‘Ah, it won’t be long now,’ said Kavanagh.
‘Help yourself to a drink, Joe, if you’d like one.’
‘Ah no, Mam. I’m grand here with my tea.’ Kavanagh refilled his cup from the pot on the table and grabbed a couple of biscuits.
‘Are you still smoking, Joe?’
‘Em, ah, I’d have the odd one, you know?’
‘A social smoker, as they say.’
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
‘And what about the other stuff?’
‘What other stuff?’
‘The whacky tobaccy.’
Kavanagh laughed and cleared his throat.
‘I used to smell it in your room you know.’
‘That wasn’t me, Mam. It was Colum.’
His mother laughed at that. ‘Nice try, Joe. Sure he’s straight as an arrow. Just like your father. I always wondered what it was like. I almost tried it once, you know.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yeah, years ago. It was before your father and I were married. We were at this party and there were these hippies at it, like you’d see in a film or something. I remember one of the girls had long hair all the way down her back. It was so long she was sitting on it, and it was so straight I think she must have ironed it or something. I wanted to ask her about it, but it seemed rude to. Anyway, they were passing this joint around. They were very generous. They weren’t trying to hide it or anything. It was no big deal to them. I know it would be no big deal now, but back then in this little town, well, I don’t need to tell you it was quite conservative still. People did not know what to make of this. And it came around to me, this joint, and I took the thing in my hand and your father was looking at me. Agog, he was.’
Kavanagh laughed. ‘I can imagine.’
‘So I just sat there staring at the thing. The girl came over and she took it from my hand. “Thanks, dear,” she said, and she walked back over to the other side of the room, her long hair swishing. I always wondered …’.
‘What stopped you?’
‘What your father would have thought of me. Would I be a ruined woman?’ she laughed. ‘I think if I’d been on my own it would have been different. Maybe I would have felt more free, but we were all so frightened back then of everything. Not like it is now. Sure, in parts of America they prescribe it to sick people. California, I think it is. There was a documentary on about it not so long ago.’
‘That’s right,’ said Kavanagh. ‘They should bring that in over here.’
‘And what would it do exactly for these people they prescribe it to?’
‘Well, it can help people who are terminally ill, you know, who may not have any appetite.’
‘Oh, well I wouldn’t need any help now with that. Is it good for pain as well?’
‘Yeah. I suppose so,’ said Kavanagh. ‘It definitely makes you feel, I don’t know … lighter or something.’
‘I wouldn’t mind trying it, you know. If I could get my hands on some.’
‘Are you in pain, Mam? Are the painkillers not strong enough?’
‘No, I’m not in any major pain. Nothing more than you’d expect. It’s more … uncomfortable than anything else. I was just curious more than anything. At this stage of my life it’s hardly going to lead me to ruin, is it? Sure, what harm?’
‘It is illegal though.’
His mother shrugged. ‘Sometimes rules are made to be broken. If only I’d realised that when I was younger.’
‘I mean, if you want to try it I could …’.
‘Do you have some here?’
‘Yeah, I have a bit,’ said Kavanagh.
His mother nodded. ‘Right so, let’s see what all the fuss is about.’
Kavanagh rolled a joint and lit it up.
‘You smoke this like a cigarette, is it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Kavanagh.
His mother inhaled the smoke and coughed. ‘Oh, that hit the back of my throat. I haven’t had a cigarette in twenty years.’ She inhaled again and blew out the smoke in a steady stream. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You know, back then they didn’t even let women drink in the pubs, would you believe that? I had friends who had to give up their jobs when they got married. There was no choice, that’s just how it was.’
‘It’s crazy to think it, isn’t it?’
‘It is in this day and age, but it was a different time. Sometimes I wonder is it really that different at all?’
‘Well, I suppose at least women have the choice now to stay in their jobs if they want.’
They do, but who minds the kids then? The grannies. Don’t get me wrong, I love my grandchild, but I already raised my children. I see it with my friends too, you know. Oh, I can’t meet you for coffee that day, I have to mind the grand-kiddies. They’re having to raise children all over again, but I don’t know. I don’t know what the answer is.’
‘Wouldn’t it be great if we didn’t have to work?’ said Kavanagh. ‘I don’t know. I feel like people are too defined by the jobs they do. They get all of their self-worth from their job title. I mean, where does that leave people who can’t find jobs? Are they not worth anything?’
‘How’s your job going in the restaurant?’
‘Yeah, pretty good.’ Kavanagh felt a twinge of guilt for lying, but it was easier than having his mother worry about him. ‘But you know, it’s just a means to an end so I can save some money.’
‘To head off travelling again, is it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good for you, son. Colum thinks you’re daft, but do you know something? I think he’s only jealous. He’s a homebird like your father. You’re like me, Joe. You want to get out and see things. There’s a whole world out there.’
Kavanagh nodded.
‘You know, I wish I’d travelled more when I had the chance.’
‘Sure, there’s still time,’ said Kavanagh. ‘You can come over and visit me in Thailand.’
‘We should have gone in the summer when your father had all of those holidays, but then there was always the farm. If I could do it over again I’d head off with my paints …’.
‘Your paints?’
‘Yeah, I used to do a bit. Way back.’
‘You never told me that.’
‘It was never much encouraged back then. It wasn’t a thing you could make money from. Dressmaking on the other hand … but you must have got it from somewhere, Joe. Sure, you didn’t lick it up off the stones.’
When he was younger the kitchen table would be covered in dresses and shirts – buttons to be sewn back on, hems to be altered. He would come in from school and his mother would be beside the fire, her measuring tape around her neck, a pin in her mouth, the needle weaving in and out of material. Or there would be some person from the village standing there, arms outstretched, Christlike, as she took their measurements and marked the clothes in chalk.
‘There’s no money in it now. Sure why would anyone get a dress made? They can go into a shop and try it on there or order it online. Even the repairs now, sure why would you pay someone to fix a ripped seam when you can go into Penney’s or one of them places and buy something new for half nothing? Clothes aren’t built to last these days, and people don’t expect them to either. It’s all … different.’
‘Are you okay, Mam?’
‘I don’t know. I’m feeling a little sad I suppose, after the operation and everything. I mean not that I was planning on having any more children or anything,’ she laughed. ‘I’m gone well past that now. I don’t know. It’s just the idea of it, that that’s all over with. You probably think that sounds daft …’.
‘No, not at all,’ said Kavanagh. ‘I think that sounds completely understandable.’
‘Promise me one thing though.’
‘What’s t
hat?
‘If you do go off travelling, promise me wherever you are that you’ll come home for Christmas. We missed you this year.’
Kavanagh nodded. ‘I promise.’
‘Are you hungry at all, Joe?’
‘Yeah, I’m a bit peckish all right.’
‘I’m starving. Have we any crisps or anything in the house? Do you know I don’t think we do.’
‘How about some toast, Mam?’
‘That’d be brilliant, and a cup of tea. Can you manage?’
‘Sure, I think my culinary skills can stretch to tea and toast.’ Kavanagh made his way into the kitchen. ‘What with my professional restaurant experience and all.’
‘Thanks, Joe. And we don’t need to be saying anything to Colum about this.’
‘Oh, God no,’ said Kavanagh. ‘Course not.’
‘I don’t know if he’d approve.’
‘I can safely say he definitely would not approve.’
‘He means well,’ said his mother. ‘He’s just …’.
‘A dry-shite.’
His mother nodded. ‘You know, he might be. Just a little bit.’
Chapter 29
Adrienne was wearing some sort of purple robe covered in Celtic spirals. She stood at the top of the room, although to describe it as a room wasn’t entirely accurate. It was a dimly lit, curtained-off section of the college bar. The noise from the DJ in the other room seeped in and the smell of the bar food that had been served earlier still hung in the air. A couple of students screeched and popped their heads around the curtain, frowning into the darkness.
‘Is the cigarette machine in here?’
‘No. This is a poetry reading,’ said Adrienne, contrite as the microphone hissed and made noises like a thing possessed.
‘Oops!’ The curtain swished closed with a loud giggle. ‘Oh my GOD! What the hell was that?’ The girl’s voice floated back to them.
‘Em, can everyone hear me?’ Adrienne said as the microphone farted and she looked at it in fright. She tapped it with her fingers and it boomed back.
‘I just wanted to say thank you everyone for coming tonight. It’s nice to see so many people here.’
Gavin began to applaud loudly. Kavanagh looked around the almost empty room and threw Stevie a bemused look.
‘Em, yes, thanks. I want to say a special hello to a couple of people. I’m honoured to be joined tonight by my colleagues from the Medieval History Department, Gavin and Stevie.’
Gavin stood up and waved at the meagre gathering. ‘Thank you. Pleasure to be here.’ Stevie felt her cheeks flush, her plans to sit unnoticed at the back of the room ruined.
‘So this evening is a celebration of poetry in the Bardic tradition. We will have readings of some traditional poems, and we are also lucky enough to have some poets with us this evening who are still writing in this style and keeping the Bardic tradition alive. I’d like to introduce our first poet for the evening, Conall McIonomara.’
A small bearded man shuffled on from the wings and cleared his throat for what seemed an eternity. He fiddled with a large sheaf of paper in his hands.
‘Thank you, Adrienne. It is great that some people are still supporting the Bardic tradition of poetry, a once lauded style of traditional verse. I believe it is long overdue a revival.’
‘Hear, hear!’ yelled Gavin.
A couple of people tittered.
‘Here is my first poem this evening. I wrote this poem a few years ago … excuse me …’. He cleared his throat again as if something had died in there that he was trying to dislodge. Adrienne rushed up to him with a glass of water.
‘Thank you.’ He took a sip and placed it on the table next to him. His coughing seemed to have set off a series of coughing from the sparse audience. Suddenly everyone was horribly aware of the itch in their own throats as a chain reaction of coughs spread around the room, punctuating the silence as they waited for the man to start reciting his poem. He cleared his throat one final time, looked down at his paper and spoke into the microphone. What then emerged from his mouth was a series of strange garbled noises. Kavanagh shot Stevie a startled look. She leaned closer and concentrated.
‘Is this in Irish?’ said Kavanagh.
It sounded like Irish, but she couldn’t make out any of the individual words. It was like someone who had once heard Irish and was now doing a phlegmy gibberish impression of it in an impassioned reading.
‘It must be old Irish,’ she whispered back to Kavanagh.
‘Jesus. Here, I’m going out for a smoke.’
‘You can’t go now. He’s in the middle of a poem.’
‘When can I go?’
‘When he’s finished.’
‘How long is the poem?’
Stevie shrugged. This is exactly what she had been worried about. She had told Kavanagh she would meet him another night, but he had insisted. ‘No, I’ll come. I want to see you. I haven’t seen you in ages.’ To sit quietly and listen to a poetry reading she had no interest in when he was sitting beside her was almost torturous.
‘Now?’ whispered Kavanagh, gesturing towards the door.
‘Just wait!’ Stevie’s voice came out unintentionally loud at the exact moment the poet had paused dramatically. All heads turned towards Stevie, who suddenly became very interested in the exact contours of her wine glass as Kavanagh tried not to laugh.
At last the poet finished his phlegmy delivery and Kavanagh leapt up from his seat and headed outside.
‘This next poem is a bit of an epic in duration …’ said the poet. Stevie sighed and knocked back her wine.
*
Outside, Stevie lit up her pipe and inhaled deeply. ‘Look, if you want to go, feel free, but I’m going to have to stay ‘till the end.’
‘No, I want to stay. It’s hilarious. How did they let these people out? They’re mental.’
‘They’re not mental,’ said Stevie. ‘Besides, you shouldn’t say things like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Calling people mental. How would you feel if someone said that about me?’
‘Why would anyone say that about you?’ said Kavanagh with a confused look on his face.
‘They’ve said worse.’
‘Who has?’
Stevie took a deep breath. For a moment she thought it would all come tumbling out about her time in the psychiatric unit. ‘Let’s just forget it, okay?’ she said.
‘I just meant that they’re funny.’
‘No, I know. It’s just, I don’t think they’re trying to be. That’s the problem. Look, I know it’s a bit … naff, but I work with these people. I have to show support, you know?’
‘I’m sorry if I …’.
‘No, it’s fine.’
‘Look, I just want to spend time with you, so whateveryou want to do is cool with me. I was thinking about you a lot over Christmas.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I … missed you.’
‘I missed you too.’
Kavanagh cupped her face with his hands and kissed her. ‘So, will we go back in?’
‘Do we have to?’ said Stevie, kissing him again before breaking off reluctantly. ‘Yeah, I suppose we do. I’ll get us another drink on the way back.’
‘That would help things,’ said Kavanagh.
The atmosphere was heating up back in the student bar. The DJ was playing more energetic songs and a group of girls were dancing on the floor, flinging their arms up in the air with an abandon reserved for the heavily intoxicated. On one of the couches a girl was straddling a boy, pressing her body against his as his hands roamed all over her body.
‘Jesus,’ said Kavanagh. ‘Maybe I should come back to college.’
‘Would you rather wai
t for me here?’ smiled Stevie.
‘Jesus, no. Those girls look like they’d eat you alive. And the music … Christ. I think it’s possibly even worse than the poetry thing.’
‘Stuck between a rock and a bard place,’ said Stevie. ‘I’ll get us a drink and meet you there.’
Back inside it was still the interval and Kavanagh wasn’t in his seat. Stevie spotted him sitting at a table with Adrienne and Gavin. He must have gone over and introduced himself. As She sat down to join them, Kav was smiling at Gavin, ‘So you actually make these weapons yourself? Wow, man. That’s deadly.’
Stevie tensed, waiting for Gavin to make a blustering retort, but he beamed and looked down at his hands on the table then looked back at Kavanagh shyly as Adrienne looked on adoringly. Kavanagh had that warmth, that unassuming charm that put people at ease and made being around him so easy. It seemed to Stevie that it was something he wasn’t even aware of.
‘Time to start the second half,’ said Adrienne as she stood up. ‘Thanks so much for coming, guys. It means a lot.’
Chapter 30
The first sunny day of spring hinted at the summer that was on its way. A favourable sign. A sneak preview of the main feature that was coming to theatres soon. Finn loved this time of year when everything was filled with the promise of the new. Birds from foreign climbs rested their wings, on land again at last after weeks of sky. Daffodils poked their heads through soil and feasted their eyes on the cars encircling the roundabout. The grass never looked so green. The particular slant of the sunshine illuminated dust on counter tops and shelves. All of a sudden, everyone was mad for cleaning. Spiders became unseated from cobwebby windowsills. Everyone opened their doors to the fresh air.
In Dúch, sun spilled in through the slanted blinds casting shadows on the polished wooden floor. The bell over the door tinged, and Kavanagh arrived in with two takeaway coffee cups.
‘White coffee, one sugar, right?’ He placed one of the cups in front of Finn.
‘Holy shit.’ Finn smiled and shook his head. ‘That’s it. That’s it exactly. I never thought I’d see the day.’
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