—It’s yours.
Jimmy looked around for somewhere to sit, but changed his mind. He was too giddy to sit. And Lochlainn had the only chair.
It was rough.
—I’M DOWN ON MY KNEES —
It was dreadful.
—A MUNCHIN’ MUNCHIN’ MUNCHIN’ —
It was brilliant. Lochlainn was yawning but he hadn’t a clue.
—AND THE GIRL DON’T KNOW —
I GOT ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION —
Jimmy was listening to the howling kid inside every middle-aged man, and Brenda on the drums was the howling middle-aged woman.
—OH YES SHE DO —
—OH NO SHE DON’T —
—OH YES SHE DO —
—OH NO SHE DON’T —
—Was their bassist with them? Jimmy shouted.
—No, said Lochlainn.
—I didn’t think so, said Jimmy.—Just the two of them, yeah?
—Yeah.
—They fill the room but, don’t they?
—SHE’S SMILIN’ BACK AT ME —
SHE’S SHOWIN’ ME HOWTH JUNCTION —
AND THE BITCH DON’T KNOW —
I GOT ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION —
There was no getting away from it, the senior civil servant could sure make that guitar scream. There wouldn’t have been room for the bass.
—OH YES SHE DO —
—OH NO SHE DON’T —
This was the scream of a shocked and angry man. And Brenda’s drums boomed, brutal as ever. Waiting, wanting, wanting, wanting. Waiting, wanting, wanting, wanting. It was fuckin’ wonderful.
—BUT NOW SHE KNOWS —
—I GOT ERECTILE —
The phone – Barry’s phone – went off. ‘Ace of Spades’. It was perfect and it sounded distant, fading. And Barry’s voice.
—Sorry.
And Brenda’s.
—Ah, for fuck sake!
—I’ll have to take it.
Brenda kept at it. Waiting, wanting, wanting, wanting. And stopped.
—Then fucking take it, Barry!
—Stop it there, Lochlainn.
Brenda’s shout was still in the room.
—Exactly there, said Jimmy.
—What?
—I want it to end on Barreeeee – the way she says it, okay?
Jimmy loved this.
—Make the eeee hang there, he said.—Three beats. No, four. Then done. Can you handle that, Lochlainn?
Lochlainn shrugged – no problem, no interest, your funeral. He hadn’t a fuckin’ clue. And Barry and Brenda. They hadn’t a clue either. They’d left, gone back to their other lives. It was a classic, and Jimmy was the only man in the world who knew it. He’d probably need the rights to ‘Ace of Spades’, even that poxy phone version. But that was grand, easily done – he thought.
What a day.
He watched Lochlainn fiddling away.
—D’yeh suffer yourself, Lochlainn?
—Sorry?
—The erectile dysfunction.
—No, said Lochlainn.
—No, said Jimmy.—Me neither.
He sipped.
—Jesus.
He tried it again. He’d never tasted anything like it. That was the chemo – he’d read about it, before he’d stopped reading. How his taste might become heightened.
He sipped again. It exploded – it just exploded – upwards, straight into his brain. He shook.
Coffee tastes amazin. X
He fired the text off to Aoife. She’d like that.
He looked around. Everything else was normal. The Brazilian young one behind the counter still looked nice, but not as nice as she should have looked, being from Brazil. But she was the
same young one – that was the point. Everything was the same. It was just taste; it was exact, scientific. He wasn’t going mad.
Aoife’s text arrived.
Great. X
. And another one.
Will u be wanting cancer trousers when you get home?
He fired one back.
Fck off
.
Barry’s phone was off. But Brenda answered him immediately.
—We’re not paying for the studio.
Jimmy could hear kids – girls – shouting, behind Brenda.
—Who’s winning?
—We are, bitch. My girls are pussy-whipping Mount Anville.
She wasn’t whispering.
—Great, said Jimmy.—Ra ra ra.
—We’re not paying.
—I wouldn’t expect you to, Connie.
—It wasn’t my fault, said Brenda.—Hey, fat girl! Try chasing the ball!
—It was nobody’s fault, said Jimmy.
—Bloody Barry, said Brenda.—
So
fucking important. Good block, honey!
—I think it’s saveable, said Jimmy.
—We’re not paying.
—No one’s askin’ you to pay, said Jimmy.—I’m happy to cover it. That’s what I do.
—Yeah, yeah. Suck my cock.
—Here’s what I’m thinkin’, Connie, said Jimmy.—I’m goin’ to run it past some people and see wha’ they think. Some market research, but nothin’ too formal.
He’d play it to the kids – the older pair – when he got home. And Aoife – she’d love it.
—You’re serious? said Brenda.
—Yeah, said Jimmy.—I am.
—Yessss!
—Did we score there?
—Yes!
—Ah great.
He didn’t tell Noeleen. He kept the song in his pocket. He wanted to live with it for a day.
—How was it? she asked.
She knew it was chemo day.
—Grand, he said.
—That all?
—Yeah, he said.—It was fine.
He kept going. Ocean was waiting in the meeting corner. She looked too young sitting there.
—Hi.
—Hi.
He sat. He stood.
—Back in a minute.
He walked to his desk. He looked at nothing on his screen. He went back. He sat.
—Listen, he said.—Before we start.
She looked even younger. Bambi’s sister.
—I owe you an apology, he said.—Sorry.
—Thank
you
.
—No, he said.—I’m sorry. So. Did Noeleen mention anythin’ to yeh?
—Yes, she said.—It’s so cool.
—Great. So.
He wished he had a cup or something, anything he could hide behind.
—Where do we start?
—We
-ellll
, she said.
She looked at the iPad on her lap.
—I, like – okay. I did some brainstorming of my own, with some of my girl
friends
.
She looked at him, and did the huge-eyes thing.
—I’m sorry, she said.—Was that okay?
—Yeah, yeah. Grand. No – go on.
—Soo
oo
. Here’s what we came up with. My girlfriends are Irish, by the way. Just in case – I’m sorry. You know, not an invading force of American postgrad chicks kind of thing.
He felt useless, superfluous. But it was great, like being shown the insides of a clock or something – how everything turned.
He leaned forward, and she showed him the list. The archives, the collections. It was brilliant. And the other stuff too, the Irish links. The friend with the uncle in the UCD Folklore Department; the dad who was going through bankruptcy proceedings with another man, who was president – or whatever – of the John McCormack Appreciation Society; the mother with the
friend
who played golf with the bishop.
He pointed at
friend
.
—Why the italics?
—They fuck.
—Oh. Grand, go on.
It was all there, on one page of an iPad. A roomful of Southside girls had given Ocean everything she needed.
He was getting an iPad. They were fuckin’ brilliant.
—This is great, he said.—Thanks very much.
—My pleasure.
—It’s so fuckin’ Irish but, isn’t it?
—How so?
—Someone knows someone.
—Yes, she said.—Very. But hey, it’s an awesome project, so I’m willing to go native.
—Grand, he said.—These will give us the expected sounds. They’ll be great but – official. Expected. You with me, Ocean?
—Yes.
He pointed at the iPad.
—Middle-class Ireland will give us the sounds of middle-class Ireland. The country they created and then fucked up. You don’t mind me sayin’ this?
—No, she said.—It’s cool.
—Grand, he said.—Good. So where’ll we find the surprises?
He met Marvin in the hall.
—How’re things?
—Grand, said Marvin.—How was the – ?
—Not too bad, said Jimmy.—Nothin’ to it really.
—Cool.
Marvin was moving to the stairs.
—How’s the band?
—Grand, said Marvin.
—Great, said Jimmy.—I must hear yis some time.
—Cool.
—What’s for dinner?
—Don’t know.
He watched Marvin disappear up the stairs – his head, then his shoulders, bent a bit as if he was too big for the house. There was music on in the kitchen. Fuckin’ hell, it was Steely Dan. It must have been for him. That was lovely.
—’Home at Last’, from
Aja
, 1977. Where’s the dog?
—Hi, said Aoife.—She’s taken her back.
—Your sister?
—Caoimhe, yes, Jimmy. On a trial basis.
—The dog – ?
—Yes, said Aoife.
She wasn’t looking at him. She was stabbing some big potatoes.
—Sorry, she said.—How was it? I mean, you said in the texts —
—No, it was grand, said Jimmy.—I’m great. But she took the dog?
—Yeah.
—On a trial basis?
—Yes.
—What does that mean?
—I’m not sure, said Aoife.—She used the term, not me. But you know Caoimhe.
—What’re we havin’, by the way?
—Chicken.
—Lovely. Go on.
—No, nothing. Just, you know the way she is. She always assumes you know what she’s talking about. Anyway, they’re back together.
—Her and the dog.
—And Tom.
Tom was the husband.
—On a trial basis as well, yeah?
—I think so, said Aoife.
Jimmy looked down at the corner.
—She took the basket as well.
—Yes.
—How’re the kids about it?
—Well, actually, said Aoife.—There now, it’s lovely.
—Lovely?
—They’re more worried about how you’d react, said Aoife. —They know you love Cindy.
—I hate Cindy.
—Yeah, yeah, we know.
—Stupid fuckin’ name.
—We know that too, said Aoife.—We all heard you calling her Imelda.
For fuck sake
.
—Imelda May, he said.
—We guessed.
—That’s ‘Josie’ now, by the way. Steely Dan.
—I know, said Aoife.—We can get another one.
—A dog?
—Yes.
—No way, said Jimmy.
His phone hopped and rescued him. When had he called the dog Imelda?
Why
had he called the fuckin’ dog Imelda? It must have been just after he’d got back from the hospital, when he was still a bit out of his tree. That made some kind of sense. Nothing else did.
—Des?
—Jimmy, hi.
—How’s it goin’?
—Not too bad. How are you?
—Grand, grand.
—Did you start the chemo today, or when – ?
—Today.
—Jesus. I can phone back —
—No, it’s grand. So far, anyway.
The line went bad; Des’s voice slid away.
—I didn’t catch that, Des, sorry. I lost yeh there.
—The trumpet, said Des.
—Yeah, I got one.
The day was beginning to catch up with him. He could feel it in his eyes – behind his eyes.
—I know, said Des.—You told me.
—Grand.
—D’you have a teacher yet?
—Not yet, no, said Jimmy.—I need one.
—Yeah, you asked me if I knew anyone. And I said No.
—Gotcha, said Jimmy.—I remember now.
He didn’t.
—But there is someone, said Des.
—Great, said Jimmy.—Who?
—Me.
—D’you play the trumpet, Des?
—No, said Des.—No, I’m joking. I do.
—Great —
—I did it when I was a kid, said Des.—But I stopped then, for years. But then when you asked me if I knew anyone – . I thought about it later and I dug it out. It was in my mother’s attic. And, well. I love it – it all came back.
—Great.
—So, said Des.—If you’re still interested –
—No, yeah. Brilliant.
—I’m not qualified or anything.
—Who gives a shite?
—It wasn’t too bad so?
—No, said Jimmy.—No.
—Great.
—Not so far anyway.
—Fingers crossed so.
—Yeah, said Jimmy.—Yeah. When were yeh born?
—Jesus, said his da.—1941. I think. Yeah, 1941. Why?
—Was there much talk about the Eucharistic Congress when you were a kid?
—God, yeah – Jesus. Big time.
—Wha’ was it?
—Big mass, all sorts of processions.
—No pope.
—No, said Jimmy Sr.—No. A raft o’ fuckin’ cardinals. My parents talked about it all the time. I think it was kind o’ like 1990, for their generation.
—Wha’ d’yeh mean?
—Well, 1990 was unbelievable – remember?
—I do, yeah.
—It was just the football to start with. But then, when it took off. The penalty shoot-out an’ tha’. The country was never the same again. It was the beginnin’ of the boom.
—D’yeh think?
—Yeah – I do. I mean, I had tha’ chipper van at the time. With Bimbo, d’you remember?
—Yeah.
—An’ it was a bit of a disaster, tha’. But I was never unemployed again – after Italia ’90. I wouldn’t let myself be. I was always doin’ somethin’, even before the buildin’ took off. Because – an’ this is true. We felt great about ourselves. For years after. An’ tha’ only changed a few years back. Now we’re useless cunts again.
—Thanks for the analysis.
—Fuck off. You asked.
—An’ 1932 was like tha’, was it?
—Yeah, said Jimmy’s da.—A bit. The country was only ten years old, remember. An’ dirt poor. Then, like, the man in the flat next door to my mother’s gets a radio – a big fuckin’ deal. An’ everyone bails in to hear it. She always spoke about hearin’ your man, John McCormack, singin’ live on the wireless. At the mass. Like he was Sinatra or – I don’t know – some huge star today. The Bublé fucker or someone. My father said it was like the whole world was listenin’ to somethin’ tha’ was happenin’ here in Dublin. An’ it probably was as well. Why did you ask?
Jimmy told him.
—An’ you came up with that idea, did yeh?
—I did, said Jimmy.—Yeah.
—It’s a winner.
—D’yeh think?
—Fuckin’ sure. If you do it properly.
—I will.
—Oh, I know, said his da.—D’you remember my cousin, Norman?
—No, said Jimmy.—I don’t think so.