for being seen like this in public. She was sure she must look awful. Red-faced and puffing.
Heavens! She was now worried. The flight had landed more than forty minutes ago.
Amanda stood on tiptoe and searched in and around the sea of clattering heads. Thank God! There it was. The Irlanda Exchange placard.
Firmly holding William’s arm, she made her way towards the placard. It was being held by an odd-looking boy whose hair was dyed to the colour of dandelions. Standing beside him was a girl with a clipboard who seemed to be in charge.
‘Excuse me.’ Amanda adopted her firmest tone. ‘Could you assist us please?We’re a little late, I’m afraid, but our name is O’Connor and we are to meet a boy named Martinez.’
The girl with the clipboard frowned as though trying to remember something. She scanned the papers on the clipboard. ‘What’s your boy’s first name?’ she asked. Then, with feeling, ‘I’m afraid Martinez is a very common name in Spain!’
‘Our boy’s name is Jesus,’ sa
id Amanda, pronouncing it the correct way of course. She and Hugo had long ago got over the silliness Irish people went on with when they came across the name.
‘I am Jesus.’ Unexpectedly, the boy with the brassy hair spoke up. Sharon turned around to him: ‘You are Jesus? Jesus Martinez?’
The boy nodded.
Jesus, William, Sharon and Amanda all looked at one another.
Amanda turned to Sharon. ‘He doesn’t look like his photograph,’ she said.
‘I colour my hair yesterday,’ said Jesus.
Out in the airport car park, Janet gave her husband a puck: ‘I saw that kind of luggage in a magazine, Jimmy. It’s real leather. Do you have any idea how much this costs?’
Jimmy, a case in each hand, was cool. ‘So what? Leather is very cheap in Spain. Don’t they kill all those bulls? They have to do something with the skins. Anyway, he probably borrowed them.’
Janet continued to worry: ‘And look at that coat. That didn’t fall off the back of any lorry . . . ’
‘Will you stop? He could have borrowed that too – isn’t he on a scholarship, just like Billy?’
‘Yeah, but look at him,’ Janet hissed. ‘God knows what he’s used to.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Janet,’ Jimmy was working up a nice head of steam, ‘its not his fault he’s so good-looking. Poor people can be good-looking too, you know.’
But Janet wasn’t paying attention. ‘I wish you’d listened to me about doing up that porch. What’s he going to think? Thank God we at least got the new wallpaper for that box room. But it’s too small, Jimmy. We should have put him in our room.’
‘What?’ No one, but no one ran down Jimmy O’Connor’s house. ‘We’re as good as anyone, and so is our house.’
Janet interrupted: ‘Listen, you bring him and Billy into town. Tell him you just want to give him a quick tour, like. I’ll get a taxi straight home and sort it.’
Jimmy nearly exploded. ‘No way, Jose. No way. He’s coming home to Tara Downs with us and that’s that. And he’s coming now.’
Janet sighed. But she knew that Jimmy had put his foot down.
She walked ahead of him. ‘Not far now, Kaysus. Tell me about your mother. Does she work outside the home?’
Jesus and Billy are off to Barcelona Page 2
