by Paddy Kelly
“Picking up,” he said, hoping he sounded determined.
She gave that irritated half-grunt, half-sigh that Eoin had heard far too often.
“Eoin. We changed. I would get him today because we are going to that party, and you have him until Tuesday next week. Remember?”
Eoin nodded, although for the life of him he couldn't remember having agreed to that change. Maybe he'd just been agreeing with her in general and hadn't listened to what the actual details had been.
“I told you to write it down,” she said. “Now Damien's doesn't know who he's going to. Well done.”
“Sorry,” Eoin muttered, beginning to feel, as he quite often did around Jenny, like a stain under a shoe.
“Say goodbye to your father, Damien,” Jenny said briskly. Damien, only caring that he was going to a party, gave a happy wave as they passed. Eoin stepped back as she opened the gate and ushered Damien through it. She shot Eoin a parting scowl and hooked the gate closed before they hurried off.
Eoin stood in the yard with the laughter of children ringing out around him and saw his plans for the day deflate like an old balloon. He felt quite useless, a man who couldn't even remember when he would see his own child. A thoroughly rubbish father.
He watched a few mums as they moved through the yard, gathering up their offspring. One of them was wearing tight jeans under a tiny orange skirt, and a crisp white t-shirt that didn't leave the curves of her body. Eoin was staring at her, feeling sorry for himself, and started wondering what her child week might be. When suddenly something flashed into his head with blinding clarity.
He held his breath in shock as it unfolded before him—the perfect idea for an Internet service. It was simple and obvious, something he would definitely have used himself had it existed. And now it was sitting in his head, fresh and fully formed.
Eoin's foul mood lifted and he hurried out through the gate. He straightened his sunglasses and made for the steps that led to the street above with an unexpected spring in his stride. He would need to inform Rob, right now, and work out the details. This was simply too good an idea to keep to himself.
He pulled out his mobile and started on a text message, glancing up every few seconds to make sure he wasn't about to hug a tree or wander into the path of a car. His fingers tingled with anticipation as they danced across the screen. He pressed send and shoved the phone into his pocket with a grunt of satisfaction.
Maybe this day would not be such a miserable washout after all.
Chapter 10
“So,” Kajsa said, standing by the open window with a duvet pulled around her. “The day is lovely. I thought we could make some late lunch, go out to the park?”
Rob's breath jammed in his throat. He stared at her from the bed, feeling suddenly a great deal more naked than he actually was. What was this? Was she trying to plan things with him? Since when did Kajsa plan things with him? It must have been because he'd been seeing a lot of her lately, mostly due to him being home and bored a lot. Could she have misinterpreted that as actual interest?
It did put him in a bit of a bind though, as he had no reasonable excuse not to hang out with her for a few hours. His mind spun with effort but nothing resembling an excuse emerged. She had turned around and was watching him and he knew he was waiting too long to answer. In the next few seconds some coherent sound had better emerge from his lips and get him off the hook, although what those sounds were likely to be he had absolutely no idea.
Then, like an angel’s voice from Heaven, his mobile phone beeped with a new message. “Oh,” he said brightly. “I'd better get that!”
He scooped his jeans from the floor and tugged the mobile out of the pocket. A message from Eoin? Oh Eoin, you fucking beauty!
Rob made a show of reading the message with a concerned expression and nodding a bit. He put the phone away.
“Sorry Kajsa, my friend Eoin's in some bother, needs me to come with him to, um, to Uppsala.”
Kajsa pulled the duvet tightly around her. “Oh. I thought we could maybe go for a walk later—”
“You know, I'd love to, but not now, obviously.” Rob was already moving, pulling on his jeans and trying to spot where the rest of his clothes were to facilitate a quick get-away. He did feel bad, but not so bad that he'd think about it for more than ten minutes. Thirty, max.
“Yeah, fine,” Kajsa said. “I guess I'll just do that washing then.”
Rob grunted to indicate that was probably a good idea. He pulled on his clothes in record time and said his swift goodbyes. She mumbled something from the kitchen and then Rob was out the door, hoping he hadn't forgotten anything important that would force him back into that den of burning shame.
He emerged into the sunshine, buttoning his shirt, feeling a bit of an arsehole. A lot of an arsehole, actually. Maybe he should just stop seeing her entirely, especially if she kept it up with the doing-stuff requests. Yeah, he probably should. But not now. Later.
Because now it was home for a quick freshen-up and some new clothes, then out to meet Eoin and discover what staggering Internet concept the dry man from Dundalk had dreamed up.
Rob leaned out over the wooden rail and spat. He watched the glob as it spun like a tiny binary star all the way to the rocks below. He nodded, satisfied, and turned to Eoin.
“That's it then? That's yer world-shattering idea? A calendar?”
“No,” Eoin said patiently. “It's not just a calendar, it's a tool for managing your social life. You can track your own kid weeks and your girlfriend’s, or whoever you want. You just log in and do an update when changes happen to your schedule and then everybody knows when you're free and when you aren't. We can even link it to Facebook or to dating sites. It’ll be a big net of interlocking schedules all over the city, all those fun-seeking single parents with money to burn. Throw in some flashy graphics and we're done. I’d say the idea alone will advertise the thing for free.”
Rob was silent as he began to see what Eoin was on about. And as much as he would have liked to diss it some more, he found he couldn't because it didn't actually sound so bad.
“Well, it could work I suppose. We can sell advertising space to all those baby things. Ye know, pregnancy magazines, pram shops, all that.” He grinned, beginning to see the point. “And we call it kid-week.com!”
“Nope,” Eoin said. “It should be barn-vecka.com. You know, 'kid week' in Swedish. Or maybe even one of those dot-nu addresses.”
Rob thought about it. Since the domain name “nu” mean “now” in Swedish it had a feeling of immediacy about it, a certain kitschy energy. He nodded.
“Barnvecka.nu it is then! Good work there Eoin.”
He patted Eoin on the shoulder and bit into his ice-cream. The bite though was a bit too hard, and he could only watch as chunks of chocolate shell tumbled into the abyss. “Damn it. Let's hope that's not a sign.”
They turned and walked on, Rob leading the way along Monteliusvägen which was his favourite corner of Stockholm. It was a wooden walkway that wrapped around a cliff face, giving a fine view of the Old Town, the water that surrounded it, and the buildings of the city centre. Passing boats cut their foamy Vs in the water below and it was all ridiculously serene and scenic. Rob never tired of it.
“It won't be that much work,” Rob said. “We can use standard web components. Unless we do it in Flash, of course, but we’ll still need some graphics. Know any graphic designers?” Eoin shook his head. “Well that's our next job then. Find us a pixel pusher.”
They edged around a group of round tourists who were pressed up against the railing, pointing cameras at the view and at each other. They kept on going, with the rock face to their left and the fence and sheer drop to their right, until the wooden path came to an end. Eoin made to turn back but Rob stopped him.
“Wait up, where ye goin'? The best part's left!”
Eoin looked surprised but followed as Rob led the way off-road, through some bushes and up a rocky slope. After a few breathl
ess minutes they scrambled over a lip of granite and emerged into the open on a great slab of rock that was speckled white and brown like the back of an enormous whale. A fat mast was embedded in the rock, and the remains of many drunken picnics lay scattered around.
They walked to the edge and before them lay the wide curve of the city, more spectacular than before, with the pastel-coloured houses of the Old Town catching the evening light. Rob nodded in satisfaction as Eoin came up and stood beside him. Eoin looked a bit shocked.
“You know, I've been here a dozen times, but I've never come this far. Jenny always turned back where the path ended, and I always followed her. I didn't know I just had to climb over the rocks to see this. Stupid, isn't it?”
Rob planted his hands on his hips and smiled as a breeze ruffled his hair. “Yeah, that Jenny doesn't sound like the most adventurous bird in the world.” He glanced at Eoin and considered making a comment about how adventurous she was in the sack, but decided against it. Eoin probably wouldn’t have appreciated that.
Now Kajsa, on the other hand, would surely have known about this place. She definitely had no problem trying out new things, and regarding being adventurous in the sack, well…
He shook his head, dispelling those thoughts. Thinking about Kajsa would only lead to guilt, and guilt wouldn't help anybody, would it? He pondered the view instead and it took a whole minute for him to grow bored with it and light a cigarette.
“Well, that's enough of that then,” he announced. “Now I think we should pass that idea of yours by the jury. Andy and some other lads will be at the Bishop’s Arms in an hour. Ye want to go there for a bit?”
“Well,” Eoin said. “I can’t really go out tonight, but I suppose I can keep you company until they turn up. So you won't have to sit in the bar by yourself.”
Rob looked confused. “What's wrong with that? You've never sat at a bar by yerself? Really? Just took it easy with a beer and watched the female scenery?”
Eoin shook his head emphatically. “Well no. It’s a bit sad isn’t it? I mean, I know it’s more common in Ireland, but I wouldn’t do it there either. And the Swedes would think you were some sad alcoholic who had no friends. No, it’s not for me.”
Rob still didn’t get it. He patted Eoin on the shoulder. “Well, lucky I’ll be there to keep ye company tonight, eh?” He started down the other side of the slope at a jog and shouted back over his shoulder. “And I promise I won’t leave ye alone for a second. I’ll even come along to the toilet and hold yer dick!”
Rob reached the path that led back down to street level, where he turned to watch Eoin picking his way daintily down the slope. “Come on then, lift those feet. There's fortunes to be made and lost on Hornsgatan tonight!”
“Right,” Eoin said with an amused look as he stepped off the rock and onto the pavement. “Well let's get started then. Lead on, Mr. Gates!”
Chapter 11
Friend one was already sitting in the bar. He was a bearded, bald-headed American with a sharp miss-nothing gaze. Eoin offered his hand. The man shook it.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “I'm Andy.”
Eoin nodded then looked around. It was two-deep at the bar. “I suppose we can order from here.” A waitress passed by, and he waved and made very definite eye contact with her. But before he could open his mouth, she'd passed by.
“Not that one,” Andy said. “She can't see anybody at this table.”
“What?” Eoin said. Clearly this was some pub game he didn't get.
“Never mind her, she's just pissed at me,” Rob said. “I might have … dumped her a bit at some stage. Not important now. Does make it hard to get a round in, though.” He sighed and stood up. “Fine, I'll go bloody well fix it.”
Andy and Eoin exchanged a few words about where they both lived, and how long they'd been in Sweden. Then they sat in silence for a while. Eoin, not a fan of conversational silences, pulled out his phone. He felt Andy glaring at him.
“Sorry,” he said. “I'm just checking some … stuff.”
“Oh yeah?” Andy leaned closer. “What stuff?”
Eoin looked up, feeling a bit embarrassed, just as Rob plonked a pint in front of him and sat back down. He'd heard Andy's question. “Tell him, Eoin,” he said. Eoin didn't, so Rob jumped in and did it for him.
“Dating site. He checks it every ten minutes. Thinks I don't notice.”
“Not every ten minutes,” Eoin said. “I'm just waiting for a reply, that's all.”
“Oh really?” Andy said. “So what's your system?”
Eoin didn't know how to answer that one. “Um, I … mail them?”
Andy gave his head an emphatic shake. “No, no. You must have a system. How else you gonna get any action? It's dog eat moose out there.”
The waitress passed by their table again. She ignored their three empty glasses and moved to the table behind them where she started clearing up.
“Look, it's been going fine,” Eoin said. “I’ve only been on Diamond Date a month though. It's a bit hard to know what to write. Or how to long to wait before asking them out. So, yeah, I suppose it's not really my thing.”
Andy smiled. “Right then, listen up Eoin. I got this whole dating thing down. I recommend a three-pronged approach.” He extracted three chilli nuts from his bowl. “So this is me, my regular profile.” He placed one nut on the table. “Now with this one I only write in English, and I only reply if they write back to me in English. And over here”—a second nut went down—“I have another profile. Still me, photo and all, but I only write and reply from here in Swedish. Oddly enough the ladies I mail from here will often switch directly to English once they discover I'm from the US, even though I write in Swedish to them. And on we go, me writing Swedish and them writing English back. Like sixty percent of the time that happens.”
“What, you're keeping count?” Rob said. “Fillin' out a spreadsheet?”
“Actually yeah. I'm a statistician, that's what I do. Numbers are power.”
Eoin was paying rapt attention. These were useful, if slightly mad, tips. “Don't they ever discover you have several profiles?”
“Oh yeah, sure they do, and they hate that. I never hide it, or lie about it, but it gets to them, it really does. Around a quarter of them get so annoyed that they break contact with me entirely. I guess they feel I'm cheating on them somehow. Of course, none of them know about the third profile.”
Another chilli nut went on the table. Andy folded a beer mat so that it could stand and placed this tiny screen in front of the nut. “Now with this little beauty I can gauge the true heart of the ladies. This profile is a fictional character, with a fake background and a photo of an old college friend of mine. With this ghost profile I can spy on the ladies without revealing who I am, or I can send this character to try and pick up ladies I am already dating on my real profile.”
“Why bother?” Rob said. “Won't they see it’s you when ye meet them?”
“I don't meet them on this profile, do I? I just try and get them to meet me, to gauge how honest they are. And if they're interested enough in the real me to stop trawling for other men—well, then all's well and good!”
Rob lit a cigarette and slid the pack along the table. Eoin and Andy shook their heads. “Listen lads, this is all great, male bonding and everything. But let’s get some work done, before we're too pissed to think straight.”
“Sure,” Andy said and devoured the three profile nuts. “Let's hear this ground-shaker of an idea then.”
Eoin explained the idea for the website while Andy listened attentively. When he was done Andy leaned back in his chair and rubbed his beard. “Well it seems kind of obvious, and if it's obvious and doesn't already exist then it could be a winner.”
“See?” Eoin said, delighted. “I told you it was good.”
“I never said it wasn't,” Rob said. “But I do know what to do with it. We build the bugger, run it for a year, and get ourselves one fat database of single paren
ts who like to spend. Then we sell the whole shebang and recline on our money.”
“The man's not wrong,” Andy said. “That's kind of data's a goldmine. Advertisers would love you.”
“Great! So let's get sketchin'! And whose round is it anyway?”
“Yours,” Andy said. Rob couldn't really argue, but still gave a tortured sigh as he hauled himself to his feet and made for the bar. Andy got busy drawing boxes and arrows in his notebook and Eoin was about to join in when his mobile beeped.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I should check this.” He read the text message and wasn’t surprised to see it was from Alice.
All well? Don’t forget to call Anja!
Eoin groaned. When was she going to stop pushing him on Anja? Time to change the topic. Here with Rob and friend. Maybe ask them to summerhouse.
A quick reply from Alice: Friend eh? Who is friend?
American, fun, you will like.
Rob returned. He unloaded his cargo of pints and started complaining to Andy about a football game he'd spotted on the TV inside. Eoin wasn't really listening. He took his new pint, even though his old one had still a third remaining, and watched his mobile. In a few seconds the next message arrived. Cute guy? Hot accent?
Eoin wasn't quite sure how to answer that one. He sneaked a look at Andy, who had abandoned his notes for the moment and was busy illustrating a football manoeuvre on the table using more chilli nuts.
Suppose. Andy. Smart, muscles.
Smart muscles? Nice. Would YOU do him?
Eoin grinned and replied. Not unless it was medical emergency.
Ok. Is fine, bring Rob + Andy. And call Anja!
Eoin put the phone away. He didn't think he'd be calling Anja today. In fact, he had decided to simply do nothing at all on that front. The problem would therefore fix itself, with no embarrassing dialogue or effort required.
“Well then,” he said. “It's all fixed.”
Rob looked up. “Funding for the website? Nice work Eoin. Can you fix us a hardcore programmer while yer at it? And a few of those TV weather girls with the tight skirts? Plus an infinite supply of pints would be nice.”