by Alex Coleman
CHAPTER 12
As soon as I walked into the Arnotts café on Sunday afternoon, I realised that I had made a mistake with the venue. I’d thought Coffee-Town-Arnotts, without pausing to consider how crowded it would be, which was very. It would be hard enough to talk Chrissy down off the ceiling without doing it in front of an audience. She was there before me, as I’d expected – she was one of those people for whom “on time” meant “ten minutes early” – and had taken a table for two by the wall. I nodded and waved as I approached, hoping that she would at least let me get settled before she started sobbing. She rose to greet me and squeezed me hard, kissing me on the cheek.
“Mum,” she said by way of hello.
“Hi,” I said. “I knew you’d get here first.”
We hugged for quite a while. People were looking at us, no doubt wondering what the big deal was. I tried to imagine what I’d have guessed in their shoes. Bereavement, probably. Then Chrissy let me go, wrinkled her nose and said, “Have you been smoking?”
“No!” I said, faking shock. “Don’t be ridiculous!” In fact, I’d just had three fags in a row, each lit with the butt of its predecessor. I felt quite nauseous.
Chrissy sat down, gesturing around the table. “I got tea for two and a couple of muffins. Is that okay?”
I worked my way out of my jacket and took a seat, my eyes locked on hers. Not only was she not crying, she didn’t look as if she was about to start. It was such a surprising development that I couldn’t help but comment.
“You look grand,” I said. “I thought you’d be, you know … upset.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then joined her hands as if in prayer. “I’m all cried out,” she said. “Seriously, I think I’m dehydrated.”
There was a protracted silence.
“It’s hard to know what to say, isn’t it?” I ventured then. She nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It is.”
“It must have been an awful shock for you. When Robert called. You at work and all …”
“Yeah. It was.”
“And did you go home or –”
“Yup. Told them I felt sick. Which was the truth.” “Ah, Chrissy. Are you all right now?”
She grabbed a knife and cut a chunk off her chocolate- chip muffin. “I’m fine,” she said and popped it in her mouth.
At that point, I began to get a nervous feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. She wasn’t herself. Not by a long way.
“Never mind me,” she said then. “How are you? That’s the main thing.”
I took a moment and chose my words with great care. “I’m very shocked, obviously. Bad enough that he did … what he did. I could have done without catching him at it.”
Chrissy cut another piece of muffin, finished chewing the first and then went to work on the second. When she’d swallowed it down, she said, “I can’t even imagine. I don’t want to think about it. I refuse to think about it.”
I poured myself some tea, wondering how to proceed. “Have you spoken to your father yet?”
She gave her head the tiniest little shake and said, “No, I haven’t spoken to him. I’m never speaking to him again.”
I looked up and straight away I knew that she wasn’t being colourful. It wasn’t just a figure of speech, like “I’m going to kill him when I get my hands on him”. She meant it. That didn’t stop me from saying, “Come on, Chrissy, you don’t mean that.”
“Yes. I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.” “Yes –”
“What is this, panto? You’re being silly, Chrissy, stop it.” “Watch my lips, Mum: I. Am. Never. Speaking. To. Him.
Again. Ever.”
“Don’t be so –”
“No, I’m sorry. That’s it. We’re finished, me and him.” My head spun. “What is it, are you trying to help me?
Because that doesn’t help, dear. Far from it.”
Once again, she took a bit of muffin before replying. It was as if she was getting some sort of strength from it. “I’m not saying it because I think it’s what you want to hear. It’s the truth, that’s all.”
“But you love your dad. You and him were always –” “I did love him. Right up until yesterday.” “Chrissy!”
“I’m sorry, but that’s the way I feel.”
I slumped in my seat, defeated. A question formed in my head. I let it bounce around for a while before I gave it voice. “And what if it was me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Me who’d done the … dirty. Would you stop loving me too?”
“I’m not answering that.”
My palms dampened. “In other words, yes, you would.” “I didn’t say that. It’s a what-do-you-call-it question – rhetorical.” “Hypo–”
“Hypothetical, I mean. I’m not answering hypothetical questions about what I’d do if it was you for the simple reason that it’s not you, is it? It’s him.” She said this with real anger in her voice, so much so that a little old woman at the next table looked across for a moment before returning to the piece of toast she’d been encasing in butter.
I didn’t know what to say.
“I’ve been presuming something,” Chrissy said then, “and now I’m starting to think I’ve got it wrong.”
I swallowed. “What’s that?”
“You are leaving him, aren’t you? I mean, you are getting a divorce, right? Right?”
“God, Chrissy, it’s only been two days. I haven’t thought about it yet.”
“But you must have done! How can you not have thought about it? You have to leave him. Of course you have to leave him! How could you trust him after this?”
“I don’t know …”
“Every time you left the house, you’d be thinking –” “That’s enough.”
“I’m just saying –”
“I said, that’s enough.”
She pouted for a moment, then said, “You know what, Mum … I know you’re in shock and all, but I have to say, you’re not doing yourself any favours by being like this.”
“Like what?”
She waved her hands around. “All passive and easy-going. You can’t let him walk all over you.”
“No one’s walking over me, Chrissy.” “You’re allowed to get angry, you know.” “I am angry.”
“Well, it doesn’t show.”
“You obviously haven’t heard about the car, then.” She blinked at me. “What car?”
“Your father’s. The jeep. I wrecked it.”
Her eyes took over her face. “What? How? When?”
“I took it when I left the house on Friday. And yesterday morning I drove it into a pillar. Well, along the side of a pillar. Right and left. Ruined it.”
She reached across and grabbed my hand. “Great! That’s fantastic! Well done, you. He’ll go nuts, he loves that bloody jeep.”
“He didn’t go nuts. I got a text from him. He said he understood and wasn’t mad.”
The wind left her sails, but not for long. “He’s just saying that. I guarantee you, he would have been gutted.”
She smiled. My child was positively delighted by the thought of her father being gutted about something. My heart felt like a piece of coal.
“I really don’t think he was. There wasn’t even a hint of anger in what he said. None.” I ran a hand over my forehead, which suddenly felt numb and tingly.
“Oh, Christ,” Chrissy said. “You feel bad about it, don’t you? Mum!”
I made no reply.
“Not only should you not feel bad,” she went on, “you should be thinking of what else you can do for revenge. What about her? You’ll have to do something to get back at her.”
I exhaled as if for the last time. “That’s what your brother said.”
“Well, he’s right. You can’t let her get away scot-free. She’s got it coming to her.”
“No, Chrissy. I don’t want to get involved with her at all.” �
�But you have to!”
We were back to square one. “No, I don’t. Nothing’s going to change if, I don’t know, I throw a brick through her window, is it?”
Chrissy sat back and took some tea. “She’d have a broken window,” she said then. “Better than nothing.”
I let that one just hang in the air for few seconds. Then I said, “How are things with you anyway? How’s work?
She grimaced. “‘How’s work?’ Mum!” “What?”
“We’re having a crisis here! You can’t be asking me about work! Who cares?”
“I’m only making conversation.”
“Jesus! We’ve already got a topic of conversation – the end of your marriage, remember?”
I collapsed back in my seat and slapped my hands to my face like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.
“I’m sorry,” Chrissy said as she realised she’d gone too far. “I didn’t mean to sound so –”
“I have to go,” I wheezed and rose from the table.
“No, don’t go,” she said. “Please. You just got here.” Her voice was cracking.
“I’ll talk to you later.” “Mum, please!”
I grabbed my bag and jacket and scarpered. More fool me, I looked back as I threaded my way between the tables. Chrissy was bent over her teacup, crying into her hands; just the way I’d expected to find her when I arrived. I should have gone back. But I didn’t. I hurried on towards the exit.
Outside on the street, I paused and considered my options. After a moment’s thought, I turned right and headed towards St. Stephen’s Green, where I planned to take a breather and clear my head. It had been a while since I’d been in town at the weekend and, as ever, I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of human traffic. It didn’t seem possible that all of these people knew exactly where they were going and how to get there; it looked too chaotic, too random. If I’d suddenly noticed that they were all carrying bits of leaves on their backs, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised.
In Stephen’s Green, I took a seat on a bench near the bandstand, next to an old man. He had a tremendous beard which he stroked continuously, making a loose fist at his chin and then drawing it down to where the fuzz ran out, in the centre of his chest. I turned my head a little and watched him from the corner of my eye. It must be so nice to have a beard like that, I thought. A little security blanket that you can never lose. Then I had one of those moments where you catch a glimpse of yourself from the outside and snapped my head forward again. Jealous of an old man’s beard … These were strange days indeed. After I’d been sitting there for fifteen minutes or so (and had nauseated myself all over again with a fresh string of cigarettes), my mobile rang. I didn’t recognise the number and didn’t think of Eddie until I heard his voice.
“Jackie? It’s Eddie. Hand. From work. “ “Hello.”
“Oh. You sound upset, are you all right?” “I’ll be fine. In a while.”
“Do you feel any better today? No, of course you don’t, what a thing to say. Have you –”
“Never mind me,” I cut in. “How are you? How did it go last night?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. Oh – sorry. I didn’t – sorry.”
“Hello?”
“Sorry, Jackie, I just stood on a wee boy’s toe.” “Where are you?”
“I’m in the Jervis Centre. Buying clothes.”
That sounded significant, but I chose not to pursue it for the moment. “I’m in Stephen’s Green,” I said. The next sentence was out before I was aware that I’d even had the thought. “Why don’t you come up and meet me?”
“Yes. Yes, I will. I’m done here anyway. Where are you exactly?”
“On a bench to the right of the bandstand as you come from Grafton Street.”
“I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Is that too long? Can you wait?”
“Sure. But give me a clue. Was it okay, the date?” “I don’t know. That’s what I want you to tell me.” “Oh. Okay. See you soon.”
“Great. Thank you. Thank you. Thanks very much. Bye.” He hung up. I put my phone away and realised that I was greatly looking forward to the distraction of seeing him and would have stuck around if he’d been an hour away. Eddie.
Hand. From work. Strange, strange days.
CHAPTER 13
Eddie arrived less than ten minutes after we got off the phone.
“Jesus,” I said. “Did you fly?”
“I ran,” he gasped, which was patently the truth. He was badly out of breath and his entire face was covered with sweat. There was a little droplet hanging from the tip of his nose. “I’m not used to running.”
“Sit down,” I said and made to get up.
But the bearded man beside me waved a hand in the air and said, “Don’t get up, stay where you are. I’m away to watch the match.” With some difficulty, he got to his feet. “You shouldn’t be tearing around the place like a blue-arsed fly,” he said to Eddie as he turned to leave. “Man in your physical condition.”
Eddie looked down at his heaving belly. If any counter- slurs occurred to him, he kept them to himself.
“Come on,” I said. “Sit down, tell all.”
“What about you, first,” Eddie said as he took a pew. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah. I just met my daughter. Didn’t stay long.” “Oh. Right. Taking it badly, is she?”
“You could say that. I’d prefer not to talk about it.” “Okay. And what about the car? Did your husband pick it up?”
“He did, yeah.”
“He must have hit the roof.”
“Nope. He sent me a text saying he understood.” “Really?”
“Yup.”
He gazed off across the park, lost in thought. “I suppose you felt awful guilty.”
I spun towards him. “Yes. What made you say that?”
He shrugged. “You’re a good person. Doing bad things wouldn’t come easily to you. Not that I think you did a bad thing! I mean –”
“I know what you mean. And I’m glad to hear you saying it. I’ve had nothing but grief from everyone else.”
“Who?”
“My son, my daughter, my sister. They think I’m being too soft.”
“Don’t mind them.”
That, apparently, was the beginning and the end of his advice. Still, it made me feel a bit better. I shouted down the voice in my head that told me I didn’t deserve to feel better because (like everyone else) Eddie was comforting me without knowing all the facts.
“You’re right,” I said. “I should … not mind them. Come on, tell me how it went with … eh …”
“Margaret.”
“Margaret. Start at the start. Where did you take her?” “The Firefly.”
“Eddie! Big spender.”
“One of the papers had a write-up about it last week. Said it was fantastic, so I thought I’d push the boat out.”
“And?”
“Well, I’ll never see the boat again, that’s for sure. It’s gone over the bloody horizon.”
“Worth it though?”
“Oh yeah, it was lovely. Very elegant and all, but they didn’t make you feel like you didn’t belong there. I’ve been to a few other nice restaurants, on my own I might add, and they all treated me like a bloody competition winner. Eat this and clear off.”
“Were you nervous?”
He held a hand in the air and quickly shook it back and forth. “I could hardly do my shoelaces before I left the house. But she was nervous too. It was one of the first things she said to me, so that helped.”
“Good.”
“And I followed your advice. Asked her lots of questions, found out loads. There wasn’t one awkward silence, not one.”
“And what exactly did you find out?”
“She’s thirty-three. Shares a flat with a pal of hers. Works for Aer Lingus. Loves cats. Hates spiders. Big into music but nobody I’ve ever heard of, except Elvis and Johnny Cash. Oh, and Frank Sinatra. Hasn’t travelled muc
h but wants to. Had her appendix out last year. Only child, just like me. Very close to her mother and father. Reads a lot. Loves Roddy Doyle. She met him a few times and thought he was very nice. She tried to write a book herself once but gave up after a few weeks. Plays the piano a little bit. Can’t stand Bertie Ahern. Her favourite film is The Shawshank Redemption. When she was little girl, she had a hamster, but her cousin stood on it. She once got burgled three times in a fortnight. She doesn’t believe in UFOs, but she does believe in ghosts. She hates Big Brother, but she always watches it anyway. She has very little interest in learning how to cook. And she’s always liked older men.”
He allowed himself to smile when he came to this last detail. I melted a little bit. It was just so cute.
“Wow,” I said. “You did a lot of listening.”
“I did a bit of talking as well. But not too much. It was going so well that I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“Is there a ‘but’ coming, Eddie?”
“Yes. Well, no. Kind of. That’s what I want to talk to you about.” He put his hand to the back of his head and gave it a vigorous scratching.
“Did you say something you shouldn’t have or –”
“No, not at first anyway. I was really proud of myself, Jackie. And grateful to you. God knows what I would have been like if I’d gone in there armed with a load of old guff I got off the Internet. I did fine, honest. Right up until the very end.”
“Oh? What happened then?”
“We finished up in the restaurant and went outside, still chatting away, still getting on great, getting more comfortable, you know? Taking the mickey a bit. At least she was taking the mickey out of me.”
“About what?”
“My shirt. She said her grandfather had one just like it.” “Ah. Hence the shopping. I don’t see any bags …”
“I didn’t buy anything. I was halfway to the counter with a shirt when I realised it was almost exactly the same as the one I wore on our date, only the check was a bit bigger. You and her would get on great. She laughs at my shirt, you laugh at my tie.”
“For the last time, I like your tie.”
