by Chris Binchy
‘Yes,’ Sylvester said. ‘It was the right decision.’
‘Of course,’ Helen said. ‘It could have been very difficult.’
‘How did you get on anyway?’
‘Oh, great. No problems. They enjoyed it. I think they’re on board. We’ll talk about it again.’
‘Yeah. I suppose a funeral’s not the time to have that conversation.’ He smiled a little grimly and the two of them did the same back.
‘Right. I’d better get over to her.’
‘Can we just say hello?’
‘Yes. Please. Come on.’ They walked over together and stood beside her until she was free.
‘Anne,’ Dessie said, ‘I don’t think you’ve met Sylvester’s wife. This is Helen.’
‘I’m very sorry, Anne. It’s a pity to meet in such sad circumstances.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Anne,’ Sylvester said. He held her hand for a moment. ‘I’m sorry.’ He leaned in close to her and said something Dessie couldn’t hear.
‘Will you come back to the house?’ Dessie asked Helen.
‘Yes. Certainly. We won’t stay long, though.’
‘You’d be welcome,’ Dessie said. He watched Anne, who was looking at Sylvester now and nodding. She was smiling at him and both his hands were in hers. Sylvester stepped away and was red-eyed when Dessie spoke to him a second later. ‘You’re coming to the house, I believe.’
‘Are we?’
‘You are.’
‘Very good,’ Sylvester said. He moved a step closer to Dessie and looked around for a moment, then spoke into his ear. ‘I know the timing’s bad and all, but if you have a moment do you think you could sort out tonight for me?’
‘Tonight?’
‘It’s Wednesday.’
‘Oh, right,’ Dessie said. ‘Yeah. No problem.’
‘I hate asking but it’s just… You know.’
‘Yeah.’
Sylvester leaned in. ‘Same girl as last time.’
Dessie looked at him. He’d never asked for this before. ‘Really?’
‘If you can.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m sure it’s fine. Look, I’d better go on.’
‘Thanks, Dessie. We’ll see you in a little while.’
In the car on the way back they were talking about who had been there. Yvonne was on the phone to friends of hers who were organizing food and tea and drinks.
‘What did Sylvester say to you?’ Dessie asked Anne.
‘He was very kind. Just very nice and genuine. He said he was sorry and talked about his own mother’s death and the effect it had on him. He was honest, I think. And he said nice things about you.’
‘About me?’
‘Yes. Are you surprised?’
Dessie smiled to himself. ‘Maybe a bit.’
‘I was, too,’ she said.
47
Quiet night. There were two of them. They looked like the right sort of people for the place, dressed well. Maybe a little too flashy. Victor thought they might be foreign when he saw them at first, could even be Romanian, but when he heard them speaking he realized they were Irish. Some deep part of the country that made it hard for him to understand what they were saying. He had been off having tea and when he came back they were talking with Gareth, who was telling them, not for the first time, that he couldn’t let them in, they’d had too much. Victor wouldn’t have let them in either. He could see they’d been drinking but it wasn’t that. He’d let drunker people than these in before. There was something about them that was wrong. Something unnatural in the way they stood close beside each other, each looking in a slightly different direction as if they were waiting for an opportunity.
But maybe Gareth didn’t see it. He chatted with them back and forth, not enough edge that you could even call it banter. Victor stood beside him and tried to smile blankly. No problem. But after five minutes it was getting irritating. They were in the way of other people coming and going. He wished they’d move on. They weren’t going to get in. He couldn’t see why Gareth was letting it drag on.
‘Lads,’ Victor said, interrupting one of them mid-flow, ‘maybe you should try somewhere else because this isn’t going to happen for you here tonight.’
‘Oh,’ one of them said. ‘Oh, now.’ Victor listened for aggression in the guy’s voice but what he heard sounded more like disappointment.
‘We’re only having a bit of a laugh,’ the other said. ‘Do you think we’re still here because we’re trying to get in? There are a hundred places that would be glad to have us. Delighted to see us and take our money. They know us all over town. They know how much we’ll spend. Look.’ He produced a wallet with a wad of fifties an inch thick from his pocket and flipped through it in front of Victor. It looked like a couple of thousand.
‘So take it somewhere else. You won’t be spending it here,’ Victor said.
‘We weren’t even talking to you,’ the other one said.
‘We’re just messing around with our old buddy Gareth and you come along and start getting aggressive.’
Victor looked at Gareth, who shrugged in a way that he didn’t understand. ‘I’m not being aggressive. I’m just asking you to move along now.’
‘Yeah,’ Gareth said at last. ‘We’d better call it a night. Sure places will be closing in an hour. If you want to get in anywhere you’ll need to make a move.’
‘We’ve no problem with you, Gareth. We’ll be going anyway. You’re sound, but this guy’s being a prick and that’s not right. He’s no right to talk to us the way he did.’
‘I’m doing a job,’ Victor said. ‘I don’t need to hear your opinion.’ It was a line that some of the others used. This guy was annoying him now. The wounded tone. The fact that the accusation was against him. And what was wrong with Gareth tonight? If you let people stay at the door chatting it always went wrong.
‘It’s your kind of attitude that makes people hate bouncers,’ the guy said now. ‘Treating people like they’re shit. On some sort of power trip as if you’re God almighty when at the end of the day you’re just a fucking scumbag acting tough with a whole gang of people to back you up. The big man.’
‘Walk away now,’ Victor said.
‘Or what? Or what?’ He stood close to Victor’s face, his breath sweet and boozy. Victor chewed gum and looked into the middle distance but he could see everything that this man was doing. ‘What are you going to do? Are you going to assault me? I’d break you in half if it was just you and me in a fair fight.’
‘Would you?’ Victor said, turning slightly. There was a whooshing in his ears and things were suddenly jerky.
‘I would, yeah.’
‘Well, why don’t you, then?’ Victor waited for a moment. Looked the guy in the eye, and when he moved, Victor grabbed him by the throat and lifted him across the street. His feet barely touched the ground as they moved. Victor slammed him into the wall and noticed how the back of his head bounced off it. Then pulled him back and did it again.
‘Now,’ Victor said, ‘it’s just you and me here. What are you going to do?’ He had him pinned, his arm pressed across the man’s throat, holding on to the shoulder of his jacket. His face was red and getting darker every second. He tried to break free but Victor wasn’t even straining. He could hear shouting around him but all he was looking at was this guy’s face, waiting for him to say something else. He flapped at Victor’s face and Victor clattered him once on the side of the head. ‘Don’t fucking make me hurt you,’ he said.
‘Let me breathe,’ the guy said, his voice choked.
‘I’m going to let you go now but if you try anything I’ll break your face. Okay?’
‘I can’t breathe. Please.’ Victor took his arm away and the man bent in half, hands on his knees. Victor walked back over. The other guy was being held by two of the others.
‘Go inside,’ Gareth said.
‘There’s no problem.’
‘Just go downstairs.’
Victor we
nt to the staff room and made a cup of tea. He sat letting it brew and feeling his heart begin to slow down.
Gareth came in five minutes later and sat beside him. He lit a cigarette. ‘What was that about?’
‘Did you not see?’ Victor said. ‘Did you not hear what that guy said to me?’
‘I did. I did. But that’s not like you.’
‘Why were you letting them stay there? Why did you not tell them to move on?’
‘Because I thought they were okay. They were just messing around. Pissed, but they were no problem. It’s a quiet night. They weren’t doing any harm.’
‘It always ends the same way if you let people do that,’ Victor said.
‘There was no problem, Victor, until you came along.’
‘What?’
‘Well, there wasn’t.’
‘Are you blaming me for that? That guy was shouting in my face and he made a move –’
‘He didn’t make a move. He was shitting himself. Did you see the size of him?’
‘He was bigger than me.’
‘He was taller than you. But you lifted him like he was a child.’
Neither of them said anything for a minute. The smell of the fruity tea with Gareth’s cigarette was like autumn.
‘I’m not blaming you. I’m just surprised. You never do that sort of thing.’
‘He annoyed me. I thought he was going to do something. I didn’t like those two. He could have had a knife. I got that feeling.’
‘I didn’t think so. It doesn’t matter anyway.’
‘Are they gone?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Will there be a problem?’
‘I don’t think so. We can sort it out. Are you all right, though?’
‘I’m fine.’
Gareth looked at his watch. ‘Do you want to head on?’
‘Yeah,’ Victor said. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’
‘Are you in tomorrow?’
‘I’m off.’
‘Well, have a good day. I’ll see you over the weekend.’ Gareth left.
Victor finished his drink and went back upstairs. His body was stiffening already. He would have a bath when he got home. Lie in it for an hour. As he walked out one of the other doormen, just newly started, smiled at him. ‘You fucked that guy up,’ he said. ‘That was pretty sweet. Three seconds and it was over. That’s the way to do it.’
‘Yeah,’ Victor said. ‘Little bastard.’
48
All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. Wake up somewhere far from anywhere and start again. He was plausible. Good clothes and a nice voice. He could work anywhere as a person. As an idea. He could change his name to something easy and unremarkable and disappear into the middle of America. The Pacific Northwest. Alaska. Arizona. Coffee and orange juice in a bright kitchen with somebody else.
But there was nobody else. The problem wasn’t her or them. It was all of it. It came easy most of the time but when he had to think and try, it cost him too much. Ten minutes in the back of the taxi with his eyes closed, counting down from a hundred, remembering to breathe. Trying to ignore the background noise.
‘Go on, you cunt. Move.’
‘Hey. Come on.’
‘This prick fucking up my arse for the last ten minutes,’ the driver said, ‘and now look at him…’
‘I know. It’s a terrible thing. But please. Can you keep it down?’
‘You’re like some bleeding… I don’t know what… Buddhist. Eyes closed and all. Are you a Buddhist?’
He would be happy when Dessie came back.
He was having dinner with the family that night, meeting them at the golf club at seven. He had to get out from town and he could feel the compromise and frustration of the evening already. She was right to do it. It was to celebrate the deal, which she had been told would happen. What was his problem? He would start carrying it with him in his shoulders soon. The stoop, the mild slump of a man beaten down by reality. That could be him. No future for that guy in America.
She must have felt it, must have seen how they all were when they were together. Stiff and quiet and every one of them wishing they were somewhere else. Daniel was past the worst of it now, the contempt moving into a purer kind of boredom that was bearable. Jessica had always been easier. Less posturing. Younger and brighter, more comfortable. Or that was what she conveyed to him. An impression of confidence and self-containment. His semi-detached daughter. How much did he really know? When was the last time he’d talked to her? Or to Daniel? Or even Helen?
There were things now that had never been there before and things that were gone. They might come back but probably not. Helen had done a lot for him, bailed him out and stayed when other women might have gone. He owed her for that and he was providing a standard of living for her and them in unspoken payment of this debt. But her sticking with him wasn’t entirely selfless. He knew that. She was invested in the prospect that was Sylvester Kelly. So when he was at his lowest point, getting him fixed wasn’t just an act of mercy. Like a trainer with a horse lying on the ground she had had to make an assessment. There was still something left that might one day pay off. A vision of the cripple romping home. Put away the gun. There’s life in him yet.
He arrived before the others and sat at the bar counter with a menu drinking 7Up. He knew a lot of these people. John, the manager, dressed in black tie because the members liked it – they’d voted on it. He stopped beside Sylvester, leaned in without looking at him and spoke. ‘Lovely bit of beef now today,’ he said, as if it was a racing tip.
‘Is it?’
John threw his head back and blew out. ‘Beautiful, beautiful,’ and he was gone.
The others arrived together, walking into the room as he had imagined them, but there was something else. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked.
‘Fine.’ She touched her cheek off his. ‘Here long?’
‘Ten minutes.’
He went to kiss Jessica, put his hand on her shoulder and could feel her stiffen and move sideways away from him. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you?’ He looked at Daniel, took a step towards him and stopped.
‘It’ll cost you,’ Daniel said, and Sylvester laughed, a black pain jangling at the bottom of his stomach.
They sat at a good table, big and round and near the window, where they could see everything inside and out. The sky was grey and pink and a darkening blue. There was a haze over the water and a few yachts out.
‘The beef apparently,’ Sylvester said, when they were given menus.
‘It was like it had walked from Brazil last time,’ Helen said.
‘Lean?’
‘Tough.’
‘It would have to swim from Brazil,’ Daniel said.
‘Do cows swim?’
‘Yes,’ Jessica said. ‘I’ve seen them.’
‘But not…’ Sylvester paused ‘… professionally.’
‘Professionally?’
‘That’s not the word. Proficiently.’ The others laughed at him. ‘The day I’ve had,’ he said. ‘I need food.’
During the first course Sylvester spotted David O’Donnell across the room. It wasn’t a surprise to see him. This was his world. The land to the north, the housing estates and the new shopping centres around the motorways. He was at a table with a group of six young people, men and women, dressed up and at the court of the big man, laughing at his jokes and performing for him when they spoke. He thought about going over but it seemed like a bad idea.
Later on, though, when he felt a big damp hand on his shoulder he knew who it was.
‘How are things?’ Sylvester turned, did a phoney double-take and stood up, smiling.
‘Mr O’Donnell.’
He was standing with his shirt sleeves rolled up, collar open one button too far. Sylvester came up to his chin. A big man with a lot of presence. If he had needed to fight for everything he had achieved in life – physically to overcome his opponents – it would have be
en easy for him, Sylvester thought. The idea must have occurred to others.
‘Mr Kelly.’
‘Good to see you,’ Sylvester said. ‘Out with friends?’
‘Friends, yeah. I’ve lots of friends.’ He laughed a growly laugh that he was obviously happy with. On to his second bottle, Sylvester thought. ‘Out with the family?’ O’Donnell said. ‘Helen. How are things?’
‘Hello, David.’
‘Haven’t seen you in a long time.’
‘No, indeed,’ she said. ‘Quite a while.’
‘You look well.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Too good for the likes of this fellow.’ She raised her eyebrows and flashed a tight smile.
‘I don’t think you’ve met my children,’ Sylvester said.
‘Children,’ O’Donnell said. ‘These are hardly children. Young man. Young lady. Nice to meet you.’
They both grinned up at him.
‘Is there an occasion?’
‘Not really,’ Sylvester said. ‘Just a chance to get out.’
‘Dessie not with you?’
‘No. He’s on a break. More a family thing.’
‘That fellow should be promoted to family member. Make him an uncle or something.’
‘I met someone who knows you,’ Sylvester said, changing the subject and taking a step away from the table. The others watched for a moment, then, realizing this was not for them, got back to their meals.
‘Oh, yes?’
‘He spoke very highly of you.’
‘A rare breed,’ O’Donnell said. ‘Who was that, then?’
‘A business colleague. Paddy Breen.’
‘Who?’
‘Paddy Breen?’ Sylvester heard the uncertainty in his own voice as his face began to glow.
‘Never heard of him. I should meet him, though, if he’s such a fan. Who is he? How do you know him?’
‘He’s involved in some racing syndicate. They’re putting a bit of business my way. He said he knew you. Or he’d met you anyway.’
‘You know yourself, Sylvester, I meet a lot of people every day and I remember most of them but some slip through. The name means nothing to me but it could have been late at night somewhere. I don’t know.’
‘Sure. It could be anything. The number of people around you, I’m surprised you remember anyone.’