Barefoot Over Stones

by Liz Lyons

  ‘So why is Columbo acting as if he is concealing a grenade under his coat? He came storming into the hospital as if it was a matter of life and death. He even risked going up the stairs here to try and talk sense into Mam. The man has a death wish.’

  ‘Look, I am very fond of Columbo but the thing is he presumes he always knows best. When I told him the bones of the story, as I have told you now, he didn’t even listen. His modus operandi has always been to protect the party at any cost. If he suspects danger, even where there isn’t any, he prides himself on being the first to head it off at the pass. He doesn’t really care if I am telling the truth or not as long as the party comes through unscathed and he is seen to be doing his job. To Columbo I am irrelevant in all of this and if he feels that way about me you can be sure that Leda Clancy does not even register. It’s a cruel game, this business, Dan. I am so glad you are doing something that could take you a million miles from here and you need never look back.’

  They talked on until first light was breaking over the mountains at the back of the house. Dan told his father what his mother’s demands were for a cessation of hostilities.

  ‘A wedding and a trip to Rome? Sometimes I can’t get over that woman. I’m not sure if she is bad or mad or both. What business would we have in Rome – the city of lovers and all that? We would be turned back at the airport.’

  ‘To tell you the truth, Dad, I’m not sure your presence is required in anything but the most nominal sense. Will you do it?’

  ‘Not if I can help it, no. My marriage has long been a disappointment to me and I don’t really want anyone else shining a light where I won’t dare to look myself. The wound is deep enough without adding salt.’

  ‘What will you do so? She won’t be happy, I can tell you that. She wants Leda out of the place too, which is just ridiculous. She’s in school.’

  ‘Well, between you and me, I am not sure that is the worst idea your mother has ever had. Things are bad at home for the Clancy children. The eldest girl is in college – fair play to her – and I am close enough to fixing up the young lad as a plumber’s apprentice. Aggie isn’t able and Ted is not a parent in any sense of the word. I could put Leda in the way of office work and such out of Leachlara. Give her a start so she gets her independence, a course maybe if that’s what she wants. To be honest it’s the least I can do to make amends. She feels let down and I reckon it’s my responsibility even if it’s not my fault.’

  Dan looked at his father as he poured himself another generous measure of whiskey. He cupped the glass with both hands as if he depended on it for support. The bottle had gone from over half to a quarter full during the course of their conversation and Con was not bothering to dilute it any more. Not for the first time Dan was shocked at his father’s capacity for drink. It seemed not to have any appreciable effect on him. He must have had a few in the pub too and still his words never slurred and his voice never faltered.

  ‘So if you are not going to renew the vows or do the whole honeymoon thing, how do you expect this thing with Mam to be brought under control? She is looking for satisfaction and she won’t rest without it.’

  ‘Money, Dan. Most things with your mother come down to money in the end. After you there is nothing she cares about more. So I am guessing if I play willing, total up the cost of a suitably flashy renewal-of-wedding-vows party for a TD and the cost of a luxury trip to Rome, her mind will start racing at the thought of the things she could spend the money on. She could get more silverware for the sideboard that no one sees and a replacement car for the one that nobody ever gets a lift in. I can see the list forming as we speak. Then if I round up the amount by a couple of grand and offer that to ease her pain and embarrassment this whole thing will be put behind us quietly and permanently. A cheque speaks volumes to your mother, always has done. It’s the only way we converse any more. Her silence breaks only when she wants money or at least more money than she already has. She has even taken to leaving Post-its on the kettle with her account number on them – as if I needed reminding of my greatest money hole.’

  Dan left his father and his whiskey at the kitchen table shortly before the clock on the wall began to chime for six o’clock. He had been up close to twenty-four hours and his body was succumbing to an enveloping exhaustion that rendered him almost speechless. He had done nothing to sort this mess out except listen to his mother’s grandiose plans for retribution and then hear his father confidently assert he would outsmart her at the end with the power of his cheque book. He promised himself as he climbed into the bed in his old room that he would stay alone for ever rather than recreate a marriage like his parents’: bound together by a child and mutual disdain. It was a horrible way to live. What struck him most about both his parents was their willingness to stay put for the sake of appearances, to endure any kind of misery as long as the set piece of their lives looked well to anyone looking on. Well, Dan had seen enough to know that he would not settle for the same life himself. It couldn’t be that hard to better his parents’ lousy attempt, he thought as he shifted uncomfortably in the bed. The sheets had had the heavy starch treatment so popular with his mother and he lay awake waiting for the bed to soften under him, enough for him to settle into overdue sleep.

  The posters on the wall, dimly visible in the morning light, were the ones he had tacked up there a good few years before: George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley togged out in matching white suits and their hair sprayed within an inch of its life. God, he couldn’t imagine how he hadn’t worked out that George Michael was gay. It was so obvious, yet Dan had been so unbelievably innocent. Besides, no one else in Leachlara Community School seemed to have worked it out either – or if they had they hadn’t mentioned it.

  Also there was the St Elmo’s Fire cast poster that he had stolen from the Carlton foyer in Leachlara. He had a serious crush on Demi Moore for years after that film. Dan smiled to himself as he remembered how many times he had watched the video. God, she was gorgeous, but he wasn’t sure about the really short hair in Ghost. It was as if she had taken a saucer from her potter’s wheel and put it on her head. He definitely preferred her with long hair. As he finally drifted off to sleep he decided that he would definitely ask out Alison from Rose’s café. She looked a bit like a very young Demi, he thought with a grin, and if she looked that good despite the shapeless chef’s gear she always wore then she must be really beautiful. Thursday afternoon was when Rose said she would be in again. She had winked at him and his efforts at nonchalance had been lost in her uncontrollable ear-to-ear grin.

  ‘Well, finally, Dan, I thought I was going to have to reach across there and check for a pulse. Yourself and Alison have been gazing at each other since well before Christmas. It’s time you got a bloody move on!’

  ‘Yes, Boss!’ he had replied, more than a little surprised by the fact that his attraction to Alison had been so obvious when he thought he had been playing it cool. He had been rumbled – but what did it matter? A date with Alison Shepherd might just be what he needed to forget his family’s misery and memories of all that had happened in Leachlara. He would ask her out on Thursday, he decided, then slept for ten straight hours.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Burnt onions were not a smell naturally conducive to romance. Alison could have killed Ciara for leaving the place in such a tip again. The kitchen units were strewn with vegetable peelings and utensils that had stirred a deep dark pit of something that was probably Ciara’s attempt at Bolognese. A massive heap of congealed pasta nearby was a further clue to the recipe that had been attempted. Alison had encouraged her flatmate to start cooking dinners because for the first six weeks they lived together she seemed to eat nothing but toast and cereal. Alison had even written down some simple recipes. The remnants of this dinner did not bode well for Ciara’s progress. Alison would have to spend the next half-hour cleaning up the mess before she could degrease herself after an afternoon at the Daisy May. In fairness she hadn’t had a chance to tell Ciara that
what she had been dreaming of for months had now finally come to pass. Dan Abernethy had asked her out and she was so proud that she hadn’t collapsed before she managed to say yes. She had felt Rose’s lurking presence behind them cleaning tables, taking ages to clear what she would normally have tidied in a few short minutes. It felt as if she was making space for something to happen but it wasn’t until Dan clasped her hand in his as she set his mug of black coffee in front of him that she allowed herself to believe that this gorgeous, sophisticated man could be interested in her. His eyes were so intense that she felt her face fire up in a maddening blush when he spoke to her.

  ‘Will you come out with me, Alison? To the pictures or to the pub or for a pizza, whichever one you fancy . . .’ He punctuated the ensuing pause with a heartfelt, ‘Please?’

  She was finding it difficult to get the words out because all she could concentrate on was the fact that her hand was touching his and his eyes were fixed on her face waiting intently for her answer. Eventually her vocal cords managed to discharge their function.

  ‘Yes, I’d love that. A drink would be nice.’ What was she saying? She didn’t even drink, but a film would be useless. She wanted to be able to look at him, listen to him, and a darkened cinema was not the place. Oh well, she would drink water all night if it meant finally spending time with Dan.

  A customer at the other end of the counter slammed his mug on the countertop in a sullen unspoken demand for a refill. Alison darted to him with the coffee jug, relieved to have negotiated accepting the date without making a total idiot of herself by stumbling on her words or burning his hands with the scalding coffee or tripping over herself while trying to coolly move away.

  With that Rose dropped her cleaning cloth and with it her long-drawn-out pretence of table polishing. She let out a dramatic sigh and approached Dan where he was seated at the counter with a massive smile on his face. ‘Well, I do hope your future patients won’t be as long waiting for a fecking blood transfusion or an amputation, Dan Abernethy, as I have been waiting for that little invitation of yours. It would be less painful to watch a snail crossing the street in heavy traffic. I’m going out for a cigarette, boy. My nerves are well and truly shot.’

  Dan laughed. He was mad for Rose and very grateful to her that she had made herself scarce so he could talk to Alison alone.

  Conlon’s pub in Camden Street wasn’t a popular student haunt and so was quieter on a Thursday night than most of the other pubs on the street. That was one of the reasons Dan had chosen it for his date with Alison. He wanted to be able to chat with her without any of the lads from his class butting in with their smart comments. It was a tradition to rag any couple on a date and Dan knew how merciless it all could be because he had been part of the good-natured taunting gang on several occasions. Alison was different to any of the girls he had been out with before. She was a bit mysterious and reserved and he wanted time to work her out for himself before anyone else had his or her say about her. He knew from Rose that she was from Cork, some smallish country town, though Rose couldn’t remember the name of it. He knew like himself that she was an only child and that she was in first year Arts in Trinity. At twenty-four he was a good bit older but Alison – and he presumed their enthusiastic matchmaker Rose had filled her in about himself – didn’t seem to mind. In fact she seemed delighted he had asked her out, if somewhat shell-shocked.

  He had offered to pick her up at her flat in Ranelagh but she had insisted that she would meet him at Conlon’s. The bus from Ranelagh stopped at the top of the street before it swung around on to Harcourt Street so at most it was only a few minutes’ stroll. Dan arrived early, driven out from his flat off Leeson Street partly by nerves but mostly by his flatmate Anthony’s liberal use of pound-shop aftershave, which he considered essential for a night on the pull. ‘Captivate’ was the latest brand adorning the toilet cistern in a frighteningly industrial-size can. Sparingly, Dan had told him, was the best way to impress a girl but Anthony continued to use quantities that would dip a flock of sheep and cure them of all their infestations. When he came to think of it, Dan decided sheep dip probably had the edge on any of Anthony’s wooing scents.

  ‘I think, Ant, the only captivating you will be doing tonight is if they fall at your feet overpowered by the whiff of your aerosol poison.’

  ‘Control your jealousy, Abernethy, just because I have a line of hot babes waiting to succumb to my charms in pubs the length of Leeson Street and you, saddo, are taking yourself off to the cinema to munch your popcorn on your own. Why don’t you come with me and watch the master at work? Pointers, my friend, that’s what you need and I’m the very man to help you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of cramping your style, Anthony. Talent like yours needs oxygen to breathe.’

  ‘Well, enjoy the subtitles, and I will take care of the ladies,’ Anthony replied before he swaggered out in search of his unsuspecting prey.

  At the bar there was a row of Guinness-sipping heads, lined up like soldiers on their high stools silently admiring themselves in the gilt whiskey-label mirrors that lined the back of the bar. It seemed that real men in Conlon’s sat at the bar because all the tables and chairs were vacant except for one in the corner, temporary home to a group of handbag-clutching, vodka-quaffing women who looked as if they were expecting the bingo numbers to roll any minute now.

  ‘Did you say Leachlara?’ Alison asked, knocked sideways by the coincidence that she had willed not to be the case ever since Ciara had disclosed to her the details of Leda’s involvement with the dodgy politician in their home town.

  ‘Yeah, I’m from Leachlara. Why, have you heard of it?’ Dan was a bit taken aback. Anybody he had mentioned it to in Dublin had never heard of Leachlara, which didn’t surprise him really. It was, after all, only a crooked miserable street with more pubs than it needed and precious little else. Columbo’s battle cry was that Con Abernethy had put Leachlara on the map and it had struck Dan that it was a curiously pointless achievement – even if it were the case. Truly there was no point in going there unless you had the misfortune to call it home. Now it seemed to have followed him here and he didn’t know how to react.

  ‘My best friend is from Leachlara. She’s my flatmate too.’ Alison knew that he might be uncomfortable with the mention of her name but she thought it best to get it out of the way. Hopefully it would not scupper this thing with Dan before it even got started. She had to be honest. He was going to meet Ciara sooner rather than later and this whole thing would be better aired beforehand. ‘I think you might know her. At least, she has spoken of a family of Abernethys from Leachlara. Ciara Clancy is her name.’

  Dan was stunned. It couldn’t get much worse than this. He had run from the mess that his father had created at home with Leda Clancy. He had sought refuge in his independent life in Dublin but it had followed him here like a bad smell and it could ruin the nicest thing that had happened to him in ages. Ciara Clancy was not likely to be impressed with her flatmate’s choice of company.

  Dan felt his throat tighten and his mouth dry but he forced himself to form some sort of an answer. ‘I’ve heard of her. I mean, I know the Clancys and where they live. I don’t think I have ever spoken to Ciara. She was at the same school but she was only starting when I was doing the Leaving.’ Dan was rambling because he didn’t know how much, if anything, Ciara might have told Alison about his father. There was no point in him blurting it all out to her if she was blissfully unaware. She would just think his dad was a creep, a point he might well have to concede, but he wasn’t ready for her to think badly of himself too, not when they had only just met.

  Anticipating how awfully this could turn out, Alison thought she had better rescue Dan from his obvious mortification. ‘Look, Ciara has told me about your dad and her sister Leda and what’s meant to be going on. But I am ready to hear your side if you want to tell me. Just because Ciara is my friend doesn’t mean I don’t want to get to know you. I’ll understand though if you don’t wa
nt to talk about it because we have only just met. It’s none of my business, after all. I just figured that Abernethy is such an unusual name that there couldn’t be too many families called that in a place the size of Leachlara.’

  ‘No, there is only one lot of Abernethys. We punch above our weight though when it comes to shitty family stuff,’ Dan said with as much humour as he could manage under the circumstances. The sensible thing to do would be to bolt for the door, but the longer he looked at Alison the more he wanted to stay. She had taken his breath away when she walked in. He’d known she was beautiful from watching her at the Daisy May but he was taken aback by just how gorgeous she looked. Her hair tumbled around her slightly made-up face and her petite frame was dressed in a slim-fitting red shirt and dark denims. He wanted to snog her there and then so there was no way he was going to let his father’s foul-ups ruin his chances. ‘If it’s all right with you, Alison, maybe we could start off like this is a totally normal run-of-the-mill first date and I will get to the heavy stuff later. That’s of course if you are still interested and you haven’t decided to run for the hills.’

  ‘I promise to stay until the end.’ Alison was relieved. She would tell Ciara eventually but there was no need to tell her straight away.

  They talked until after midnight when the barman at Conlon’s downed tools and started to flick the lights in an effort to chase the handful of drinkers on to the street. They swapped stories about growing up, their respective schools and their university courses and agreed that it was nice to live in Dublin where people didn’t know every ounce of your business.

  ‘Well, at least I used to think that about Dublin until I asked out this beautiful, mysterious girl from the Daisy May and realized that she knew loads about me and all I knew about her was her name and that she was from Cork. Oh, and that she nearly always burns whatever is in the frying pan when I am drinking coffee at the counter. I’d say you owe poor Rose a brace of frying pans by now!’