The Middle Place

by Kealan Ryan

  Danny likes bitching to his girlfriend about his ‘tough upbringing’ whenever he’s in the bad books. It’s pathetic. He totally hams it all up. I think it was understandable – his dad losing it. If Pamela had died instead of me there is no way in hell I wouldn’t have drowned myself in whiskey. I wish I could hit the bottle now.

  I always really liked getting pissed. I could be a stupid drunk, but I was a happy drunk too. I hadn’t been aggressive on the drink since I was a young lad – the time I broke John’s nose. We were at a twenty-first birthday party in a pub and I was basically showing off all night, drinking all sorts of mixers, acting crazy and pretending to be more pissed than I was. I was drinking gin, something I was never able to drink again after that night. If someone just said the word ‘gin’ for a good year after it I’d get goosebumps. It ended up getting me as locked as I had pretended to be earlier.

  I was slagging John all night about not scoring with that many girls and stuff, telling him he should ‘come out’. I’d only really say things like that when other people were around. I thought I was being gas, but now thanks to my perfect memory I can see that everyone thought I was being a shithead.

  Eventually John just told me to fuck off. He happened to say it in front of a girl I fancied, so I got all embarrassed and stormed out like a knob. Twenty minutes later, he found me half-asleep on a bus-stop bench up the road from the pub. He kept nudging and shaking me to get me up. With each prod, my anger grew. Finally, I just saw red, stood up and walloped him as hard as I could in the face. I didn’t floor him; he just took a little step backwards, though I felt his nose crack under my knuckles. I expected him to lunge at me. He should have at least punched me back. But he just looked at me. We were both in shock, at all the blood more than anything.

  After a moment, I turned around and lay back down on the bench, a flood of guilt mixing with the drink in my stomach. I had to get away from it – from John and all the blood on his nice, chequered going-out top. I closed my eyes and pretended to fall asleep, waiting until I heard John leave before I stood up and staggered home.

  I talked to him the next day on the phone and he was cool about what had happened; he just put it down to me being locked. Sound bastard. That made me feel even worse. His folks had to fork out for a cap on his tooth, but they never bothered straightening his nose. It wasn’t all wonky or anything, it just wasn’t quite as straight as it used to be.

  He still looks good, though; he’s a handsome guy, John. He’s going to look great in his tuxedo.

  9

  I’m glad Pamela is going to John’s wedding. I wasn’t super-pals with his bride-to-be, Niamh, but I liked her a lot. She’s extremely down to earth, could have a laugh with anybody. Her default facial expression is a smile and she never seems to have a bad word to say about anybody. Pam gets on well with her too, though she’d also be closer to John. At first, I wasn’t sure if Pam would go, but now she’s half-looking forward to it. Niamh made a special phone call, asking her to do her best to come and said that Pam could leave whenever she wanted. She probably would have gone, anyway, but it was nice of Niamh to make the call.

  I’m raging that I’m missing it. When John asked me to be best man I’d been honoured. I mean, I’d expected it, but I was still honoured. I wanted to be the best best man ever, so I started on the speech straight away. I actually had the entire thing written, can you believe that? Spent ages on it too, getting it all worked out – when I’d be funny, when I’d be sincere. It was perfect. I’d even practised it in front of Pamela. I was so damned prepared. What a complete waste of time that turned out to be. I wouldn’t mind, but I’d been a last-minute man my whole life and the one time I got something done early I ended up dead before I got to use it.

  I would have been deadly at it. I had never been a best man before and was really looking forward to it. I wasn’t going to get too pissed either – not before the speeches, anyway. The last wedding I attended the best man made a balls of the speech because the poor bastard had been so nervous he’d downed a few too many drinks to calm himself. It was kind of funny to watch. He never said the bridesmaids looked well or even the bride, for that matter. He just kept going on about how much himself and the groom, Peter, were best mates and the bride Liz was tearing them apart. I don’t think he really meant it – the dumb shit just thought it was funny so kept going on in the same vein until the whole room felt awkward. Then, to break the embarrassing silence he’d created, he broke into an impromptu little song of ‘Me and Pee and the devil makes three, don’t want no other lover baaaby.’ A tumbleweed practically smacked him in the head after that.

  I learned from this eejit. I wasn’t going to make any mistakes like that. I’d say nice things about Niamh and I had funny stories from when me and John were kids, but mainly I wanted the whole room to know how much I loved him – or maybe not the whole room; I wanted him to know.

  There’d been so many things I wanted to do for his wedding, like I was planning to get a pocket-watch to give him on the morning of the ceremony as we were all getting ready. I even knew what I’d have inscribed on it: To my best friend John on his wedding day, with love from Chris.

  10

  ‘I’m so proud of you, John.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  John smiles as the two of them stand facing one another. They’re in John’s old room and it hasn’t changed since he lived there; still has the Guns N’ Roses posters on the walls. Of course he only moved out a couple of years ago, but still.

  ‘No I mean it, you’ve really turned into a wonderful young man. Me and your mother are both so proud of you.’

  ‘I know you are, Dad, thanks.’

  John’s face reddens. His dad doesn’t usually talk like this.

  ‘Here, let me fix your dicky bow.’

  John looks straight into his dad’s eyes as they glaze over. Jarlath’s one of those guys who seems a lot bigger than he actually is; everyone always says he’s over six foot but he’s barely five ten. It’s just that he’s wide – not fat but strong wide: broad shoulders that would fill a doorway, spades for hands, long arms. His whole appearance is like a stereotype of a big thick Paddy with his fine red nose, white curly hair, smiley face; all he’s short is a pair of wellies. He has a large scar down the right side of his jawline that he got in a farming accident as a child but which everyone always assumes is from his days as a garda. Tough-looking, but a lovely fella. He looks funny in the tux now. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s wrong. It just doesn’t sit right on his frame – tight around the chest or something. It looks kind of lopsided. It’s a nice picture, though: the two of them all dressed up, smiling at each other while Jarlath straightens John’s dicky bow. His big hands look clumsy around John’s neck but he does a nice job of it.

  ‘And we love Niamh, too.’

  John nods as the two of them sit down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Here, I want you to have something,’ Jarlath says as he hands him a little box. ‘They’re the cufflinks that my father gave to me when I joined the guards. The two of us have the same initials so …’

  ‘Jesus, Dad, thanks a million,’ John says as he opens the box. ‘I love these.’

  Jarlath’s dad’s name was John Duggan and he was the first man to own the cufflinks. ‘My father used to say he’d only ever put them on for special occasions. I don’t know what in the hell he meant by special occasion because he didn’t even wear them at any of your aunts or uncles’ weddings. He figured they were too nice,’ says Jarlath with a grin.

  They do look lovely – eighteen-carat gold with the initials J. D. etched in letters so fancy you almost can’t tell what it says.

  I feel a bit intrusive, being here, but I’m not visiting Danny Murray today. I’m aware that he’s watching the telly in his flat, but I refuse to waste any time focusing on him. Besides, I doubt John and Jarlath would mind my being here.

>   ‘You know today is going to go great. How’re you feeling?’ Jesus, I’ve never seen Jarlath look so serious.

  ‘I feel good; great, I mean – I’m not a bit nervous or anything. I kind of can’t wait to be married, you know?’

  Jarlath smiles. ‘I was the same when I married your mother. It was a lovely day, just like this, except it was in the summer.’

  It is a lovely day, actually – there is a low sun, the sparkle of which adds a glitter to everything that lies beneath it. I’m glad they lucked out on that front. I just wish I could feel a bit of the heat off that sun myself. Despite his words, John doesn’t look as happy as he should, nor as I wish he was. When he smiles it’s more of a sad smile. Jarlath puts one of those bear arms around his son’s shoulders. ‘Are you sure you’re not nervous? Because you won’t get a better girl than that, you know.’

  ‘Ah God, I know. No, I’m not nervous. It’s just I remember all the craic me and Chris had at his wedding getting ready. Then the pint and a whiskey with his dad and his brothers before the church. I was just kind of looking forward to that, I guess, for my own wedding. I suppose I just miss him being here for this, you know?’

  ‘Of course he’s here,’ says Jarlath. ‘Do you think he’d miss this day? He’s looking down from a better place, enjoying every minute along with you.’

  John just fiddles with the cufflinks, not looking convinced. So Jarlath tries another angle. ‘You know, today is going to go great and Chris would want you to enjoy yourself. He’d be happy for you. Do you think he’d want to see you moping around on your wedding day?’

  It’s not that I like seeing him moping around, but I must admit that I am glad I’m being thought of and talked about. Can’t help but feel good about myself.

  I also feel sorry for Jarlath because I can tell that he just wants to cheer up his son. ‘Today you’re marrying the woman you love, surrounded by people who love you. You’re a great lad and you’re going to have a great life. I’m so proud of you, John.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ John says as he turns his head to look out the window. He sees his own reflection and starts to feel better. He looks good in the tux and having his dad next to him is comforting. He thinks about Niamh, looking forward to their life together.

  ‘Can you believe how sunny it is out there?’ Jarlath says. ‘It doesn’t feel like winter. Chris must have something to do with that.’

  Thanks, Jarlath, I wish I had.

  ‘Yeah.’

  John doesn’t like returning to thoughts of me; he wants to think of the good things in his life. He hasn’t turned around yet because now there are tears in his eyes.

  ‘Shining down on you for your special day.’

  What Jarlath’s saying isn’t comforting to John – he doesn’t believe in any of that and Jarlath knows it. I wish I could help him. I can see him searching for something to say that will make John’s pain go away. He hates to see his boy upset, especially on what’s supposed to be the happiest day of his life. Jarlath shifts, searching for something that a smarter man might come up with. ‘John …’ There’s nothing to say, not that I could think of, anyway. But Jarlath’s smarter than he thinks. ‘Here, let me help you with those cufflinks.’

  11

  The wedding reception is in the countryside, about an hour outside Dublin. There’s nothing but breathtaking castles all around Ireland’s countryside that are perfect for weddings, but they chose none of them. Instead they went for a fairly bog-standard hotel. Niamh liked it because it’s near where she is originally from in County Meath. John liked it because it was the first place that Niamh suggested.

  One good call they made, though, was deciding that no kids were allowed at the wedding, which means more fun for the adults. It also means it’s Pam’s first night away from Robbie since my death. I’d say it will do her good. A bright-orange knee-length dress hugs every inch of her body. God, she looks great, albeit slightly reserved, as she sits at the table, fiddling with her empty dessert bowl. I always loved when she straightened her hair. She’s lost a little weight these past few months but she’s still nice and curvy. Beautiful, big golden eyes. Man, I was so lucky. She’s been put at the same table as my mam and dad, which I’m not sure was a good idea. Stinger for everyone else at the table – stuck with three gloomy people with big sad faces through the entire meal. Can’t see why they couldn’t at least have put her with my brothers. Tim and Brian seem to be enjoying themselves, as usual, mainly discussing which girls they’re going to try and score with. There’s not a whole lot to pick from, most have boyfriends or husbands. Fair play to Brian, he’s gone over to Pam and the folks’ table a few times to see how they’re all getting on, ‘What did you guys have, the beef or the salmon? Yeah, me too, stuffed now. Can I get anyone a drink? Pam?’

  ‘Gin and tonic, thanks, Brian.’

  All fogeys at her table, she’s beginning to feel old herself. What the hell was John thinking putting her here? She sees enough of my folks. She can’t wait till the tables are cleared and she can hang out with someone else. She needs to be having a good time. The poor thing is beginning to regret coming. She loves my parents, but my mam in particular hasn’t been the same person at all in the past six months, not half as much fun.

  The speeches are pretty good. Our friend Davey ended up being best man. He’s alright at it but nothing special. A lot of his gags he got from a best-man speeches book; I know because I’d read the same one and decided not to use any of them. He opens up with, ‘Hello, I’m Davey and I’m here to tell you all about John and how thoughtful, handsome and …’ Then he looks up from his piece of paper. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he says, looking at John, ‘I can’t read your writing.’ It pretty much stays on that level throughout. Davey’s a naturally funny guy, he’s just too nervous to carry it through on the mic. Jarlath’s speech is deadly. He even mentions me. Actually I’m mentioned four times through all the speeches – by Jarlath, Davey, John and even Niamh, which I wasn’t expecting. What she said turned out to be the best: ‘I want you all to raise your glasses to Chris, who I know is raising one right back at us from some wonderful place even sunnier than this one. We love and miss you very much.’ I got all choked up when she said that.

  ***

  My mam and dad head off to bed early, which is unusual for them – or at least it used to be. Once the dancing starts Pamela really lets her hair down. The DJ is typical, lashing out all the wedding classics like ‘Come on Eileen’ and ‘Greased Lightnin’’; all the shit you would never listen to at home but go mental for at weddings.

  The ‘afters’ were always my favourite bit of the day – everyone’s all liquored up and going crazy on the dance floor. So many weddings I made a total tit of myself dancing. I used to look forward to it and ruined countless suits by skidding on my knees or attempting to do the splits. Pam never danced half as much as me, but she’s going all out tonight. She really seems to be having fun – herself and Brian are hanging out a lot, going for smokes and stuff in between the bouts of dancing. I haven’t been mentioned for a couple of hours, but the more drunk everyone gets the more I’m on their minds.

  It’s also looking like Tim is going to score with one of Niamh’s cousins. They sit next to each other at one of the tables, his hand on her lap. Then he starts telling her all about me – partly because he wants to talk about me, but mainly so she’ll see how well he’s dealing with the tragedy, feel sorry for him – then hopefully, well, then hopefully bang him.

  Brian and Pam start talking about me out in the courtyard. ‘He would have loved today, wouldn’t he?’ Brian says as he searches for his lighter in his pocket.

  ‘He sure would,’ says Pam, ‘He’d be in his element. You should have heard his speech. It was gas.’

  ‘He would have been better than poor auld Davey,’ Brian grins, lighting Pam’s cigarette first and then his own. ‘Talk about a Nervous Fergus.’

 
‘I know, the poor guy. It was total shite.’

  ‘Ah Jesus, that’s a bit strong,’ Brian says, laughing.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, but it was. That joke about wiping his arse with his speech went down like a lead balloon – you don’t talk about taking a dump in a wedding speech.’

  Brian shakes his head. ‘The poor bastard. He had such a redner.’

  ‘I know,’ says Pam, ‘and Davey’s usually so funny. He should have had a couple of whiskeys or something before going on. Apparently he didn’t have one drink before the speech ’cause he was so afraid of messing things up.’

  ‘Not even a pint?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah that’s just stupid – you need a little bit of Dutch courage – Christ, it’s no wonder he was shitting himself.’

  They both start laughing. I love Pamela’s laugh, it almost sounds dastardly, kind of like Muttley the dog’s laugh.

  Pam wrinkles her nose. ‘Speaking of shitting yourself, did you fart?’

  ‘No, Jesus – you think that’s me? It’s the fucking cows, for fuck’s sake!’ Brian declares. There’s a fierce bang in the air from a nearby farm. Brian starts coughing and laughing at the same time. ‘Jesus, I wish I could fart like that.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Ah here.’

  Pam smiles at the look of disgust on Brian’s face and takes a drag of her cigarette. ‘How do people live here?’ she wonders. ‘How do you open your door to the smell of shit every morning?’

  ***

  Tim’s after overdoing it on the whiskey. His tongue is protruding slightly past his lips, as though it has outgrown his mouth. The slurring doesn’t help his cause and Niamh’s cousin, Mairead, is losing interest in him fast. Jesus, I love watching Tim – he’s a funny little bastard; I mean, he had this bird sewn up. She had been laughing at all his jokes, thinking he was cute, and now there’s no way he’s getting anywhere because he’s after getting too locked. It’s like watching a car crash; he spills his drink all over himself, and her, by accident. It’s clear that Mairead doesn’t know what to make of this guy, especially since almost immediately after drenching her he throws the head in for a kiss.