by Chris Binchy
I barked a laugh at him.
“As if I’d tell you.”
“I’m not going to say anything.”
“Even if I believed you, I wouldn’t fall for that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll tell Camille. If she asks, you’ll tell her.”
“Maybe,” he said. “She can be quite persuasive.” He laughed a dirty little snigger that I didn’t want to be hearing.
“Enough. Good-bye.”
“So it’s a no.”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s a no.”
Chapter Nine
Into a normal happy afternoon, right at the moment that I was beginning to think of home, O’Toole arrived suddenly, standing beside me, smiling in a way that made me unhappy. I hadn’t heard him come over, hadn’t noticed the dip in atmosphere that should have let me know he was near.
“Mr. O’Toole,” I said, trying to remember what I’d been doing as he arrived.
“Hello, David. How are things?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine.”
“The work is okay?”
“It’s great. I think, or I hope.” It was a good time to stop. If he had something to say, he would say it. He had come to me.
“Can you show me what you’re working on?” He pulled a chair over and sat beside me. I talked him through it, stammering and tripping over the words, but he could see what I was doing. He asked a couple of questions, buzzed his wordless approval, but mostly he just watched for five minutes. I was letting one of the processes run, waiting for it to do its thing, when he spoke in a quick quiet voice.
“I’m having a few people over on Sunday afternoon. Barbecue or something. Depending on weather. It would be good if you could be around.”
“Em . . . ,” I said, thinking. What was this?
“Or are you busy?”
“No, I’m not. That would be great. Thanks very much.”
“Right. I’d prefer if you didn’t say anything to anyone else.”
“Okay. Sure.” He handed me a card with an address on it.
“About three?”
“Okay,” I said.
“See you then.” He got up and left without looking back.
“What did he want?” one of the girls asked as she passed.
“I don’t know,” I said, my face reddening. “Just checking what I was doing.”
“He wants to fuck you,” Alex said later in a bar when I told him about it.
“No, he doesn’t,” I said. “He’s married.”
“So what? He can’t fuck you because he’s married?”
“That’s not it. That’s not what it is.”
“So what do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I thought maybe he wanted me to work at it.”
“Doing what?”
“Like a barman or waiter or serving food or something.”
“He would have asked you if that’s what it was,” Alex said. “He’s your boss. You work for a bank. He’s not going to hire you for a cash-in-hand job at his house doling out canapés to his friends. Really.”
“I don’t know. I thought then that maybe it might be a way of firing me, you know? He said there’d be a few people there. Why would he not want me to tell anyone about it?”
“I thought you had your assessment. They told you they were happy.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t signed anything. They should have given me a contract by now, and they haven’t. Maybe he’s changed his mind.”
“Why would he? And even if he had, why would he invite you out to his house to fire you?”
“I don’t know. To soften the blow?”
“It doesn’t seem likely,” he said. “Why wouldn’t he just do it at work?”
I hesitated. “Because he’s a nice guy?” Even saying it I could see that it sounded stupid.
“No. That’s not it,” he said.
“I can’t think of anything else.”
“I don’t know why you’re so paranoid. You’ve been working hard for them, doing a good job. Why wouldn’t he want to get the best guys over and do something nice for them as a show of appreciation?”
I could imagine that he was right. I wanted to believe him.
“What do you think I should wear?” I said then. “He’s my boss, but he said it was a barbecue. Am I supposed to wear a suit to a barbecue?”
“Definitely not.”
“You think?”
“It’ll be casual. You should wear a thong and nothing else,” Alex said. “Wait and see. I bet I’m right.”
He’d rung me at home to see if I’d come out for a couple. I didn’t want to, but he pushed. After half an hour of talking about nothing, I was wondering if I should ask him if he was all right.
“This going-away thing,” he said at last. “It’s wrecking my head.”
“What’s the problem?”
“She’s on at me now. First it was the parents, and now she’s started. Fucking college.”
“What about it?”
“She’s saying that she thinks I should go back and repeat the year. I wanted to go away with her. I said it to her before, and she was cool with it, but now she’s changed her mind.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She’d started out saying that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to spend a year away, and then when she heard what my parents were saying, she jumped on it, and now she’s saying that the only thing I should be doing is this.”
“You don’t agree?”
“Of course I don’t agree. It’s a waste of time. I’m talking about going and doing the work—getting a job in film, starting to actually do it—and she’s telling me that the course is a better way. It’s safer to have the qualification. Safer. For what? But I can’t do another year of it. I can’t.” I smiled at him. “What?”
“You shouldn’t say you can’t, because actually you can.”
“Okay. I don’t want to. I’ve had enough. For some reason, the first time that I’ve had a clear idea of what it is I want to do, when I know the right path to take, everybody’s pushing against me.”
“Not everybody, surely.”
“Camille and my parents. They say I have to finish it. They say that now. When I started, they were happy enough for me to check it out, see how it suited me.”
“Were they? I don’t remember that.”
“I thought they were.” He said nothing for a moment. “I suppose you’re going to tell me the same thing.”
“No,” I said. “It’s up to you.”
“I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve been wasting my time in this place for too long. I need to do something.”
“Then do it.”
“I wanted her to come,” he said, but he wasn’t really talking to me now. “It would have been cool, but she’s not going to. I don’t know if she’s trying to force me to stay or something.”
“Force you? Maybe she just doesn’t want to commit everything to going away for a year. It’s a big deal.”
“I know that,” he said. “But still I want to do it with her. Just, she doesn’t feel the same way.”
“You haven’t been going out that long, and what you’re talking about is living together. Three thousand miles from home. If you did the year again, the two of you could go next summer. New York will still be there.”
“I’m not doing it, David. That’s fucking it.”
“Okay. Relax.” He held his head, his elbows propped on the counter.
“They won’t give me the money,” he said then. “They’ll pay for me to go to college, but not to go away.”
I laughed.
“What?”
“That’s kind of fair enough.”
>
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Get a loan. That’s what banks are for.”
“Banks won’t give me money to fucking disappear in America.”
“Okay. So you’ve got a problem.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” We sat in silence for a minute. “Did you say something to her about me?” he asked then.
“No. What kind of thing?”
“That I never finished anything.”
“No. Of course not.”
“Because she said that to me. We were talking about it and she said that, and I don’t know where she got it.”
“Not from me.”
“You know this was different, don’t you? You know I tried. I’ve been good. I haven’t been fucking around.”
“I know,” I said.
“I really tried. This is a nice idea, and she doesn’t even have any plans for the year yet. But she’s telling me I should finish college, like she’s my mother.”
“Maybe she thinks this is the best for you both in the long run.”
“But is she going to be here in the long run? I swear to you, I’ve really tried with her. It was going so well, but this is going to be the end of it. I’ll go.”
“Why? Why now is it so important? You’ve always been happy here. Haven’t you? You have a good time. What’s changed?”
“I’ve spent too long getting my shit together. You’re working now. All my own crowd are away. I need to make a break. Get away.”
I’d heard this before. The same worries. The same resolution to change. Life to begin again somewhere else, fresh and clean and new. People didn’t know this about him. They thought he just drifted along, happy with how things were.
“You could come,” he said then. “If she doesn’t, you could.”
“Should I be on standby in case she says no?”
He smiled a little apology.
“I don’t mean it like that. But if I’m going to go anyway and she doesn’t want to, we could go together. You could get any job you want over there, you’d be right in the thick of things.”
“This job,” I said. “It’s a big deal. I can’t just leave.”
“Think about it,” he said. “It could be a lot of fun.”
“She may change her mind. Talk to her.”
“I talk to her all the time,” he said. “We talk enough.”
“I don’t want to get in the middle of it,” I said. “You know I hope it works out the way you want, but she’s a friend now as well, so—”
“So what? She can look after herself,” he said. “You don’t need to be worrying about her.”
“I’m not worried. I’m just not going to get involved.”
“You’re not doing her any favors.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“I mean that I see a whole lot more of her than you do, and it’s not the way you think it is. It’s not poor Camille having to put up with me and my messing. She’s on top of it. She can fight her own corner.”
“I’m sure she can. I’m just saying I shouldn’t interfere.”
“I’m asking your opinion.” He shrugged. “You have her on some pedestal where she can do no wrong. But don’t worry about her. Tell me what you think I should do.”
“I think you should make your own decisions,” I said, standing up.
I had to take two buses to get to where O’Toole lived. I found the road, but the house only had a name, no number, and I kept walking for nearly an hour as the road went up the side of a hill and then seemed to double around on itself. All the houses had high gates that I couldn’t see over, and there was nobody on the street walking. Nobody to ask where this place was or if I was still on the right road. At four o’clock, as I was starting to panic, I saw it, the name in wrought-iron letters on a white wall and wooden gates that were closed. There was a buzzer on the wall and I pressed it. It made no noise. I listened and could hear nothing, then a crackle and a voice said hello.
“It’s David Dillon.”
“Who?” the voice asked.
“David Dillon?” I said again as if my name was a question. “Mr. O’Toole invited me?”
“Hold on.”
After ten seconds of silence the gates began to open. I waited to see who was there, but there was no one, so I started walking up the drive. It was an avenue with trees on both sides, the sun twinkling through, and then I saw the house, low and modern and not what I’d expected. I still couldn’t see anyone, but I could hear voices and followed them around to the back. A group of ten people sitting around in garden chairs under umbrellas, drinking beer and wine. I saw Frank and a couple of others that I recognized. O’Toole was sitting at a table with a woman who could have been his wife and an older guy, seventies maybe, who was smoking a cigar. The three of them were laughing in the sun, glasses in their hands. On a patio behind them there were two Asian guys cooking at a grill. O’Toole stood up and waved when he saw me. I walked over, and he came to meet me.
“David. You’re good to come.”
“Not at all. Thank you.”
“Did you have trouble finding the place?”
“Ah, no.” Then I thought of the time. “Just, it’s a long road.”
“If you don’t know where you’re going. You should have called.”
“It wasn’t a problem,” I said. “I hope I’m not too late.”
“You’re fine. Come over here.” He led me by the elbow to the woman and the old fellow.
“Marie. This is David Dillon. He started with us in June.”
She looked up at me, shading her eyes with her hand.
“Hello.”
“And this is Mr. Donnelly.”
“Hello,” I said, shaking his hand. It was sweatier than mine.
“David is a programmer. Just out of college. He was top of his graduating class.”
“There were a few of us—,” I said, and then stopped.
“Modest,” Donnelly said. “Very good. Our kind of man.” He chortled to himself and O’Toole smiled.
“Do you want to get a drink?” O’Toole said to me. “The boys will look after you. Frank is over there. Go and relax. There’ll be food in a little while. I’ll talk to you later.”
I walked away, leaving them sitting in a moment of quiet as they let me go. I got a beer from one of the Chinese guys and went over to Frank.
“Hey, young fellow,” he said. “Good to see you.”
“And you.” He didn’t seem at all surprised that I was there, as if we met on this lawn every week. “Have you been here long?” I asked him.
He shrugged and smiled.
“Are you having a pleasant afternoon?” he said. I thought he might be drunk.
“Sure,” I said. “I think so.” A chair arrived behind me before I knew what was going on. I sat in it between him and a girl.
“Hi, David,” she said. I’d seen her around the office but had never spoken to her. She was rubbing sun cream onto her legs. Frank had gone back to talking to the guy on the other side of him, his interest in my arrival having passed.
“I’m sorry,” I said to her. “I don’t think I know your name.”
“It’s Sara.”
“Good to meet you.”
“Yeah. Hi.”
“So,” I said, and then there was nothing. I had no idea what was going on. Were they members of a cult, or Masons, or were we all going to take our clothes off after lunch and see what happened? Sara was rubbing cream into her arms now, pushing up the sleeve of her shirt to get at her shoulders. She moved her seat back out of the shade and sat facing the sun with her head back and her eyes shut. I didn’t know if I was allowed to talk to her. On the other side Fra
nk and a couple of other people laughed. Big happy laughs. Fuck them, I thought.
“What do you do?” I asked her.
“Me?” she said, without opening her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Product development,” she said. “Same kind of thing that you’ll be working on.”
“Oh, right. And how is it?”
“It’s great.” She sat forward again and opened her eyes, looked at me. “It’s a good job. I love it, but I don’t know how long I’ll be there.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It depends on how things work out.”
“Okay.” I had no idea what she was talking about. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to ask, if that was what she would expect, or if she was just weird. She didn’t seem to need anything else from me.
“And you,” she said after a minute. “Where did you come from?”
“How do you mean?”
“Today.”
“Oh. From town.”
“Taxi?”
“Bus.”
“Great.” She laughed.
“Two buses, actually.”
“Even better. That must have been fun.”
“It took two and a half hours,” I said, and she laughed again. Bizarrely, this conversation was beginning to go all right. We talked for fifteen minutes, and she became more normal. She had gone to Trinity, had worked in Kenya for a year, and came back because she thought if she’d stayed there any longer, she might have stayed forever.
“And what’s the problem with that?” I asked her.
“Kenya,” she said. “Have you been?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t understand.”
“That’s why I’m asking,” I said, trying to keep my voice happy.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Wasn’t the way I wanted my life to go.”
When we went up to get food, Frank asked me how things were going. I said it was fine, everything was great. We sat down together, and he was talking about how Sara was deeply brilliant, the most talented person he’d ever worked with.
“What did you think of her?” he asked me.