— Wha’?
— It would fuckin’ kill me.
— Good way to go.
— Not fair on the bird.
He coughed — or it sounded like a cough.
— But at least, he said, — there’s the chemo porn.
— The what?
— Chemo porn.
— What the fuck is that?
— It needs fuckin’ explainin’? said Outspan.
— Yeah, said Jimmy. — I think so — maybe. Just to be on the safe side.
— Ah, look it, said Outspan. — I thought yis’d know about it.
— No.
— Well, it’s — like. It’s people with cancer.
— Ridin’?
— Some, said Outspan. — Mostly just pictures. Good-lookin’ women who still look good even though they’re goin’ through chemo. Men as well — some.
— Jesus.
— It’s kind o’ reassurin’, said Outspan. — Yeh can see for yourself, if yeh have a smartphone there.
The dum-dum dum-dum was still going but something must have ended because they could see bodies now, long shadows, moving through the tents.
Les had his phone out.
— What’s the web address?
— Which one?
— There’s more than one?
—’Course there is, said Outspan. — Jesus. Chemo-porn.com. There’s a dash.
— Between chemo and porn?
— No, between fuckin’ an’ eejit.
— Don’t, Les.
— What?
— Why not? said Outspan. — What’s your problem?
The shadows were huge but the kids that came after them weren’t particularly big. They stopped dead at the lads.
— Old people! said a girl in shorts and wellies. — Old people!
— Oh my God!
Jimmy laughed. They all did.
— Put the phone away, Les, for fuck sake.
There were five of them — maybe six. Two girls and three lads — maybe four.
— Want a drink, kids? said Les.
— Cool.
— It’s a bit gross, like.
— What is?
— It’s like drinking with our dads, like.
— Could be worse, said Outspan. — We could be your fuckin’ mas.
— Here, said Les.
He passed each of them a can.
— You don’t have to stay, he said.
— Savage — thanks.
They tripped over guy ropes as they escaped to their own tents somewhere behind the lads.
— But look it, said Outspan — he’d lowered his voice. — There’s a link. To an Irish site.
— Porn?
— Not really. More online datin’.
— People with cancer?
— Yeah — ’course.
— And?
— I met up with one.
— A woman?
— A fuckin’ chimp. Yeah, a woman.
— How was tha’?
— Grand, said Outspan. — Not too bad.
— You met her?
— Yeah.
— Where?
— First time?
— Yeah.
— Pub near hers.
— An’ yeh went back?
— Yeah.
— And?
— An’ wha’? It was great. I don’t know — neither of us had to feel bad.
Jimmy wanted to cry. He wanted to hug Outspan.
— D’yeh still see her?
— No.
— Ah. How come?
— She’s dead. Yeh fuckin’ eejit.
There was silence — total. The whole of the Picnic and Laois had gone missing. Then there was a rattling noise — Outspan laughing.
— Yeh cunt, said Jimmy. — You were havin’ us on.
He still wanted to cry. But laughing was easier and Outspan looked happier there than Jimmy had ever seen him.
— But, like, said Outspan. — I did go for a coffee with a woman in chemo. Once. We said we wouldn’t talk about it but we talked abou’ nothin’ else. It was a bit borin’.
— I’d say so.
— Nice bird, though.
Les was looking at his phone.
— There is actually a site, he said.
— I wasn’t jokin’ abou’ tha’, said Outspan. — That’s on the level.
There was a kid beside them, one of the boys they’d given a can to.
— D’you want some of these? he said.
The kid’s hand was out but Jimmy couldn’t see anything. Then he did. It was a plastic bag — a Spar bag.
— What have you got for us there? said Les.
Des was on his knees now, looking into the bag. He put his hand in.
— Lads — don’t, said Jimmy — too late.
There was something sticking out of Des’s mouth, like a tail. He was eating a mouse.
— Wha’ the fuck are yeh doin’?
— Mushrooms, said Les.
That was what was sticking from Des’s mouth, the mushroom’s tail — or stalk.
Les held up a fistful and put his head back.
— Magic mushrooms? said Jimmy.
— Hope so, said Les.
He shoved the crop into his mouth. The kid was shaking the bag at Jimmy and Outspan.
— Want some?
— Fuck off, said Jimmy.
A good night out with the lads — actually, more a night in with the lads — was heading out of control.
But Outspan was relaxed.
— Fuckin’ eejits, he said.
Des had spat his share back onto the grass.
— I can’t swallow them, he said. — They’re not even washed.
— Snob, said Outspan.
— They’re too dry, said Des.
Les was chewing away. The kid was gone.
— Jesus, said Jimmy.
— Relax, said Les.
He drank long from his can.
— Wha’ happens? said Jimmy.
He knew nothing about drugs. He was a white middle-aged man in the music business; he should have had a new nose from all the cocaine use. But he’d never seen cocaine.
— I’ll start hallucinating in a while, said Les. — Any minute now.
Des was rooting through the mushrooms he’d spat out.
— One at a time, he said — he mumbled. — That’s the trick.
He put a tiny mushroom into his mouth, then took a swig.
— You an’ me in one tent, Liam, okay? said Jimmy.
He was calmer now. He wasn’t going to look after this pair. Anyway, with Les’s military training, he’d be able to find the antidote — whatever the fuck — in under the trees over there. He’d boil the bark or lick a lizard or something. Jimmy would be asleep — he didn’t care.
— Definitely, said Outspan. — These cunts’ll be off chattin’ to the fairies in a minute.
— I am the Des!
— Ah, for fuck sake.
— One for the road, said Jimmy.
He leaned past Les and got hold of a can, and another one. He half expected to have his arm broken, or his eyes gouged. More of Les’s training. Protecting the supplies. Act first, ask later. But nothing happened.
— Here yeh go.
— Thanks, said Outspan.
— Wha’ were we talkin’ about?
— Ridin’ women with cancer.
— That’s right, said Jimmy. — Time to move on maybe.
— Suit yourself.
— Nothing yet, said Des. — You?
He was staring at the ground.
— Nope, said Les. — Give it half an hour or so.
— Jesus, said Outspan. — This is borin’.
He got up on his knees.
— I’m not hangin’ around to listen to this shite, he said.
He crawled across to the nearer tent.
— Where’s the fuckin’ zip?
Jimmy heard it, and saw Outspan slide into the tent, and heard him too now, inside. And he was right. Waiting for Leslie and Dezlie to turn into hobbits was boring.
— Seeyis, he said.
—’Night, Jim, said Les.
Des said nothing. He was still staring at the ground.
Jimmy followed Outspan into the tent. But it was hard to tell when out became in. The tent was so thin, it was as dark, as bright, as fuckin’ cold, inside as it was out. The slight push of the nylon against the top of his head was the only real proof that he was in the fuckin’ thing. Outspan was already buried in a sleeping bag.