It’s lovely out here. A little chilly though.
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she obliged by nestling her head back against my chest.
They keep the fireplace lit in winter, but this cold snap, I guess, caught them by surprise.
That’s okay. You’re keeping me nice and cosy.
Dayne smiled as he glanced at Judy then back to meet my eyes. Unless I was mistaken, I’d just received the unspoken nod of approval from my best friend.
So, Craiggo. Want to hear how the new band is coming along?
Sure.
Band? What band is this?
Judy’s eyes snapped open, eager to hear more.
Dayne gave a quick rundown of the new band, Gunga Dingo – the name eliciting a laugh from Judy – the various members, then a recap of the first rehearsal at his home.
You should have seen it. Somewhere between brilliant and a fucking train wreck. Excuse language, Judy.
You’re excused. You should hear the mouth on my dad.
As I already knew, Getch has a beautiful voice, but her movements are out of this world. You should have seen her twirl and spin to the beat. Picture a mix of a Western Desert tribal dance and Stevie Nicks in her prime. And then there’s her hair.
Judy asked the obvious.
What’s wrong with her hair?
Nothing I guess. It’s long and straight, well kempt really, but the bloody colour is nothing I’ve ever seen occur naturally on a human. Periwinkle she calls it. Whatever the hell that is!
She and I laughed, but Dayne was just getting warmed up.
And bloody Skip! All the while he’s flailing away on his bloody Indian drum. Going 50 to the dozen as we’re attempting some old Radiohead material. Both Timmy and I had to back up all the way out of the room and into the hallway to escape the flailing limbs.
Dayne waved his arms around in imitation and almost knocked over a tray of drinks being delivered to the table behind.
He offered a quick apology before continuing.
So, here’s me trying to sneak a peek around the doorjamb while playing a guitar solo and Timmy’s wandering down the hallway checking out my wall art and still not missing a beat on the bass line.
The story had us in fits of laughter. I finished my beer, then asked:
When can we expect the first gig?
Jesus, I don’t know, mate. I can’t think of place with a stage big enough to contain us.
Dayne surveyed the empty glasses on the table.
Can I get ya another round? Of course, I can. Tonight, I have the keys to the kingdom, well, until they cut me off of the free drinks at least.
While Dayne sauntered off to the bar, Judy leant back and I hugged her just a little tighter. Neither of us spoke, just enjoying the moment and the warmth created by the touching of our two bodies. The hubbub of conversation from other tables faded into the background as I sensed her breathing slow; our chests soon rising and falling in time.
Okay, enough of that you two. I’ve brought a friend with me.
Dayne placed the drinks on the table and we turned to see the girl who I’d spoken to earlier in the evening.
Megan tells me you folks have already met. Why didn’t you tell me this gorgeous young lady was the one making sure I’d a steady supply of beer on stage?
Judy and I exchanged puzzled glances, but both recovered quickly enough not to blow Megan’s cover story.
Oh sorry, mate. Must’ve slipped my mind.
Fifteen minutes later, Dayne was fathoms deep in his conversation with Megan and had seemingly forgotten we were sitting across the table. The second yawn from Judy was enough of a clue to know it was time to hit the road.
We said our goodbyes and waded back through the crowd. I forged ahead and Judy held on tight as we wove between the tables of the beer garden, through the packed main bar, and out the front door to Johnston Street. With Judy nuzzling close in the back seat and her intoxicating scent seductively filling my senses, the taxi drive back to Heidelberg took not nearly long enough.
Châlons-En-Champagne, France
October 25, 2014
The short, balding, middle-aged man exited the A26 motorway and headed east towards the small town of Châlons-en-Champagne. He was hungry and in dire need of stretching his tired limbs after the three-hour drive from Calais. But most of all, he thought, he needed to piss like a Grand National thoroughbred.
Love? Is everything okay?
Of course, I’m just taking this exit so as to take a slash and get a bite to eat.
You seem awfully tense. You’ve been gripping the steering wheel like you’re trying to get the last drop of toothpaste out the tube.
Just a little nervous driving on the opposite side of the road is all.
Marnie could sense in the tone of Sam’s voice – her husband of 28 years – everything wasn’t alright, but also knew well enough not to push the matter. She stared out the window at the lush, rolling countryside and as Sam took another left turn towards the town centre they crossed a river flowing languidly under the early afternoon sun.
Changing subjects, she asked:
The countryside is beautiful, isn’t it? Just as I’d imagined.
Looks like County Clare to me. ‘Course it has a few more trees and a few less sheep. And all those bleedin’ grapes. Bet we can get a decent bottle of plonk ’round here, eh?
Marnie watched the endless fields of vineyards rise and fall off into the distance as Sam slowed for the upcoming exit.
This trip was a wonderful surprise. It’s been donkey’s years since we last got away together. Love, are you sure we can afford it?
Argh, don’t you worry woman. I’ve got it all taken care of.
I just wish we could’ve stopped in Paris.
Sam sighed deeply, knowing he’d already explained his reasoning earlier in the day.
I told you before, there’s no feckin’ way I’m driving through that bloody city. Besides, the traffic would’ve slowed us down too much and we need to make Turin by tonight.
Why Turin?
‘Cos that’s where our feckin’ hotel is.
No need to swear love. Just asking.
Leaving the highway, they cruised slowly along a tree-lined boulevard north towards the town centre.
Do you know where you’re going, love?
Not really, but I’m aiming for that bloody great church up ahead and see if I can park somewhere. Then we’ll have a wander around and find a place to eat.
Sam found a parking spot not too far from the Cathedrale St Étienne, just off the Rue Juliette Récamier. While stretching out his back muscles he spied the colourful awning of a small bistro just a block away. After double checking the rental car was locked, he took off at a quick pace.
Hold up, love, you’re leaving me behind. I wanted to take a photo of the church.
After lunch woman. It’ll still be there. Come on, I’m about to spring a leak.
Oh, alright.
Marnie followed along as Sam hopped, stepped and shimmied to the bistro.
While Sam attended to business, a young girl who spoke a passable amount of English sat Marnie at a table outside. The white umbrella overhead, advertising Moët & Chandon champagne, thankfully shielded the table from the afternoon sun. Even still, Marnie felt the first pinpricks of sweat beginning to dot her brow.
Sam returned a few minutes later in a much more contented mood.
I could use a beer. Wonder what the choices are here?
Sam perused the menu, not making heads nor tails of the offerings. Having made her decision, Marnie prompted Sam.
Do you know what you’re going to order, dear?
Probably the only French thing I know. What’s the sandwich called we get at out faux French joint back home?
You mean the croque madame?
That’s it. And let’s hope it’s still a ham and cheese sandwich over here.
I’m going to have the same.
The waitress returned
with a bottle of sparkling mineral water and two glasses.
Have you decided on your order?
Yes, please. We’ll take two croque madames. The lady here will have a half carafe of your house white and I’ll take a bottle of your local beer. I’m feeling quite adventurous. As they say, when in Rome…
Sam handed the menus back to the waitress, smiled at Marnie and she gave a sly smile in return.
Love, again, I can’t tell you how happy I am we are taking this trip. Such a bolt from the blue it was when you sprung it on me.
Well, perhaps we can start travelling a little more in our advancing years.
Advancing years? The little performance you put on last night in bed surely told a different story.
Marnie thought she saw Sam blush, or perhaps it was just the effect of the warm sun on his pale skin.
Well… I… I guess I was just excited to be on a proper holiday.
I’ll say. The way you were goin’ at it hammer and tongs, I thought you were auditioning for one of them rap videos.
Woman, please!
As Marnie spoke the waitress appeared behind her with their orders. Marnie blushed uncontrollably as the waitress placed the plate in front of her.
For madame. And for monsieur. And your drinks. Enjoy!
The waitress shot Sam a small, conspiratorial, smile as she left. He beamed as if he owned the winning horse of the Irish Derby, raised his glass of Fischer and drank off half in one smooth tilt.
Lunch is lovely. You enjoying yours?
Yeh, brilliant, plenty of gooey cheese and the egg on top is nice and runny. Just how I like it.
This wine is delicious, too. Would you like some? I think I’m getting a little tipsy.
No thanks, love. I’ll just have perhaps a second beer, still got a lot of driving to do.
You know this wine… the lovely weather… the beautiful countryside…
What are you trying to say, woman?
Well… perhaps we could have a go at round two tonight. What say you?
Sam smiled. They’d been together almost 30 years, with a mountain range of ups and downs in between, but he still loved her just as much as the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
He went, begrudgingly, with his mates that night to the dance hall down by the seaside at Dun Laoghaire. A band was playing U2 covers, loudly and badly. When almost ready to call it a night; his eyes locked onto a dark-haired beauty across the room. With the brashness of youth, and a building reputation within the IRA, Sam was used to getting what he wanted. But he met his match that night. Three approaches he made asking her to dance, she rebuffed him twice before agreeing. Towards the end of the night he held her close dancing to I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For. Sam looked deep into her eyes and knew for a fact he had.
I’m not sure I have too many moves left, but I’ll see what kind of show I can put together.
Oh, Sam.
Marnie giggled, leant back from the table and drank the last of her wine.
Then perhaps you can let me have one of those presents you have hidden away for me.
The colour drained from Sam’s face as if his chin had sprung a leak. He sat forward, all senses on full alert.
What presents are you speaking of, woman?
You know. In our suitcase. While you were in the shower this morning, I was going to get your clothes ready and noticed the packages.
They’re not for you, woman. You stay well away, you hear?
Marnie was startled by the tone of his voice.
Then who are they for?
Sam looked across the road to the cathedral searching for an answer hopefully hidden somewhere on its façade or etched into the ornate stained glass windows.
He settled on something close to honesty.
I’m carrying them for a client.
A client? What client?
Enough questions, woman. Jaysus. It’s payin’ for your feckin’ holiday so let it drop.
Marnie glanced around to see nothing but empty tables, even still she lowered her voice.
Sam, tell me we aren’t carrying drugs. Is it why you were so nervous at the border?
It’s not drugs, alright? It’s just something I need to do for some old friends.
Old friends?
A moment’s contemplation gave Marnie the answer, then a profound tiredness washed over her.
You told me you were done with all that nonsense.
Sam leaned in closer to the table. His voice low.
You are never done woman. You are never out. Do you hear me? And I never want to be out. I was nursed by my ’ma on the cause from birth. Those gobshite politicians may have tossed it in, but there are still a few of us ready and willing to do what is necessary. And that’ll be all the talk of that.
Sam turned from the table and signalled the waitress for the bill. Marnie rose, tears springing to her eyes and headed inside to the toilets. There, she splashed a little water onto her face from the small basin, dabbed it dry with a paper towel and composed herself. Walking back to the table she noticed a television recapping the day’s headlines. Marnie couldn’t make out what they were saying but the camera shots were of various Allied Irish Bank locations. The scene then shifted to a young lass reporting from the street outside of a Bank of Ireland branch in Drumcondra. She stopped dead in her tracks.
Marnie asked the bartender what the story was about. Fighting through his broken English, Marnie got the gist of the report. She slowly headed back to where Sam was finishing up with the bill.
Sam turned to face Marnie and began to rise from the table.
You ready?
Yes, best we make our… getaway.
Marnie marched off leaving Sam in her wake to follow, all the while mumbling under her breath.
Jaysus, Lord almighty. What have you gone and done ya eejit?
Melbourne, Australia
March 2, 2016
My dinner circled before me on the microwave carousel. Home from work late again. I’d hoped to blow out the cobwebs and clear my mind with a quick run. Instead, even after a brisk shower, I’d barely the energy to heat the week-old meat pie. With a cold beer in one hand and ketchup bottle in the other, I counted down the seconds to the microwave’s ding letting my pie know the ride was over.
The week was shaping up to be the longest and most tedious yet in my short banking career. Eric, putting on his altruistic hat, decided to dedicate the entire week to “getting re-acquainted with his clients”. In true Eric style, he transformed this simple task into a prolonged sales pitch to the clients with whom he kept minimal contact; leaving me with a laundry list of notes with which to update customer profiles.
Mrs What’s-her-name’s husband got a promotion… This one’s now single… This couple were transferred to Perth… Additional funds here – make a note for me to call back in three weeks… Squeezed them dry – don’t bother calling again.
Eric, with feet propped lazily on his desk, wound his silver tongue through the phone line, across the ether and into the homes and pockets of his flock. And I stared at the computer screen and typed note after note into the system while – I imagined – blood slowly leaked from my eyes.
A trill ring shook me from my trance. I assumed the sound was the microwave, but my pie was still happily enjoying the slow-motion amusement ride. I reached for my mobile and answered.
Hello?
Craig.
Oh… hi, Judy. You calling from work?
Yes… umm, Craig. It’s your Mother.
I grabbed my keys and rushed out the front door. The microwave let out a weary ding as the door swung shut behind me.
Ten and three. The numbers stuck in my mind as I waited to be allowed into mother’s room. Ten minutes to get to the hospice, and three for the number of red lights I’d run. And there I sat, helpless, not knowing what was happening on the other side of the metal door painted a dreary eggshell white.
I’d commenced pacing the hall when Judy stepped from
my mother’s room. She quickly made her way to my side and held both my hands in hers.
She’s okay, but we had a bit of a scare.
I let out a sigh of relief before asking.
Can I see her?
Yes. Doctor Jacobs is still in there; he’ll want to speak to you.
Doctor Jacobs, with the help of another nurse, positioned various machines around Mother’s bed. The nurse noticed me enter and signalled to the doctor.
Ah, Craig. Thanks for coming down here this evening.
Turn A Blind Eye Page 13