‘So you’ll make it home for dinner? With your parents and Alexandra and Quentin? Your mum has just been on the phone saying how much she’s looking forward to it. You know, it’s a month since you’ve called to see them.’
‘It’s not been a month since I’ve seen them. I saw Dad just,’ he went quiet while calculating the time in his head, ‘well, you know, maybe it’s almost a month.’ A month? How the time had flown.
For Lou, visiting his parents was a chore, like making the bed. After not doing it for some time, the sight of the untidy blankets would play on his mind until he’d do it to get it over and done with. He’d instantly feel a satisfaction that it had been completed, and just when he thought it was over with and out of the way, he’d wake up and know he had to go and do it all over again. The thought of his father complaining to him about how it had been so long since he’d seen him made Lou want to run in the other direction. It was the same one whinging sentence that drove him insane. Though partly it made him feel guilty, it mostly made him want to stay away longer to avoid hearing those words. He needed to be in the mood to hear it, to detach the sentiments from his head so that he wouldn’t bark back and rattle off the hours he’d been working and the deals he’d negotiated, just to shut his father up. He was most certainly not in the mood today. Maybe if he got home when they’d all had a few drinks it would be easier.
‘I might not make dinner but I’ll be there for dessert. You have my word on that.’
Gabe dropped an orange and Lou felt like punching the ceiling with celebration. Instead he pursed his lips and continued to make excuses to Ruth for everything, refusing to apologise for something that was totally out of his control. Lou finally hung up the phone and folded his arms across his chest.
‘What’s so funny?’ Gabe asked, throwing the one remaining orange up and down in his hand, the other hand in his pocket.
‘Not such a good juggler, are you?’ he smirked.
‘Touché,’ Gabe smiled. ‘You’re very observant. Indeed, I’m not a good juggler, but it’s not really juggling if I’d already chosen to drop those two and keep this one in my hand, is it?’
Lou frowned at the peculiar response and busied himself at his desk, putting on his overcoat and preparing to leave.
‘No, Gabe, it’s certainly not juggling if you choose …’ He stopped suddenly, realising what he was saying and hearing Ruth’s voice in his head. His head snapped up, feeling that cold chill again, but Gabe was gone and the orange was before him on his desk.
‘Alison,’ Lou marched out of his office with the orange in his hand, ‘did Gabe just walk out of here?’
Alison lifted a finger up to signal for him to wait, while she took notes on a notepad and listened to the voice at the other end of the phone.
‘Alison,’ he interrupted her again, and she panicked slightly, writing faster, nodding quickly and holding up her full hand this time.
‘Alison,’ he snapped, holding his hand down over the receiver to end her call. ‘I don’t have all day.’
She stared at him with her mouth open, receiver dangling from her hand. ‘I can’t believe you just –’
‘Yeah, well, I did, get over it. Did Gabe walk by?’ he asked. His voice was rushed, running along, skipping and jumping to keep up with his heart.
‘Em …’ she thought slowly, ‘he came up to my desk about twenty minutes ago and –’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know all that. He was in my office a second ago and then he was gone. Just now. Did he walk by?’
‘Well, he must have, but –’
‘Did you see him?’
‘No, I was on the phone and –’
‘Jesus.’ He punched the desk with his already sore fist. ‘Ah, crap.’ He cradled it close to him.
‘What’s wrong, Lou? Calm down.’ Alison stood up and reached her hand out towards him.
Lou pulled away. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he dropped his voice and leaned closer again, ‘does any of my post ever come to me under a different name?’
‘What do you mean?’ she frowned.
‘You know –’ He looked left and right and barely moved his lips as he spoke. ‘Aloysius,’ he mumbled.
‘Aloysius?’ she said loudly.
He threw his eyes up. ‘Keep it down,’ he mumbled.
‘No.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’ve never seen the name Aloysius on any of the mail.’ As though there were a time delay from her voice to her ears, she smiled, then snorted, and then started laughing. ‘Why the hell would there be Aloy—’ On his look, her words disappeared and her smile faded. ‘Oh. Oh dear. That’s a –’ her voice went an octave higher, ‘lovely name.’
Lou walked across the newly constructed Seán O’Casey pedestrian bridge that linked the two rejuvenated north and south quays, the North Wall Quay to Sir John Rogerson’s Quay. One hundred metres across the bridge brought him to his destination, The Ferryman, the only authentic pub left on this stretch of quays. It wasn’t a place for cappuccinos or ciabattas, and because of that the clientele was specific. The bar contained a handful of Christmas shoppers who’d wandered off the beaten track to take a break and to wrap purple-fingered hands around their heated glasses. Apart from the few shoppers it was filled with workers, young and old, winding down after their day’s work. Suits filled the seats, pints and shorts filled the surfaces. Just after six p.m. and already people had escaped the business district and into their nearest place of solace to worship at the altar of beers on tap.
Bruce Archer was one such person, propped at the bar, Guinness in hand, roaring with laughter over something somebody beside him had said. Another suit. And then there was another. Shoulder pads to shoulder pads. Pin-striped suits and diamond socks. More polished shoes and briefcases containing spreadsheets, pie charts and forward-looking market predictions. None of them were drinking coffee after all. He should have known. He hadn’t known, but as he watched them backslapping and laughing loudly, he wasn’t in the least bit surprised, and so, at the very same time, he had known all along.
Bruce turned around and spotted him. ‘Lou!’ he shouted across the room in his heavy Boston accent, which caused heads to turn, not at Bruce but at the handsome and quite pristine man that he was shouting at. ‘Lou Suffern! Good to see ya!’ He stood from the stool, walked towards Lou with his hand extended, and then, gripping Lou’s hand firmly, he pumped it up and down while thumping him enthusiastically on the back. ‘Let me introduce you to the guys. Guys, this is Lou, Lou Suffern, works at Patterson Developments. We worked together on the Manhattan Building I was telling you about and had a real wild experience one night together, wait till we tell you about it, you’ll never believe it. Lou, this is Derek from …’ And so Lou was lost in a sea of introductions, forgetting each name the second they were introduced and pushing the image of his wife and daughter out of his head each time he shook a hand that either squeezed his too hard, was too clammy, limp, or pumped his shoulder up and down. He tried to forget that he had forsaken his family for this. He tried to forget as they poo-poohed his order of coffee and instead filled him with beer, as they ignored his attempt to leave after one pint. Then after the second. And after the third. Tired of a discussion each time a round came around, he let them change his order to a Jack Daniel’s, and as his mobile phone rang he also let their adolescent jeers convince him not to answer. And then, after all that, they needed to convince him no more. He was there with them for the long haul, with his phone on silent and vibrating every ten minutes with a call from Ruth. He knew at this point that Ruth would understand; if she didn’t then she was an extremely unreasonable person.
There was a girl catching his eye across the bar; there was another whisky and Coke on the counter. All sense and reason had gone outside with the smokers, and it was shivering outside, half thinking of hailing a taxi, the other half looking around for someone to take it home and love it. And then, too cold and frustrated, sense turned on reason and resorted to fisticuffs outside the bar, while Lou turned
his back and took sole care of his ambition.
12.
The Fast Lane
Lou realised he was far too drunk to chat up the attractive woman in the bar who had been giving him eyelashes all night when, in the process of joining her table, he stumbled over his own feet and without noticing managed to knock over her friend’s drink into her lap. Not the pretty one’s lap, just her friend’s. And while he mumbled something he regarded as highly smooth and clever, it seemed to her to come across as rather sleazy and offensive. For there was a fine line between sleazy and offensive and a sexy chat-up line when you’d had as much to drink as Lou Suffern. He appeared to have lost the swagger of charm and sophistication that he’d possessed in heaps when he had first walked in. The droplets of whisky and Coke that stained his crisp white shirt and tie appeared to be more of a fashion don’t for these sophisticated businesswomen, and his blue eyes, which usually caused women to feel like they were falling from a height directly into his aqua pools, were now bloodshot and glassy and so didn’t have the desired effect. When intending to undress her with his eyes, he’d instead appeared shifty, and so, too drunk to get anywhere with her – or her friend, whom he’d also tried to come on to after bumping into her coming back from the toilet, where she was trying to clean the red wine he’d spilled on her suit – the more sensible option seemed to be to walk back to his car. And drive home.
When he reached the cold and dark basement car park underneath his office building – a walk that took twenty minutes longer than it should have – he realised he had forgotten where he’d parked his car. He circled the centre of the car park, pressing the button on his key and hoping the sound of the alarm or the flashing lights would give it away. Unfortunately he was enjoying the spinning so much, he kept forgetting to study the cars. Finally, a light caught his eye, and when he spotted his car in his allocated car space, he closed one eye and focused on making his way to his Porsche.
‘Hello baby,’ he purred, rubbing up alongside of it – though not deliberately out of love but because he’d lost his footing. He kissed the bonnet and climbed inside. Then, finding himself in the passenger seat, where there was no steering wheel, he got back out and made his way around to the driver’s side. He climbed to the right-hand side and, once settled, he focused on the columns of cement that held the roof up and watched them swaying. He hoped they wouldn’t sway on top of his car as he was driving home. That would be both irresponsible of them and an expensive misfortune for him.
After a few moments of trying to get the key into the ignition and scraping the metal around it with the tip of the key, he finally turned it around the right way and it slotted inside. At the sound of the engine he cheered, then pushed his foot on the accelerator to the floor. Finally remembering to look up at where he was going, he screamed with fright. At the bonnet of the car stood a motionless Gabe.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Lou shouted, taking his foot off the accelerator and banging on the windscreen with his bruised right hand. ‘Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself killed!’
Gabe’s face blurred then, but Lou would have bet his life that he was smiling. He heard a knock, he jumped, and when he looked up he saw Gabe peering in the driver’s window at him. The engine was still running and so Lou lowered the window a slit.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi Gabe,’ he replied sleepily.
‘You want to turn the engine off, Lou?’
‘No. No, I’m driving home.’
‘You won’t get very far if you don’t take it out of neutral. I don’t think it’s such a good idea to drive home. Why don’t you get out and we’ll get you a taxi home?’
‘No, can’t leave the Porsche here. Some crazy will steal it. Some looney tune. Some homeless vagabond.’ He started laughing at that, quite hysterically. ‘Oh, I know. Why don’t you drive me home?’
‘No, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lou. Come on out and we’ll get you a taxi,’ Gabe said, opening the door of the car.
‘Nope. No taxi,’ Lou slurred, moving the clutch from neutral to drive. He pushed his foot down on the accelerator and the car jumped forward with the door wide open, then it stopped, then lurched forward again and stopped. Gabe rolled his eyes and hung on to the passenger door as it jumped forward like a cricket with an anxiety disorder.
‘Okay, fine,’ Gabe said finally after Lou had driven – although driven not being the operative word – all the way to the exit slope. ‘Fine, I said.’ He raised his voice as Lou lurched forward again. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
Lou climbed over the gear stick into the passenger seat and Gabe sat in the driver’s seat with trepidation. He didn’t need to adjust the seat or mirrors as he and Lou, it seemed, were exactly the same height.
‘You know how to drive?’ Lou asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Have you driven one of these before?’ Lou asked, and then began laughing hysterically. ‘Maybe there’s one parked beneath your penthouse,’ he laughed.
‘Buckle up, Lou.’ Gabe ignored his comments and concentrated on getting Lou home alive. That task was very important at this point, very important indeed.
14.
The Turkey Boy 3
‘So, you caught him speeding again in the car?’ The Turkey Boy lifted his head from where his chin was resting on his hands on the table. ‘I hope you arrested him this time. He could have almost killed somebody again. And what are you doing hanging around the same place in your car all the time? Sounds to me like you’re stalking him.’
‘I didn’t catch him speeding,’ Raphie explained, ignoring the last question. ‘They went through a red light is all.’
‘Is all? I hope you arrested the flashy bastard.’
‘Well, how could I arrest Lou, now, really, come on,’ Raphie explained, sounding like a teacher. ‘You’re not listening. Stop jumping the gun here.’
‘But you’re so bloody slow at telling the story. Just get to the point.’
‘I am, and I won’t tell you the story at all if that’s going to be your attitude.’ Raphie glared at the Turkey Boy, who didn’t snap back this time, and so he continued the story. ‘It wasn’t Lou that ran the red light because it wasn’t Lou that was driving, I told you that.’
‘Gabe wouldn’t have run the red light. He wouldn’t do that,’ Turkey Boy piped up.
‘Well, how was I to know that? I hadn’t met the chap before, had I?’
‘They must have swapped over on the way home.’
‘Gabe was behind the wheel. Mind you, they were so similar they could easily have swapped, but no, I know it was Lou in the passenger seat, totally blazooed with both eyes in one socket.’
‘How come you just happened to catch him in the same place again?’
‘I was just keeping an eye on someone’s house, is all.’
‘A murderer?’ The Turkey Boy’s eyes lit up.
‘No, not a bloody murderer, somebody I know, is all.’
‘Were you following your wife?’ the boy perked up again.
Raphie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘What do you mean?’
‘To see if she’s having an affair.’
Raphie rolled his eyes. ‘Son, you watch far too much television.’
‘Oh.’ The Turkey Boy was disappointed. ‘So what did you do when you caught them?’
15.
Home Sweet Home
‘Hello Sergeant,’ Gabe said, big blue eyes wide and honest. Taken aback by the man’s knowledge of his position, Raphie changed his mind on his tone of approach. ‘You broke a red light there, you know.’
‘I know, Sergeant, I apologise profusely, it was a total accident on my behalf, I promise you that. It was amber and I thought I’d make it …’
‘You broke it well after it was amber.’
‘Well.’ Gabe looked to his left at Lou, who was pretending to sleep, snoring loudly and laughing between snores. In his hand was a long umbrella.
Raphie examined the umbrella in Lou’s hand
and then followed Gabe’s gaze to the accelerator.
‘Jesus,’ he whispered, under his breath.
‘No, I’m Gabe,’ Gabe responded. ‘I’m a colleague of Mr Suffern’s, I was just trying to get him home safely, he’s had a bit to drink.’
On cue, Lou snored loudly and made a whistling noise. Then he laughed.
‘You don’t say.’
‘I feel like I’m a dad on duty tonight,’ Gabe said. ‘Making sure my child is safe. That’s important, isn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’ Raphie narrowed his eyes.
‘Oh, I think you know what I mean,’ Gabe smiled innocently.
Raphie fixed his gaze on Gabe and toughened his tone, unsure if he had a smart arse on his hands. ‘Show me your driver’s licence please.’ He held out his hand.
‘Oh, I, em, I don’t have it on me.’
‘Do you have a driver’s licence?’
‘Not on me.’
‘So you said.’ Raphie took out a notepad and pen. ‘What’s your name then?’
‘My name is Gabe, sir.’
‘Gabe what?’ Raphie straightened himself a little.
‘Are you okay?’ Gabe asked.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘You look a little uncomfortable. Is there something wrong?’
‘I’m fine.’ Raphie started to back away from the car.
‘You should get that looked at,’ Gabe said, voice heavy with concern.
‘You mind your own business,’ Raphie barked, looking around to make sure nobody heard.
Gabe looked in the rear-view mirror at the garda car. There was no one else in it. No back-up. No witness.
‘Make sure you drop into the Howth Garda Station this week, Gabe, bring your licence with you then and report to me. We’ll deal with you then. Get that boy home safely.’ He nodded at Lou and then made his way back to his car.
Cecelia Ahern 2-book Bundle Page 10