‘Martin!’ Brian shouted, jumping and waving. He fought through a gap in the throng and stumbled to Martin’s side. ‘Jesus, that’s mental.’
Brian wore his fighter pilot’s leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses that Martin had heard him refer to as his ‘fuck-me shades’.
‘How are you doing, Brian? You’re looking fit.’
‘Ah.’ Brian shook his head. ‘Fit to drop is more like. Sure, you know yourself. Ours is not to wonder why.’ He lit a cigarette.
‘How’s Trisha?’ Martin said.
‘Still chugging along, more’s the pity. But she’s talking to me again, small mercies.’ Brian lowered his sunglasses on his long nose. ‘So, what’re you up to? Shopping? Anything good?’
Martin held up the carrier bag. ‘Graduation present. It’s Ronan’s conferrals today.’
‘Oh, yeah? Nice. Congratulations. I went to Audrey’s one last week.’
‘And how was it?’
‘Ah, I don’t know. It was a graduation. Everyone wore hats.’
They stepped out of the doorway and walked together for a moment before stopping at the entrance to a cigar shop on College Green.
‘And how about herself?’ Brian said. ‘Are you nervous about … ?’
‘Having to talk to her?’
‘Right.’
‘Ah, it’s not about us, you know? It’s his day, after all. I think it’s the least we can do. I reckon we’ll survive.’
The corners of Brian’s mouth turned down and his lower lip protruded. ‘Fair enough, so,’ he said. ‘That’s a beautiful and mysterious woman. Who knows how these things’ll turn out?’
‘Sure.’
‘Well … Right you are. I’ll love you and leave you, then.’
‘Take care, Brian.’
‘I can but try.’ Brian moved away, his head bobbing again in retreat above the crowd.
On the steps in front of the exam hall, Martin felt a tap on his shoulder and discovered that he had strayed into someone else’s photograph. He stepped out of the way only to find himself blocking another shot — another patient, adult kid standing between mother and grandmother, and father frowning at him from behind the camera. Martin made his apologies and retreated out of frame. He straightened his tie, looked out across the crowded square and allowed his eyes to skip from group to group. In the distance a girl carrying a heavy book bag was giving directions to a tourist. Martin followed her pointing arm to the corner of the grey dormitories and then travelled their line into a sky impossibly blue.
He felt his heart quicken as he began to make them out. Anne was walking between Ronan and a tall blonde wearing glasses and boots, the shape of whose body was untraceable beneath her gown. Martin brushed his jacket shoulders and smoothed back his hair. When Ronan saw him he broke from his mother and the girl, ran over and bounded up the steps.
‘All right?’
‘Grand, yeah.’ Martin struggled to smile. ‘Feeling better?’
‘Much.’
‘I ran into Brian Glennan.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘He sends his congrats.’
‘Good stuff. Brian Glennan.’ Ronan grinned. ‘Is his wife fucking him again?’
‘No.’ Martin laughed. ‘No, she is not.’
Ronan looked at the bag in Martin’s hand. Now, while they were alone for a last moment, was the time to give him the watch. But Ronan turned away too quickly and reached for his mother’s hand to help her up the steps. Anne took Martin in with one quick glance and looked away towards the front of the square and the archway at the main gate.
Ronan presented the blonde. ‘Da,’ he said. ‘This is Eve. She’s in my class.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’ Eve’s voice was soft. She had a silver ring in her lip and wore tortoiseshell glasses. She was good-looking, small featured and clear-skinned in a way that made Martin think of kindness. She spotted what Martin assumed to be her own parents and made her excuses.
‘I’d like to say hi too,’ Ronan said. He shot Martin and Anne a cautionary glance and left his parents alone.
Anne held herself straight, her hands gripping her bag straps. Her make-up was applied expertly and sparingly and she had little jewelled touches here and there: jade earrings, an enormous amber ring on what once had been her wedding finger.
‘So, you made it in safe?’ Martin said.
‘Yes.’
‘You look well.’
‘And you too.’
‘How’ve you been?’
‘Oh, fine.’
‘And work. How’s work?’
Anne looked at him from the tops of her dark eyes. ‘Work is work. It’s grand.’
‘I’m fine by the way.’
‘You always are, aren’t you?’
After Ronan came back they took some awkward photos on the steps and then filed into the exam hall, Ronan and Eve together with Eve’s parents, Anne struggling to keep up and Martin lagging behind. The kids went off to sit with their classmates before the dais and Martin and Anne sat together in the first row of seats arranged around the periphery.
The hall smelled of age and paper, its high walls adorned with smoky oil paintings of Elizabeth I and Raleigh, and many others Martin could not make out. There were stained-glass windows near the roof and one large window at the back of the dais through which shafts of blue and pink light entered. Families chatted amongst themselves. Martin sat with the bag in his lap.
‘So,’ Anne said after a time. ‘His hair’s short.’
‘Yeah,’ Martin said. ‘You like it?’
‘It’s not bad, actually.’ Anne’s jaw muscles were working. ‘And you let him sleep on the couch, then?’
‘Yeah. It was no trouble.’
She snorted. ‘I wouldn’t expect it to be. But the couch? On the night of his graduation?’
‘It’s a one-bed apartment. Where would you like me —’
‘Well, I wouldn’t know how big it is.’
Martin swallowed hard and said, ‘Listen. Let’s not do this.’
‘What?’
‘Let’s —’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Fine. That’s absolutely fine.’
After a while, a door opened at the top of the room and a procession of academics began. They crossed the dais with heads bowed, shuffling in long robes. The Dean of School took the podium. He was middle-aged, vaguely Scandinavian-looking, and wore a furred hood, a green sash and a pair of stylish, thick-framed glasses high on his nose. The watch would suit him, Martin thought.
Once the Dean had made his opening remarks, the department secretary began the long roll-call of names. Martin’s eyes wandered around the hall before settling on the back of Eve’s head.
He decided he would try again. He pointed over and whispered to Anne, making sure of an even tone, ‘Are they —’
‘What?’
He thought of a word. ‘Involved.’
‘Ronan and Eve?’
‘Yes.’
‘He hasn’t said anything to you?’
‘No.’
‘Well, then, it’s not really my place.’
When all the names had been called and all the diplomas distributed, the Dean took the podium again. There was some cheering and some applause. Ronan and Eve leaned towards one another.
Martin bent down to be heard. ‘You did a great job on him.’
‘I know I did.’ Anne was looking straight ahead. Her eyes didn’t move.
Eve’s father was a tall, thin, gentleman-farmer type. He looked like he belonged to a golf club and could run four or five miles without losing breath. Ronan, Anne, Eve and Eve’s mother positioned themselves for more photos: beneath the Campanile; in front of the Old Library; between the stone pillars of the dining hall.
‘You must be Ronan’s father.’
‘Martin.’
‘Ken.’
The kids had their degrees now, presented as cylinders bound with blue ribbon. Eve cradled hers carefully at her chest. Ronan held his by his side like a rolled-up newspaper.