‘How old was he?’
‘Fifty?’
‘You’re certifiable. Why would you pick a fight with someone thirty years your junior? No, scratch that, why would you pick a fight with anyone in an old folks’ home?’
‘You haven’t been listening. I didn’t pick any fight. He started it.’
‘You were drunk, Charlie! Aren’t you a bit old for public brawls?’
‘No, I just need to get fit and then I’ll go back and knock him to the ground.’
‘You will do no such thing. From now on you’re going to behave like a normal almost-seventy-year-old man and not a fifteen-year-old boy. How did the police get involved?’
‘When I fell down, all the nutters started shouting and roaring and a nurse came in, saw me on the ground with blood spurting out of my mouth and called the police. I presumed they were going to arrest your man for punching me. While we were waiting for the police to arrive, another nurse came in and helped wipe the blood off my face and gave me some ice. She happened to be very attractive.’
I shook my head. ‘Please tell me you didn’t.’
‘She had the best backside I’ve seen in twenty years so I just gave it a little pinch and she started hollering.’
‘What a surprise.’
‘In the old days women would have been flattered by the attention. It’s all so bloody serious now. If you look at someone sideways, you get arrested.’
‘It’s called sexual harassment. I wouldn’t take kindly to a dirty old man pinching my bum in work.’
‘Ah, it was only a bit of fun,’ he grumbled.
‘Fun that almost landed you in jail! If it wasn’t for Paul you could have been charged. Why can’t you get a pipe and slippers, do crosswords and bird-watch?’ I was utterly exasperated.
‘Ava, I’m never going to be the type of father who bird-watches or train-watches. Maybe I was born with a screw loose, but I’m not going to change now. Conforming is like dying. You lose your individuality. I learnt that in the orphanage. Even at the age of five I could see how most of the lads in there were institutionalized. There was no way in hell I was going to turn out like some robot. I fought very hard not to let the orphanage break my spirit and I’m sure as hell not going to let old age do it. I saw all those poor sods in that old folks’ home, and I want to enjoy what time I have left with my mind intact. I’d rather die dancing than of boredom.’
I looked at him. My father. Charlie. The sixty-eight-year-old prize fighter. An eccentric. An original. His parents had died within six months of each other and his maiden aunt had taken in Daisy, but he’d been sent to the orphanage when he was just five years old. He’d run away at sixteen and joined a circus. But after a few years on the road he decided to get a more stable job and had started working as a runner in a factory that assembled televisions while going to bookkeeping classes at night. Within five years he was the floor manager and ten years later was promoted to general manager of the factory, a job he had held for thirty years until his retirement at sixty-five.
How was I going to get him to calm down? Could I? Should I? Would it be better to let him be the free spirit he was? Surely not if it meant ending up in prison.
‘Charlie, I understand that you want to enjoy yourself, but while you’re living under my roof you’ll have to toe the line. I have two young daughters to worry about. No more sexual harassment and fighting and no more one-night stands either. When you’re in your own apartment you can do what you like.’
He sighed. ‘You’re a tyrant.’
‘Tyrants don’t love their subjects.’
‘I might as well be in jail.’
‘I don’t think the beds are as comfortable.’
Paul popped his head round the door. ‘All clear. We can go now.’
‘Thanks for that,’ I said.
‘Yes, thanks for bailing me out,’ Charlie said.
‘Pleasure. How’s the lip?’ Paul asked.
‘I’ll survive.’
‘How does the other guy look?’
‘Unfortunately I missed him.’
‘I can show you a few moves,’ said Paul.
‘Thanks, but Mike Tyson here is retiring. For good,’ I said, leading my father out to the car.
When we got home, Sarah and Bobby were kissing on the couch.
‘SARAH!’ Paul roared, as the two kids jumped up. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘Nothing, I swear,’ said a red-faced Bobby.
‘We were just snogging. It’s no big deal,’ Sarah said.
‘I’ll be the one who decides what is and is not appropriate behaviour,’ Paul snapped.
‘Hey, Mr Hayes, what happened to your lip?’ Bobby asked, clearly keen to distract us, having been found with his tongue halfway down our daughter’s throat.
‘Don’t call me “Mr Hayes”. It’s Charlie. I was in a fight.’
‘In the old folks’ home?’ Sarah asked.
Charlie nodded.
‘Charlie, you’re mad. How did it start?’
‘It’s a long story,’ I jumped in. ‘Now, Bobby, it’s time you were heading home.’
‘And next time you come here, keep your hands to yourself,’ Paul added.
‘Ah, he’s only normal. Have you forgotten what it feels like to be sixteen?’ Charlie remonstrated.
‘I remember it only too well, which is why I want him to know I’ll be keeping a very close eye on him.’
‘Relax, Dad,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s not like we were having sex.’
‘I’ll have less cheek from you,’ said Paul, then turned to Bobby. ‘OK, son, sling your hook.’
Bobby stared at him blankly.
‘Dad’s a bogger. He’s from Galway. Half the time I don’t understand him either,’ said Sarah. ‘He means you have to leave.’
‘Oh, right. Cool. I thought he wanted to go fishing or something.’
‘No, he’s kicking you out. I was going to ask you to stay for dinner, but I wouldn’t inflict this hostile environment on you,’ said Sarah.
‘It’s OK, babe. I just need to get my bag.’
‘Where is it?’ I inquired.
‘In my bedroom,’ Sarah said.
‘Go and get it. Your boyfriend can wait here,’ said Paul.
While Sarah fetched the bag, Bobby shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
‘So, are you still playing rugby?’ Charlie asked him.
‘Totally. I spend all of my spare time training, doing weights and generally trying to make my body a temple. I need to be in the best shape possible so I can become a professional.’
‘Is that your career aspiration? To be a professional rugby player?’ Paul wanted to know.
‘Totally.’
‘What about your studies? What about college?’
‘Hello! Can you not give my boyfriend the third degree?’ Sarah walked back into the room with Bobby’s bag slung over her shoulder.
‘You’d want to mind the roaming hands, Bobby. My son-in-law keeps a gun in the house. He might shoot you next time,’ Charlie said, chuckling to himself.
‘Charlie!’ I said, furious that he’d mentioned the gun.
‘Seriously, guys, I’ve known about the gun for ever,’ Sarah said.
Bobby looked terrified. ‘I just want you to know, Mr Mullen, that I, like, totally respect your daughter and would never do anything out of order. Sarah is in safe hands.’
‘Well, you just make sure to keep those safe hands in your pockets or on a rugby ball,’ said Paul.
Sarah walked Bobby to the door, then came back in and rounded on us. ‘Why did you have to be so rude? He’s, like, the coolest boyfriend ever and now he’ll probably dump me because you threatened to, like, assassinate him if he looked at me sideways.’
‘I’ve had enough of your cheek,’ Paul told her. ‘Go to your room, you’re grounded.’
‘What? You can’t do this to me,’ she screeched.
‘Go now before I send you to a convent boarding
school that’ll put manners on you.’
‘Muuuuum, do something,’ my younger daughter pleaded.
‘You were very rude to your father. I agree with his decision.’
‘Grounded for how long?’
Paul thought about it. ‘Until Christmas.’
Sarah gasped. ‘That’s a couple of months away. Charlie, help me!’
‘Sorry, pet, they’ve grounded me too,’ he said, going into the kitchen.
Sarah stomped up the stairs, muttering under her breath.
Paul sank down into the couch. ‘Interesting day.’
‘Never a dull moment in this house.’ I sat down beside him.
‘I don’t like that fella.’
‘I think he’s OK, actually. He was mortified when he was caught and you scared the life out of him.’
‘Good, because sixteen-year-old boys think of nothing but sex and how to get it.’
‘All the time?’
‘Every minute of every day.’
‘Well, I know she’s not having sex with him.’
‘How?’
‘Because I read her emails and she told her latest best friend Alex that she was going to make him wait at least six months.’
‘Why?’
‘So she could be sure he really loved and respected her.’
‘Good for her.’
‘She has incredible self-confidence. I wish Ali had more of it.’
‘She seems a bit happier, these days.’
‘A little, but she’s still pretty down. Mind you, having to see the guy you’re mad about all over someone else every day must be awful.’
‘The year will fly and she’ll be in college soon, surrounded by new fellas.’
‘It’s mad to think I met you in my first term in college.’
‘Who’d have thought we’d still be here twenty-four years later?’
‘No one.’ I laughed. ‘They all thought it was a fling.’
‘We haven’t done too badly.’ Paul put his arm around me. ‘Two lovely girls, a nice house, jobs we enjoy … I think we’ve done well.’
‘Me too.’ I smiled and as I turned to kiss him, he leant down and pulled out his laptop. ‘That reminds me, I need to check how that new barman’s working out on his first night.’
11
I was clearing up after dinner when my phone rang. It was Sally. ‘I’ve just been on the date from hell. Can you meet me for a drink? I’m desperate.’
‘You poor thing. I’ll see you in the pub in twenty minutes.’
‘Thanks, Ava.’
‘What’s up?’ Sarah was painting her nails at the kitchen table.
‘Sally’s had a really bad date.’
‘God, I’m so glad I’m out of the dating scene.’ Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a jungle out there.’
I suppressed the urge to laugh. ‘So it’s still going well with Bobby, in spite of your father threatening him?’
‘I have to be honest, Mum, we’re the coolest couple in school.’
‘How exactly do you know this?’
‘Duh, because everyone keeps saying how amazing we are together and how we’re made for each other.’
‘You haven’t been seeing each other very long. Take it slowly. Don’t jump in head first – look at poor Ali.’
‘You cannot compare us. David was never in love with Ali. She was totally obsessed with him and he really liked her, but she was always way more into him. Bobby thinks I rock. Seriously, Mum, you don’t need to worry about me.’
‘I’m glad you’re happy. I wish Ali could meet someone nice.’
‘Me too! She’s no fun any more. All she does is work.’
‘It takes time to get over a broken heart. We need to be patient and kind to her.’
‘I am. I just wish she’d liven up a bit. She’s got really quiet.’
‘Hopefully she’ll perk up soon. Maybe some other boy will catch her eye.’
‘Not if she continues to walk around like a zombie.’
‘Come on now, she’s had a very public break-up. It’s not easy for her.’
‘She didn’t even try my ten-step plan. She should listen to me – I know guys.’
‘You do seem to have it all worked out. Maybe I should give your ten-step plan to Sally. I’d better go, pet. I’ll see you later.’
‘Say hi to Sally – poor her, he must have been horrendous.’
‘Who’s horrendous?’ Charlie walked into the kitchen.
‘Sally’s just run away from a bad date. I’m going to meet her for a drink.’
‘Enjoy yourself. I’ll hold the fort – and be sure to tell her I’m always available.’
When I arrived at the Drift Inn – Paul and I had thought up the name one drunken night and loved it – Sally was sitting at the bar talking to Paul.
He looked up and smiled at me. Sometimes I forgot how handsome he was. The surfing had given him a rugged tan and kept him very fit. He had that strong jaw, which on a man was very sexy, and dark brown eyes, and although his black hair was thinning a little at the back, he still had most of it.
‘Sally’s having a double vodka. Apparently it was very bad.’
‘I’ll have a –’
‘Mojito?’
‘I was going to say white wine but, yeah, a mojito would be great.’
‘Coming right up.’ He winked at me. I watched him walk away, admiring his bum. It was nice – I hadn’t felt so attracted to him in ages. Maybe I should hang around the bar more often.
I sat up beside Sally. ‘If it’s any consolation you look gorgeous,’ I said. She was wearing a midnight-blue wrap dress, which showed off her tiny, gym-toned waist, with killer heels. I felt a bit frumpy in my jeans and flat boots.
‘It’s a waste of a good dress and makeup,’ she said. ‘Honestly, Ava, I’m too old for shitty blind dates.’
‘I thought you were being a bit shifty today in work. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I didn’t want you getting your hopes up and I didn’t want me getting my hopes up and I knew deep down it would be a bloody disaster,’ she said.
I could see she was fighting back tears. I took her hand in mine. ‘I’m sorry it was bad. You poor thing. It’s such bad luck.’
‘Well, that’s it. I’ll never go on a date again. I’m hanging up my boots and dusting off my place on the shelf. If my sisters ever mention another blind date, I’ll slap them.’
‘I know this sounds like a silly platitude but I really believe you’ll meet someone. You’re such a brilliant person, funny, feisty, beautiful, clever –’
Sally put her hand up. ‘Stop! Thanks for the ego boost but I’m swearing off men.’
‘So what exactly happened?’
‘My brother-in-law Martin set me up on a blind date with a new client of his called Jake. He’s recently moved back to Dublin after twenty years in New York and wanted to meet someone.’
‘Very promising,’ I said.
‘I thought so too. When Martin rang I asked him the usual questions – is he married? Recently divorced? Gay? Scarred by a fire that left him with only half a face? Ugly? Bad breath? Et cetera.’
‘So, you covered your angles.’
‘You have to, believe me. I’ve met enough freaks. It turned out that Jake had never been married, is not gay and has normal-smelling breath. So I decided to throw caution to the wind and go for it.’
‘I’m not surprised. He sounded good on paper.’
‘Exactly!’ Sally thumped her fist on the bar. ‘So then I Googled him and he’s also really good-looking, so I started to get my hopes up, which is a really bad idea. He’s handsome and he’s lived away for years so he was new and interesting.’
‘Seemed perfect.’
‘That’s what I thought. So I emailed him, keeping it light and breezy, and he emailed straight back, and he was funny and flirty. We had some banter back and forth. At this stage I’m thinking, He’s too good to be true – which, of course, he was.’
&nb
sp; ‘But how could you know? It was all looking so positive.’
‘I know, and I spent a bloody fortune getting my legs and bikini-line waxed – there’s the definition of hope – my hair blow-dried, a manicure and a pedicure. I put on my sexiest underwear and this dress, which you always say brings out my eyes.’
‘It does. You look drop-dead gorgeous.’
‘Waste of bloody money …’
Sally explained that when she went to meet Jake in Brooks, a wine bar, she’d had butterflies in her stomach for the first time in ages.
‘There she is!’ an American voice boomed.
Jake was swaying on a bar stool. He had clearly been there a while. Maybe he was just nervous. She walked over and shook his hand.
‘Come on, babe, you can do better than that,’ he said, kissing her on the lips. The alcohol fumes nearly knocked her out.
‘Relax there, Jake. It’s only seven o’clock,’ she said, pulling back.
‘What’ll you have? Gin? Wine? Whiskey?’
‘A glass of white wine would be great.’ Sally sat up beside him and crossed her legs.
‘Nice pins.’ Jake grinned. ‘You’re in good shape for an older woman.’
‘I’m forty-three, not sixty,’ Sally retorted.
‘My last girlfriend was twenty-two.’
‘Bully for you.’ Sally took a large sip of wine.
‘Did Martin tell you I lived in New York for twenty years?’
‘Yes, but I think I would have guessed from your strong American accent.’
‘It’s the best goddamn city in the world.’
‘So how are you finding being back?’
‘The weather’s shit, the women are dogs – present company excluded – and the service is crap.’
‘You’re settling in well, then.’
Oblivious to her comment, Jake summoned the barman. ‘Hey, buddy, I’m waiting on a Jack Daniel’s and Coke. Are you fucking brewing the stuff out back or what?’
Sally was mortified. Everyone was looking at them and she could see people shaking their heads and whispering, ‘Ignorant American.’
‘Why don’t you tone it down a bit? The whole angry-New-York thing is a bit over to the top.’
Jake thumped the bar with his fist. ‘That’s the problem with Irish people. You’re all so fucking meek and mild. Bad service is not accepted in the US. If you order a drink, it comes right up. Here, you could be waiting all day while the barman chats to his friend or disappears for a fucking cigarette. If you don’t complain, you’ll never change it.’
Pieces of My Heart Page 8