“Chocolate yoghurt anyone?” she queried after they’d polished off the humble meal. “They were on special offer – have to be eaten today.”
“Then eat them we shall,” said Sarah rummaging around the leather biker jacket she lived in. “Anyone seen my ciggies?” she asked.
“Who are you kidding?” Charlotte exclaimed. “You’re supposed to be off them and you haven’t bought any for weeks – you’re always on the scrounge. I’ve seen you schmooze that guy with acne in Pharmocology just for a ciggie. I’ve seen you bat those eyelashes. That poor fool doesn’t stand a chance.”
Sarah laughed and shrugged. She had a way of twiddling her hair and doing an eyelash thing that guys seemed to fall for. She was doing the same science subjects as Charlotte – microbiology, biology, and pharmocology.
“Oh, that’s Hamish. He doesn’t mind. And I like him actually,” protested Sarah. “Look, does anyone have cigarettes?”
“You shouldn’t smoke with asthma, Sarah,” Ruth scolded. “You could hardly breathe last night,” she paused then. “I was going to save these for the party at the weekend, but I guess if you’re that desperate…”
Ruth went to her satchel and produced a carton of Benson and Hedges. There were whoops of delight.
“You’re a genius, where did you get them?” asked Charlotte, who’d undoubtedly make her share last longest.
“Robbed them when they were filling up the dispensers in the shop at home. One carton every now and again isn’t too bad, right?”
Ruth did things that Kathy wouldn’t dream of. She had her hair cut for free by agreeing to model for trainee hairdressers. She went to department stores and took clothes out on approval, wore them, and took them back saying she didn’t think they suited her. She renegotiated the rent for their flat because there was no TV.
“A born business woman,” said Kathy, grateful that she could now move some rent money into her socialising budget.
Kathy wished she could be more like Ruth. Confrontation of any sort was anathema to Kathy. Take today, for example. Rather than argue, she’d done last night’s washing-up before cooking dinner. It hadn’t even been her turn. It had been Sarah’s turn, but she had been struggling to write up the results of a lab practical. Afterwards, she had dashed off to a protest meeting. Sarah’s excuse then was that there was no hot water because someone had used it all having a bath. Rather than make a scene, Kathy had just set to, and washed up before preparing the dinner.
“I’ve put the immersion on to heat the water for the washing-up, so I’d really appreciate if no-one used any until I’m done,” Kathy said peevishly.
“Oh Christ, Kath, I’m so sorry,” Sarah said. “I never got around to last night’s wash-up. Don’t worry, I’ll do it tonight. I’m staying in to do my hair anyway.”
Sarah’s hair was a perennial problem. Washing the long blonde locks was a serious undertaking. “Please tell me someone bought shampoo,” she said. “I can’t use fucking fairy liquid again. I’ll look like the new-age crusties in town.”
“Now that you mention it…” said Charlotte, looking her blonde friend up and down. Sarah did indeed look like a new-age hippy, with her Dr Marten lace-ups and her long tunic. She was alternating eating spoons of chocolate yoghurt with drags from her cigarette.
“I mean it,” said Sarah, with her mouth full, “It’s alright for you, Charlie – you have no hair.”
This was almost true. But having short hair was Charlotte’s choice. She couldn’t afford hair-cuts so she had a spiky crew-cut which she cut herself.
“That’s it!” Sarah stubbed out the cigarette into the yoghurt carton. She took a quick puff of her blue inhaler. “I draw the line at using fairy liquid on my hair – we have to set money aside for toiletries,” she wheezed.
“I think we’re short on toilet paper as well,” said Kathy. “I didn’t realise it when I did the shopping.” She put on her apologetic face.
“Aha, I have a solution to that particular problem,” Charlotte said, slurping coffee. “I’m going back to the library. There’s a broken dispenser in the toilets by the reading room – I’ll nick some from there.”
“Sorted,” said Sarah, who’d started to scrape the dishes. “By the way, Kath, why is your bike in the hallway and not outside in the back yard?” she asked.
Here goes.
She took a breath.
She had been waiting for this question, knowing she’d be ridiculed. They’d say she was being sensitive. She was being too imaginative, too something or other. But she couldn’t help the way she felt. If something was wrong, it was wrong.
“Mikey Fahy,” she said. “Mikey Fahy was in the back yard when I went to leave my bike there.”
“And?” said Charlotte.
“I didn’t notice him at first,” said Kathy. “But I could feel someone watching me. I was getting my bag off the carrier and when I turned around, there he was. He was just standing there in the corner by the kegs.”
“Having a smoke?” Ruth asked, fixing her ponytail.
“No, he wasn’t doing anything, just staring, all open-mouthed that way he does with his big mad grin. I saw what he was doing. He was fiddling with his belt. It creeped me out. I’m not going back out there again. No way. I’m keeping my bike in the hallway from now on.”
Kathy liked male attention. But not from Mikey Fahy, the landlord’s creepy son.
“It sounds like the poor gom is smitten by your charms,” said Charlotte.
“I don’t think he’s that choosy,” Kathy responded. “He’s leered at all of us from behind the counter. I really wish we didn’t have to pass by the lounge door coming in. He’s a bit more than a poor fool. There’s something really weird about him.”
“You think? Is it the one arm shorter than the other or is it the eye in the middle of the forehead,” asked Sarah.
They all burst out laughing.
“Kathy, with just a bit of encouragement, Mikey Fahy would give us all free cocktails.” Charlotte was serious.
“I don’t think I’d ever stoop that low,” said Kathy, shooting her a withering look. “Anyway, I’m meeting someone for a drink in the college bar tonight.”
“Does that mean you’re not coming home then?” Ruth and Sarah asked together.
“Get lost you two. Jealousy will get you nowhere!”
Kathy had had more one-night-stands this year than the other three had dates.
As Kathy headed to the college bar, Charlotte wheeled her bike beside her on the dark path by the canal bank.
“Don’t worry about Mikey Fahy, Kath. You’re a good-looking girl. And he’s a harmless fool. You’d complain more if men didn’t notice you,” quipped Charlotte going through the library doors.
“I suppose so.”
But as Kathy headed for the bar, despite what her friends had said, she knew there was something very odd about Mikey Fahy.
Charlotte
University
1989
The squally December night whipped wind off the sea. Two figures huddled together on a boulder looking over the bay as they shared a cigarette that glowed amber in the dark. Charlotte and Tomas had been amongst the last to stagger out from the Salthill hotel.
Leaving the foyer, Charlotte had spotted a guy asleep face-down in a large flower-pot. Outside, another student was being sick into her long brown hair. Charlotte had only had enough to buy three beers and she was glad of it now.
When Tomas Walsh from Third Med asked her to the Med Christmas ball, Charlotte was hit with surprise and then panic. Third Med had the lion’s share of good-looking men and attention from such quarters was enviously regarded.
“You? You really got an invite to the Med ball from Tomas Walsh?”
Sarah’s jaw had dropped with envy.
“I know,” Charlotte had responded, grinning. “Crazy, isn’t it? I’m just as surprised as you guys.”
“I wonder if Tomas’s buddies are fixed up?” Ruth had asked. “There are s
ome seriously cool guys in Third Med.” She chewed the top of her biro. “How about we have a curry night? See if we can get a few more invites to this ball?”
“Hold on a minute,” said Charlotte, worried. This wouldn’t do at all. “You want me to invite a posse of Third Meds round here in the hope that the rest of you will get invites too?”
Ruth was deadly serious. For some reason Ruth never seemed able to arrange her own dates, always relying on the rest of them to fix her up.
“The clean-up after the last party took a week,” Sarah had groaned. She was stapling the butt-ends of two separate cigarettes together. Sarah had only just finished paying to have the front door re-glazed. The geek she’d invited to their party became so drunk that he’d cycled Kathy’s bike down the hallway and right through the front door. They’d thought it was hilarious at the time. But old man Fahy who owned the ‘Black Shawl’ and their flat said they’d have to pay for repairs. Kathy was freaking out as she reckoned Fahy’s idiot son was at the bottom of the stairs staring up through the gaping hole in the door.
“Come on, guys,” Sarah had said. “Too much partying. We have to get down to study. We’ve done bugger-all this term already.”
She was wrapping Sello-tape around the stapled butt-ends. Three heads had turned to stare at her. But Sarah was adamant. “No, it’s alright for you guys – I have years more than all of you before I qualify. I can’t afford re-sits. I’ll be on a frigging Zimmer before I get out of here.”
It had occurred to Charlotte that if Sarah refrained from embroiling herself in every protest and every student fracas, she might have time to study. In fact, if Sarah had devoted as much time to studying last term as she had to organising student protests, she might just have cleared enough to pass.
“I agree with Sarah,” Charlotte had said, not taken with the idea of inviting a shower of Med students with a reputation for wild partying into their flat. “I have a pressing problem of where to find a ball-gown,” she added.
“I have dresses back at home in Dublin,” Sarah had piped up. “You could borrow one. There’s a red silk halter-neck that might suit. I’ll bring it back after the weekend if you like.”
“What a lifesaver!” Charlotte had thrown her arms around her friend, delighted.
“No problem, Charlie. I have to go back to Dublin anyway to check in with my mother. I think she thinks I do nothing but party.” Sarah pulled a face. “I also have to a tricky cling-on situation to sort out.”
“Another one bites the dust?” Ruth had said, sounding envious.
“I wanted to give the guy a chance, you know,” said Sarah. “Terence chased me for a while.” Sarah began to flick the lighter. “I’ve never been out with a poet before. He wrote some stuff…” She lit the butt and tried inhaling. “Turns out his poetry is dire. Worse than dire. It’s sentimental crap. And this whole long-distance thing is a bummer anyway…” She started to splutter. “I’ve decided I’m not really into him after all. You kind of know after six weeks.”
“That’s not long at all.” Charlotte had disagreed. She wondered if she’d manage beyond six weeks with Tomas Walsh. She hoped so.
“Come on, Charlie. It’s certainly long enough to know if you’re into a guy. The six-week rule has always worked for me.” Sarah sucked again on the home-made cigarette. “Oh, bugger this!” Sarah abandoned the operation and pulled on her leather jacket. “See you guys later. I’m heading up to the courthouse – they always have ciggies up there.”
Charlotte threw her eyes to heaven. That’s how fragile Sarah’s resolve was. Another study evening wasted.
The courthouse was a ramshackle student house in the Hazel Park estate near the university, so named as it was home to a bunch of guys studying law. The guys wore long black coats with swinging coat-tails. They’d bought them for a pittance in a charity shop in town. The purchases had been partly tongue in cheek – extending a nod to barristers’ gowns. But the long black coats served a more practical purpose as well, they provided a defence against the constant wind and rain.
The first thing that greeted callers to the courthouse was a cardboard cut-out of a scantily clad Madonna. They’d stolen it from a cinema and had carried it past the university, and up the Newcastle Road to Hazel Park.
There was plenty of coming and going between the harbour flat and the courthouse, plenty of banter and easy company. Charlotte was unaware of any romantic interest in her from the courthouse guys. Ruth didn’t inspire that kind of interest. None of the guys were exotic enough for Sarah. But of course, there was Kathy – Charlotte couldn’t be sure about her. There was always a frisson of something between Kathy and the opposite sex.
Charlotte wasn’t looking for romantic involvement to screw up her exams. When it happened she was entirely unprepared for the charm of Tomas Walsh. And so she found herself, a few weeks after the invite, in Sarah Nugent’s red silk halter-neck at the Med Ball.
Tomas had proven himself the perfect date. Attentive and amusing. As Charlotte looked along the table, she’d noted many of the Med students getting out of hand. She’d also noticed that her dining companion on the other side was ogling her. In fact, he’d been showing far more interest in her than in the pale woman he’d brought as his date. Charlotte had flinched as his hand touched the bare flesh of her back. He’d leaned to her, his breath all booze and garlic.
“Walshie showing you a good time then? All the women love Walshie, isn’t that right – he’s going to specialise in gynae you know.” The guy was leering down her cleavage.
“Take it easy, Jed, stop being such a prick,” Tomas had said, grabbing his roving hand and slapping it back on the table.
“Piss off, Walsh,” Jed slurred. “I’m going for a pint.” And off he’d lurched, leaving his pale companion staring pathetically after him.
Charlotte had leaned over to the unfortunate girl. “If I was you, I’d pour his pint over his head when he gets back.” The pale girl had flushed with the unwanted attention. “In fact, I’d go one better…” Charlotte nodded to Jed’s discarded dinner jacket. “If he has money, I’d split and get myself a taxi home.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that, I mean…” the girl trailed off.
Charlotte shrugged. She’d tried. You couldn’t help some people. The girl should learn to stand up for herself and not be such a bloody doormat. A few moments later when no one had been looking, Charlotte had spooned butter and ketchup into the pockets of Jed’s dinner jacket.
“Jed’s okay really.” Tomas had put an arm around the back of Charlotte’s chair. “He’s hopeless with women. I can’t say I blame him trying to chat you up. You look amazing – really gorgeous.” Tomas’s hand began to caress her shoulder. His eyes had crinkled at the corners and when he smiled he showed even white teeth. Charlotte had felt herself go warm inside.
“What the –”
Something wet had suddenly hit her on the chest and slithered down her cleavage.
She fished out a sticky black cherry. The table in front of theirs had launched into a full-scale food fight. Fruit cocktail and gobs of cream were catapulting across the room.
“Duck!” Tomas had shouted.
Charlotte missed a square of pineapple. It hit Jed full in the face as he’d staggered back from the bar. Charlotte smiled.
Tomas had grabbed her hand. “Come on, time for a smoke,” he said. They dodged the missiles to scurry past an apoplectic hotel manager.
Outside, leaning against a car, Tomas had draped his dinner jacket around Charlotte’s shoulders. He’d produced a small tin from his trouser pocket.
“Want some?” he asked when he’d finished rolling the joint.
“No thanks – that stuff makes me sick.”
“Sure? It’s good…” He’d inhaled deeply and had blown the smoke playfully across her lips.
“I really don’t think so…”
“Be a sport. Open your mouth,” he’d cajoled.
Charlotte had done as she was told. As he exhaled,
he’d cupped her face and covered her mouth with his. She’d felt herself go dizzy. Tomas had laughed as he ran a finger down her cheek.
“Again?” he’d asked.
“You must be joking!” Charlotte had spluttered.
Tomas had quenched the joint and had put it back in the tin. Running his hands through her spiky hair, he’d pulled her towards him, this time giving her a long deep kiss. Not bad, thought Charlotte. A possible nine out of ten.
“That better?” Tomas had asked.
“Much,” Charlotte had replied, leaning against him and slipping her hands into the pockets of his dinner jacket. It was cold outside. Feeling something small and square, she’d fished it out. A foil package.
“That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” she said.
Tomas had done his best to look confused. Taking the condom from her, he looked at it, puzzled.
“That bastard Jed must have put it there,” he’d said.
“Really?” Charlotte had said. “It would be so very presumptuous to think that I’d sleep with you on a first date.”
Charlotte had her rules and that was one of them. No first date sex. Kathy maintained that first date sex was best. But Kathy had no rules.
“I agree – I have standards too,” Tomas had said, looking so earnest that Charlotte had burst out laughing. Relieved, he’d put his arm around her shoulder and had guided her back into the mêlée. When the disco finally drew to a close, Tomas had suggested a walk on the prom. They’d walked from Seapoint ballroom to Blackrock with the wind whipping round their legs and twisting the skirt of her dress into Marilyn Monroe-like swirls.
“It is a lovely dress.” Tomas’s voice was dusky. His hand ran the silky length of fabric from her thigh to her knee.
The Blue Pool Page 4