—Aoife.
—Hi.
She pressed. His hand.
—The drugs, he said.
—Shush, she said.—What drugs?
—Fuckin’ amazin’.
—You can tell me later.
—Amazin’.
She held his hand.
—Later.
—Get the name.
They had him out of the bed.
—Fuckin’ Lazarus.
It was his da.
—Fuck off, Da.
—So you’re grand.
—Not bad, said Jimmy.—I’ve to drag this fuckin’ thing around though.
He shook the IV stand.
—Not for ever but, said his da.—Am I righ’?
—A few days, I suppose. They told me but I forget. But I walked from over there —
He pointed to the bed.
—To here.
He pointed at his feet. He was at the door from the ward to the corridor.
—Fair play.
—An’ I’m bollixed.
—It’s a fair stretch, said his da.—Three beds.
—Twice.
—Six beds, said his da.—Good man. I know cunts wouldn’t get past two.
He nodded at the only empty bed.
—This one dead?
—No, said Jimmy.—Gone home.
—Ah good.
Jimmy thought he was smiling but he wasn’t certain. He was still a bit jet-lagged, behind himself. He wasn’t sure where his face was.
—I’m fuckin’ elated, Da.
—Good man.
—Really. I am.
His da stood back while Jimmy lowered himself slowly into the chair.
—Y’alrigh’?
—Grand, said Jimmy.
—Is it sore?
—Not really, said Jimmy.—Not yet, anyway. They said somethin’ abou’ that as well. But I forget. I’m tired just.
He watched his da grab the chair from beside the bed right across from him. The chap in the bed was asleep and restless.
—What’s wrong with your man?
—Don’t know.
He sat down just as Jimmy’s eyes started to shut.
—Jimmy?
—Wha’?
—Alrigh’?
—Grand.
—Sure?
—Yeah.
The heat in the place. He hated it. He couldn’t stay awake but they wouldn’t let him get onto the bed. His head kept falling forward and he’d snap awake.
The nurses.
Wagons.
There wasn’t a nice one among them.
There was.
One. She’d been there smiling when he’d woken. Was it this morning? Yesterday? He hadn’t a clue.
It was hard to keep up. There was something he had to remember. He’d been grand a while back. Chatting to the fella across the way. A boring enough cunt. Going on about the horses. Trainers and jockeys, all the winners he’d nearly had, the fuckin’ accumulators. The telly, the racing – the sound had been up full blast. It still was – Jimmy could hear it. It wasn’t the horses now though. Australian voices.
Neighbours
. For fuck sake.
Jason Donovan.
Kylie Minogue.
Two names that fell neatly.
From way back.
Couldn’t keep his head up.
Kylie. That was her name. Charlene. He thought.
Charleeeeene!
—Sore?
—No.
—You’re not just being brave?
—I am, yeah. I’m in fuckin’ agony. No, I’m grand.
He was awake. Fully awake. Wide awake. He knew what day of the week it was.
—Wednesday.
—Thursday, said Aoife.
He sighed. It felt good. He could exhale without worrying. There was something; it was there now, something he hadn’t told Aoife.
—The drugs, though.
—You told me, she said.
—No, he said.—I didn’t. I don’t think so.
—You said they were amazing, said Aoife.
—They were. Fuckin’ amazin’.
—Okay, she said.—What was it about them?
She was sitting up on the bed. The kids had gone back down to the shop, Brian in charge of the tenner.
—Just, said Jimmy.—Your man, the anaesthetic guy. The anaesthetist. Try sayin’ that when you’re pissed.
—I’ll give it a bash tonight. Go on.
—So he’s there. All set, like. He was a bit of a cunt.
—Jimmy.
—Well, he was. Called me James.
—Then he was definitely a cunt, she whispered, and Jimmy loved her so much, so much, so fuckin’ much.
—You’ve never been a James, she said.
He watched her mouth. The words were coming out – he could see them all. Eggs.
—The drugs, he said.
He held back the tears. He touched his face. It was dry. He was feeling strange again. Woozy. A bit not there.
She leaned down and took his hand. The tubed-up hand.
—Go on, she said.
—He tells me to count to ten, said Jimmy.
—Did you manage it? Aoife asked.
—I don’t think I got to three. But the feeling, Aoife.
—What?
—It’s impossible—. Heat, like. A rush. The nicest feelin’ ever.
—For two seconds?
—Felt like much longer. Years. I don’t know.
—You’re crying.
—I’m not – am I?
She slid off the bed. She put her hands on his shoulders.
—I want to go home, he said.
—Me too.
—I don’t like this place. It’s a kip.
—That’s my Jimmy.
—It’s a fuckin’ kip.
—Only a few days left.
—Okay.
Aoife looked up as she tied his lace.
—I’ll have to get you a pair of shoes with Velcro.
—Ah Jaysis.
—Or slip-ons.
—No fuckin’ way.
—Mind you, she said.—The Timberland boots go really well with your tracksuit bottoms.
He had to wear the bottoms, because of the stitches and that. Aoife had bought them for him. Blue with a yellow stripe.
He was standing now.
—Let’s get out of here.
He grabbed his bag but she took it from him.
—Are you not going to say goodbye to anyone? she asked.
He was at the door.
—No.
—Ah Jimmy.
Outside at the ward station, he signed what needed signing, and got away to the lift as quickly as he could.
—Come on.
—God, you’re rude.
—I just want to get out of here.
He was sweating, already wet.
—You didn’t even say thank you to the nurse at the desk.
—I didn’t know her, he said.—I just want to go.
The lift was right there, no distance away, but it took him all fuckin’ morning to reach it.
Aoife pressed the down button.
—I wanted to do that, he said.
He could feel the sweat cooling. It reminded him of something, something that used to happen – he didn’t know.
He hated not being able to remember. It felt like he was closing down. Songs, names, places – they were disappearing.
—How are you feeling? she asked.
—Grand, he lied.—I’ll write them all a card, he lied again.—The nurses. To thank them.
—That’s a nice idea.
No sign of the lift and there was none of the noise that meant it was on its way. It was one of those industrial-sized hospital lifts, built to accommodate three or four dead bodies on a line of trolleys. The real Jimmy wouldn’t have waited. He’d have been down the stairs and out into the world by now.
—What did you say? said Aoife.
—Wha’?
—You said something.
—I didn’t. Wha’ did I say?
—I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.
—I didn’t say anythin’.
—Are you alright?
—I’m grand.
The door slid slowly open and Jimmy walked in. They were sharing the lift with a fat guy in a tracksuit and a wheelchair. He seemed to be missing a leg but Jimmy wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell where he started and ended. He was with his wife, or his life partner. Maybe his sister, or even his ma. The lift took forever. Jimmy wasn’t even sure if it was moving.
—Cuntin’ lift, said the chap in the wheelchair.
The sun was low and mean. It made his eyes feel old.
—Seatbelt, Jimmy, said Aoife.
—Oh yeah.
—And off we go.
—See the guy in the yellow dressing gown? And the baseball cap?
—Yes.
—Hit him, will yeh.
She laughed.
—Custodian of the remote control, said Jimmy.—You can see it in the pocket of his dressin’ gown, look.
He was right. The ward remote was poking out of the pocket.
—Jesus, said Aoife.
—That’s what I’ve been livin’ with, he said.
Home was ten minutes away, even if all the lights went against them.
—How could Marv lose his fuckin’ iPod? said Jimmy.
—What?
—How could he have been so fuckin’ blasé?
She looked at Jimmy, and back at the road.
—Marvin didn’t lose his iPod, she said.—He had it when he went to school this morning. I called after him because he’d forgotten his lunch but he didn’t hear me.
—Are you sure?
She looked at him quickly again.
—Yes.
He dragged his open hand from his forehead to his chin. He looked at the sun through his fingers.
—Did I imagine it?
—I think so, she said.—You must have.
—I gave out shite to him.
—You didn’t.
—I did.
—You couldn’t have, Jimmy, she said.
He could hear the worry in her voice, and impatience.
—It didn’t happen.
—I know, said Jimmy.—I can see that. But I imagined it did.
He looked at her looking at the road ahead.
—The only realistic thing I did imagine. Everythin’ else was mad.
—It must be hard, she said.
He decided to say nothing.
There was a dog in the kitchen.
—Is that ours? said Jimmy.
—No, it isn’t, said Aoife.
It was a tiny yoke with a face on him a bit like Gaddafi’s.
—It’s Caoimhe’s, said Aoife.—We’re just looking after it.
The thing barked. At Jimmy.
—It doesn’t like me, he said.
—Don’t be silly.
He sat down at the table and the dog jumped at his legs. He couldn’t cope with this, Aoife’s sister’s dog pawing at him.
—See? said Aoife.—She does like you. She just wants to get up on a lap.
—She can fuck off, said Jimmy.
He pushed the dog’s head away; he had to reach down to get at it. The dog skidded across the floor and came straight back at Jimmy.
—It’s only for a few days, said Aoife.
The dog was scraping at Jimmy’s tracksuit bottoms. Its claws were stinging the legs off him.
—Get down, Cindy, said Mahalia.
—Cindy? said Jimmy.—Wha’ sort of a name is that?
—That’s, like, a really stupid question, said Mahalia.
She picked up the dog and put it up to Jimmy’s face.
—Say hello to Daddy, she said.
Jimmy fought the urge to grab the dog and throw it at the fridge door. He felt its tongue on his top lip. The fuckin’ thing was trying to get off with him.
He pulled his head back.
—Enough, he said.
But the dog followed his head. Jimmy’s eyes were swimming; he’d become allergic to dog hair or something.
—She really likes you, said Mahalia.
—May, please. Give us a break.
—Fine, said Mahalia.—Annyhoo. Welcome home.
—Thanks.
Her face had replaced the dog’s. He kissed her cheek.
—You smell nice, he said.
—You don’t, she said.
Brian was standing at the kitchen door, looking worried and eager.
—Alright, Smoke?
And Brian smiled. He’d put on weight. Jimmy would have sworn it.
—Yeh comin’ in? he said.
Brian stepped nearer to him.
—Here, said Jimmy.—Give us a hug.
Brian laughed and came over to Jimmy. Jimmy held him and rested his head on Brian’s shoulder. He didn’t cry. It was the same Brian. Same size, same smell.
—It’s good to be home, he said.
He thought of something. He looked at Brian and Mahalia.
—No school?
—Mam said we could stay at home till you came home, like, said Mahalia.
—Chancers, said Jimmy.—Usin’ me as an excuse.
He had Brian laughing again.
—So I’m home, he said.—So off yeh go, back to school.
—Can we have a takeaway —
—No!
Aoife and Jimmy shouted it together.
—I think that’s a No, said Mahalia.
Brian got his schoolbag out from behind the door. He stopped, went, stopped. He turned to Jimmy.
—Are you finished?
—Finished wha’? said Jimmy.—The hospital, d’yeh mean?
—Yeah.
—I think so, yeah, said Jimmy.—I’ll be in for the day just. Now and again. Once a week or somethin’. But I’ll be home every night.
He looked at Brian’s face and tried to take the worry off it.
—It’ll be grand, he said.
He was exhausted. Wiped. The dog was back on the floor, scratching at the mat at the back door. He was surrounded by noise; that was what it was like.
He was fucked, shattered.
He smiled at Brian.
—How’s school been since?
—Okay.
—Okay?
—A bit boring.
—How is it borin’?
—Just is.
—I’m flaked, he said.—I think I’ll lie down for a bit.
He looked at the faces looking at him.
—I’ll be up when you come home.
He stood up as sharply as he could manage and he made sure he didn’t grunt or moan.
—It’s great to be home.
He looked down at the dog. He smiled again. He fuckin’ hated it. The sister’s dog, a fuckin’ spy.
—How long is a few days? he asked Aoife.
—Two weeks, she said.
—Fuck sake, he said.—Where’ve they gone?
—A cruise, she said.
—A cruise? he said.—Recession me hole.
—Mediterranean. Starting in Genoa.
—Grand, he said.—And endin’ in acrimony. See yis in a bit.
He headed to the stairs.
—Will I wake you later?
No
.
—Yeah, he said.—That’d be nice.
The light at the sides of the curtains wasn’t as sharp. The sun had gone over the house.
He’d slept. Brilliant. He’d shut his eyes and he’d gone to sleep. Simple as that.
He could make out music, some shite downstairs. Hall & Oates, he thought it was. ‘Maneater’. Aoife was listening to Nova on the Roberts. He’d give out to her later, wasting internet radio on shite like that. She loved what she called his musical fascism.
He could hear yapping now too. Caoimhe’s excuse for a dog. Out the back. Although he couldn’t be certain. The estate was full of yappers. If he’d ever needed to prove that this was a middle-class area it wouldn’t have been the houses he’d have pointed at. They were just ordinary, three-bedroomed, with small gardens; reasonable at the time, ludicrously expensive for a few years and probably worth fuck all now. It wasn’t the houses that marked the place, or most of the people. They were the same as everywhere. Although middle-class gobshites were a bit more complicated, harder to spot and easier to write off than the working-class ones.