Little Black Everything

by Alex Coleman

  Out on the quays again, she crossed the bridge into Temple Bar and this time she didn’t bother kidding herself. She went into the first pub she passed and, on a whim, took a barstool right by the taps (it seemed appropriate somehow – miserable drunks didn’t bother with the comfy chairs, did they?). This place was busier than the Morrison but not by much. If it hadn’t been for the tourists who didn’t know any better, it too would have been almost empty. The barman was a slightly tubby guy in his early twenties. He grunted at her when she asked for a white wine and then, having delivered it, retreated to his base at the other end of the bar where he re-buried himself in a tabloid. Sitting on a bar stool, it turned out, was both uncomfortable and boring; there was nothing to look at. Holly finished her drink quickly and caught the barman’s attention again. Her plan was to relocate to a proper seat from which she could at least observe the tourists.

  The barman finished the paragraph he was reading before he dragged himself in her direction. When he was still some distance away he told her to cheer up because it might never happen.

  Just like that, she burst into tears. The barman recoiled and then seemed to physically shrink. She wanted to tell him that, ordinarily, she wasn’t one of life’s criers and that he had caught her on a particularly bad day. In addition, she wanted to tell him to mind his own damn business or at least be more careful about the way he spoke to people. Neither sentiment made it past her sobs. And then, just to add to the strangeness of the moment, her phone started to dance around on the bar. She grabbed it and her bag, slipped off her stool and ran outside, breathing in great gulps as she went.

  There was a text message from Orla: He u change ur mind about dinner, it read, we be in white knight for drinks first @ 745. She checked the time. It was half past seven. Orla had probably texted from a taxi. That seemed to suggest that this was a courtesy rather than a serious attempt to get her to come along. Nevertheless, she was surprised to find that she wanted to go, for drinks if not for dinner. The novelty of boozing alone had worn off fast. And besides, she had things she wanted to say. She took a moment to get herself together and set off for Wicklow Street.

  Temple Bar was getting busier now and the volume of human traffic coupled with her substantial level of inebriation made her feel quite dizzy. It would be a good idea, she decided, to finally get something to eat. The thought of fast food made her feel even more queasy, so she settled for a Londis ham sandwich with a bag of cheese’n’onion as a sort of half-assed dessert. As she crossed Dame Street, she suddenly saw herself as everyone around her surely did – a drunken woman stumbling along shovelling crisps into her gob. She had thought that her self-image couldn’t possibly deteriorate, but here was proof that it could. It seemed to take an age to reach White Knight. As she trudged along, she was reminded of those dreams where no matter how quickly you run, you never get anywhere. When she finally arrived, she was briefly alarmed to see that the bouncer on duty was a very serious-looking individual. She made a point of avoiding his eye and concentrated hard on her gait as she passed him.

  This was Holly’s first visit to White Knight; it had only been open for a matter of months. As soon as she stepped inside, she knew that it had been Aisling’s choice. The décor was coolly minimalistic, the clientele young and fashionable. If she hadn’t been quite as drunk, she supposed that she would have felt decrepit and dowdy. She saw the others almost immediately. They had a horseshoe-shaped sofa to themselves on a sort of dais on the far side of the room and seemed to be having a grand old time. She started off towards them and then realised, to her shock and shame, that she wanted the fortification of yet another drink first. The bar was busy and it took her a couple of minutes to get her hands on a fresh glass of wine. After she’d downed about half of it, she headed off towards the dais, keeping a careful lookout for treacherous steps. Orla spotted her as she crossed the floor and waved with wild enthusiasm. Holly pretended not to see her; she wasn’t sure why. All eyes were on her when she arrived. She gave a general wave of hello and took a seat.

  “You made it after all,” Orla said. “Great.”

  Holly nodded.

  “Are you coming for dinner too?” Aisling asked. “Because we should ring ahead and get another place set.”

  Holly shook her head.

  “Are you all right?” James asked. “You look a bit . . . Are you all right?”

  She nodded. Then she shook her head. Then she drew a breath. “I . . . ”

  The others leaned in a bit.

  “I’m doomed to die alone surrounded by cats.”

  No one said anything for a moment.

  Then Orla asked, “Are you drunk?”

  “Oh yes,” Holly said. “Yes, indeed. Yup.”

  “What happened?” Aisling said.

  “I started drinking and then I kept on drinking and the next thing I knew, I was drunk.”

  “I mean –”

  “I know what you meant. See? That was me being funny. I do that sort of thing a lot. But people don’t seem to like it. So I’m all on my own-io. And I’ve got a new cat. You can see where this is going.” She made a dismissive gesture that cost her some of her wine. “Oops.”

  Aisling tried again. “Start at the start. Did something happen today?”

  “Ah, today,” Holly said. “Good old today. Well, I kicked it off nice and early. Four o’clock in the morning. I took a hammer to the wing mirror on the car, just so I’d have an excuse to go and see Dan.”

  “Dan?” Aisling and Orla screeched together.

  “Who’s Dan?” John asked. Everyone looked at him. He seemed surprised by his contribution himself.

  “Dan is her ex,” Orla told him. “From a few years ago.”

  “That’s him,” Holly said, mock-cheerfully. “He dumped me because I wasn’t uppy-beaty enough. Too sharp, too blunt, too sarcastic, all that. You know, the usual.”

  “What have wing mirrors got to do with it?” James asked.

  “Dan works in a garage,” Aisling explained.

  “No, no, no,” Holly said. “Dan runs a garage now. He’s moving up in the world. And guess what? He’s getting married. Isn’t that super-duper?”

  There was a moment of silence in which Aisling and Orla exchanged a long look.

  “I don’t get it,” Aisling said then. “I don’t get why you would want to see him.”

  Holly took a swig of wine. “Why, to win him back, of course! Yeah, I know – a brilliant, brilliant plan. Yay for me.”

  All four of them stared at their laps.

  “Wait, it gets better,” she continued. “After that I went into town to meet my mother. Turns out I’ve cocked up her life too. James. Oi. James. I said, I’ve cocked up her life too. Followed your advice to a tee. Held back. Let on I was all in favour of her going out with your man. Now it’s all over and she thinks she’s ruined my father’s memory. So cheers!”

  “Hang on,” Aisling said. “What’s all this about? Why are you having a go at him?”

  Holly ignored the question and kept her gaze on James. “Fucking advice. Fucking people sticking their noses in. You told me to hold my tongue around Charlie. And my neighbours told me to hold my tongue around you, if I wanted to stand any chance with you. Look how well it all worked out! Eleanor Duffy was another one. She said you liked me. She was dead sure of it. Ha!”

  Aisling’s jaw hung open. She looked at James, who furrowed his brow at her, and then back to Holly. “What the fuck, Holly? Stand a chance with him? What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t get all excited,” Holly said. “He never even noticed I liked him, let alone anything else. I tried it on Dan too, by the way. Being all jolly and chirpy or whatever the fuck it is that men like. Tried really hard. Oh, and wait’ll you hear this – I even made sure I wasn’t wearing anything black because you know how that gets on everybody’s nerves. Pathetic, isn’t it? Still, I’m back in uniform now, as you can see.” She finished her wine with a flourish. “I’m going to the bar. Would any
one like another drinkie?”

  “Just sit there,” Aisling snapped. “What are you saying here? You’ve had a thing for James all along, is that it?”

  “I don’t know,” Holly slurred. “Probably not, actually. Doesn’t make any difference now, does it?” Four pairs of eyes stared at her. “All right, then,” she said as she rose unsteadily to her feet. “To the bar!” The room spun. She sat down again. “Maybe someone would like to go for me? John? Would you be a gent?”

  He sat forward a little as if he meant to get up, then froze. Orla put her hand on his arm as if to make sure he stayed that way.

  “I think you’ve had enough,” she said to Holly.

  “But I’m getting so good at it,” Holly moaned. “Practice makes perfect. Yes, it does. By the way, has anybody got an old moggy they’re trying to get rid of because I’m taking them in, apparently. Which is handy. I don’t have to go looking for cats to complete my image, oh no. They come looking for me. Works out great.”

  No one said a word or moved a muscle for a few seconds. And then James stood up. He looked exceedingly angry.

  “Come on,” he barked at Holly. “You’re coming with me.”

  Before she had time to react, he had come round to her side of the table and taken her by the arm. Next thing she knew she was on her feet and moving. She was halfway across the floor before she realised that she wasn’t doing so voluntarily.

  “What the fuck?” she squeaked. “My bag!”

  “I’ve got your bag.”

  “Let go of me. I’m staying.”

  “Wrong. You’re leaving.”

  “Let go!

  “No.”

  “Help! Kidnap! I’m being kidnap! Kidnapped!”

  “Shut up.”

  They were at the door now. He pushed her through it and followed right behind. She turned to face him, teeth bared. He took her by the wrist and dragged off to the side, out of the bouncer’s earshot. Then he folded his arms and stared at her. She stared back.

  “Bastard,” she hissed, snatching her bag from him.

  “Holly,” he said steadily. “It’s kick-in-the-hole time.”

  “What?”

  “You. It seems you need a good kick in the hole. And I’m going to give it to you.”

  “Excuse me –”

  “Shut up. You made a complete fool of yourself in there. And you didn’t just embarrass yourself, you embarrassed the rest of us too. What the hell’s the matter with you? What were you babbling about – dying alone with a cat? What?”

  “Cats,” she corrected. “Dying alone with cats. Surrounded by them. All miserable and angry. It’s going to happen, I know it is.”

  “This is about you not having a boyfriend, is that it?”

  She threw her arms in the air. “Yes, genius, this is about me not having a boyfriend.”

  “And you think you’re going to get one by pretending not to be so grumpy and sarcastic all the time? Did I pick that up right?”

  “I don’t know what I think, okay? I’m fucking confused!” Her head drooped.

  “And I was a candidate?” James continued. “You thought maybe . . . you and me . . .”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Wait, let me get this straight. All those times you and I were together, that was you doing your best to be positive and easy-going?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow . . .”

  “Shut up. It was hard.”

  “Let me clear this up for you, Holly. There’s no way on Earth it would ever have worked out between you and me. You know why? Because you’re so bloody grumpy and sarcastic all the time.”

  She looked up in horror, certain at first that she had misheard him. “What –”

  “Not my type. No way. You’re not my type at all.”

  “Are you try–”

  “And the idea that maybe it would have worked out if you’d tried being different? Come on. Do you really need me to point out what a colossal load of crap that is? What, every single minute we were together, you were going to be putting on a show? Biting your tongue every time someone got on your nerves or said something stupid? Pretending to like things you hated?”

  She swayed back and forth. “I never said I thought it was a good idea.”

  “But you gave it a go. And then again with this Dan fella?”

  “I was desperate, all right? I know you’re supposed to ‘be yourself’, all right, I know that, I knew it all along, I’m not stupid. But it’s bloody hard when, year after year, it doesn’t fucking work.”

  “Well, guess what? It might be another few years before it works. It might be ten. It might be twenty.”

  “Jesus Christ. You’re a great help, you are. Thanks. Thanks a million.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I –”

  “Shut up. Or it might work next weekend. You never know. But it’ll work eventually. You know why? Because the thing that makes you a tough sell to most people is the very thing that someone out there will go nuts over. Take my word for it.”

  “Hmph. That’s very nice and all but you don’t know that for sure. There’s no way –”

  “Holly, I said you’re not for me, girlfriend-wise. But I like you. I’ve always liked you. Eleanor was half-right, at least. I like the dark sense of humour and the pushinessand all the rest of it. I don’t want to go out with it, but I like it in a friend. The only trait I’ve ever seen you display that I didn’t like is the one you’re displaying tonight. And that’s self-pity. Are you listening to yourself? You’re drowning in it. Drop it. Drop it right now, or I swear to God, every man you meet will run a mile.”

  They looked at each other for a long time. As the staring match continued, Holly felt herself beginning to cool. Her stance softened. Her jaw unclenched. Her breathing slowed. And finally she drew her eyes away.

  “All right, granted, all right, maybe I am feeling a wee bit sorry for myself.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  “And maybe I’ve been doing too much thinking lately”.

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Over-alan – over-alan – over-anan-alysing. Or whatever.”

  “Yes. Clearly.”

  She started a new staring match with the ground. It went on for even longer than its predecessor. James was apparently content to let it run.

  “I want to clear something up,” she said after a while. “I’m not sure I ever really fancied you. I might just have been intrigued because you’re like reverse-world me. Okay?”

  “Understood.”

  “We’re clear on that?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “So there’s no need for any awkwardness or anything.”

  “Got it.”

  “I’m happy for you and Aisling. All things considered.”

  “Grand. Anything else?”

  She thought it over. “Uh . . . no.”

  “Right. Come on. I’m putting you in a taxi.”

  “I’ll be all right on my own.”

  “I’m not taking any chances. There are pubs along the way.”

  “Huh. I’m never drinking again, believe me.”

  They started walking down towards College Green; neither of them said anything along the way. Holly was already beginning to feel a deep sense of mortification. She could only imagine how bad it would be in the morning. It was some consolation, she supposed, that the queue at the taxi rank was short. Despite her protestations, James stayed with her as she shuffled forward in it. When she made it to the front, he waited until a car pulled up before giving his parting shot.

  “Your mother will be fine,” he said. “Mark my words.”

  She opened the taxi door “So, we’re all right now, are we, me and you? I mean, we’re, what . . . friends?”

  He shrugged. And then his half-smile returned. “I don’t see why not.”

  She paused, halfway in and halfway out of the car. Then she nodded and got in.

  Holly’s taxi driver was an alarmingly old-looking
man. He could see that she was the worse for wear in more than one sense and made polite enquiries about her state of mind. When she assured him that she was fine, he dropped the subject and embarked on a long summation of his recent holiday in Italy. Even if she’d wanted to pay attention – which she didn’t – Holly doubted that she would have been able to. Chief among the many emotions coursing through her was shame, obviously, but she was surprised to find that there was something else in there. It felt like the bass line from a song – not the first thing you might notice but persistent and conspicuous once you did. That emotion was relief. She was concentrating so hard on trying to get her thoughts straight that the journey went by in a flash. The first time she looked out the window to check where they were, she saw that they were passing her local shop. All at once, she was overcome by a craving for chip butties. It was the drink talking, she knew, but she rationalised it by telling herself that tomorrow’s hangover would undoubtedly be worse if she went to bed having eaten nothing all day but a sandwich and a bag of crisps. She asked the driver to pull in and paid him what she owed.

  The shop was shockingly busy. Holly supposed at first that her fellow customers were all in the same boat as she was, drunk and desperate for munchies on the way home. Then she remembered that it was not yet nine o’clock. She stood up a little straighter and made a note not to breathe into anybody’s face. It said a great deal, she supposed, that the preparation of oven-ready chips felt like too much of a challenge. She plumped instead for the microwavable variety and felt pleased with herself for not adding microwavable sausages to the mix. There were seven or eight people in the queue in front of her and each of them, it seemed, was trying to pay with a third-party cheque. By the time Holly made it to the counter, her embarrassment over the poverty of her culinary choice had been swept away by her growing hunger. She nodded her head defiantly when the assistant asked if that was all she was buying and strode away holding the little cardboard box in what she liked to think was a casual, devil-may-care sort of fashion. When she stepped out onto the street, the fresh air seemed a little fresher than it had previously. She paused for a moment and waited for her head to stop spinning. Never again, she reminded herself. Absolutely never again.