— Coffee? said Jimmy.
— If you go out to buy it, Jimbo.
— We’d both be goin’ out, said Jimmy. — To over there.
He was pointing down, to the Insomnia at the far corner of the street.
— Oh, she said. — A date.
— Eh — yeah.
— I’ll just get my coat.
— Grand.
He was stuck now.
He put on his jacket. He actually didn’t have a proper coat. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d wanted or needed a coat. He’d have to get one now. And fuckin’ skis.
He met Noeleen downstairs at the door.
— Before we go, she said, just as his elbow started to push the glass.
He felt the cold lick his ankles.
— What?
— You’re not thinking of leaving, are you, Jimbo?
That was a shock.
— No.
He had been — for two years now. It was a little dream of his, about the only one he had that didn’t have tits or death in it. He fuckin’ hated being called Jimbo.
— Ready? he said.
— Heave away.
He pushed open the door, out into the snow.
— It’s lovely, she said.
— It is, he agreed.
It would be a while before it became a pain in the arse and dangerous. He knew already, he wouldn’t be driving home. But he lived near enough to the Dart. Noeleen lived out in Kildare somewhere, in a house with a field. Her weekend was fucked. She’d never make it home.
He enjoyed hating her.
He didn’t have a scarf or anything — it was only November, for fuck sake. The snow was getting in, down between his neck and collar.
— Any plans for the weekend?
He beat the snow off his head, and remembered. He had to get himself scalped. There was a barber a bit down from Insomnia. He’d trot down there after he’d told Noeleen he was dying.
— Yeah, she said. — We’re booked into the Shelbourne tonight and tomorrow.
— Great.
— So we won’t have to battle home in this.
— That’s great, said Jimmy.
The other half of the we was Adam. Jimmy hadn’t met him. The name had arrived about two months before.
— Great excuse, said Noeleen. — We can just stay in the room and fuck like little bunnies.
— Cool.
And actually, he did think it was a bit cool — the room in the hotel and the fact that she could tell him what she planned to do with it. He didn’t really hate her. It was just easier pretending he did.
The café door was slowed by the soggy mat. He had to push it shut. He followed Noeleen to the counter.
— Your usual?
— I’m buyin’, he said.
— Oh, I know.
He let her order his double espresso and her own super-frappa-chappa-whatever the fuck. That wasn’t fair either. She ordered an Americano. And a bran muffin.
— You want anything to eat?
— No, he said. — Thanks.
They brought their coffees over to a corner. He waited till she was sitting before he did — he didn’t know why. He didn’t want to sit at all. He wanted to run. But he did — he sat.
— So, she said.
— So.
— Here we are.
— Yeah.
— What’s on our mind?
She was taking over.
That wasn’t fair.
Fuck it all, he was being too reasonable. He hated her. It was easier that way.
— I got a bit of news, he said.
— Oh yes?
She was in too early. Fuckin’ typical.
— Yeah, he said.
He waited for her to jump in again.
She didn’t.
— And you need to know about it, he said. — Because it’s —
— Oh, Jimmy —
— I’m grand.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
— I’m grand, he said again.
He sat up.
— I’ve got cancer.
She got up and went to the counter. She came back and handed him a tissue, a couple of them. Browny paper — the recycled stuff. She was sitting again.
He looked at the tissues in his hand. If he waited, would she take them back and wipe his eyes and cheeks?
— Alright?
— Yeah, he said. — Grand.
He held up the tissues.
— Thanks.
He rubbed his eyes. He put the tissues on the table, away to the side, so he wouldn’t mess with them, shred them. He put his hands on the table. He’d caught himself recently, a lot, finger in an ear, up a nostril. It wasn’t good.
— I’m so sorry, she said.
— Thanks.
He was ready now, calm. It was his story — his.
— It’s the bowel, he said. — Enjoy your muffin.
She looked down at the muffin. She hadn’t touched it.
— I couldn’t. Now.
— Go on ahead, he said. — What I mean is. It’s not the lungs, or the brain. I’ll be fine.
— What stage are you at?
A fuckin’ expert — he should have known.
— Two, he said. — Stage Two. They think.
She looked at him like she doubted it, like she’d asked him how many drinks he’d had and he’d lied.
— Two, he said again. — Yeah.
— Okay.
She was nodding, measuring — businesswoman of the fuckin’ year.
He got ready to give her the gist. The facts he’d learnt to go through. The reassurance that had started to bore him. He wouldn’t do it again.
— I’ll be out of action for a while, he said. — On and off.
— You’ll need chemo.
—’Course, yeah.
He shrugged.
— It’ll be fine, he said. — Radiation treatment as well, probably. Anyway.
He shrugged again. He was one big fuckin’ shrug.
— I won’t be around, he said.
And another shrug.
— Occasionally.
— Do you have dates? she asked.
— This week, he said.
— So soon? You could have —
— I’ll be gettin’ the dates this week.
— Oh. Sorry, yes –
— We’ll have loads of time to sort things out.
— I didn’t mean —
— Grand.
He shrugged. He smiled.
— So, he said. — Anyway.
— How’s Aoife?
— She’s grand. She’s — well. Grand.
— The kids?
— They’re grand. They don’t — I don’t know. I don’t think they get it really. They know but—. So. Yeah, they’re grand really.
He nodded at the window, at the snow beyond it.
— They’ll be lovin’ this.
— Yes.
Her hand was there, on his.
— And how are you, Jimmy?
— I’m grand.
— Everything’s always grand in the world of Jimmy Rabbitte. Tell me.
— This is our gay moment, yeah?
— Yes.
— I’m fuckin’ shattered, he said. — And frightened. And I keep adding bits to what’s happening. Like a commentary, yeh know. My last fuckin’ moments. I can’t even watch ads on the telly. I start cryin’.
She patted his hand.
He was a fuckin’ clown.
She was still there, smiling. Like she used to.
God, he was a sap.
— What caused it? she asked.
He shrugged.
— Don’t know, he said. — They said it might be hereditary. Oh fuck.
— What’s wrong?
— I forgot something, he said. — Completely fuckin’ forgot.
He stood.
— I’ve to phone my da and my brothers.
— Oh Jesus! Jimmy! They’ll have to be — is it, tested?
— Yeah, he said. — I forgot. Biopsies all round. Fuckin’ hell.
They laughed.
— That’s the Christmas presents sorted an’anyway.
She stood too. She hugged him.
— You never change, she said, to the side of his head. — I love you.