Look at them. Hailing me as I approached. Like I was a long-lost hero returned from the wars, a sailor back from a sea voyage that was never going to end, a favourite son everyone had long-ago given-up on. They were delighted to see me and I was happy to be among them. They even had a little fire going.
I approached them and offered my wine bottle. The gargoyle accepted gratefully and he wrapped an arm around me, gently guided me to the flames. Squint-eye put a can in my hand and I took it and drank deep.
My da is an empty space, I told them, and they laughed and took some drink.
My ma has flown the coop, I told them, and they laughed some more and took another drink.
You know who we are, kid, another one said, someone I hadn’t seen before. We’re the loved and lost.
We stood around the collection of beer cans and stared down at our feet. For a time nobody spoke, and I looked into these haggard faces, now lit up by the light of the moon, now scrunched up in darkness, now lost in whatever regions they needed to find to keep themselves from whatever it was that awaited them. Yes indeed, I announced in my best newscaster voice. We’re the loved and lost. In the last of the last days. And if I had been the giant I thought I was, I would have gathered them in my arms and somehow tried to let them know that everything would turn out alright in the end. I dropped onto the flimsy flames my crumpled-up birth cert.
ANSWER ME THIS, ANNIE
The very person, I said first thing next morning and I walked straight up to the scryer and asked her what my da was at.
Come on now, Annie, I said. This time I want an answer out of you. Give me something. Tell you what. I’ll provide some answers and you just confirm with a nod of your head or one of those shudders you’re so good at. OK? Here goes.
Da is alive and well and living on a yacht.
No reaction to that, eh? Well, I was just testing you there. Sure, how could he be living on a yacht? That’s good, Annie. You’re on the level, as Tony Soprano says. Your teeth are safe. OK. Try this one.
Da is a freedom fighter doing his best for a lost cause.
Nothing doing there either, is that it, Annie? I see. You’re probably right. What about these.
Da is a miner digging his way through all the Monaghan gold.
Da is buckled into the space shuttle about to take off for the one-way mission to Mars.
I gave her a few more. But each time she had no answer for me. Truth was, she didn’t seem all that interested in anything coming out of me. Just grabbed herself and swayed. But that didn’t mean anything. Did it?
I might have to get the word out about her. Let people know they were kidding themselves thinking this one held the answers they were looking for. I let her know as much, too. Annie, I said, we’re through. And just so as you know, anybody wants to know, I’m going to tell them exactly how it is when it comes to getting information out of you. OK?
Still no reaction.
Still didn’t care.
She had probably forgotten things I would never know.
CHICKEN AND THYME
I was sitting at the kitchen table. Surrounded by four- or five-day-old sherry trifles and hot-cross buns and bowls of multi-coloured jelly. Raisins scattered about the place. Baking soda and double cream. Blobs of custard. And flies. They were back in force. Clouds of the things. Hopping on and off the goodies in the kitchen.
I was looking at some of the photographs I’d missed, some that had spilled out of the attic. There was one of me, aged three. Sitting on a patch of grass. Sulking about something. Another one of me, aged about six. Standing in the back yard in shorts and a peaky cap. Still sulking. One of Ma. Sitting on the sofa in the sitting room. Looking up with a glass in her hand. She wasn’t sulking. She just looked surprised.
Then someone else was talking.
What are you up to? the voice asked me. Jesus! The girl. I’d forgotten about her again. Twice in two days.
Nothing, I said, clearing away the photos.
I’m hungry.
Help yourself, I said, waving at the table of goodies.
I need something savoury.
You want some crisps?
Sensations. Chicken and thyme flavour.
I can’t leave to get you crisps. It’s no longer a good idea.
Don’t be so childish.
What if I’m spotted?
You’d go if it was your mother wanting a Mars bar.
Yeah, that’s only because she can slice me lengthways with her eyes.
If you don’t go, I’m going to do something to myself.
Like what?
I found a sturdy rope in that attic dungeon you imprisoned me inside.
What are you going to do with that?
That depends. Now, are you going for my Sensations?
Promise me you won’t do anything while I’m gone.
Just make sure you get me chicken and thyme.
*
When I was sure nobody was looking, I ducked out of the house and skipped up the back lane as far as Mel Campbell’s. Mel had never heard of Sensations. And so I had to make a fast trip down town as far as Dunnes Stores Better Value Beats Them All. I snuck down the crisps aisle, spotted the Sensations, shelves of the things. And all the flavours in the world. Caramelized onion. Thai sweet chilli. Balsamic vinegar, for crying out loud. But not a chicken and thyme in sight. I got the hell out of there. I tried the Hungry Worm. McMorrow’s pub. The ancient paper shop beside the cathedral. I even took a walk as far as the by-pass and marched into Aldi. Aha! Dunnes Stores Better Value Beats Them All no longer beats them all. They had chicken and thyme Sensations, going for a song they were. They even had cheap Champagne, and ha! I was thinking, everywhere you look in this town we have Champagne, and ha! again, no need to go to Paris to have a Champagne time of it after all. And I thought: someone is going to get a kick out of this. I grabbed the Champagne, stuck it in my bag alongside the Sensations. Quick as a slap, I was out of there.
Outside I was fumbling with the Sensations, trying to close my bag over the rustling crisps, and who did I practically walk into only Mario Devine. I thought I was seeing things. Blinked my eyes in case I was. No doubt about it, though. It was Mario.
Hey! I called out, but he didn’t answer.
Hey, Lug! I tried again, you’re supposed to be in Paris. He didn’t hear me. Either that or he wasn’t used to being called Lug.
Hey! I roared. But he was already walking away from me and heading towards his car, getting in, and driving away.
And to think I’d actually thought he was related to me.
Well, what about that? What was Mario playing at? Had he led Ma up the garden path with all that Champagne talk? Had he fooled her into thinking she was on her way to a quaint riverside hotel?
Wait a minute. WAIT A MINUTE! If Mario was here, that meant Ma was in Paris on her own. And so what was she up to? Wait again. I think I have it. She was never intending to go to Paris with the bull-nut seller. It was Da. She was rendezvousing with Da. Yes. That had to be it. Oh boy. That’s what had her so keen on all that Paris talk. She had been planning this all along. And now she was lying low with Da. Biding her time until things simmered down. That’s why I hadn’t heard a thing. And as soon as she knew it was safe, she was going to send word for me to join them. Yes. That was it. What a brilliant plan. And hey, if she could come up with a plan like that, guess what? So could I. Get the hell out of town and rendezvous with the pair of them in Paris. Think of it. We could meet up under the famous arch or along the banks of the river. We could meet up on the viewing deck of the Eiffel Tower. Or at one of the plush palaces. My heart was racing now. I would have to have a good think about this. Get some advice from the girl. One thing I was now certain of: I was out of here.
Oh boy. It was all coming together now inside my head. Get to Gay Paree and hook up with the pair of them. After that, the world was ours. We could go anywhere.
Think of it. The three us making a fast dash for the nearest way out o
f Paris. And already I had us on the open road, in one of those snazzy French cars, the kind with no covers and lots of va-va-voom. We fooled them, I was saying as we coasted along. We fooled them all. From here out, it’s just the three of us.
My heart was fairly going now. I had to take another pill to calm myself down. Except I didn’t calm down. And I kept putting myself into future scenes. Me and Ma and Da, screaming up a storm together. Ma waking up to a breakfast of croissants and coffee, Da with the map laid out on the bonnet of the car, plotting our next move. And all the time the French cops on the lookout for us, and one of their inspectors – a lad with a tidy moustache and precise lips – getting in touch with cop Lawless to determine how dangerous we were, and Ma having a good laugh at some joke Da had just cracked, and then we had plotted our next move and before anyone had a chance to get within an ooh-la-la, there they are, we were on the open road again. Vanished. Out of sight.
CHAMPAGNE TIME
I bolted back to the house. Guess what! I yelled as soon as I was in the door. Flip! She was gone. Probably fed up waiting for me to show up with chicken and thyme Sensations. Made sure I still had them and the Champagne tucked safely inside my bag, and took off again. Bolted up the back lane. Glanced into the Swamp. No sign of her there. Kept going. Checked the bridge. Not there either. Kept going.
Running down town. Hoodie tight around me. Goodies shaking away inside my bag. Thinking up my plan. Outside the Hungry Worm I paused to take a breath, and yes, there she was. At a window table by herself, tucking into a plate of chips.
The very person, I said when I sat in opposite her. I have big news.
Where are my Sensations?
Never mind them. Now listen to me. I’ve just seen Mario. The bull-nut seller. He’s not in Paris.
So?
So Ma isn’t with him in Paris. She’s with Da. And get this.
Wait. Let me guess the next bit. They’re waiting for you and so as soon as you’re ready, you’re off to join them.
I was thinking you could come with me.
No thanks.
But your crazy da? You could get away from him, once and for all.
I can take care of myself.
But it’s Paris. Think of the riverside café.
Don’t want to.
And the lamp-lit squares.
I prefer dark-lit squares.
Think of all the bridges and the guillotine.
No thanks.
Think of . . .
NO, NO, NO!
Why not?
I don’t want to go to Paris.
Suit yourself.
She lobbed a chip into her mouth and gestured to me with her middle finger. I slumped back into my seat, watched her pick at her chips.
Are you splashing out? I said, when she grabbed a bottle of ketchup and started drowning her chips with the stuff.
Well, I got fed up waiting for a certain person to show up with my Sensations.
I looked at the soggy chips on the plate in front of her, the sea of red sauce she was dipping them into. She was talking again.
The world around me then was kind of grim. I had to learn to pretend in order to block the grimness.
What?
It’s just something I saw.
Let me guess. On the internet.
Not everything comes from the internet.
Paris is going to be good, I said. I’m going to get a haircut and pick up some new clothes, maybe a new pair of shoes. I might even have to change my name. You know, in case Lawless has his cronies on the lookout for me.
Pipsqueak is a good name for you.
What about Nasty? Nasty Lowry?
Oh, yes. That sends shivers down my spine.
Or Notorious. Notorious Lowry has a good ring to it.
Tell me, Notorious, did you manage to get my Sensations?
I have this, I said, reaching into my bag and pulling out the bottle of Champagne. At once her eyes lit up.
At last, she said. Something I can use. Here, let me.
She grabbed it from me and started pulling off the silver foil and twisting off the wire holding the cork in place. Next thing the cork popped, and a geyser erupted and sprayed everywhere. She grabbed two paper cups and managed to direct the gushing Champagne into each of them. She slid one of the cups towards me and raised her own. Then someone was hovering over our table. And when I looked up, it was Mattie Conlon.
You can’t drink Champagne in here, he said.
Spin on that, moron, the girl said, showing him the same finger she had produced for me.
I’ll be back, he said, turning on his heels. And then you’ll be sorry.
He walked to the till, grabbed his phone and started to call someone.
Quick. Do you know any good toasts? the girl asked.
To the answers, I said, raising my own cup, but she didn’t know the response. You’re supposed to say, To the questions.
See you in the next world, she said instead, then gulped down every drop in her cup, stood out of her seat and marched to the door of the café. Her skinny legs jammed into her backside. Her tattered tackies flapping at the ground. She pulled open the door, looked over her shoulder briefly, at what I couldn’t tell, then she walked out into the street and disappeared.
SCARFACE
Early morning. Just me and the chirping birds and a cloud of flies flitting about the place. I’d gotten a good night’s sleep, cleaned myself up. In the bathroom now, standing in front of the cracked mirror holding a sturdy scissors liberated from Ma’s room.
Hello there, young lad, and what can I do for you on this bright August morning? the mirror said to me.
I’d like a haircut, I said back.
Well, I didn’t think you were going to ask for a fishing rod, mirror said, chuckling away at me, and gestured for me to step right up.
Well, don’t just stand there, mirror said. Tell me what you want. A short, back and sides? A trim and wash, perhaps? A hot towel shave? Wait. I have it. You want a buzzcut. Am I right? Thought so. Well, Jason, I don’t have my shaver with me today. It’ll have to be the scissors. OK? Though I have to say, if it was me I wouldn’t touch a wisp of those curls.
Stepped closer to the mirror. Whipped the hoodie fully off me. My t-shirt too. Grimaced the way I’d seen Tony Soprano do it. And screamed for all I was worth.
GONE! I WANT IT ALL GONE!
Then I raised the scissors and attacked my hair.
Snip, snip, snip, I went, and watched it tumble to the floor. Snip, snip, snip. Cut, cut, cut. Bye, bye. Slán leat. And as they say in France, au revoir. Hair today, gone tomorrow. That’s the way things were these days.
Kept going until the scissors couldn’t get a hold of any more. Then I grabbed the blade. Nick, nick, nick. Cut, cut, cut. Took a good look in the mirror. The blotchy head on me. The flecks of blood. And an expression that said one and only thing: Another satisfied customer.
My shaved head looked good. Went well with my Tony Soprano snarl. My dagger look. Something was still missing, though. Something to disguise me further, make me look even meaner. A mark. A mark on my face. Yes! A scar. Now where was I going to get one of those? I could always ask Brains and No-brains McManus. But they’d already given me their best shots.
The mirror was talking to me again.
Do it yourself, you numpty. You’ve had loads of practice.
Why yes! That’s a great idea. Thank you, mirror. Thank you so much.
You’re welcome, Jason. And let me say: it’s been a pleasure.
No, mirror. The pleasure is all mine.
Now then. What kind of a scar would I like? And, more importantly, how will I make it?
Took a look at my collection. Laid them out, one by one, in front of me.
Steak knife. Razor blade. Shard of glass. Rusty nail.
What to use? What to use?
Decisions. Decisions.
Took a hold of each of them and looked them over carefully. Raised them separately to my face and made
a practice run.
I really couldn’t choose. Set them down in front of me again and ran my eager eyes over them. Gripped them separately again in my itching-to-go hands.
My, my.
They all looked good to enough to eat.
Closed my eyes and hovered my hand over my choices.
Touched the shard of glass.
Good choice, Jason. Good choice, indeed.
OK. Close your eyes now. Here goes. It won’t hurt a bit. That’s it. Get it in there. Push. Press. Drag it down. Like I said. It doesn’t hurt a bit. Hell, I might as well do it properly. Go the length of my face, all the way down my cherub cheek, like that lad, what’s his name? That’s right. Pull it down, all the way. And listen. Can you hear her, Jason? Listen to what she’s saying. Keep going. Don’t stop. We’re almost there.
There. Done. You can look now. Wow! That’s one long scar you have the makings of there, Jason. Why, thank you, Jason. I’m so glad you approve.
Took a good look at myself, dabbed away the blood with a facecloth, traced my finger along the mark I’d just made.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Wiped away the rest of the blood. Took another look. Yep. Should be good enough to make them think twice before giving me any lip. And if it wasn’t, well, I’d just have to give myself another one.
What was it Lily the Nose had said to me? You look like your mother, Jason. Ha! Ha! Not any more, did I. Not any more.
I just hoped the girl would recognize me when we met up to say goodbye.
PARIS IS A BLONDE AND DOGS ARE CITIZENS
Well, Ma, hold on to your Champs-Elysées. I’m on my way. And before you start reaching for a fork or hurley stick or the nearest guillotine, don’t worry. I haven’t said a thing to anyone about where you are. Of course, with you being out of sight for so long, it’s been kind of tricky. Suppose I never realized until you were gone how much in demand you really are.
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