— It’s been around since 1874, he said.
— Cool, said his father.
They built up a history of questions, a long paragraph, and shortened it. They sat side by side at the kitchen table and forgot where they were.
— Someone claims they saw someone like him in — say — Argentina.
— Brilliant.
— There’s a graveyard in — what’s a city in Argentina?
— Buenos Aires.
— Cool. There’s a stone — like tombstone, like. With K.T. carved on it.
— Yeah, yeah.
— Leave it with me, said Outspan.
— Sure?
— Yeah, he said. — What’s the word again?
— Yurt, said Jimmy.
— An’ that’s a posh tent, yeah?
— Yeah, said Jimmy. — So Noeleen says — in work. An’ they’re in a quieter camping site, she said. Away from the fuckin’ madness.
— Grand.
— They’re supposed to be comfortable.
— An’ fuckin’ waterproof, yeah?
— Yeah, yeah, said Jimmy. — An’ they give yeh inflatable mattresses as well.
— An’ inflatable women — for tha’ fuckin’ money.
Jimmy didn’t think he’d ever heard Outspan sound really excited before.
— So — a yurt, yeah?
— Gotcha, said Outspan. — An’ come here.
— Wha’?
— The night in the Hiker’s. We took in way more than I need. So. Is there annyone else we can ask?
— Well, said Jimmy. — Brilliant, yeah. What abou’ Derek?
— Asked him, said Outspan. — He started his usual, yeh know. Ah, I don’t know, would we have to camp, will there be toilets? A pain in the fuckin’ arse.
He was talking so much, Jimmy began to wonder about his lungs. But then there was a noisy pause. It lasted a while. Then Outspan spoke again.
— So I told him to fuck off.
— Fair play, said Jimmy. — Is there annyone else?
— No one I know, said Outspan.
Jimmy said nothing. It was probably true. He was like Jimmy there. There were loads of people who wished him the best — the Hiker’s had been packed — but he’d no real friends.
— There’s a guy, said Jimmy. — Des. He’s sound.
— Ask him.
— Okay. Sure?
— Yeah, go on. We need to fill the fuckin’ yoke.
— The yurt.
— Yeah.
A thought fell through Jimmy.
— D’you remember my brother, Les?
— The mad cunt.
— He’s not mad these days — I don’t think.
— Is he still a cunt but?
— I don’t know, said Jimmy.
He didn’t mind saying that.
— He lives in England, he said.
— That’s not fuckin’ promisin’.
— Will I ask him?
— Fire away.
— Did it —?
They were in the bed. Aoife waited till he noticed she’d stopped talking.
— Yeah?
— I don’t mean this nastily, she said.
He sat up a bit. Mike Scott would have to fuck off again.
— Go on, he said.
— Well. Did it ever occur to you that I’d like to go?
— To the Picnic?
— Yes.
Jimmy went for honesty.
— Yeah, he said. — ’Course.
— And?
— Well, he said. — I’m guessin’ you’d probably like to.
— I might, she said.
— But I’d asked Outspan — Liam. And I’m askin’ Les.
— Are you?
— Yeah.
— That’s lovely.
She meant it. She was delighted, and that delighted him. It really did.
— So I didn’t think you’d want to share the tent with us all, he said.
He said tent instead of yurt, in case she thought a yurt would be big enough for everyone.
— But I want to see Marvin, she said.
She knew about the Bulgarian scam. She had to; he couldn’t have hidden it. Although he hadn’t told Noeleen, and he’d told — asked — Aoife not to. Till he’d figured out the consequences.
— There are day tickets, he said.
— I know.
— We can get a few.
— I know.
— Great.
— I was thinkin’, said Jimmy.
— Yeah?
— Maybe we could give Kevin a few more songs.
— No, said young Jimmy.
— One, even.
— Don’t wreck it, Dad.
— You’re right.
— Les?
— Jimmy.
— How are yeh?
— Fine. You?
— Fine, grand, yeah. How’s Maisie?
The usual little pause.
— Fine.
— Great. The Olympics went well.
— Yes.
— Did you get to annythin’?
— No.
— Watched it on telly, yeah?
— Some.
Jesus, what was he doing?
— Come here, he said. — Do yeh like your music?
— What do you mean?
— Do you follow the music, yeh know — go to gigs, ever?
— Not really.
— No?
— No.
— Well, listen.
Jimmy told him about the Picnic. The yurt, Outspan, Des. The Cure. Elbow. Dexys Midnight Runners. The free ticket. He could give it the full Jimmy because he knew the answer was going to be No.
— So. Would you be up for it?
— Yes.
— Yes?
— Yes. It sounds great.
— Great, said Jimmy.
He meant it, and that was a shock. It was like something warm flowing down through him — the anaesthetic he’d had when he’d had the bowel whipped out; that same rush.
— Jimmy?
— Yeah.
— Still there?
— Yeah.
The house was calm again.
Marvin had gone down to the school. He’d said he’d text when he got the news, but he hadn’t.
— Send him a text, said Jimmy.
— Why me? said young Jimmy.
— You’re not me or your mother. He’ll answer you.
— Go on, Jim, said Aoife. — Please. The tension’s killing me.
They watched young Jimmy pulling his phone out of his pocket, like he was pulling barbed wire from his hole. They watched him compose the text and send it.
— What did you say? Aoife asked him.
— It’s private.
Marvin didn’t text back.
— Will we phone him? said Jimmy.
— Yes. Maybe.
— He’s only been gone half an hour. How far is the school — to walk?
Young Jimmy had disappeared. So Jimmy went up to Mahalia’s room and woke her.
— How long does it take you to walk to school?
— What?
He asked her again.
— Like, I haven’t walked to school in, like, months. It’s the holidays, like.
— How long though — about?
— I don’t remember.
— A rough guess.
— Ten minutes. Go away.
— Okay. Thanks.
He went back down. He hadn’t noticed Marvin actually doing the Leaving in June. Now but, he was shitting himself. Jimmy hadn’t done the Leaving. He’d left school a few months before the exams.
They felt a shift in the air inside the house before they heard the front door closing. And they were up and out, skidding into the hall to get at Marvin.
— Well?
— Three hundred and forty points, said Marvin.
— Is that good?
— Of course it’s good, said Aoife.
— Brilliant, brilliant. Will it get you what you want?
— Think so, said Marvin.
He wanted to do Arts or something, in UCD.
— If it’s the same as last year, said Marvin.
There was the hugging.
— Proud of you, son, said Jimmy. — Always.