by Chris Binchy
‘Ah, you have to. In my thing. That’s what it’s all about. For you as well.’
‘And who are you with tonight?’ Sylvester said, moving the conversation ahead.
‘New staff for a sales office in the west. Bonding over a few pints or bottles or whatever they’re having. Telling them they’re wonderful.’
‘And are they?’
‘They’re all right. Good form tonight anyway, but then why wouldn’t they be?’
‘I’d better let you get back to them.’
‘I’ll see you, Sylvester. Sure we’ll catch up again. Stay in touch.’
‘I will indeed.’
‘Delighted to meet you, young people,’ he said towards the table. ‘Good to see you, Helen.’ The three of them smiled politely and nodded as he left.
‘It would be nice,’ Helen said, as Sylvester sat down, ‘if we could go somewhere without you abandoning us for half the evening.’
‘What are you talking about? I was sitting there. He came over to me. Put his hand on me. What was I supposed to do? Ignore him?’
‘Who was that?’ Daniel asked.
‘David O’Donnell.’
‘Who is he?’
‘He’s a builder,’ Helen said. ‘I’m surprised he came over. He sees more of you than I do.’
Sylvester looked at her and she looked back. ‘When things settle down I’ll be around a lot more. You do know that, don’t you? I’m not meeting all these people for fun. It’s for you. For all of us.’ Her expression didn’t change. ‘I’m serious,’ he said.
‘I know you are,’ she said, and touched his hand, then looked over her shoulder for a waiter to clear the table.
49
Marcin had intended to go straight home after work but there was a group checking out at six and by the time the porters had everything down and loaded on to the bus, and the tour operator had herded the people into one place so she could count them, the heat of the day was already enough to make them sweat. Then there was a big tip to be divided among them, so going with the others had seemed like the only option. They got stuck in.
At some point in the pub his phone rang. When he saw that it was Artur, he put the mobile in his pocket and tried to ignore it as it pulsed against his thigh. But later, on his way home, when he listened to the message he felt bad. Artur sounded friendly, normal: ‘Just looking to meet up some time. Give me a ring when you get a chance. Hope you’re well. Yeah. ’Bye.’ Marcin sent a text. ‘It’s been too long. Meet you tonight?’ and that was it.
It was after three when he got home. He set an alarm for seven and left it as far from his bed as possible because he did not want to be late this time. He was fearful of how he would feel when he woke but in fact he was all right. Woozy, but a shower helped. He arrived into the pub five minutes early and was on his second drink by the time Artur arrived.
‘Good to see you,’ Marcin said.
‘And you.’ Artur looked him over. ‘You’re fading away. Have you stopped eating?’
‘I eat enough. It’s just the work and the hours. Sometimes I forget meals, I suppose.’
‘You need to take care of yourself.’
‘I do. I know. I do.’
‘Have you been here for a while?’
‘No. I just arrived. I didn’t get much sleep.’
Artur sat. They ordered drinks.
‘So, what’s new?’ Marcin asked.
‘Not much. Work is fine. I’m going out with a girl.’
‘The same one?’
‘No. Someone else. An Irish one. I met her at my boss’s wedding.’
‘Great. What was the other one’s name?’
‘Who? Katja?’
‘That was it.’
‘Yeah, well, she’s gone now.’
‘Right. And are you seeing someone else?’
Artur looked at him.
‘What?’ Marcin said.
‘You’re hammered.’
‘I’m not. I’m fine. I’ve had three drinks.’
‘You’ve had considerably more than three drinks.’
‘I’m tired, okay? I’m always tired. Forgive me if I don’t hold on to every little detail in a way that you’d like.’
‘It’s hard to have a conversation with someone whose short-term memory is absent. What did I tell you about this girl I’m seeing?’
Marcin stared at him. ‘I don’t know. Start again.’
‘I’m seeing an Irish girl. I met her at my boss’s wedding.’
‘Okay. I remember that. Great. I’m happy for you.’
‘Thanks.’ The barman walked by. He stopped and looked at Marcin, then at Artur. He nodded and went on.
‘We’re moving in together,’ Artur said.
‘That was quick.’
‘Yeah, well, she was moving anyway and I wanted to get out of where I am.’
‘You’re leaving the boys?’
‘I am,’ Artur said, smiling.
‘How will they survive?’
‘They’ll manage. Although they’ll miss your visits.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’ Marcin was feeling better now. Another wave of energy from somewhere.
‘So that’s what I’m doing. Working and looking for a new place and hanging around with her.’
‘Nice girl?’
‘She is, yeah.’
‘Excellent.’
‘How about you?’
‘Nobody special. There was a girl in the pub at lunchtime today who laughed at something I said, but apart from that, nothing really.’
‘Still on nights?’
‘Yes. Still on nights. I’m going to quit soon, though, when I get a bit of money together. Enough to take a break for a bit.’
‘Right. You should.’
‘I know I should,’ Marcin said. ‘That’s why I’m doing it.’ Silence fell between them. ‘Do you know who I met?’ he said then.
‘Who?’
‘Agnieszka Nowakowska.’ As soon as he had said her name it felt like a mistake. His hand touched his mouth as if it was trying to put the words back in. Artur didn’t notice.
‘No way. Where? In Dublin?’
‘Yeah. On the street.’
‘Fucking hell. Whatever happened to her? She just disappeared halfway through sixth year.’
‘I know.’
‘I thought she might be dead. Does she look the same?’
‘More or less.’
Artur laughed out of sheer exuberance, the happiness of something good in the world. ‘What a girl she was. Jesus. And what’s she been doing? What’s she doing here?’
Marcin felt the wrench. What had he expected? It was stupid to have said anything, impossible to unsay it now. He could stop, though. ‘I don’t know. I just saw her.’
‘You said you met her.’
‘Okay, I didn’t actually meet her. But I think it was her I saw. It was hard to tell.’
Artur’s face was pink at the edges as if he was holding his breath. ‘So you didn’t meet her. And you’re saying now that it might not even have been her?’
Marcin shrugged. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘That’s a pretty shit story.’ He stared at Marcin as if he was guilty of some great crime that Artur could not begin to understand.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Marcin said.
‘What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? Nothing. I’m fine. But I’m worried about you.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘I am.’
‘Why? Because I thought I saw Agnieszka?’
Artur sighed. ‘No. Not that. But I have to tell you…’
Marcin waited, not wanting to hear. ‘What?’ he said at last.
‘The state of you. You’re not in good shape. You need to do something about it. Get out of that job and do something else.’
‘I’m doing that anyway. You don’t have to keep telling me.’
‘You said that weeks ago. And still you haven’t.’
‘You’re very good at knowin
g what I should do with my life. Giving me instructions. Have you noticed that I don’t do the same to you?’
‘But I hope you would if things were going badly for me.’
Marcin felt lost. There was nothing for him to say, no smart comeback that would make this seem better. He was too tired for any of it. To listen or argue or defend or fight. To have to think. He’d had enough of it.
‘You worry too much,’ he said, and stood up, stumbling as he got off the stool but steadying himself quickly. He walked straight out, thinking that Artur perhaps might come after him, out into the sticky evening and the blurred jangle of colour that was the summer street, but he didn’t.
50
They were supposed to meet after work on the Thursday but she rang that afternoon saying she was feeling sick and going home early to bed. Victor asked if he should come over, if he could bring her anything after work, but she said she’d be asleep and that was all she needed.
She met him for a coffee in town when he had a break on the Saturday evening. She seemed all right, maybe a bit washed-out but in good form. They arranged that they would meet the following night and spend all of Monday together because they were both off. But then he got a text message saying she had been called in because someone else was sick and she needed the hours. She said she’d come over on the Monday morning.
He came into town for no real reason and dropped in to his work. Things were quiet. He chatted with some of the guys there and thought he’d go for a coffee. He headed for a place he liked, then realized that Symposium was just around the corner. Had he known he was going to do this? He didn’t think so but here he was, on a Sunday evening, alone in town.
Three of the Albanians were on the door.
‘The Italian,’ the biggest of them said, when he saw Victor. ‘Agnieszka’s Italian boyfriend. Where is it you’re from again? Bucharest? Transylvania, is it? Dracula the Italian.’ They laughed among themselves.
‘I wouldn’t be telling anyone about it if I was Albanian,’ Victor said.
‘We’re proud of it, though. That’s the difference between us and you. Fucking “Italians”.’
‘Is she here?’ Victor asked, taking things down. He wasn’t sure if this was just slagging.
‘I haven’t seen her.’
‘If I’d a girl like that I wouldn’t let her out of my sight,’ the big guy said, smiling.
‘Yeah, well, over here you’re not allowed to keep women in cages. Where do you think this is?’
They called after him as he walked inside in a language he didn’t understand but he knew what they were saying.
He looked to see if Agnieszka was behind the counter, but there was no sign of her. One of the girls came over to him as he stood at the bar.
‘Is Agnieszka here?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Agnieszka?’
‘No, she’s off.’
‘Is she?’
‘I can check but I haven’t seen her.’ She went down to the end of the bar and disappeared through a door. A minute later she came out, followed by a short, bald man.
‘Are you Victor?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m Gavin. Agnieszka’s told me about you.’
‘She’s told me about you as well.’
‘How are you?’
‘I’m all right,’ Victor said.
‘Listen, she’s not here tonight. She was supposed to be but Mr White called earlier and said she wouldn’t be in.’
‘Who?’
‘The owner.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘No. Sorry.’
Victor stood there, trying to think if there was something else he could ask. ‘Okay,’ he said.
‘If I see her will I get her to give you a call?’
‘That would be good. Thank you.’
‘No problem,’ Gavin said. ‘Take care.’
‘And you,’ Victor said.
He left.
‘Have you lost her?’ one of the Albanians said, as he passed. Victor said nothing.
51
Dessie parked by the kerb outside Sylvester’s house and waited. The taste of the first cigarette of the day was beginning to turn bad in his mouth and he contemplated getting out and lighting another. But Sylvester would be out in a minute. There was no point. He stayed put.
Apart from a message the day after the funeral thanking them for their hospitality, Sylvester hadn’t been in touch during his two weeks off. There were times when Dessie didn’t know where his phone was. Occasionally he would check it, wondering would he find a missed call or a text message. After one week he rang his own number from the house just to be sure it was working and, after an initial moment of delay, it buzzed into life. He hung up and looked at the display. One missed call. Home. He cleared the screen, put the phone down and went off to see where Anne was.
This first day back he had told himself he would be patient. He had business to discuss later and he would not jeopardize his prospects by being irascible now. After ten minutes had passed, though, he was beginning to wonder. Had he got the day right? He checked the date on the car’s display and realized it meant nothing to him. It could be any time of the year, any time of the day or night. He had forgotten what he was trying to remember. When he looked up he saw Sylvester walking towards him, only a few feet away.
‘There you are,’ Dessie said, when he got in.
‘Good to see you,’ Sylvester said. ‘How are things? How was your break?’
‘It was all right.’
‘Missed you around the place.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. So, where are we going?’
‘Into town. You can drop me at the Green. I’ve a meeting at eight and a load of copying for you so if you want to head off and get that done I’ll meet you again at eleven.’
‘Fair enough.’
They drove in silence for a while.
‘How’s Anne?’
‘She’s fine. In good form. Much better.’
‘Great.’
They were faced down the hill, looking out across a pink morning sky at a low sun shining in towards them. Dessie put down the visor. ‘Has it been busy?’
Sylvester laughed joylessly to himself. ‘It has. It’s been a nightmare.’
‘Work?’
‘Everything. It’s good to have you back. We really need to start getting on top of things.’
‘That’s no problem.’
‘Good.’
He left it for a while. He had thought the right time might be that evening, when the novelty of his return had worn off. But here, now, inching along the coast road at a rate that was unlikely to change for the next half-hour, it felt like a good time.
Conversations in the kitchen with Anne. It was odd to hear her speak about things that would change because they had to and because she wanted them to. Requirements she would make of him. She was telling, not asking, but he was happy to agree with her. Everything that had been neglected over the two years it had taken her mother to die would now be put right. Quickly. Mercilessly. Dessie sat and listened. He nodded and said, ‘Yes,’ and ‘All right,’ wondering perhaps if, as soon as she stopped talking, he should go to the hall and phone her doctor to come and sedate her. But everything she said was reasonable. No. It was an unreasonable thing to expect that so much change could be brought about overnight. But it was at least rooted in reality.
‘You’re going to sort out your affairs with Sylvester. You’re going to start working full-time as a driver using his car. You’ll lease it off him and he can deduct the costs at the end of each month from your pay. He can book you for the hours he needs you at the start of each week and the rest of the time is your own. You’re going to get the car reconditioned and buy yourself a proper suit. You’ll need to borrow ten thousand from him to get everything sorted but you’ll pay it back. You get a career that will keep you going as long as you can drive, and he gets a proper chauffeur at no extra cost. You’ve no credit history so he
has to lend you the money. He owes you that much and it’s to his benefit anyway. It’s the right thing to do.’
Everything she said had been discussed between them. He recognized expressions of his own that he had used when talking about this to her over the past couple of years. But she had put it all together, edited out the talk of injustices and unfairness and distilled it into something that seemed simple.
‘You don’t have to convince me,’ Dessie said. ‘I just don’t know will Sylvester go for it.’
‘He has to go for it,’ she said to him. ‘It’s only fair. He knows how much you do. He’ll understand that you need to put things in order. You will both do better out of it. If he wants to be taken seriously as a businessman he should start doing things in style. Even if everything crashes here, people will still want drivers. Uniforms. Nice cars. Funerals. Debs. Weddings. Airport pick-ups. They’ll always be needed. He’s not going to leave you hanging.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘This arrangement you’ve had. It’s been fine up until now. You’ve been patient and he’s looked after you. Now it’s the next stage. He’ll do the right thing.’
‘I hope so.’
‘If he respects you at all, he will.’
Now he delivered his spiel to Sylvester in the hazy pink light of the morning, not glancing in the mirror in case he saw something in Sylvester’s face that might put him off. He did it well, he thought. Listening to his own argument, he could see it made sense.
When he finished speaking Sylvester waited a moment before responding. ‘Jesus, Dessie. I’ll tell you. Your timing is terrible.’
‘I was going to talk to you tonight but I thought, you know, while we’re here…’
‘Tonight? What would be different tonight? It’s not a matter of hours. Do you not listen to me when I talk? Do you not know what’s going on around here? You’ve been doing this work for me for three years. What made you decide that now would be the right time to come to me for a loan? Do you know how tight things are? If this crowd don’t come through I may just have to forget the whole thing. Fold the company up. I’ve got journalists sniffing around the place, waiting for me to put a foot wrong. Marek isn’t answering his phone. I have to get Breen and his friends over to Prague to sign papers in the next two days or this deal falls apart. And you come back after two weeks and decide that now is the time – right now – for us to start formalizing our business relationship? I don’t have ten thousand euro to give you, Dessie. If I went to a bank I couldn’t even borrow it because I’m up to my neck in debt. But even if I could, I’d like to take my time and work out whether or not it’s a good idea. Can we just get through the next couple of weeks and see where we are then? I can’t be thinking about this now.’
