‘He fancies you!’ Bridie elbowed Barry. ‘Doesn’t he?’
‘Certainly seems like it.’ (Careful to express no opinions of his own.)
‘The way he was looking at you!’ Bridie snuck another glance at Jake. ‘He’s still doing it! He fancies you, I could swear it!’
‘Actually.’ I cleared throat, readying self to enjoy moment. ‘He does.’
That stymied her. ‘He does? How do you know?’
‘Cecile told me.’
‘WHO IS CECILE?’ Bridie likes know everything. Right now, she knows next to nothing.
‘French girl. In fact, there she is.’
Cecile was in thick of surf boys, giggling and shrugging. Wearing capri pants, ballet slippers and scarf knotted jauntily at neck, in fashion Irish woman would never achieve even if practised for a month. (Not even Treese could pull it off.)
‘Call her over,’ Bridie ordered. ‘Hey, Cecile, Cecile! Over here!’
Surprised, Cecile pursed red lips and raised perfect eyebrows, but responded to Bridie’s summons.
‘Cecile?’ Bridie demanded. ‘You’re Cecile?’ High-speed introductions. ‘Bridie, Barry, Treese, Jem, and Lola you know. Okay, tell me, that blond-haired man at bar – Jake? – is it true? Does he fancy Lola?’
Cecile giggled. ‘Oh yes, ’e wants to ride ’er into middle of next week.’
Treese flinched. But not Cecile’s fault. She is not really crude, simply French. Does not understand all that she says, merely repeating what she has heard, like small child.
‘’E wants to ride ’er so she cannot walk straight for a month.’
‘Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.’
Cecile dismissed.
‘Right!’ Bridie decreed. ‘Here’s what I think. Best thing that could happen to Lola right now would be a fling with this Jake. Agreed?’ Bridie consulted others. Yes, agreed.
‘But you must not expect anything long term,’ Bridie cautioned. ‘He is far too good-looking.’
‘What is this thing where you keep telling me all men are far too good-looking for me?’
‘No offence, Lola, you are nice-looking too. But just look at this Jake person. He is ABNORMALLY good-looking. He is freak of nature. The mouth on him! Is so sexy! Everyone must fancy him. Even I fancy him!’
‘Sorry,’ she said to Barry.
‘Is okay,’ he said. ‘I fancy him too.’
‘Do you?’
‘We could have threesome with him,’ Barry said, then they leant into each other and laughed some private laugh, while rest of us watched, slightly uncomfortable.
Back in house
Drunk as I was, was highly alarmed when Bridie and Barry changed into strange leisure pants had seen them in before. Baggy but gathered at ankle, somewhat like trousers MC Hammer used to wear.
Barry’s had illustrations of kites and balloons, while Bridie’s had blue and red zebra-skin pattern.
Heinous.
Something must be said.
Everyone up.
Plan for the day: walks, breathing air, being wholesome before going on ‘unmerciful batter this evening’, to quote Jem. First: short trip to town because we had run out of milk.
‘I will go,’ I said. ‘Because am hostess. My responsibility.’
‘No, I will go,’ Jem said. ‘Because drank it all at five o’clock this morning.’
‘No, I will go,’ Bridie said. Because she is control freak.
‘Why don’t we all go?’ Treese suggested.
‘Okay!’
‘You better get dressed.’ I looked meaningfully at Bridie and Barry’s MC Hammer pants.
‘What you talking about? We
are
dressed!’
Oh cripes. Bad enough to wear those terrible things in privacy of own home, but out in public? Gruesome business.
Walking to town
Bridie starts talking about Jake. Again.
‘Good for you to sleep with him. Good for your ego, good for your confidence. What you know about him?’
‘Nothing. Is twenty-five, from Cork, has had sex with every other woman in Knockavoy and apparently wants to ride me so I can’t walk straight for a month.’
‘But has he job?’ Treese pressed. ‘How does he support himself?’
‘Don’t know and don’t care. Don’t want to know that his mother is teacher and his father a guard, that he has older sister and two younger brothers, that at school he was good at hurling but not so good at football. Don’t want to know that he shared bedroom with brother and had photos of Roy Keane Blu-tacked to wall. Don’t want to know that photos exist of him as cheeky six-year-old with gappy
teeth or grinning ten-year-old with awful haircut. Don’t want him to be ordinary and don’t want any evidence that he wasn’t always beautiful.’
‘But you are not treating him as human being,’ Treese said.
‘I know. Don’t want to know his hopes and dreams.’
‘Is no basis for relationship,’ Treese said.
‘But she won’t get relationship off him!’ Bridie said. ‘I am sick saying it, but he is just too good-looking.’
‘Just minute! What about what I want? You are all acting as if I am luckiest woman on earth that he fancies me – and he only fancies me because I am novelty – but what about what I want? Maybe don’t fancy him at all!’
‘Well, do you fancy him?’ Bridie asked.
Thought about it. ‘Not really.’
Clamour of aghast disbelief, even from Jem.
‘All right, calm down! He is nice to look at!’
‘You are only playing hard to get,’ Bridie decided. ‘Don’t bother. He still won’t do relationship with you.’
‘Not playing hard to get. Still in love with Paddy.’
‘You would turn down hot sex with Love-God just because you are still hung up on slimy politician with smile like Joker from
Batman!’
Bridie indignant. ‘Politician who, incidentally, is getting married to a horse.’
On way back from buying milk, got lured in the Dungeon. Passing open door – rare, rare occasion when Dungeon had its door wedged open. Usually it eschewed daylight as though it were radioactive. Suspected Alco’s Corner were on lookout for me. Sure enough, Boss spotted me and yelled out into the street, ‘Ho, Lola Daly! Not good enough for you any more, are we?’
Not true, but keen that Dublin friends should not cross paths with Boss, etc. They would worry at dodginess of company I was keeping. So I said, ‘Hahaha,’ and continued walking, but Bridie said, ‘Who is that man? How come you know so many people?’
She insisted on meeting Boss. I tried resisting. Extreme futility. Found self plunging into gloomy interior and making introductions
all round. ‘Bridie, Barry, Treese, Jem, meet Boss, Moss and the Master.’
Boss beside himself with excitement. His round, red fizzog was lit up and extra red. ‘Have heard ALL about ye! Let me see if I have it right.’ He pointed at Treese. ‘You’re the know-all?’
‘… Ah…’
Cripes!
‘No,
I’m
the know-all,’ Bridie said.
‘So you must be the one who used to be fat?’ he said to Treese.
She inclined perfect head in assent.
‘By gor!’ Boss clearly impressed. ‘You’d never know it, you’re like a whippet now. Isn’t she, boys?’
As Boss, Moss and the Master scrutinized Treese and expressed incredulity that she had once tipped the scales at fourteen stone, my temperature rocketed. Experiencing bitter regret at having spoken so freely about my friends to the clientele in the Dungeon.
‘And you’re the know-all’s hen-pecked husband?’ Boss said to Barry.
Barry shot nervous glance at Bridie. Was he? ‘Yes,’ he said, reading signal. ‘I am.’
‘You’re obviously not the ex-rugby player with the ginormous head,’ Boss said to Jem. ‘So you must be the fellow Lola is Just Good Friends with.’
Invested words ‘Just Good Friends’ with sleazy meaning.
‘… Er… yes…’
‘And where is your dolly-bird fiancée?’
‘On hen night.’
‘Not here? I’m disappointed, so I am. Heard she has fake bosoms. Wanted to see a pair before I die.’
Cease and desist, I think.
Cease and desist
!
Awkward, all terribly awkward. Desirous of moving the party out of the Dungeon and back to Uncle Tom’s cabin at fast clip, but Boss insisted – INSISTED – on buying round. Once a man like Boss is insisting on buying a round, there is no choice, no choice at all.
And as for having soft drink? Not a hope.
Jem made mistake of asking for Coke and entire pub seemed to stop talking. Faintly heard voices say, ‘
Am I hearing things or did your man in
the pyjamas just ask for Coke?
’‘ ’Twasn’t your man in the pyjamas, ’twas the other fellow.’
‘COKE?’ Boss demanded. ‘Are you man or mouse?’ Then looked scornfully at Barry. ‘I know all about you. You are mouse. But today you can be mouse that roared. Pint? Five pints,’ he called to barman.
Accepted Guinness with bad grace. Drank quickly. Wanted to vamoose. (Strange word.) But before we had finished drinks, Moss got another round in. And halfway through second drink, suddenly relaxed. Boss had ceased and desisted with the mortifying revelations and seemed so patently thrilled to meet friends that – against better judgement – I was touched. ‘Was great day Lola Daly graced Knockavoy with her presence,’ he said, with sincere warmth, to Bridie. ‘She has brought us good luck. Since she arrived, the Master won three hundred and fifty euro on scratch card and I won de luxe fruit cake in raffle in aid of new DVD player for parish priest. To cap it all, mortal enemy has been diagnosed with prostate cancer. Inoperable. Lola is lovely girl, we are fierce fond of her.’ He dropped his voice, although I could still hear everything. ‘Of course, is crying shame the way she was let down by that Chrispy louser.’
‘Paddy de Courcy? But he’s New Ireland.’
‘Was Christian Progressive before he was New Ireland. Once filthy Chrisp, always filthy Chrisp. Doesn’t matter what fancy title he assumes these days. Christian Progressive! Pah!’
Please, I think, please do not spit.
More drinks were bought – this time by Barry – and energetic discussions ensued. Mostly, I regret to report, about me.
I heard ‘… too good-looking for her…’
‘… fake smile… like Joker in
Batman
…’
‘… wrong suitcase of clothes… nearly sparked international incident…’
Great bonding ensued. In total we had five drinks each before Bridie called a halt. ‘We will miss party tonight if don’t stop now.’
Bridie made Barry go for stagger along the beach. ‘Sea air will sober us up.’
Rest of us went home and fell asleep and woke two hours later covered in drool.
The Oak
Light dinner. Toasted sandwiches and soup of day (mushroom).
‘Say it,’ Ol’ Prune Eyes begged me. ‘Say it.’
‘But I know it’s not.’
‘Say it anyway.’
‘Okay. Is it lumpy?’
I never saw anyone laugh so much.
‘You might have future as comedian in Egypt,’ Jem said quietly to me.
Mrs Butterly’s
Nasty surprise. Two people already in there. Have never before had to share Mrs Butterly – Honour (she doesn’t know I know her first name; Boss told it to me; it is like learning name of your teacher when you are in junior infants) – with any other customer.
Then noticed one of customers was Firestarter! Rossa Considine. He was with woman. Reunited with fiancée? But speedy scrutiny revealed that woman he was with was definitely not wedding-dress woman. In fact, she had slight ferrety cast to her features. Could she be the girlfriend Alco’s Corner had told me about? Despite undeniable ferretyness – something to do with her teeth – she was not minger. Or bowler. In fact, cute-looking.
But what
was
story there? Rossa Considine dumped ferret-girl when he met wedding-dress girl? But now wedding-dress girl had done runner, he was trying to mend fences with Ferret-Face?
Mrs Butterly in a flap. ‘Don’t know where I will fit everyone. Sorry, Lola, know these are your friends, but can’t take them all. Not enough glasses. Will take you –’ she pointed at Treese, like this was hot nightclub with savagely cruel door policy –‘and you.’ Jem had also made the cut.
But not Bridie and Barry. Bridie looked stunned. Actually very upset. ‘Why you pick them and not us?’
‘Nothing personal, but cannot serve people in their pyjamas. By order of management. Anyway no room.’
‘Is okay,’ Rossa Considine said. ‘We are finishing up. They can have our seats.’
‘All right. Will make exception seeing as you are friends of Lola.’
Rossa Considine squeezed past and said, ‘Hello, Lola.’
‘Hello, Rossa,’ I replied.
To the uninitiated this might seem like benign greeting. But lots unspoken stuff going on. By sarcastic expression in his eyes, Rossa Considine was really saying,
I see you many mornings spying on me like nosy oddball
.
And with
my
eyes I was saying,
Is that fact? Well, I caught you burning your ex-fiancée’s dresses in middle of night. And dancing around your kitchen wearing swimming goggles and a shower cap. You are fine one to be calling
me
an oddball
.
‘Who’s he?’ Treese asked, when they’d squeezed out.
‘Next-door neighbour.’
‘Seems nice.’
Shows what little you know, I think.
Mildly wounded. What had I ever done to Rossa Considine? Apart from spy on him some mornings? And what is so wrong with that?
‘You have certainly made friends here!’ Bridie clearly impressed that I knew so many people. Is hard for Bridie and them. Because I have no family to speak of, they are burdened with me.
Bridie had crow to pluck with Mrs Butterly. ‘Is not pyjamas. Is leisure pants.’
‘I am old woman. I have lived long time. I know pyjamas when I see them.’
Party at surf boys’ house
Loud music. Rammed. Where did all these people come from? Didn’t know were so many young, good-looking types in Knockavoy.
Through throng in hallway saw Jake, talking to girl with long, dark hair. Despite multitudes milling about, he held my gaze for unfeasibly long time and smiled; slow, white, meaningful.
I gave brusque nod of head, face aflame.
Into main room. Treese and I sat primly on futon while Bridie doled out beers like a mother on a picnic. Barry and Jem in top form.