That’s the great thing about acknowledging and then accepting one’s own mediocrity. You’re not delusional anymore. I’ve long ago realised that I’m never going to do the stuff or own the things that I dreamt of when I was a kid. But I like to take comfort in the knowledge that my nightmare life could be someone else’s dream. There’s a real comfort to be found in the humdrum of banality, and as I’ve often found through personal experience anyway, there’s nothing as destructive as the delusion of hope, or a cheerful expectation that one day things’ll get better. That one day you’ll get a better job, a better girlfriend or wife; that one day you’ll go to the gym three times a week as you’ve been promising yourself for years; that your kids won’t turn out to be recalcitrant little pricks like your neighbours’ kids; that you’ll even one day win the lotto, who knows? That one day you’ll somehow become a better version of yourself, and that you’ll then finally live a better version of your own life.
But you won’t. It’s all self-delusion just to numb the pain. To help you make it through another day. To stop you from stepping out in front of a bus, or accelerating into a busy junction. Thankfully, I’ve accepted my own indistinguishable, vapid and pedestrian self years ago. It was quite liberating.
I look over at Charlie again, and I realise there isn’t that much difference between them and him. So what if he’s shagging different women left, right and centre? Is that what it’s all about? At least Danny has a girlfriend. I don’t remember Charlie ever going out with a girl for more than a month, and all male bullshit bravado aside, that’s a bit sad. No, it’s worse than sad. It’s depressing. Still living the same life now as he did as a teenager. Christ, we all are. Where’s the growth in any of that? In any of us? Charlie, Danny, Liam and me. And I can see all of it summed up now in Danny and Liam’s expressions. The boredom and the bullshit, and Jesus, the thoughts of another twenty years of it.
I’m suddenly consumed with an unconditional love for them. My mates. No, wait. Not love. More like pity. Pity and love are not dissimilar though; two blood clots in the same vein. Pity and disappointment. As much for myself as for them.
We’re all here for the same reason tonight, but not one of us will ever mention Michael’s name. After all these years I’m still trying to make sense of it. I’ve been thinking a lot about him lately and about that afternoon, probably because it takes my thoughts away from Aoife. But now that I’m thinking about it again, it’s all so fresh and raw.
A part of each of us drowned with him that afternoon. It’s not even like we left our youth behind on the pier, it’s more like we stopped growing up after that day. But the water took some things from us as well: our ambition, our love of life and of each other, our innocence, our foolishness, and replaced them all with guilt. Survivor’s guilt, I think it’s called. How can we excel and enjoy what Michael will never experience? Why was it him, and not us? We dared him to do it, that’s why. He was supposed to get out of the water and then dare one of us to do something. Then everything would have been okay. But it’s not okay.
It’s all too late now. He can’t dare us. The game is over.
But what if it wasn’t? What if I... What if we... Finished the game?
My God. What if we did that? What if it was my turn? Or Liam’s? Or Danny’s? Or Charlie’s?
No, it’s Liam’s. He dared Michael first. It’s Liam’s turn. It’s Liam’s turn.
Saturday
Nick
LIAM IS SPRAWLED out on his back across my three-seater brown couch like some giant fat lizard sunning his balls. As usual, he’s wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms and a plain white T-shirt that looks more like a bed sheet. They don’t put any fancy designs or brand names on T-shirts that size. I don’t blame them either. If I were Calvin Klein, I wouldn’t make any clothes, and I certainly wouldn’t put my name on them if I thought some sloppy fat fuck like Liam was going to wear them in public.
Danny wasn’t drinking last night, but somehow he still managed to get into verbal blows with Ruby. She looked wrecked after her shift, but Danny still insisted on going on about some shite with his work. Eventually, she just got pissed off, and understandably so, and told him to go home. In fairness to Danny, he still drove Liam and me for something to eat, and then I ended up inviting Danny back to my place. Liam just invited himself.
I didn’t sleep too well last night. It was so fucking hot; I had to open the windows in my bedroom. Plus, I could hear Liam’s snores reverberating throughout the house. He slept on the couch when he could have had a bed. When I came down, he was still on the couch. On the floor beside him were a packet of Frosties, a carton of milk and an empty bowl with a soup spoon in it. I picked up the Frosties box and the milk, shook them, and then threw them in the recycling bin.
From the kitchen, I’m watching Danny and Liam. They’re watching cartoons. Danny has a book in his hands (as usual), ‘The Power of Positive Moments’ or something like that, but he’s actually watching the cartoons (as usual). I haven’t mentioned my idea of the dares to them yet as I’m waiting for Charlie to get here. He left with the red head just before midnight last night, but before he’d left I’d asked him to come by about lunchtime today.
My idea about the dares had me awake most of the night, practising what I was going to say over and over. All of a sudden though, Liam is talking about some new girl he fancies who’s started working beside him, and I see my opportunity. Like most things in life, it’s not the way I had it planned, but the result is just the same.
‘So why don’t you just ask her out then?’ Danny asks him.
‘I probably will,’ Liam says, ‘I’ll see how it goes, like.’
‘Would you fuck off,’ I add, ‘you’ve been saying that for ages.’
‘You’re all mouth and no action,’ Danny says to him.
‘No, I’m not. I just need to get her at the right time, that’s all.’
‘Chicken shit,’ Danny says. ‘You couldn’t get a ride in a brothel.’
‘Irregardless, I’ll have you know, smart arse,’ says Liam, ‘that I have had a ride in a brothel.’
‘Irregardless isn’t a word, you arsehole,’ says Danny. ‘Besides, you couldn’t get a ride in a nightclub, anyway. That’s for fucking sure.’
‘Yeah, I could. Easy.’
‘Well, there’d have to be about a thousand women in it, and no blokes. And every one of them dying for it. Then you might have a half chance.’
‘I garan-fuckin-tee you, smart hole, that if I asked every bird in a nightclub, I’d get a ride. It’s all about the numbers.’
The doorbell rings.
‘Hold on,’ I say to them as I walk to the door, praying it’s Charlie.
It rings again – impatient prick. ‘Alright?’ he says as I open the door.
‘Yeah, and you?’
Liam and Danny are arguing as we come back in.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Charlie says, looking at them. ‘It’s just like being at home in here.’
‘I was only messing anyway,’ Liam shouts at Danny.
‘Well, it’s the only way you’ll ever get a shag, Byrne, without having to pay for it.’
‘I haven’t paid for it in ages, I’ll have you fuckin’ know.’
‘You haven’t had a ride in ages either,’ Danny shouts back at him.
‘What the fuck is this all about?’ Charlie asks me.
‘He says to me a few minutes ago...’ Danny starts.
‘I didn’t fuckin’ mean it,’ Liam interrupts.
‘Liam, shut the fuck up for a minute,’ I say.
‘He’s says that if he went into a nightclub and asked every girl in the place would they fancy a shag, that the odds are at least one of them would.’
‘One of them would what?’ Charlie asks. ‘Give him a swift kick in the bollocks?’
‘No. That one of them would shag him,’ Danny says.
Charlie looks at me. I look at Charlie. We both look at Liam.
‘Statistically speaking,�
�� Danny says.
‘Possibly,’ Charlie says. ‘But it’d have to be more than one nightclub. Three or four at the very least, over the course of a couple of weeks. Since we’re statistically speaking.’
‘Ask me arse, Charlie,’ Liam says.
‘So do it then,’ Danny says.
‘Haven’t we had this conversation before?’ Charlie says.
‘I’m not doing it. I’d get me bleedin’ head kicked in by some Polish bird’s muscley fucker.’
‘Do you no harm,’ Danny says.
‘I was only saying, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, that’s you all over. Only saying. I’m only saying,’ Danny says and opens up his book.
Cupboard doors are banging closed in the kitchen. ‘Have you any decent coffee, Nick?’ Charlie calls out to me.
Liam’s focus is back on the cartoons. Danny is watching them as well from the brim of his book. He must have hundreds of those self-help books in his house. I don’t know why he bothers. A lot of work and a little bit of luck, or a lot of luck and a little bit of work seems to do the trick for most successful people I know.
Charlie walks back into the sitting room holding a jar of Nescafe.
‘Is this the best stuff you have?’ he asks.
I need to get the conversation back on track.
‘No, wait a second Danny,’ I say, ignoring Charlie. ‘In fairness, Liam should try saying something a little bit more subtle.’
Charlie
I THOUGHT LAST night when Nick asked me to come over today, he wanted to talk in private about something. Something about Aoife, but now I’m not so sure. He never talks about Aoife, but I know he’s thinking about her all the time. How could he not be? I’ve tried a couple of times to talk to him about her, but he always changes the subject. It’s not something you just pop into a conversation. I’d no idea Danny and Liam would be here as well.
For a moment I’m not sure what Nick’s talking about. I look at Danny and I can see he feels the same. Strangely, and for the first time, Liam knows exactly what Nick’s talking about.
‘Nick, I’m not doing it. That’s final,’ Liam says.
‘There’s no way he’ll do it,’ I tell him. ‘He gets nervous even saying hello to chicks. Besides, he’s right. He’d get the shit kicked out of him, or at least get thrown out of the place.’
‘That’s what I’m saying,’ Nick says, ‘it’d have to be something a little more subtle.’
‘Like what?’ Danny asks.
Nick looks at me. I shrug.
‘I don’t know, I say. Something light and easy and simple to remember. Non-confrontational, but the message gets across. No ambiguity. Get in; get out. Em... how about... something like... “I think you’re very cute. Would you like to come home with me tonight?”’
They all look at me. Then we all look at Liam.
‘Would yous ever fuck off the lot of yous,’ Liam says.
‘That’s perfect,’ Danny says.
‘That’ll do the trick, alright. Nice, short and specific,’ Nick says.
‘I’m not fuckin’ doin’ it, no matter how fuckin’ pacific it is’ Liam says.
‘Specific not pacific. You’re all mouth and no action,’ Danny tells him. ‘It’s not even that hard. It’d just be a bit of craic.’
‘Why don’t you do it then, smart arse,’ Liam says.
‘You’re the one who came up with the idea,’ Danny says. ‘You’re all talk as usual.’
‘No, I’m not.’
Christ, I was happy to have an excuse to get out of that red head’s apartment this morning, but if this is what the day has in store for me, listening to these two bitches bickering, then I wish I hadn’t left now. I knew last night when I got back to her place that because of the double matinee with the English client in the Westbury, I wouldn’t be able to put in much of a performance for her, and I’d much rather have a no-show than a bad-show, so I pretended to be a little more drunk and a little more sleepy than I actually was, but by six am I woke up with all guns blazing, and with a hard-on that would knock nails into the wall. We fell back asleep after about an hour and then woke up about ten and went at it again. Then I split. If I didn’t have a couple of appointments set up already tonight, I wouldn’t mind going back there now. Hang out for the afternoon with her. She was alright. Good listener. Soft speaker. Small hands with the most perfect white painted nails. And a great kisser. It’s a rarer quality than you’d imagine, being a good kisser. You can learn to speak any language in the world if you put the time and effort in, but when it comes to kissing, you’ve either got it or you don’t. Pity I don’t have her number, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t give her mine either. I never give them my number. What’s this her name was again?’
‘Hold on, hold on,’ Nick is saying. ‘I’ll tell you what, Liam, if you don’t do it, never mind the Polish Schwarzeneggers that may or may not beat the shit out of you, we’ll beat the shit out of you.’
‘Fuck off,’ Liam says, ‘I don’t give a shite, I’m not doing it.’
‘Then you’re getting the slaps, Byrne,’ Danny says, closes his book and stands up.
‘Come on, then,’ Liam says, and like a beached whale, attempts to haul himself up off the couch.
‘No wait a second, Danny,’ Nick says. ‘He hasn’t heard what happens if he actually has the balls to do it.’
We all look at Nick. I’m not sure where he’s going with this, and from the looks on Liam and Danny’s faces, neither do they.
‘Here’s the deal,’ he says, ‘we dare you to do it and if you don’t do it, then each of us can give you a punch in the face.’
Liam attempts to get off the couch again.
‘No wait, Liam,’ he continues, ‘if you actually do it, and have the balls and be a man for once in your nonsensical porno-filled existence of a life, then you can give each of us a punch in the face. How’s that?’
Nonsensical. Porno-filled. Where did that come from? Sounds almost rehearsed if you ask me. ‘I’m in,’ I say.
Nick and I look at Danny. Danny once told me that he’s never hit anyone in his life, and that he’s never been hit either. He rubs his jaw, and looks at Liam.
‘I’ll have you know, Nick,’ Liam says, ‘I watch all those adult films for purely business reasons, and in a strictly professional manner, I might add. And I’m not bleedin’ doin’ it, so yous can all go and shite.’
‘Alright, then,’ Danny says, ignoring Liam. ‘I’m in.’
‘I’m not fuckin’ doin’ it.’
‘But only,’ Danny adds, ‘only if I get to see him do it. I’m not in if I can only hear about it the next day.’
‘Yeah, I want to see it as well,’ I say.
‘Don’t worry,’ Nick says, ‘we’ll all go together.’
‘Are yous lot deaf?’ Liam almost shouts. ‘I’m not fuckin’ doin’ it.’
‘When can we do it then?’ Danny asks.
‘Why not tonight?’ Nick says.
‘He won’t do it anyway,’ I say, ‘and I wouldn’t mind giving him a few slaps. They’re well overdue.’
‘I’d beat the shite out of you, Charlie,’ Liam tells me. ‘You skinny little prick.’
He tries to get off the couch again, and he leans back against it.
‘Oh, yeah,’ I say to him, ‘well now’s your chance, fat man.’
As he’s getting off the couch, he’s pushing on the back of it, so much so that I think it’s going to snap off with his full weight on it. I push him as he’s still getting up, and then I flip him and the couch backwards. The back hits the floor with Liam rolling away from it. He’ll have a tough enough time trying to get himself off the floor, but either way I leap over the couch and land right on top of his belly, as if I’m straddling a horse.
‘Ow, get off me you fucker,’ Liam screams up at me.
I’m looking down at Liam’s reddening face, as Danny and Nick start pissing themselves laughing. I lean over and slap the side of his face, and then s
lap the other side of his face with my other hand.
‘Are you going to do it?’ I ask.
‘Fuck off, Charlie,’ he yells, ‘get the fuck off me.’
‘Are you going to do it?’ I keep repeating, slapping his face stronger and stronger. ‘Are you going to do it?’
‘Get off me.’
‘Danny’s right,’ I tell him, ‘you haven’t got the balls to do it, have you?’
‘Maybe he actually hasn’t got any?’ Nick says,
‘Is that true, Liam?’ I ask him. ‘Hitler had one, Liam has none. Well, let’s see if Nick’s right.’
I slide backwards and go to grab his balls. He has literally sheets of clothes on him. I’d be lucky to be able to find a football with all this material and fat padding, never mind a small pair of balls. I search nonetheless.
‘Get off me, ye queer,’ Liam cries.
I make a grab for his balls.
‘Alright, alright,’ he blurts out, ‘just get off me.’
Nick walks over and looks down at him.
‘Are you going to do it, then?’ he asks.
‘Okay, okay, I’ll do it,’ he says, almost in tears, ‘just get him off me.’
I look up at Nick and he’s smiling. He winks at me and I jump off Liam. Danny grabs one end of the couch and Nick grabs the other, and then lifts it back onto its legs, leaving Liam still lying on the floor behind it.
Danny
NO ONE KNOWS, but I’ve never actually been hit in the face before. Not only that, but I’ve never actually punched anyone before either. I’m not too keen on the prospects, to be honest, but I’m pretty confident that it’ll be me administering the punishment and not Liam. He’s still sprawled across the couch, only now he’s biting at his nails, alternating from one hand to another like a squirrel. Charlie has had to bring a chair in from the kitchen, and is sitting cross legged sipping on his coffee. He keeps tilting his head towards Liam, and shaking his head at something. Nick’s not looking at the TV either, his eyes are shuffling between Charlie, me and Liam. I wonder if he and Charlie took something earlier. I’ve never been into the drugs myself. Maybe the whole thing about poor quality coffee was a euphemism for cocaine or something.
Surviving Michael Page 7