I chucked a nearby tea towel at him and it landed on his shoulder. Somewhere at the back of my mind was a memory, another time I’d thrown a tea towel at those shoulders . . .
Andy tied it around his neck like a mini-cape.
‘Application accepted,’ he said. ‘I hereby promote you to president of the Irish branch of my international fang club.’
THIRTY-ONE
‘Is the clock broken?’
Tina rolled her eyes. ‘No,’ she said evenly. ‘The clock is not broken.’
‘Every time I look at it, it says the same thing: “Almost five o’clock but not quite. You’re going nowhere yet, Grace.”’
‘Maybe you should stop looking at it.’
Dermot had been shouting ‘NO!’ at everyone who walked through the door for the past hour (Pete’s chicken commercial got picked up for syndication) and the restaurant was empty. I wiped down the worktops for the fourth time in as many minutes and tried not to look at the clock.
‘Have you your phone on you?’
Tina eyed me doubtfully. ‘Why?’
‘What time does your phone say it is?’
‘Grace!’
‘Just check.’
Tina made a big deal of pulling her phone from the back pocket of her dark, sprayed-on jeans.
‘Well? What does it say?’
‘It agrees with the clock. Almost five but not quite. Now will you please relax?’
‘I am relaxed.’
I was not relaxed. Andy was in the city centre. He had a job at Trinity College this afternoon and I was meeting him at the front arch afterwards. It was stressful enough to think of him spending hours at one of Dublin’s most popular tourist destinations without imagining him idling at the arch a minute longer than necessary. Trinity was slap bang in the middle of the city and the front arch was a popular assembly spot. Henry and I used to meet there. I’d thought about letting him make his own way to my house and just seeing him at home, but I had visions of him getting lost and taking wrong buses and generally spending far too much time traipsing busy streets.
I drummed my fingers on the counter and wiped the prints away again.
What if Henry’s parents decided to go into town for a bit of late-night shopping? I imagined Isabel arranging to meet Conor at the front arch and him getting held up at the office. I pictured her standing there alone, thinking about whether or not to bother with the Brown Thomas sale, when her dead son moseys into her path. If Isabel saw Andy, she’d fall to pieces and he wouldn’t have a clue who this shrieking woman was. It was impossible not to keep checking the clock.
‘Where the heck is Simon?’ I exhaled.
‘What is going on with you, Grace? Your body’s in the kitchen but your mind . . .’ Tina made a gesture to symbolise my mind being blown away.
‘There’s nothing to do here. I don’t see the point in hanging around for the sake—’
The jangle of the café door opening and Dermot’s responding bark: ‘NO!’
Tina rolled her eyes.
‘NO! OUT! No parasites, no— Oh, it’s you. Fine then. If you must.’
I looked through the orders window.
‘Simon!’
I pulled off my whites and was stuffing them into a bag by the time he came through the kitchen door.
‘We’re in for a busy night, I see.’
‘Dermot’s heading home shortly,’ I called from the storage-cupboard-cum-office where I fished out my handbag from under a pile of napkins. ‘It’ll be business as usual after that. See you tomorrow!’
I was out the door before I remembered to tell him we were out of kale.
I jogged down Camden Street onto Aungier Street, past a stag party shouting at each other from either side of the road in thick Liverpool accents. I slowed to a walk as I weaved my way through a massive group of Spanish exchange students. It was a Thursday and the pubs were already heaving. I thought of how nice it would be to sit outside a bar and watch people go by but of course we couldn’t do that. I’d be collecting Andy and hopping straight on a bus, maybe even into a taxi. It was fine. We could always have a drink at home.
When I got to Trinity, he wasn’t there. I checked both sides of the arch and then my phone. I was five minutes early. Grand. Better I was the one hanging around than him. I half-read the noticeboards, turning my head after each advert to check the entrances. There were a lot of personal notices looking for language exchange partners: Spanish students seeking English speakers, Irish students seeking French lessons. Some of them matched up. Did people even read the little cards before sticking up their own?
I looked left and right. Still no sign.
A familiar feeling niggled. A recollection of an earlier sensation: when he wasn’t with me there was always a possibility that something had happened.
In the corner of one noticeboard was an old photograph: Class of 1954, it said underneath. Did all students wear suits to university in those days? I moved closer and scanned the rows of black-and-white faces for any female graduates. When did women start going to university? I tried to think of the oldest college-educated woman I knew. I had a great-aunt who’d been a teacher but I wasn’t sure if she’d—
‘Grace.’
I smiled with relief at the sound of my name. I spun around and, without a thought in my head, I kissed him.
THIRTY-TWO
It wasn’t a long kiss. There weren’t any tongues. I just planted my lips on his and left them there for a second, maybe two. It was probably in that latter second that I realised what I’d done.
I’d done it a thousand times before. Heard my name, turned around, saw what I expected to see, and kissed him. I hadn’t been thinking. I’d just moved closer, arms like magnets pulling me towards him, one on either side. It came so naturally – as instinctive as building a mound of grass on his stomach or saying his name – and I was on Henry’s lips before I realised they weren’t Henry’s at all. My mouth on his mouth, sending that faint jolt of excitement through my body. It wasn’t his voice that had said ‘Grace’ and even though it had the same waist, tailor-made to accommodate my arms, it wasn’t his body. I was right there, right at Andy’s lips, when reality came thundering through.
‘Oh.’ I said this still a hair’s breadth from his mouth. I was afraid to pull back further. I thought of vortexes and alternate universes. For as long as it didn’t come to an end, maybe it could be reversed.
‘Grace.’
The blood was pounding in my ears. I felt sick and faint and I really thought that this time I might drop. Oh God. I straightened my knees. Oh God, oh God.
It felt as if we were frozen there for eternity. I didn’t know where to look and yet at such close proximity, there really weren’t a lot of options.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
I couldn’t read the look in his eyes. They were too close. I closed my own. I was no longer dizzy but there was a strong chance I might still vomit.
I took a step back. ‘Oh God.’
‘Grace.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Grace.’
‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.’ I placed a hand against the cool stone of the under arch and doubled over slightly. This wasn’t happening. I couldn’t have done that. I wouldn’t do that. Remember Henry, Grace? More than just a face. Henry: the love of your life, the man you would do anything for, who would do anything for you.
‘Are you all right?’
My head bent towards my knees. ‘No,’ came the sound of my muffled voice.
Inside my skull, the blood continued to pound. It was rhythmic, keeping time, repeating the same message: Henry Hen-ry Hen-ry Hen-ry Hen-ry.
‘Grace, it’s cool.’
‘I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t even— Oh God.’
‘No worries.’
I brought my head up with a rush of blood.
No worries? No fucking worries? Who says ‘No worries’ anyway? Henry would never say ‘No worries’. How could I have thought this surfer du
de, this plumber fraud, this Australian was Henry? Nausea, self-loathing, pity; I put my head back down and allowed it to come. Good enough for me.
Andy said something but I couldn’t hear it over the crashing down of everything around him. What was I doing? What was this? All those times I’d met Henry under this arch and we’d sauntered into the evening air for nachos and wine or shopping or nothing-in-particular, never thinking those nothing-in-particulars were finite. Never thinking a time would come when I would want so desperately to meet him under this arch, and he would not come. I could wait here for ever and he would never show up. The best he could do was to send a changeling in his place.
‘No. Sorry,’ I said, standing up straight and interrupting whatever it was he’d been saying. ‘I’m sorry.’
And with that, I was gone. I turned left and threw myself into the crowds of people making their way through Trinity’s front gate. I knew I shouldn’t leave him standing there, I knew how risky and stupid it was, how easily he could have been spotted, but I couldn’t stop. I was scared and I had to get away.
I did my best to slow my pace as I pushed through the masses. Why was the whole of Dublin heading in the opposite direction to me? I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was going. I crossed to Dame Street and kept heading west until I got stuck in a crowd of people queuing for a bus. I looked behind in case Andy had followed and then, panicking, I jumped on one of the buses.
A woman stood to allow me to sit near the back. I must have looked as awful as I felt. I managed a ‘thank you’ as I took her seat and squeezed my eyes shut until it hurt. I pictured Andy standing right where I’d left him. It didn’t matter how many people had Henry’s face, there was only one of him. How could I have forgotten that? I looked out of the window and was vaguely aware that I hadn’t a clue where this bus was going.
But I didn’t think I had forgotten. I knew Andy wasn’t Henry. I hadn’t meant to kiss him. I could never. But habit, instinct, reflex – whatever it was – had taken over and I had ruined everything. I had sullied Henry’s memory and destroyed whatever this unprecedented thing was with Andy. I leaned my head against the glass but it did no good. This time I couldn’t stop it. I grabbed the plastic bag that was slipping across the floor in time with the bus’s motions. I fumbled it open and with a force that lunged my chest forward, I vomited.
The man beside me got up and the woman who had offered me her seat sat down in his place.
‘You all right now, pet?’
‘Fine,’ I mumbled, a burst of sweat giving way to shivers. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
‘Was it something you ate?’
I shook my head.
‘Dodgy fish?’
I looked into the bag of vomit in the hope she would take a hint. Nobody wanted to talk when they had just been sick. She peered over my shoulder.
‘I find,’ she said, ‘that anytime I have fish out, I know I’ll be seeing it again before the night is over.’
I stood up, grabbed the bag, and rang the bell for the next stop.
THIRTY-THREE
‘First Name, First Name is here.’
Larry appeared in the doorway but Aoife refused to move from the middle of it so he sort of bent around her as he waved.
‘Long time no see,’ he called. ‘You got the light fixture sorted, anyway.’
‘Yes,’ I said as Aoife turned back in to the hallway, noticing for the first time that the bulb was illuminated. ‘My dad called over to do it,’ I added quickly.
Aoife remained unconvinced. She knew the only bulb with which my father was familiar was the UV one he used to inspect the carpets for hidden stains. I should have said Mam did it. I kept my focus on Larry.
‘I’ve got the table in the van, anyway. I’ll just bring it in.’
‘I’ll help you,’ I said, physically moving Aoife to one side as I hurried past her without making eye contact.
It was two days since I’d left Andy standing under the Trinity arch and I had thought about nothing else. In the month since he’d shown up on my doorstep, this was the longest we’d gone without seeing each other. I had fretful dreams where Henry and Andy started to blend into one and my waking hours were spent looking for him on the street, in the lunchtime crowd at the Portobello Kitchen or thinking at any moment, even now with the house full, that he might knock on the door. I went to search for traces of him online before realising I didn’t even know his surname. I’d never thought to ask. I read through the B&B listings for Harold’s Cross, checking a few on Street View, but there were too many and even if I came across the right one, there was no way for me to know.
Forty-eight hours and I was already starting to doubt if he’d ever existed at all.
Larry climbed into the back of the van and I stood at the open doors as he undid cable ties and restraints. ‘Do you do much work with that plumber you brought around to mine?’ I asked casually. ‘What was his name again . . .?’
Larry kept rummaging. I held the doors open.
‘Andy!’ I exclaimed, as if hit by an epiphany. ‘That was it. Andy something.’ I waited for Larry to fill in the blanks. ‘What was his surname?’
‘I’ve gotten him in for a few bits all right,’ came the voice from the darkness. ‘He’s pretty good. Why?’ Larry stuck his head out into the daylight. ‘Was there a problem? Is your boiler back on the blink? I can take a quick look. I actually meant to say to you about getting in a few shelves for the hot press. I could get them next week? Or if—’
‘The boiler’s fine,’ I interrupted, desperate to keep the conversation on track. ‘He did a great job. So good, actually, that I thought it would be handy to have his details in case I needed any other work done, or if a friend was looking for a recommendation.’
‘Ah, he’s only passing through. Going back to Australia soon – next month, I think. No point getting attached. Anyway, he’s not on the books. That’s why he’s so cheap. So better off not mentioning him to anyone. Don’t want him getting into trouble.’ His head emerged from the van again. ‘You didn’t tell anyone about him, did you?’
‘I can honestly say I am the only one who knows he exists.’
Larry gave me a conspiratorial wink. ‘Better if he remains a ghost.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, somehow mustering up a smile from the empty pit in my stomach. Andy hadn’t said anything to me about going back to Australia, nothing concrete anyway. I grabbed the legs of the table as Larry began to feed it out of the van.
Aoife came down the garden path to help, sighing loudly. Betty, too, emerged for a gawk.
‘You haven’t been in to see me for weeks,’ she shouted from her doorway. ‘You could have said you weren’t coming. You know well they don’t sell the Telly Bingo tickets after eleven o’clock. So if I don’t know you’re coming, that’s it over for me.’ Betty walked down her path, drawing closer as her voice remained at the same volume. ‘And The Blonde One’s been gone for a couple of weeks. You know I always win when she’s not on. You probably owe me money.’
‘How do I owe you money?’ I asked, not sure why I was bothering.
‘Compensation for winnings lost.’
‘What about all those tickets I bought before? If anyone owes anyone, Betty, you owe me!’
‘I’m not paying for those,’ she scoffed. ‘You only ever buy duds.’
‘How’s it going, Betty?’ said Larry cheerfully, but the older woman ignored him. Her focus was very much on me and the various ways I had done her wrong.
‘I could have fallen over in there, broken my ankle and be lying dead on the kitchen floor for all you’d know. Or care. That’s the problem with your generation: it’s all about yourselves.’
Aoife and I shuffled forward holding the front of the table and Larry brought up the rear. We manoeuvred our way around my neighbour. ‘Betty,’ I said, as we mounted the kerb, ‘you had that front door open almost as soon as I’d come out my own. There’s nothing wrong with your ankles, or your ears.
’
Betty inspected the table. ‘Something else that’ll make an unholy racket, no doubt. You stomp around in that house like nobody ever paid you a slip of attention in your entire life . . .’
Aoife kicked my gate open and the three of us shuffled up the garden path.
‘. . . and we both know that’s not true.’
‘What isn’t?’ I huffed, trying to keep a grasp on the table as I mounted the step into the house. I’d had a headache all day and this was not helping.
‘That nobody’s been paying you any attention,’ sang Betty. ‘You’re getting plenty of attention these evenings. How’s your fancy—’
I slammed the front door behind us, cutting her off mid-sentence. My head was throbbing.
‘What’s she on about?’ asked Aoife, as we lowered the table to the hallway floor. ‘What attention?’
‘Who knows? Here, Larry. If you leave it down there, we can just sort of rotate through to the kitchen.’
The other two shimmied it through and Aoife put on coffee. The smell made my head worse. I stood in the hallway and listened to Larry and Aoife’s muffled bickering. A low good-natured rumble followed by a high, irritated dressing-down and then silence before the rumble tried again. Where was Andy? I closed my eyes and massaged my temples but it didn’t do any good. I was exhausted.
In the kitchen, Aoife had a tape out and was measuring the new addition, noting down dimensions as she went. I saw the table properly for the first time. I did a quick tour, taking in the smooth finish and sturdy legs. The carpentry was impeccable.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ I said, meaning it.
‘It’s two inches narrower than requested,’ corrected Aoife, standing dangerously close to Larry as she snapped the tape measure back into place.
‘It’s slightly narrower because that was the wood available,’ he explained. ‘And it ended up being a little shallower than expected so I wanted the proportions to match.’
‘You needn’t think you can skimp on the wood and expect Grace to pay full price.’
Grace After Henry Page 15