“Dating! Get with the millennium, Jack. I’ve been with him... like... zonks.”
I had to allow for her being English and that they’d lost the grip on language, asked,
“How long?”
“It’s nearly three weeks.”
“Phew, how can you stand the pace?”
“Will you give me away? I mean... you’re the only old guy I know.”
“Thanks... sure, I’d be delighted.”
Horse time.
Put the TV on, brought up the teletext. Was I nervous? Wiped a light perspiration from my brow. OK... that’s the beer. Here we go... results... scrolled to them. First off, couldn’t see it... shit... maybe he didn’t run. Come on... come on...
Oh my God.
Won!
Finished at 12’s and I’d got 35’s. Did a little jig, then punched the air, roared,
Kissed the screen, said,
“Yah little beauty.”
Did some fast heart-pounding sums. Seven big ones. Got the docket out, ensured there was no mistake. Nope, it was clear as day. A knock at the door.
I pulled it open. Linda. I said,
“Yeah.”
“Jack, I hate to be pushy but I wonder if you’d made any arrangements?”
“I have.”
“Oh, that’s great. Is it nice?”
“What do you care?”
“I don’t want us to part on bad terms.”
“Of course. Just ‘cause you’re evicting me, it shouldn’t affect our friendship.”
“I feel bad.”
I laughed out loud, said,
“That’s a tragedy. God forbid you should feel that.”
And I shut the door.
All in all, my last evening was one for the books.
“In matters of grave importance
style
not sincerity
is
the vital thing.
Violence requires a cold and deadly style.”
Next morning, I was having coffee, checking everything was ready to go. The news was on. I was only half listening till the local news and
A young girl’s body was taken from the water at Nimmo’s Pier this morning Gardai at the scene tried unsuccessfully to revive the girl. This brings to ten, the number of teenage suicides this year from the same spot.
I said,
“He’s done it again.”
The phone went. It was Ann, no preamble, launched,
“You heard the news.”
“Yes.”
“You could have prevented it.”
And she hung up.
If I had a bottle, I’d have climbed in. Called a cab. I carried my stuff outside and waited by the canal. When I closed the door of the flat, I didn’t look back.
The cab driver was a Dub and full of it. I said,
“Bailey’s Hotel.”
“Where’s that?”
I gave him directions and he said,
“How did I miss it?”
I didn’t answer. He spent the journey explaining where the GAA were going wrong. I gave appropriate grunts. At the hotel, he gave it the once over, said,
“Jeez, it doesn’t look much.”
“It’s like the GAA... you have to be on the inside.”
Mrs Bailey was at Reception, asked,
“Need a porter?”
I didn’t know if it was a pint or help but shook my head. She added,
“Janet has the room lovely.”
She handed me a set of keys, said,
“Come and go as you please.”
Beat that.
I’d imagined Janet to be a girl. If anything, she was older than Mrs Bailey. Waiting outside my room, she actually shook my hand, said,
“’Tis great you’re from Galway.”
The room was bright, spacious, with large windows. A vase of flowers on the table. Janet had followed me in, said,
“Just to welcome you.”
A bathroom with a massive tub and acres of fresh clean towels. Beside the double bed was a coffee pot and a pack of Bewley’s best. I said,
“You went to a lot of trouble.”
“Arrah, not a bit. We haven’t had a long-term since Mr Waite passed on.”
“How long was he here?”
“Twenty years.”
“I’ll do the same.”
She gave a huge smile. One from the heart. The type that guile or spite has never shadowed. Looking out into the corridor, as if someone might hear, she said,
“We have dances on a Saturday night.”
“Really?”
Her face lit up, like a nun with chocolate; she said,
“It’s not advertised, not ever. The Swingtime Aces... do you know them?”
I didn’t, said,
“I do. Great band.”
“Oh they’re fabulous. They do foxtrots and tangoes, it’s as lively. Do you dance?”
“You should see my rumba.”
She near squeaked with delight. I said,
“Save the last dance for me.”
I swear, she near skipped off. There was a phone, TV, video. All the essentials. Decided not to unpack. Took the stairs and was on the street in a moment. I wanted a drink so bad, I could taste it on my tongue.
The bookies was empty. Just Hart behind the counter. Without looking up, he said,
“You’ve ruined me.”
“Didn’t you lay it off?”
“Course I did.”
“Back it yourself?”
“Course.”
“So, how are you hurting?”
“I got blind-sided.”
“Don’t we all.”
“You’ll take a cheque?”
“Never happen.”
“That’s what I thought, here.”
Flung a padded envelope on the counter, said,
“You’ll want to count it.”
I did.
As I was leaving, Hart called,
“Jack!”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t come back.”
”‘Boy,’ Carella said,
‘What a day this was!’”
Walking into Grogan’s, I felt the loss of Sean like damnation. The place looked different, was different. The two perennials at the counter weren’t there. A large fat man came out of the store room. I asked,
“What happened to the sentries?”
“You wot, guv!”
English.
“Two old guys, propped up the bar like clockwork.”
“I got shot of ‘em. Bad for business.”
“You’re Sean’s son?”
He gave me a close look, verging on hostility, said,
“Who’s asking?”
“I was his friend. Jack Taylor.”
Put out my hand. He ignored it, asked,
“Did I meet you at the funeral?”
“I... um... didn’t make it.”
“Not much of a friend then, eh.”
Nailed me there.
He went behind the counter, began busy bar things. I said,
“Could I get a drink?”
“Naw, I don’t think this is your kind of place.”
I stood for a moment and he asked,
“Was there something else?”
“I understand now why Sean never mentioned you.”
He smirked so I added,
“He must have been ashamed of his life of you.”
Outside, I felt a mix of rage and sadness, and it’s a dangerous cocktail. Wanted to go back and flatten the smug bastard. Two Americans stopped, looked at the pub, asked,
“Is this, like, an authentic pub?”
“No, it’s a fake. Go over to Garavan’s, it’s the real thing.” At the off-licence, I loaded up. The assistant said,
“Bit of a party!”