by Simon Bourke
“Aw,” she simpered in exaggeration.
They lay back down and snuggled up together. He thought that was the end of the deep and meaningful conversation, but she sat up again abruptly a fresh thought coming into her head.
Her perfect little breasts jiggled as she shifted her weight to face him.
“You should try to find your real dad. I’ll help you!”
“Grand, we’ll start tomorrow.”
“I’m serious, Seán,” she said, and for all the world she looked it too.
In a few hours’ time, however, the drugs would have left her system and the long, painful comedown would have begun; then she’d be too apathetic even to talk to him, never mind accompany him on a search for his long-lost father.
“You’re mad, girl.”
“Why am I mad? Why, Seán?”
“Look, we’re both off our heads on yokes right now, so I wouldn’t be taking anything we say too seriously.”
“Seán, I might be off my head, but I know that this is something you have to do. It makes perfect sense. What have you got to lose?”
He had nothing to lose. That wasn’t the point, though.
“I wouldn’t know where to start or who to ask.”
“Your mother, of course!”
“Ah, you don’t understand; we have a weird kind of relationship. We don’t really discuss things like that.”
“So you’re going to go through life wondering who he is, until one day you find out he’s dead. Is that it?”
The thought had never occurred to him that his father might someday die before he got to meet him. Seán had always presumed he’d be out there waiting for him until the day he decided to go looking.
“He could be dead already.”
Danielle shook her head at him, scolding him. “Don’t talk like that, Seán. He’s not dead.”
“He could be.”
“Stop it,” she said, taking him by the arm again and forcing him to look at her. “He’s out there right now, probably wondering about you and thinking about the day you’ll finally meet.”
“I doubt it, Dani.”
“Why, Seán? Why?”
“I just don’t think he’s interested.”
“But you’ve no way of knowing that.”
Seán shrugged his shoulders. He’d been happy to open up and talk about his feelings, but now they were just going round in circles.
“Promise me something, Seán,” she continued.
“What?”
“You’ll ask your mother about him.”
“I will,” he said, planning to do no such thing.
She shook her head. “Promise me, Seán; promise me.”
He was genuinely surprised by the force in her words. She’d become quite emotional, almost upset on his behalf. Underneath that perfect little body and all that make-up was a kind-hearted soul, someone who cared about him and his life, at least temporarily. It touched him, made him feel that they had a connection, that it wasn’t just the drugs.
He cupped her face in his hands. “I will, Dani, I promise, and thank you.”
“It’s okay, Seán,” she whispered.
And for a second it was perfect. He looked into her eyes, which now brimmed with tears, and saw how honest she was, how caring. He saw the purity of her heart and the goodness inside her. Right there and then, in that instant, he loved her. He thought they could have been a couple, a real couple, two people who loved one another and would always love one another. They could wake up in the morning in each other’s arms, and nothing would have changed. There would be no awkwardness, no embarrassment; it would be just like this, and it would stay like this for as long as they wanted.
He kissed her softly on the lips, pushing away a lock of hair that had spilled into her eyes. “Thanks, Dani,” he repeated. “Thanks.”
*
When he awoke a few hours later she was utterly comatose, silent and still for the first time since he’d met her. He lay gazing at her, wondering what would become of her and how her life would play out. A girl like that, so naive and carefree, he couldn’t help but fear the worst. But she wasn’t his concern any more. He knew how it went; they hadn’t exchanged numbers or made plans to meet again. This was just a one-time thing. Next weekend some other fella would be here looking at that face, wondering whether to wake her or just creep out quietly. It was for the best though; they’d spent the perfect night together and nothing would ever come close to it. Further dates would only sully its memory.
He gently stroked her hair and brushed his lips against her cheek. “See ya, Dani,” he said softly and left her to her dreams.
As he made his way downstairs he heard voices coming from the living-room. Had Pegs and Hooch made it back here? He’d forgotten all about them. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone right now; didn’t want to field any questions or tell any tales. So he silently slipped out into the mid-morning sun and left them to it, whoever they were. Now he just had to figure out where he was. By the look of things, he was on the outskirts of town; the walk home would be a long one.
9
“Hi, Mam,” he said, sauntering into the kitchen.
The walk home hadn’t been too bad; half an hour, if even that. Enough time to allow him to clear his head, but not enough to tire him out.
“Oh, hello, pet. A good night?”
“Yeah, wasn’t bad now.”
“Good, glad to hear it.”
The dinner was already on; a Sunday roast, which he’d have to force down, his mouth as dry as sandpaper, his stomach full after one bite. Another side-effect of Ecstasy, suppressed appetite; great for supermodels, not so good for nineteen-year-old lads. He started to go to his room but wavered at the door.
“Mam?”
“Yes, love,” she replied, not looking up from the carrots.
“I want to have a chat with you about something later.”
She turned round, a bemused look on her face. “About what, Seán?”
“Tell you later, okay?”
“Okay, Seán.”
*
He thought sleeping on it might change his mind, but it hadn’t. He’d gone to bed after his dinner; switched off his phone, pulled the curtains and drifted into an uneasy, dreamless slumber. It was dark when he woke, but not ‘middle of the night’ dark. He checked his watch: nine o’clock. The weekend wasn’t over yet. He got up, dressed and went to see what everyone was up to. Kevin was in his room, on the PlayStation. Seán could hear him from the hallway, huffing and puffing in frustration. Daryl was in the sitting-room, telly blaring but probably asleep, and his mother was in her bedroom, the shuffle of the Sunday papers audible as she worked her way through the week’s events.
He gently tapped on the door. “Mam? You busy?”
“No, not at all,” she replied, looking up from the Sunday World.
She was already dressed for bed and actually in bed, under the covers. But with the guts of four newspapers to read, it’d be a while before she slept. Seán came in and sat on the end of the bed. He hadn’t really prepared what he was going to say, but he knew he had to say it now before the weekend ended. Once Monday morning came, reality would kick in; he’d be back in work and the moment would have passed. It had to be now.
“Mam, I want to know about my father.”
There it was. How she dealt with it was up to her.
She remained impassive, not moving and betraying no emotion.
“What do you want to know?”
“A name would be a good start.”
Something about his manner riled her; it was as if he were accusing her of something.
“You could have asked me about him any time, you know. It was never a closed subject.”
“But why should I have to ask?” he enquired. “Surely it was your job to tell
me?”
“I didn’t think you were bothered. You never so much as mentioned it.”
“I’m mentioning it now.”
A silence fell as wounds were licked. The first round had been contested and declared a draw.
“His name is James Fitzgerald.”
A tremor ran through him. A name. His father had a name; he was real now, not just a mysterious entity. He took on a personality of sorts. James Fitzgerald. Seán Fitzgerald. James and Seán Fitzgerald. The Fitzgeralds. Fitzy. He quite liked it.
“What else?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “We went out for a while, a few months, but when he found out I was pregnant he wanted nothing more to do with me.”
She expected a reaction, condemnation, anger, but Seán barely flinched.
“How old was he? Same age as you?”
“A year or two older.”
“Why wasn’t he interested?”
“He said he was too young to be a father, had plans to go to college, get out of Dooncurra.”
That sounded reasonable enough to Seán. He would probably have reacted the same in similar circumstances; like father, like son.
“So where is he now, then?”
“I have no idea.”
This came as a surprise. He had presumed she’d know everything about him.
“So he could be anywhere?”
“I suppose so. His family still live in Belkee, as far as I know.”
“What family?”
“His parents, maybe one of his brothers. I’m really not sure, Seán.”
She was being so casual and offhand, as if it had nothing to do with her. He had expected to be given a full description of his father: what he looked like, his personality, how they’d met, what had forced them apart. Most of all, he’d hoped for a phone number or a postal address. Instead he’d got a few glib responses and a haughty shrug of the shoulders.
“Is that it, then?” he asked.
“Well, what more do you want to know?”
She sounded exasperated, as if this whole thing was a wretched inconvenience.
Seán glared at her, angry now. She met his gaze, inviting him to continue, but he just shook his head and got up to leave.
“Never fuckin’ mind,” he said and walked out of the room, leaving her with the newspapers.
He went back to his own room, waiting to see if she’d follow him. Five minutes passed and no one came. He’d been told everything he was going to be told; there was nothing more to be said. Well, that suited him fine. He didn’t need her help. He had a name now, he could do the rest by himself. All he had to do was get a phone number; how hard could that be?
He crept out into the hallway, determined now. Fuck her, he thought, I’ll fucking show her. The phone book was usually under the table in the hall. In the dark of the night he rummaged through old catalogues, magazines and schoolbooks until he’d found what he was looking for. Quietly pulling it out, he stole back to his room and shut the door behind him. He hesitated, wondering whether to lock it and decided against it; this wouldn’t take long. The Fitzgeralds from Belkee; they would surely be in here. He opened the book at F and swept past Fagans, Fenlons and Finnans before landing on the first page of Fitzgeralds. There were a lot of them, eight pages’ worth, and they were spread far and wide: Mr. A. Fitzgerald, 54 O’Cullen Road, Urlingford, Mr. and Mrs. Seán Fitzgerald, 11 Aherloe Heights, Castlecomer, Mrs. N. Fitzgerald, Knocktopher, but no sign of any from Belkee. As he ran his finger down each page, working his way through family after family of irrelevant Fitzgeralds, he began to lose hope. The fuckin’ bastards were probably all dead; just his luck. Maybe they were alive and not in the book, purposely delisting themselves so he wouldn’t be able to find them. If they weren’t in here, he’d have no way of getting in touch with them. He’d wake up in the morning and just fall back into the old routine. His mother wouldn’t mention it again, and after a while he’d forget about it too.
“There!” he said out loud. “There they are.” He jabbed the page excitedly, wishing he had someone to show it to: Mr. and Mrs. W. Fitzgerald, Turlow, Belkee.
W. Fitzgerald, that’s why it had taken so long; fuckin’ Willie and his stupid initial. He was there though, himself and the missus, in the phone book, in Belkee. They were the only Fitzgeralds from Belkee in the book. They were his family, his father’s family, and they had been there all the time just waiting for him to find them. Well, he’d found them now, and this was only the start of it. His whole life was about to change. There was no need to hurry, though; he’d done enough for one day. It was late on a Sunday evening, not the time to be making that kind of phone call. Maybe tomorrow he’d ring them. Yeah, it’s me, Seán, your long-lost grandson. Round for tea, Friday evening? Why, that’d be delightful.
While her son sat in his room dreaming of his new family, Sinéad lit up another fag and stared dumbly at the pile of newspapers. Where had that come from, so suddenly, with no warning? She’d always presumed he wasn’t interested; he’d never given her reason to think otherwise. Of course, she should have told him about his father, she knew that, but the more years that had passed, the easier it became to say nothing. Anyway, she was protecting him, preventing him from having his heart broken, because that’s what would happen. As soon as his father heard he was looking for him he’d run a mile, the same way he’d done when he found out about the pregnancy. He’d have his own life now, a wife and kids; he wouldn’t want Seán coming along and ruining all that. How could she explain that to Seán? How could she stop him from searching for his father? She couldn’t. There was nothing she could do. It was like watching a road accident from a distance and being helpless to prevent it. All she could do was wait until it was over. Then when her boy came back crestfallen, his hopes and dreams shattered into a thousand pieces, she would mend him, fix him. Just like she always did.
10
Seán arrived for work on Monday morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The weekend’s excesses had taken their toll, but just recalling the events of Saturday night brought a smile to his face. And not only did he have a notch on his bedpost to be proud of, he had also taken the first step towards finding his father, the man who had helped bring him into this world. Yes, it had been quite a weekend, one he certainly wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
It didn’t take long for his good mood to be tested. Lorcan, the manager of the department store where he worked, had been singling him out for special attention of late. As Seán approached the staff entrance, he saw his boss standing there waiting for someone. That person was him.
“Morning, Seán,” Lorcan said, with deceptive warmth.
“Morning, Lorcan,” Seán replied cautiously. He didn’t like the look of this.
The manager, a pasty-faced individual with pockmarked skin and a permanent film of sweat on his brow, held out a black sack to Seán.
“Take this and pick up all the litter from the car park.”
“But I haven’t clocked in yet!”
“That doesn’t matter. This will make up for all those extended lunch breaks you’ve taken.”
Seán stared at him balefully, snatching the sack from his hands and stamping off. He’d let him have his fun, allow him to think he was getting the better of him, but Lorcan wouldn’t break his spirit, not today. Seán whizzed around the car park, scooping litter into the sack until, satisfied he’d done enough, he returned to empty it and begin his work-day proper. Lorcan was waiting for him again. He was smiling, smugly; it accentuated his thin, moist lips and his beady rodent eyes. Seán emptied the sack and paused, waiting for affirmation that he had satisfactorily completed his task. He didn’t get it.
“Seán, I thought I asked you to pick up all the litter in the car-park?”
“You did,” Seán replied, his good mood receding into the distance.
“Well, how come I can still see
litter from here?”
Seán followed his gaze. He was right, there was still some litter in the car park; miniscule bits of paper, but litter nonetheless.
“Now go back out there and pick up all that litter, and don’t come in until you’ve got it all.”
“Can I at least clock in now?”
“No. I told you, this is only making up for all the time you owe this company.”
His pompous little smirk made Seán want to grab him by the ears and smash his face repeatedly off the floor. Instead he smiled, a toothy Hollywood grin, and went back out to the car park.
It started to rain, a light drizzle drifting in from the river and hanging limply in the air. Seán didn’t even have a jacket; it had been such a nice morning, he’d thought he wouldn’t need one. He considered going inside and asking one of the lads for a loan of a coat, but that would be sure to thrill Lorcan. So he continued on, picking up litter, in the rain. All that kept him going were his memories of Saturday night. What had Lorcan been doing on Saturday night? Not much, probably. Maybe a microwave meal for one, a quick pull of his sad little todger and an early night with a cup of cocoa. Seán, on the other hand, had been living it up till the wee hours, off his head on Speckled Doves and balls deep in a hairless pussy. How could he do anything but pity his boss? Let Lorcan come in to work on a Monday morning and order him around; they both knew who the real winner was here. Lorcan may have been manager of one of the largest department stores in the southeast and have climbed to the top of his profession by the age of thirty, but he was miserable. He had to be. He had no social life, no friends and spent the majority of his waking hours running after apathetic types like Seán. In a few years all the current staff would be gone, Seán included, and Lorcan would still be there, rallying the troops, haranguing the newcomers and trying to break the spirit of the ones he didn’t like. What kind of life was that? Thinking about this made Seán feel much better. What did it matter if he had to pick up a bit of rubbish on a rainy day? In the grand scheme of things, his time here was of little importance. It was a mere stepping-stone in his life, a stopover while he planned for something better.