by Kealan Ryan
As he was standing over the bowl he saw an empty pint glass on the floor beside the toilet. He thought: If I can fill the glass, I’m getting off. Not only did he fill it, but it overflowed and the dumb bastard even looked happy. No, not happy, relieved. He left the toilets smiling, as if everything was going to be okay. As if being able to fill a pint glass full of piss was going to get him off his punishment for what he did to me. I had to laugh at the stupid fucker.
His smile lasted about as long as it took him to see Michelle coming towards him. Then reality hit – shit night, pissed-off bird and one hell of a crappy year ahead.
‘Where the hell were you?’
‘Take it easy, I was just in the jacks.’
‘You missed the whole countdown.’
‘I didn’t, I heard it from the jacks.’ Danny thought this would make her smile, but all it did was piss her off more.
Michelle stabbed him in the chest with her index finger. ‘Prick – we were supposed to bring in the new year together and instead I’m stuck with your asshole friends. This could be our last New Year’s for a while …’
Danny looked away. ‘Jesus, don’t say that shit. I’m trying to enjoy myself tonight and you have to mention all that shit – shut the fuck up about it.’
‘Yeah, you look like you’re having a lot of fun, Danny,’ she sneered.
‘I am having fun – at least I was until you started bitching at me.’
‘Fine.’
Michelle headed for the door. At first Danny felt glad that she was leaving, but in the space of about thirty seconds he calmed down and chased after her. He caught up with her outside.
‘Michelle, would you wait!’
‘Fuck off,’ she said, shrugging off his outstretched hand.
A couple of people outside sniggered at them – Danny noticed it out of the corner of his eye and it reminded him of me. He had noticed me do the same thing a couple of hours before he killed me. The thought of this nearly floored him – it felt as if someone had kicked the back of his knees.
‘Michelle, wait.’
If she had looked around, I think she would have gone back. His face had turned pale in those few seconds, his eyes red with about-to-burst tears. The thought of how quickly everything happened that night made him want to vomit. How his life had been destroyed by a stupid, throwaway act. A sudden burst of anger and now he’s fucked.
Michelle was storming off and he had no energy to run after her; he made it as far as the curb and sat down. The further she walked the more pissed off she became. She kept thinking that he would catch up with her – to try and make up with her. When he failed to appear, she was furious. She’s stormed off millions of times and he’d always caught up with her. She decided to go back to her mother’s house; it was closer than their flat and she didn’t want to see Danny anyway. New Year’s night and she was going home at ten past twelve – classic.
Once Danny’s head stopped spinning he went back inside and drank a bunch of sambucas with his idiot friends. He rang Michelle but got no answer. The worst New Year’s Eve for him in recent memory. Ah well, I’m sure next year will be even worse.
Looking at him now, I’m surprised that he’s slept so well; I usually have him up long before now. It’s 5.04 p.m. before his eyes begin to open. Morning, pal, I wonder if you still have a girlfriend?
***
The last of my parents’ mates leave just as Danny opens his eyes. My mam looks tired and my dad notices as soon as he closes the front door.
‘You want another glass of wine, love?’
My mam shakes her head. ‘No, thanks. Although you know what? I’d go for a gin and tonic.’
‘Coming up.’
In the kitchen, he pops the last cocktail sausage into his mouth and pours himself a brandy and Mam a G&T. ‘That was a grand day, wasn’t it?’
‘Sure was. I’m tired now, though,’ she says, trying – and failing – to hold in a yawn.
‘I’m not surprised, you’ve been going all day.’
‘Yeah.’
They move into the sitting room; Mam takes a sip of her drink and sits back on the couch as my dad goes for his recliner.
‘You must be tired yourself – after that swim and everything.’
‘Suppose so, although I think it’s more the afternoon drinks than anything else.’
‘Go for a snooze, sure.’
‘I might do.’
‘Do, put your feet up there,’ Mam insists.
‘Ah, I’m alright for now – maybe in a bit,’ my dad says as he takes another little sip from his brandy. ‘Is there any turkey left?’
‘Of course.’ The two of them smile at each other. ‘Jaysus, you’ll turn into a turkey one of these days.’
My mam rises from the couch, makes for the kitchen.
‘Ah thanks, love.’
The sound of the fridge opening and clashing cutlery reaches my dad from the kitchen. ‘Do you want it on brown or white bread?’ she calls out.
‘Brown, but with just a bit of butter and no mayonnaise,’ he answers.
‘I know.’
My mam smiles as she prepares the sandwich. He always feels he has to tell her how to make his sandwiches, even though she’s been making them for nearly forty years.
By the time she’s back from the kitchen my dad has the TV on. ‘There you are, Mr Cosgrave.’
‘Lovely, thanks a million, hon – Mrs Cosgrave. Look it, Back to the Future is on.’
‘Oh very good – one of Chris’s favourites.’
‘I know, can you believe it?’
‘Well, it is on every Christmas.’
My dad takes a big bite out of his sandwich. ‘Um, lovely.’
I did love Back to the Future, superb film. Although it’s the second one that’s on the telly. My dad wouldn’t know the difference. Mind you, I loved all three of them.
‘He used to watch this every day as a kid.’
‘I think this is the second one,’ Mam says.
Dad frowns. ‘Is it? This one isn’t as good, is it?’
‘No. I hated that stuff with him playing all the different parts.’
‘Yeah, that was dumb. The western one was good, though.’
‘Chris loved this one too – he adored all three of them.’
They both settle down to watch it and pretty soon my dad falls asleep with his brandy in his hand and the empty plate on his lap. My mam watches him nearly more than the movie. Each little sound he makes, she’ll crack a little smile. Every now and again he opens his eyes and takes another sip from his drink – which makes Mam smile even more. A couple of times she half-laughs at his slight stirrings, causing him to look around like a badger sticking its head out of its den. For a moment, he’ll wonder what the noise is; then he’ll take another sip and nod off again.
This goes on for the whole movie. Like I said, Mam isn’t really watching it; her head’s in a different place. Looking at my dad makes her happy, but thinking of me – which she does during the entire film – makes her sad.
It’s weird knowing that the very thought of you saddens people. Especially when it’s the people you love. They never talk about me in a positive sense; it hasn’t reached that point yet. They never tell funny stories about me or mention funny or cool things that I did. It’s always just sorrow that they feel when they think of me. It sucks. I keep waiting for the time that they’ll all be able to sit around telling Chris stories and laugh their asses off, saying what a great bloke I was. Instead whenever I get mentioned it’s poor Chris this, poor Chris that. Oh if poor auld Chris was here he’d love this. I am here and I don’t love it – in fact, I think it’s shit. I’m worried it will never get to the point where they tell funny Chris stories because by the time they all get over their grief they’ll have forgotten all the good ones. Me dying has put a
dampener on everything I ever did. There are no funny Chris stories anymore because they all end in … and then the poor prick got killed while having a smoke.
My dad is still asleep while the credits roll. Mam is crying. When she notices him waking she rubs her eyes and takes a sip of her drink.
Dad looks over, notices her damp cheeks. ‘You okay, Kate?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she says, attempting a smile. ‘It’s just watching that movie got me thinking.’
‘Ah Jesus.’ My dad gets out of his seat and moves in beside Mam on the couch. ‘Come here, hon.’ He puts his arm around her and she cries into his chest.
Neither one of them says anything – they’ve been over it all a million times. All he can do is hug her till the crying passes.
‘What are we going to do in two weeks, Frank?’ she asks once the tears subside.
‘Nothing we can do,’ he says, kissing her forehead.
‘I don’t think I can handle seeing him.’
‘Well, you don’t have to come, you know. Myself and the lads will be there and I know John is coming as well.’
Mam wipes at her nose. ‘Don’t be stupid – of course I have to come.’
‘Well, if you can’t handle it, honey, then you shouldn’t go.’
‘Jesus, I’m just thinking out loud – you could be more supportive. Of course I have to go, it’s just the thought of seeing that bastard has me so wound up.’
Dad nods. ‘I know, me too.’
The two of them sit in silence for a while. Both wondering how they’ll react when they see Danny Murray for the first time.
Mam is the first to speak. ‘Poor Pam, she must be dreading it. Having to get up on that dock or whatever you call it.’
‘Yeah.’
‘How the hell is she going to face him again?’
‘I don’t know, we’ll just have to be there for her.’
Mam hopes she will be able to suppress her own grief so that she can be strong enough for Pam. She’s glad, too, that there will be a few other people there for support.
‘Did you say John was going to be there?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Will he not be on his honeymoon?’
‘No, he’s back just before – the day before, I think.’
‘That’s decent of him to come; it will be the last thing he feels like doing.’
Dad mutters, ‘No shit.’
Mam starts chuckling.
‘What?’ my dad asks, smiling.
‘Just the way you said that.’
‘What, “no shit”?’
‘Yeah. Oh God, I shouldn’t be laughing.’
My dad begins to chuckle with her. ‘Well, the poor prick’s only back, like.’
‘Oh Jesus.’
The two of them crack up.
23
John’s flight is a long one. A little brat in front of him keeps standing up on his seat, playing with his younger brother and making a whole bunch of noise. You’d give that a pass normally, except every few minutes he screams ‘No!’ in John’s face. What the hell does that mean? Poor John doesn’t know where to look. Their useless mother makes no effort to shut him up either, or even give John an apologetic nod, as if to say, don’t worry, screaming in strangers’ faces is just his thing. But that is nothing compared to the ignoramus behind him – a big, long-legged bastard who is constantly kneeing the back of his seat. He’s also up to the jacks every ten minutes, leaning on John’s chair each time he stands or sits, forcing it to tilt further back. As a result, John hasn’t slept a wink.
His ears are going red with anger. Why does that cockhead refuse to acknowledge me once? Just once would make some difference. Why does that woman not do something about her weird child? Ask him to stop shouting ‘No’ at the nice man sitting behind him, maybe? Would that be so hard? At least give it a shot.
People can be such scum. What the hell is wrong with that guy who keeps knocking into John’s seat? He knows he’s keeping him awake yet he still chooses not to care. What brings someone to act like that? To have total disregard for those around them. I’d say he was just like the brat when he was young; wrecking everyone’s heads while his mother looked on with pride, not seeing what a little bollocks she was raising.
Maybe it’s airports and planes that bring out the worst in people. I mean, people are bad, anyway, but they always seem to be worse when travelling. That’s when I used to find myself giving strangers dirty looks, or being disgusted by a sweaty person eating, or something.
Pretty much everyone I’d come into contact with when flying would annoy me; the sulky moron at the check-in desk, the jerk who stands up before the fasten seat belts sign has been turned off, the stewardesses who used to kiss your ass before 9/11 but now act as if they’re your boss laying down the law. I hated that. The last time I was on a plane I pressed that little buzzer thing with the picture of the waiter on it. It took your woman forever to get to me and when I asked her for another Heineken I thought she was going to slap me. Is that not what the button is for? That’s what it used to be for – then she tells me it’s just for emergencies. What kind of emergency is going to happen that I feel the solution is to press the little stewardess button, then hang around for twenty minutes till she finally gets to me? The worst part was the next time I wanted a beer I went up behind the curtains to where they all hang out and asked for one – then was told I wasn’t allowed back there. What the hell are you supposed to do if you want another drink?
Bin Laden screwed it up for the lot of us, the prick. At least they caught up with him. I loved how, on the news, they kept saying he was ‘buried at sea’; translated, this means they just fucked him overboard.
John’s not thinking about any of that, of course. The honeymoon went well – wining and dining in New York. Niamh had always wanted to go there and it didn’t disappoint her one bit. She thought that the lights on the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree were mesmerising. They went ice-skating on the Wollman Rink in Central Park and Niamh felt it was the most romantic moment of her life. Despite the fact that John kept falling on his ass, it still seemed as though she was the lead actress in a movie. That the world was a perfect place and her new husband the perfect leading man.
John had a great couple of weeks too, but now his mind is on tomorrow. The thought of seeing Danny scares the shit out of him. He wonders what he is going to look like. Will he be able to look him in the eye? I feel bad that all this is on his mind; that he has to think about it right after his honeymoon. The asshole behind him isn’t helping matters either – John tells himself that if your man hits his chair one more time he’ll have to say something.
Thump!
Christ, that was a fierce knock – more than just him leaning. He resigns himself to taking it on the chin. Fair play to you, John, be the bigger man.
‘Stop leaning your chair back,’ the dickhead pipes up.
Shocked, John twists his neck around and asks, ‘Excuse me?’
‘Stop leaning your chair back, you keep hitting into my knees.’
John peers through the tiny gap between the seats, ‘I’m allowed to lean this chair back.’
The man snorts. ‘You’re rocking back and forth the whole flight.’ He gives John’s seat another shove forward.
John’s ears redden further. ‘Excuse me, I’m allowed to lean back – you see this button on everyone’s chairs? That means you’re allowed lean your chair back.’ Niamh tells John to calm down as he gestures towards the man. ‘Can you believe this idiot?’
Niamh shakes her head, ‘I know.’
Poor John is livid – the worst part is that he had just been about to pull his seat forward so he could see his little TV better, but now there is no way he can. ‘Am I out of line here? Was I going back and forth the whole time?’ he asks Niamh, who shakes her head and throws her eyes up.<
br />
He determines to stay seated like that for the whole flight – even when the dinner comes. He’s practically lying down eating the damn stuff. Every now and again he whispers to Niamh, ‘What I wouldn’t give to sit forward.’ And the pair of them giggle at the eejit behind them.
Niamh eventually falls asleep and John’s thoughts drift back to what he will have to face tomorrow. He wishes he had just one more day to kick back. Pity Niamh has to go straight back to work too – it would be nice to have her there supporting him tomorrow. Although he senses that she is getting sick of talking about me. And that’s because she is. Not in a bad way. It’s something she can’t help feeling. She’d never say it outright and she still comforts him whenever John brings me up. She’s just started changing the subject sooner. Or not quite looking him in the eye when he mentions my death.
It’s only natural, I suppose. She liked me, but I was John’s mate and John has been acting differently since this whole thing happened. He’s not as happy or friendly as he used to be. That’s one of the things she loved most about him. How many friends he had and how many people liked him. Everyone liked John – they still do, it’s just that he doesn’t really make as much of an effort with people anymore.
He’s actually made a conscious effort not to talk to Niamh about me as much. Over the honeymoon I wasn’t really mentioned at all. The thought that she finds him less attractive because of how he’s been unable to deal with my death has wormed its way into his head, along with some accompanying resentment that she would feel like that. This isn’t the case, though. Niamh’s a good person and really only feels sorry for him over what happened. She doesn’t love him any less or anything; she just wishes he wasn’t so melancholic all the time. She wants her old John back. So do I, come to think of it.
