He would miss Dublin and I would miss him. I didn’t want to turn around because my eyes were filling up.
“It’s a good opportunity,” he said for both our benefits.
I stuck my head in the fridge, feigning difficulty in reaching the milk.
Don’t cry. Be a friend. This isn’t about you.
I turned with milk in my hand. “It’s great news. You should be really proud. I’m really happy for you.” I smiled, hoping to convince.
He looked down. “Great,” he repeated.
I tried to brighten. “So when are you leaving?” I asked, afraid of his answer.
“The end of January.”
“That soon?” I managed.
“That soon,” he agreed.
My heart sank as I smiled widely. “That’s great,” I repeated once too often.
He wanted to leave, so he called a taxi while I pretended to look for some lipstick. I sat on my bed and I wanted to bawl. My head felt heavy so I held it in my hands.
“Fuck,” I said to the wall. What can I do? I can’t tell him to stay. That’s selfish. I can’t tell him that losing him would be unbearable, because I’m not his girlfriend. We’re just friends.
I missed him already and I felt sick, but we had a party to go to. I put on more lipstick. The taxi came and we left.
We arrived after nine. The party was in full swing. Clo was drunk.
“I drank too much wine at dinner,” she confided. “And I didn’t eat enough dinner at dinner. The chicken was foul.” She laughed at her devastatingly witty comment. She could see that I wasn’t amused. “Jesus! Who shoved a fork up your –”
I interrupted, “Seán’s leaving.”
“He’s just got here,” she pointed out.
“He’s moving to London at the end of January.”
She sobered up momentarily. “You are joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“Did you ask him to stay?” she asked.
I was taken aback. “Of course not. It’s none of my business.” I was annoyed by her question and wondered whether she was keeping up with our conversation or having her own one in her head. “What the fuck would I ask him to stay for?”
She put her hands in the air. “No reason, Emma. No reason at all. I’m going to the bar.” She left.
What the fuck was that?
* * *
Tom was talking to a female member of his staff. He was smiling and making small talk and I had no interest. Clo had disappeared and I briefly wondered if she had already retired to the cloakroom for forty winks. I looked around and sipped at my vodka. Seán was standing at the bar talking with his blonde co-worker.
Bitch.
He caught me watching them. I smiled at him, embarrassed, and then scanned the room pretending that I was looking for Clo. I finished my drink. Tom noticed and another one magically appeared. Clo returned from whence she had gone.
“Where did you go?” I asked.
“I needed to pee. How long has Tom been talking to her?”
“Not long.”
“Bitch!” she whispered.
“What have I done now?” I asked, pissed off that I had bothered to come out.
“Not you. Her!” She pointed out the woman Tom was talking to.
I asked what the problem was and she told me that Tom used to go out with her.
Who cares? Seán’s moving to London.
“So?” I said unhelpfully.
“So. She’s a bitch,” she replied.
Tom came back to the table with his hands up. “I was only talking to her.”
Clo pretended she didn’t know what he was talking about.
Tom smiled. “It’s a Christmas party and I was with her a long time before I knew you. She’s a nice girl who’s engaged to an insurance broker,” he said sweetly.
She smiled, delighted. “I’m sure she’s lovely. Still, she’ll always be a bitch to me,” she said honestly.
“And why is that?” he asked.
“She had her tongue in your mouth.”
He nodded his head and it seemed to put her case to rest. He grinned. Then he put his tongue in her mouth. She giggled and they started necking. Clo had an amazing ability to be able to neck and yet still clear at least four more drinks. I was still on my second. Watching Seán and the blonde flirt was choking me. I was staring. He had his back to me so it seemed pretty safe, that is until the blonde bitch noticed and pointed it out. He turned to meet his audience and I smiled widely, got up and walked up to them, mortified.
“Hi,” I said. I shook her hand. “I’m Emma. I’ve been waiting for an introduction, but you know what Seán is like?” I was grinning, but it was stupid grinning.
“Julia,” she replied shortly and we shook hands.
I asked them if they wanted a drink. They said no. “Cool,” I said.
Cool – what, am I fourteen? Then I told myself I was an idiot.
I needed to go to the loo.
Clo grabbed me en route. “Are you going to the loo?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank God. My back teeth are floating,” she admitted, hanging on to my sleeve. Halfway across the floor she buckled, so I carried her the rest of the way. I held her up while waiting in the endless queue. She asked me what I thought of Seán’s blonde. I said I didn’t know.
“I think she’s great,” she said.
I let her go and she fell to the floor.
“Unfair!” She wagged her finger while getting up.
“Sorry,” I muttered and resumed holding her. “How would you know anyway?”
She squared up and I could tell she was seeing four of me.
“You haven’t spoken to her once.”
She disagreed. Apparently Julia had made it to the party an hour before Seán and me.
“American women are so independent, aren’t they?” she noted.
“Are you taking the piss?” I asked annoyed.
She laughed. “You just won’t see it.” She threw her head back, hitting it on the wall. “Ow!” She was rubbing her head. “Oh God! I’m so drunk. Why didn’t I eat the chicken?”
We were next in line so I shoved us both into the cubicle and sat her on the loo.
“I didn’t mean it earlier. She’s a shit really,” she said while peeing loudly.
I smiled. She was funny when she was drunk.
“I’d still like to know where she bought her tits,” I said a little wistfully.
Clo started laughing and fell to one side. I righted her.
“That was money well spent,” she pointed out.
I laughed for the first time that night.
“Hey, Em?”
“What?” I replied.
“Do you think people will mind me peeing in the sink?”
“You’re not peeing in a sink.”
“Oh good.” She nodded her head and I passed her the toilet tissue.
I bought her a pint of still water on the way back. She sat drinking it and giving me the thumbs-up every now and again. Eventually she recovered long enough for Tom to drag her to the dance floor where they swayed to “Lady in Red”.
I nursed my vodka and Coke. I must have looked like a loser because a drunken fat guy in a red suit approached and asked me if I wanted to kiss Santa. I politely declined his invitation.
“Come on. How could you resist this?” he asked while thrusting his crotch forward. “Want to dance?” he insisted.
I said no again and tried to turn my back on him, but the table full of drinks made it difficult.
“Come on. You look so sad sitting there.”
He was pissing me off now.
“I don’t feel sad,” I said through clenched teeth, but he wasn’t going away.
“Come on! It’s Christmas. Loosen up for fuck’s sake!”
That was it. I’d had enough. “Look, mate, no doesn’t mean OK, it doesn’t mean maybe and it sure as shit doesn’t mean ask me again. I’d rather look like the biggest loser in
the world than dance with you and feel nauseous. So do us both a favour and fuck off!”
He absorbed my little speech. “Dyke,” he said before walking away.
I composed myself and looked around for Seán. He was in a corner kissing the blonde bitch. I felt sick. I looked around for Clo who was now head-banging to Europe’s “The Final Countdown”.
I picked up my coat and walked over to her. “Clo, I’m going home.”
She looked at me blurrily. “Home?” she repeated, sounding disturbingly like ET.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “The place where I live. It’s getting late.”
She became alert. “Did you call a taxi?” She grabbed my hand.
“I’ll get one on the street,” I said, trying to break away.
“Hold it,” she called out. “You’ll never get a taxi on the street.”
She was right but I needed to get out of the place.
“I’ll wait in line. I need the air. I’ll be fine,” I replied.
She hugged me. “I am drunk and you are an asshole sometimes, but I do love you,” she said, smiling.
“Cheers!” I said, backing out.
Tom waved mid head-bang. I didn’t say goodbye to Seán.
The queue at the taxi rank was endless. It was cold and I just wanted to get home. It was only a twenty-minute walk so I thought, “What the hell?” and headed up the street. George’s Street was busy, full of people trying to hail taxis and cursing them when they whizzed past. I walked quickly and as I walked the streets got darker, the people disappeared. Suddenly I was on my own.
The story of my life.
I quickened my pace and was passing an alleyway when I heard a scream. I turned. I heard another muffled scream and then a thud. I stopped and held my breath, straining to hear.
“Shut up, you fucking bitch!” a male voice roared.
I heard a girl cry.
“Please,” she was begging.
I heard a wallop and then her cries. I didn’t think. I just took my hands out of my pockets and walked into the lane. He was lying on top of her. Her shirt was torn. Her face was bruised and her arms were pinned down. He was bearing down. She was staring at me wide-eyed, begging me with her tears. He tried to open her fly and she cried out. He put his hand to her throat while I watched. It was as though I was featuring in a stranger’s nightmare. I walked towards them. I couldn’t help it. It seemed like I was being dragged. He didn’t seem to hear me approach. He was too busy pulling at her pants and grunting. I hated him with everything inside me. I desperately wanted to hurt him. He pulled at his zip with his free hand and cursed under his breath. I scanned the alley, my eyes coming to rest on an old brush handle. I walked three steps and picked it up. He heard me and looked around. I ran at him and started to hit him, hard and blindly. He fell off her. I kept hitting him over and over again. He raised his hands to protect himself. I kept slamming the brush handle down on top of him. She tried to drag herself away and lay on the ground by the wall holding her ribs and moaning.
“Get up!” I screamed at her. “Get up now!”
I was still hitting him.
She was petrified, but she started to get up slowly and painfully. He rolled away and jumped up. I kept showering him with blows, but he was focused now and he was swatting them away. Our eyes locked. He was unsteady. I wasn’t afraid – in fact I was exhilarated at the prospect of knocking him down.
“Come on, you piece of shit!”
I was Bruce Willis in a dress.
“You’re going to be sorry!” he warned venomously.
He was wrong. I wasn’t one bit sorry. I smacked him on the side of his head with the brush handle. He fell against the wall. I smacked him again. He stumbled. Then I did the most unbelievably stupid thing I’ve ever done. I dropped the brush handle and ran at him. I grabbed him by the balls and squeezed them as hard as I could. He was down and I made the most of it. I punched him in the face not once, not twice but three times. He was groaning and he wasn’t going to be getting up for a while. The girl was holding onto the wall crying. I grabbed her hand and we ran out of the alley and up the street. I saw a man and his girlfriend walk towards us holding hands and I screamed. I screamed my head off.
“Help! Help! Help!” I shouted over and over again.
The girl collapsed hysterical.
“Help us!” I cried.
They did. The police were called. We were taken to hospital. She was badly beaten up. Her lip was bleeding, her ribs broken, her face bruised. My fist really hurt and my head ached. I was in shock, but aside from that I was fine. I sat in the exam room, numb and disorientated, while a student doctor dressed my swollen fist.
What is going on?
The doctor left and a policeman entered with a notebook.
“Hi, remember me? Jerry?” he said.
“Hi, Jerry,” I replied automatically.
He smiled at me. “Well, Emma, your friend is doing really well. She’s going to be fine.”
“I don’t know her,” I mumbled. “Did you find him?”
“No, love,” he said, “he was gone.”
I briefly wondered how he had managed to walk with his bollocks in his mouth, but didn’t share my concerns.
“That girl has a lot to thank you for,” he said. “But for the record, it’s never a good idea to tackle a maniac on your own. You should have called for help.”
He was right. I didn’t argue. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. A bump was appearing on my head – I couldn’t understand it.
“He never touched me,” I said.
“You probably gave yourself a bash with the brush handle,” he smiled.
“I didn’t tell you about the brush handle,” I said suspiciously.
“Yeah, you did, in the hallway five minutes ago.”
I couldn’t remember.
“You’re in shock.”
“Oh,” I said, wishing I was home in bed.
“Do you want me to call a doctor?” he asked.
I must have looked terrible. “Where is she?” I asked.
“She’s in X-ray. Her mother is with her.”
“Good,” I replied.
“Do you remember anything about him?” he asked, probably not for the first time. I couldn’t. I could only remember her. I didn’t know if he was tall or small, old or young, blond or brunette, black or white. I couldn’t recall one single thing about him. I was embarrassed and frustrated by my inability to help.
“It’s alright,” he soothed. “It’s been a long night. Who can they call to pick you up?”
“Seán.” His was the only name that came to my head.
* * *
Seán arrived just after five in the morning. Jerry brought him behind the curtain. It was obvious from the start that he hadn’t been told what had happened. He looked at my bandaged hand and my swollen forehead.
“Oh my God! What happened?”
“I’m fine,” I said, deeply relieved to see him. “I’m sorry I got them to call you. I couldn’t think of anyone else.” I was embarrassed. Jerry was still standing there. Seán noticed this fact.
“Did they tell you what happened?” I asked.
He was having trouble keeping up.
“No,” he said, eyeing Jerry. “I was just told to come and get you. Were you attacked?” He looked like he was scared to hear the answer.
“No,” I smiled. “I did all the attacking.”
His face fell. He turned to Jerry. “Oh my God! Is she under arrest?”
Jerry smiled. I tried to interrupt but Seán was stern. “Emma, I’ll handle this.” He turned to Jerry. “I’m really sorry, she’s never done anything like this before, and the past year has been very stressful.”
Jerry started to laugh. “Your friend isn’t under arrest. In fact, some would say she’s a hero or is it heroine?” He winked at me.
I smiled, grateful that he held my stupidity in such high regard.
Seán interrupted. “Excuse me, could somebody please
tell me what’s going on?”
Jerry decided to give us a moment.
“I beat up a rapist,” I said. He looked like he didn’t understand what I was saying so I continued, “I was walking past an alley, heard screaming – he was trying to rape this girl so I grabbed a brush handle –”
“Brush? Handle?”
“Yes, and I beat him with it. Then I grabbed him by the balls and punched him in the face until he fell on the ground and we escaped.”
It sounded surreal even as I was saying it. My head was hurting and my fist stinging and for some reason tears were streaming from my eyes.
“Jesus Christ, Emma,” he said almost under his breath, “you could have been killed.”
He sat down on the spare chair and reminded me how insane it all was.
“I couldn’t leave her,” I cried.
“I know,” he said, but his tone was weary.
I started to sob. He took me in his arms and held me really tight while I cried in his arms for what seemed like a really long time.
* * *
The doctor checked my head and pronounced me OK to leave. I wanted to see the girl, so Seán took me to the second floor where she was sleeping in a private room. I looked through the glass at her mother who was sitting quietly watching her. The woman was shaking and looked broken. I remembered what that felt like. The girl lay in a drug-induced sleep. We didn’t belong there so we left. Outside we sat on the steps of the emergency room waiting for a taxi and sharing a cigarette.
“Whatever happened to Ireland being the land of saints and scholars?” Seán asked.
“They fucked off and built America,” I responded.
The taxi pulled up.
“Let’s go home.”
He pulled me up. In the taxi I asked where Julia had gone. He told me she wasn’t his type and we left it at that.
Chapter 19
The End of the Line
I woke up the next morning in my own bed and sighed with relief.
It’s all just been a terrible nightmare.
Then I felt my face. Holy shit!
I jumped out of bed and stumbled to the mirror. I sat down and stared at my poor swollen eye that was turning at least some of the colours of the rainbow. It hurt to cry, but I did it anyway. It wasn’t because I was sad – instead it registered as pure fear. In the cold light of day and in the privacy of my own bedroom I found that I was really scared. I wasn’t Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I didn’t do any kind of karate. I hadn’t even attended a self-defence class. In fact, the one and only time I hit someone I was five and to be truthful it was more of a hair-pulling incident than actual slaps. I pondered this. I certainly couldn’t have ever been compared with any kind of daredevil. Even at the funfair I was the one sitting on the bench minding the coats, while everyone else queued for the roller coaster. I couldn’t bring myself to go on a big wheel. I even had a fear of flying balls for God’s sake. Who the hell did I think I was last night? I could have been killed or, worse, that fucker could have got his dirty paws on me. So what the hell dragged me down that lane? I felt a little nauseous and suddenly it dawned on me.
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