And the birds kept on singing

by Simon Bourke

  “Putting the moves on my mother again, Gints?” Pegs asked.

  “Feck off, Pegs,” Ginty replied, smiling. “We were just chatting, that’s all.”

  “G’way, boy, I’m wise to you. Acting all innocent, sweeping my poor mother off her feet.”

  “Ah, I’ve enough women up in Dublin, lad.”

  “Eew!” Pegs retorted in exaggerated shock. “D’ye hear this fella, lads? Studying economics by day, riding half of Trinity by night! And I remember ya when you were nothin’ but a little squirt from the mountains.”

  “He’ll always be a little squirt from the mountains to me,” Seán said.

  Ginty threw a playful dig at his friend and a friendly bout of rough-and-tumble ensued, only coming to an end when Pegs found the CD he’d been looking for and commanded them to be silent. The album was Discovery by Daft Punk, the same one he played every night before they went out.

  “Would you not put on Homework for a change, man?”

  “Yeah, Pegs, haven’t listened to Homework in ages.”

  “Fuck off, nothing beats Discovery.”

  “I think Homework is better,” said Seán.

  “Yep, I agree,” said Hooch.

  “Would ye g’way out of it?! Homework better than Discovery? Fuck off! Ginty, tell ‘em!”

  Ginty didn’t know his Daft Punk from his punk-funk and had long since grown tired of keeping up with his friends’ musical preferences. His new friends in Dublin liked local bands, singer/songwriters: The Frames, Damien Rice, Paddy Casey, that kind of stuff, and he liked them too. All these years he’d pretended to like what his friends liked, when all this great music was out there just waiting to be explored. But because he knew it’d annoy Pegs and he enjoyed it when Pegs got annoyed, he decided to side with Seán and Hooch.

  “Nah, Pegs, Homework is a far superior body of work, and I think you know it.”

  Pegs shook his head defiantly.

  “Fuck off! Ye don’t know what ye’re talking about. Wait till we’re in Forde’s, I’ll ask the lads in there and I bet ya every one of ‘em will say Discovery is better.”

  “Ah, they won’t, Pegs; don’t be stupid, now,” Ginty continued, a glint in his eye.

  “Yeah, Pegs, don’t be so stupid,” added Seán, laughing.

  Alan Pegg turned his back on them. They didn’t know what they were talking about. Discovery was one of the great albums of their time, a musical masterclass incorporating everything from jazz-fusion to disco and synth-pop. It was without peer. Granted, Homework was a fine piece of work, and at the time of its release he’d enthused about it as much as the next man, but better than Discovery? They were off their fucking heads.

  6

  After listening to Discovery in its entirety and once more for good measure, they made their way into town. There was no real debate about where they were going; they always went to Forde’s. On the face of things, the pub didn’t appear to be anything special; a medium-sized dwelling with low ceilings and a long bar stretching from one end to the other, it was much like any other drinking establishment. Like all the best bars, though, there was something about the place, something undefinable which made it more than the sum of its parts. By day it could almost be described as quaint; a homely little hideaway inhabited by coffee drinkers, old-timers and the occasional hard-core alcoholic. When you entered its environs after dark, however, it became an entirely different animal. Whether by a trick of light or some subtle atmospheric alteration, it underwent a dramatic transformation. The snug, by day a drab enclave filled with sour-faced gamblers, seemed to grow outwards, its capacity growing as the night went on until there appeared to be hundreds, if not thousands, of people crammed into its tiny dimensions. The laughs of those lucky enough to be inside could be heard all around the pub, drawing other patrons to its boundaries in the hope of gaining access.

  The main part of the pub, the top-end bar, became standing-room only. Those who drank there considered themselves Forde’s more sophisticated clientele. Not for them the bear-pit that was the pub’s lower end; no, they would stay up here, drinks in hand, ready to move on to somewhere better when the time was right. Their presence gave the bar a mildly cosmopolitan feel. They were the first people you saw when you came into the pub, which encouraged more of their kind to enter while simultaneously dissuading the hooligan element from crossing the threshold. For Seán and his friends, these people didn’t matter; they were mere obstacles to be bypassed as they made their way to the back bar at the end of the pub. This was where the action was, where the music played and the drink flowed in equal measure. The bar itself ended here, allowing for more floor space and seating areas for Forde’s 18-30s. This was their haunt, the place where, not everybody, but most of the people knew their name. They would find a nice dark corner and set up camp for the night. If you were lucky you got one of the booths, everyone piling inside before a drink had even been bought. Inevitably one or two had to make do with a stool, dragging it over and trying to make themselves a part of things. But it wasn’t the same; you needed to be in the booth. With so many smokers present, however, opportunities would arise. As soon as they disappeared to the smoking area you slid into their vacated spot and, on their return, acted like you’d been there for days.

  Over time Seán and his friends had claimed a booth of their own, one dug so deep into the pub’s brickwork as to be almost invisible. It was their hideout, their little corner. Getting it hadn’t been easy, but thanks to repeated trips, sometimes three or four nights a week, they had marked it as theirs. Others didn’t so much as shy away from their corner as find themselves outnumbered and overwhelmed should they be stupid enough to sit there. It reached the point where people always knew how to find them and where they’d be; no one ever had to ring ahead or even send a text. If Pegs and the lads were out, then they were in that dark little corner down the back of Forde’s.

  That was where they were tonight, or at least where they’d intended to be. They’d arrived later than usual and found, to their horror, that their booth had already been taken. Older lads, three of them, were in their spot, in their seats. Nothing was said, just a few curious looks thrown in their direction. They hovered nearby, ignoring another vacant booth a few feet away. They wanted their own booth, and were willing to wait all night to claim it. The three intruders were nearing the end of their drinks; one of them had an empty glass. Were they going to get another round? Could Seán and his friends move in while they were at the bar? There was movement; the one with the empty glass was leaving. He said goodbye to his friends and departed. This was their sign to move in. The two remaining drinkers suddenly had their numbers swelled to six, Pegs and company piling into the booth beside them; but there was no hint of aggression, they were friendly if anything. Message received, the two interlopers drank up and left for pastures new. Job done; the boys had their booth back. Seán scooted into the best seat, on the inside nearest the wall, the corner-most location in the entire pub. No one fought him for it, certainly not Pegs; he preferred to be on his feet, keeping an eye out for anything or anyone of note. Meanwhile Ginty, in a further sign of his personal development, wandered off, announcing he’d be back in a while. He’d spotted some college friends, people he knew from journeying up and down to Dublin on the bus. The others watched him go, their little Ginty all grown up.

  Some girls joined them, friends of Pegs, wans they’d been seeing on and off. Greetings were exchanged, admiring glances cast and flirtatious comments shared, no one willing to commit to anything at such an early hour. More friends came, people they knew from school, from work and from nights gone by. By eleven o’clock, their corner was teeming with life.

  “Pegs! Pegs!”

  Seán beckoned to his friend above the din, calling him close.

  “What’s up with ya, boy?”

  “Did you take yours yet?”

  “No. You?”

&nbs
p; “Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Getting anything off it?”

  “Not yet, no. He is, though.”

  Seán pointed to Hooch. He was hunched forward in his seat, looking agitated and ill at ease.

  Pegs smiled and waved over to his friend. “All right, man?

  “Grand, yeah, Pegs.” Hooch nodded enthusiastically.

  “Any good?”

  Hooch widened his eyes and took a deep intake of breath.

  “That good, eh?”

  “Unreal, man,” he replied, his jaw twitching involuntarily. “What time is it?”

  “Just after eleven.”

  “Will we go in?” he asked, nodding in the general direction of Moody Blues.

  “Tis too early, boy. Sit back down for yourself.”

  “Ah, come on, we’ll go in,” he persisted.

  Pegs came closer, shielding Hooch from anyone who might be watching. “Look, boy, if you go in there now in that state, you’ll be fucked out by the bouncers. Better to wait until there’s a crowd, more discreet, like.”

  Hooch nodded dumbly, not really hearing the words but getting the general message.

  “Sound, Pegs,” he said, slumping back into his chair. “We’ll go in in a while, so.”

  Pegs smiled at Seán, shaking his head as if to suggest he would never get into that state from a few pills. But the drug was starting to have an effect on Seán too. His head felt prickly, as if ants were crawling all over his scalp. Rushes of feverish energy snaked their way along the length of his back, stopping at his neck before joining the ants on his head. His shoulders were tight, tensed, he was tense.

  “Come on, Pegs, we’ll head in,” he said, rising from his own seat.

  “Fuck’s sake, not you as well? Sit down ta fuck.”

  “G’way, boy,” Seán said dismissively, taking his coat and wandering off.

  “Where are you going?”

  Seán wasn’t listening. He needed to be outside; a bit of fresh air, that’d set him straight. Pegs watched him go, making sure he wasn’t going into the nightclub. He watched him amble out to the beer garden and relaxed; Seán always liked a bit of fresh air when he was coming up on a pill. Seeing the state his friends were in, Pegs thought it high time he took a pill himself. He liked to leave it late to take his. He didn’t want to be out of it while still in the pub; he had a reputation to keep up, after all. Glancing furtively around him, he fished one of the pills out of his pocket and popped it in his mouth, washing it down with a slug of cider. He looked over at Hooch, who grinned back, eyes half-closed, gurning quite violently now. Best to avoid him for the time being. Everyone else was locked in their own conversations, bunched in twos and threes, laughing and joking at stuff he probably wouldn’t get. Pegs stood there by himself for a while, listening to the music and scanning the bar for any fresh talent. The place was busy tonight, with a few faces he didn’t recognise; female faces, young nubile female faces. They’d probably be in Moody Blues later. He’d have to keep an eye out for them.

  “Where’s that fuckin’ Ginty lad gone?” he asked after a spell.

  “Don’t know, man. What time is it?” replied Hooch.

  “Jesus Christ, it’s quarter past, all right?”

  Hooch sat back in his chair once more, sipping his pint nervously. “Where’s Lockie?”

  Pegs looked around; was Seán still in the beer garden? His pint was there on the table, untouched. Pegs knew what Seán was like; he was likely to go anywhere, do anything. Pegs couldn’t go off looking for him in case Seán came back here and wondered where he had got to. If these pills were as mad as everyone said, it was vital that they all stuck together. Ginty had seen the signs early on and abandoned them. Now Seán was gone too, maybe for good. These other people were sound, the lads from work and those young wans, nice people and all, but they couldn’t be trusted, not in a situation like this. He was gonna be left here with Hooch, the gurning fuckwit. It was all gone to shit.

  Pegs stopped himself, laughing at his own stupidity. This was just the paranoia that came during the early stages of an Ecstasy rush. He had to calm down; everything would be fine. Fucking hell, though, he’d only taken it ten minutes ago and already he was feeling the effects. He took a long slug from his pint. It tasted of nothing. He needed something stronger, a vodka or a rum and coke. But the place was mobbed; a visit to the bar would be filled with danger, strangers pushing up against him, strait-laced types looking at him, wondering what was wrong with him. Then he’d have to talk to the barman, pretending that everything was okay, ordering a drink, avoiding eye contact and giving him the money. No, it was too dangerous, anything could happen. He was better off staying put.

  If only Ginty were here, he’d keep him sane. Ginty always knew what to do, that was what a college education got you. Pegs didn’t even mind if he ran off with his mother. He’d only been joking earlier on, but if Ginty wanted to elope with Mrs. Pegg then he wouldn’t stand in their way; just so long as he’d sit here and chat to him for a few minutes before they went. If he’d do that much for him, he’d be more than happy for him to move into their house and take up with his mother. His father could move into his room; they’d go tops and tails. It’d be like being a kid and going camping, a right laugh, and if they heard Ginty and Mrs. Pegg going at it like the clappers, they’d tell ghost stories and make up jokes to distract them from the noises. In the morning they’d all shuffle down for breakfast; his mother all airy and light-hearted after getting a good seeing-to, his father defeated and sombre, cuckolded by a man twenty-five years his junior. It might get a bit weird but fuck it, Ginty was his friend, and if he loved Pegs’ mother then so be it.

  Pegs went to take another sup from his pint, but it was empty. Was that his pint? He could have sworn he’d had a full one not two minutes ago. There was a half-full pint of something on their table; he raised it to his lips without hesitation. Ugh, Heineken. But it was liquid, and that was all that mattered. Hooch had sparked up a conversation with some lads from another table. Pegs knew their faces, might have been at a session with one of them, but no way was he getting involved. He didn’t like the look of them; they were too enthusiastic about everything, far too cheery for his taste. Now Hooch was talking to them and he was totally alone. Hooch had been his last remaining hope, and he was gone too.

  Some friends they were, running off and leaving him at the first sign of trouble. They’d probably known all along that he wouldn’t be able for these pills. Rather him than me, that’s what they’d said as they made their escape plan; I’m not gonna be the one going with him in the ambulance. Bastards. They’d been clever about it, too; Ginty had slipped off quietly without anyone really noticing, then Seán had sauntered away like he always did, the Judas cunt. And now Hooch; but for Pegs he wouldn’t even know Seán and Ginty, and now he was colluding with them against him! What a prick. He drained the last of the Heineken and scooped up another glass from the table. It looked like Smithwicks or some other murky shite, but it didn’t matter at this stage. Whatever it was, it was quite tasty, kinda fruity, he’d have to find out what it was later on. He was watching the cheery lads now, the enthusiastic boys with their toothy grins and their crew-cuts. Fuckin’ eejits. They were having a right laugh with Hooch, probably talking about Pegs and how he was going to die after taking a Speckled Dove. Laughing their heads off, they were. He tried to make out what they were saying, staring at their mouths, but he couldn’t figure it out. Something about Hula Hoops or Pot Noodle Poodles, he couldn’t tell.

  “Hey, Pegs, you alright man?” shouted Hooch.

  Pegs looked at him dumbly. What did that mean? Did he not look alright? That’s what they’d been discussing: how fucked-up he looked! Well, he wasn’t going to let them have any more laughs at his expense. He decided to play it cool, nodding slowly, trying not to give too much away. But Hooch didn’t take the hint, leaving his
new friends to join him.

  “Hey, Pegs, man, you’re freaking the lads out. They think you wanna box the heads off ’em or something.”

  “What?”

  “You’re staring at the boys. They’re all right, I know them from school. So, y’know, chill out and stuff.”

  Pegs nodded again and averted his gaze. What were they so paranoid about, the cheerful bastards? He’d only been trying to lip-read what they were saying in case they were plotting against him, what was wrong with that? He’d had enough of this shit, bunch of wankers in this place, he was going home. Alan Pegg knocked back the last of the fruity, murky pint, grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and rose to his feet. Home to bed, that’s where he was off to, away from these cunts. As he got up, though, he hesitated. Instead of storming out the door in a fit of pique, he stood still. How had he not noticed this before? Forde’s, this pub that they visited every weekend without fail, was home to some of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen. He looked at them in amazement. Their faces shimmered in the light, their eyes twinkled and their mouths danced as they regaled each other with tales of mischief and tomfoolery. He looked from one person to the next, hearing every syllable, smelling their perfume and their stale cigarette breath. He wanted to join them, to laugh at their jokes, to slap them on the back and tell them what good people they were, but he didn’t need to because he was there with them all. They were his kin, they were the good people of Dooncurra; salt-of-the-earth folk, just like him. They might never understand the significance of this moment, but it didn’t matter, because he did. This was what it was all about, life and living, being at one with your fellow man, sharing experiences, unity and togetherness. If they could harness the power in this room, who knew what they might achieve? Anything was possible. He wanted to climb on a table and call for silence, tell them all that by cherishing one another and staying true to themselves they could conquer the world.