‘Okay, it’s almost eleven. We’ll probably get to the airport at a quarter past. If there are no queues at security, which there probably won’t be this time of night, we could get to the departure gate around half-past, twenty-to twelve at the latest. If the flight is slightly delayed, we can make it.’
‘That’s the girl,’ says Zach, holding a hand up for me to high five. ‘You really are up for this, huh?’ he says. ‘Ye know Jason has a swimming pool? Ye like to swim?’
I just laugh, probably because I’m excited by the notion that my next boyfriend could genuinely have a bloody swimming pool in his own home.
‘I do like to swim, yeah,’ I reply. ‘Pity you didn’t give me time to go home and get my swimming gear.’
‘Ah, we don’t use swimming gear. It’s all skinny dipping in Jason’s gaff,’ says Zach. ‘It’s a strict rule.’
I try to imagine what Jason’s house is like. I remember actually being impressed by Eddie’s house, and that was because it was a three-bed semi-detached. I bet Jason’s is ten times bigger.
Eddie would have liked me to have been his house slave. He was happy for me to give up modelling. Happy for me to clean his kitchen, hoover his floors, iron his shirts. It was never going to happen. I think that’s why we started to have rows actually. I was never going to fit in with his idea of a picture-perfect girlfriend. He courted that old-fashioned, traditional relationship. I was way past that. I wanted my own independence. He tried to downplay my career, insisted I wasn’t a model — just a marketing puppet. He knew how to hurt me; knew what buttons to push. I still maintain that I only went out with him because I was desperate. Before him, I only ever had one boyfriend. And perhaps labelling Stuart a ‘boyfriend’ is pushing it. We only hooked up a few times over the course of about a month when I was nineteen.
Stu was a model, too. We met on a shoot, decided to go out for lunch together during a break in our day. I lost my virginity to him a week later. Never told him he was popping my cherry. I was too embarrassed to admit that I was a virgin at that age. We had sex another three times before his phone calls stalled. He never explained to me that he was dumping me, we just never saw each other again. I didn’t have sex with anyone else until I met Eddie two-and-a-half years later. I didn’t miss it, certainly didn’t pine for intercourse. Stuart’s penis was quite big, quite painful. It wasn’t until I met Eddie that I actually enjoyed sex for the first time. He was a lot smaller than Stu. A lot more comfortable inside me. But after doing it non-stop for the first four months, our sex life took a nose-dive. I didn’t realise until about two years later that he must have been getting it elsewhere during all that time. I started to miss the sex and genuinely only started to masturbate for the first time when I was twenty-three. Still do so on a regular basis. I’m often envious of people who have great sex lives. When you look at porn on the Internet, people are into all sorts of quirky stuff. I’ve never quite worked out what gives me my kicks. When I lie back and play with myself, I’m normally thinking of a rugged, handsome man lying on top of me. I’m sure that’s boring to most other people — straight missionary sex — but it’s kind of all I know. Maybe it’s not just my mind that needs opening, maybe my legs need it too. I begin to wonder what positions me and Jason will do it in tonight.
23:00
Zach
This was a great idea. There’s only one chick. But what a fuckin’ chick she is.
Normally when we go back to Jason’s gaff, there’s a gaggle of birds with us. He’s probably not up for sharin’ Sabrina, but I’ll see what I can do.
We’ve never shared the same bird on the same night, but I know Jason’s well aware of a bit of roasting. It’s ripe in football. I’ve read about it countless times in the tabloids — four or five players sharing the same bird at the same time. Jason’s always maintained his innocence in that regard; claims he’s never been a part of any gang banging. But let’s see if I can change his mind tonight. It’ll be a bit weird fuckin’ a bird in front of me mate, but things could be worse. I could be at home, lying beside Tina with a limp dick — which is practically what I do six nights a week anyway.
I don’t hate Tina. I just hate the boredom of our relationship. It’s tedious. I’m no good with routine — and a wife and kids is all about routine, especially if you want it to work perfectly. It’s not as if I don’t want to remain with Tina for the rest of my life, or that I don’t want to be a great dad. I do. I just don’t want that to be my entire life.
Li turns around from the passenger seat, but I don’t give him time to moan again.
‘Relax will ya? For crying out loud. Just turn around and keep your fingers crossed.’
He does. He stares out the windscreen as we turn onto the airport road. I think we’ll make the flight. They’re always running a bit behind. My problem is — though I haven’t said it out loud — that I think you now need a passport to fly from Ireland to the UK. I don’t think any old photo ID works these days. It used to. But I think they stopped that a couple of years ago. Fuck it. It’ll be an adventure anyway.
‘Have you rung Niamh yet?’ I ask Li. I’m guessin’ he’s secretly hoping we don’t make the flight so he can have a lie in with his bird in the morning. So much has happened tonight, I almost forgot he’s told us she’s going to be his fiancée soon.
‘No, I’ll call her once we get to the airport,’ he says. ‘What about you? You let Tina know?’
I stare at him, crease my brow. He doesn’t get it.
‘Who’s Tina?’ Sabrina asks. The taxi falls silent. Jason turns to me, knows I must have been feeding Sabrina’s head full of shit when I took her for that rickshaw ride.
‘Me eh… me wife,’ I admit.
‘You’re married? Wow!’ Sabrina laughs. ‘Wedding ring in the pocket is it?’
‘I don’t wear one,’ I tell her. ‘Never have.’
‘That’s interesting. I could have sworn you were trying to come on to me earlier… remember… on the rickshaw… You eh… asked if my dad was a boxer?’
Jason giggles.
Fuckin’ bitch. She’s trying to embarrass me in front of my mates. I’m gonna hurt her when I fuck her later. She’ll be walkin’ funny in the morning. I’ll make sure of it.
I actually haven’t had a bit of strange pussy in a few weeks. That can happen. I can go a while without pickin’ some bird up. But hangin around with Keating and his lot can normally clean up any dry spells for me.
They’re all mad into prostitutes. Keating even has a few on his payroll. Sex with prostitutes is a bit of a last resort for me though. I don’t enjoy it as much. Not sure how anyone can get satisfaction from having sex with someone who doesn’t necessarily want to have sex with them. If a girl is fuckin’ you for the pay, not for the enjoyment, then where’s the thrill in that?
I hooked up with a tiny little Scottish hooker last summer who made me wash my dick in front of her before we had sex. That was a load of me bollix. I couldn’t enjoy the session we had. Not after that. Even when I came, I produced a retarded amount of cum. Just a spit that dribbled down my shaft. It looked a bit pathetic; almost embarrassing.
Hookers just don’t do it for me. I can never quite figure out why they do it for anyone. Same as rapists. Where is the fun in having sex with someone who doesn’t want it as much as you? If the pussy is dry, how is a man supposed to enjoy it? And trust me, I’ve fucked dry pussy lotsa times. Tina’s. She just seems incapable of getting wet these days.
Our sex life is shit. When I get horny, I jump on board. It’s either that or have a wank. Sometimes I opt for the wank, but more often than not I call Tina upstairs, ask her to lie on the bed and do her duty. But it’s not that enjoyable. The best part of sex is convincing somebody to have sex with you. Talking them into it. That’s how I get my kicks — that moment when they finally give in, finally give me the go-ahead to fuck them. That’s the real thrill of sex for me. Pulling birds is the main event. I’ll have my work cut out for me pulling tonight. Bu
t I’m up for the challenge.
I look over at her. She winks at me. I’m not sure if that’s finally a sign that she’s up for it with me or whether or not she’s just cooling tensions because she knows she just tried to embarrass me.
The driver takes us up the ramp of the airport slip road, over the speed bumps and finally comes to a stop.
‘Forty-two euro,’ the taxi man says. Jason looks at me. I look at Li.
‘Do you take card?’ Jason says, breaking the silence.
‘Course I don’t take card,’ the taxi man says, his foreign accent thick and condescending. ‘It is a taxi.’
‘I’ve no cash,’ Jason says.
‘Nobody has cash these days,’ I say, just before I notice Sabrina reach inside her bag.
‘Here’s fifty,’ keep the change,’ she says to the taxi man, before opening her door. We all follow her out.
‘Don’t worry about it, Jason can pay me back,’ she says as all four of us run towards the entrance.
‘It’s almost twenty-past,’ Li cries racing inside, heading straight towards the security gates. ‘Bollocks!’
We look at what he’s pointing at. There’s quite a queue at security. It’s not huge, but this’ll take at least ten minutes to get through.
‘Fuck it,’ says Jason. ‘Let’s try it anyway. We might get lucky; certainly if the flight is delayed.
He scrolls through his phone, walks towards the first security gate and swipes his way through. Then he hands the phone back to Sabrina.
‘Scan this here, sweetie,’ he says, ‘then pass the phone back to the lads.’
23:15
Li
There are only two security gates open. Both of them have a queue of maybe twenty people. We won’t be getting through here in a hurry. I check the Dublin airport app on my phone, it informs me the flight is due to leave on time. We’re not going to make it.
‘Don’t mind that shit,’ Zach says to me when I share the bad news. ‘Those apps are bollocks. They don’t update them often enough. We’ll be fine.’
I don’t share his optimism but I decide to call Niamh anyway, let her know I won’t be home tonight. She’s used to me spending some time in Newcastle with Jason, has even been over with me once or twice to his place. But I’ve never rung her on a whim and told her I’m imminently taking a flight.
I step away from the queue as the tone rings.
‘Hello,’ she says, sounding groggy. She must have already crashed out.
‘Hey babe,’ I tell her. ‘Listen, Jason isn’t having a good time of it. Remember I told you I thought he was suffering a bit of depression?’
‘Huh huh,’ she says. I can hear the rustling of our duvet. She must be sitting up in the bed, anticipating bad news.
‘Well… it’s true. He opened up to me tonight. I suggested he head home, back to Newcastle, back to his house where he’s most comfortable. And eh… I’m going with him. Me and Zach. We’re just going to stay with him for the night.’
‘You’re flying out to Newcastle tonight?’
‘Yeah. He needs us, Niamh. I don’t know everything, but when I find out exactly what the cause of his depression is, I’ll let you know. Either way, I’ll be back with you tomorrow. Probably tomorrow evening sometime.’
She pauses. I know she’s thinking of our plans to spend some of our hard-earned dough in Homebase in the morning. But she won’t mention that. I know she won’t. She’s way too selfless.
‘Okay, hun. What has he said so far… what’s wrong?’
‘Well… I think it’s his career. I think Sunderland are letting him go. No other club seem that interested in signing him. That, coupled with Jessica finishing things with him last year, he’s just… he’s just… he cried on my shoulder tonight, Niamh. Haven’t seen him cry apart from the day of his dad’s funeral.’
‘Oooh,’ she says, ‘give him a big hug from me, won’t ya, hun?’
‘Course I will. And… we’ll do Homebase maybe on Sunday instead, is that okay?’
‘Don’t worry about that. You get Jason smiling again.’
That’s why I’m marrying this girl. She’s so understanding. I can imagine Zach trying to make the same phone call to Tina… letting her know he’s queuing up for a flight to Newcastle on a whim. She’d go ape shit. She just doesn’t trust him. And I don’t blame her.
I hang up the call and re-join the lads and Sabrina in the queue. It’s moving slowly. I can’t understand how people get this so wrong. Why do they have to be repeatedly told that liquids must go in a clear plastic bag? Why do they have to be retold that laptops and iPads have to go in separate trays? It’s all sign-posted around this place, yet some travellers only realise what they’re supposed to do once they get to the top of the queue. I love that scene in Up in the Air where George Clooney’s character is teaching Anna Kendrick’s character how to travel. He suggests queuing behind Asian people at security checks because they always travel light, and always pay attention to the rules. It’s one sure-fire way to get through security quicker, but we don’t have that luxury here. We just have two queue options, and both are filled with half-drunk Irish people. I guess we’re half-drunk Irish people too, but we’ve no baggage; no liquids to put in plastic bags, no laptops or iPads that need placing in separate trays. As soon as it’s our turn, we’ll fly through security – but it’s the waiting that’s paining me. I check my phone again. 11:25. We’re supposed to have boarded by now. I don’t think there’s a chance in hell we’ll make this flight. But I don’t want to say that to the lads. Not again. I’ve been moaning about our chances of catching this flight all through the taxi journey here. I could sense they were all getting irritated by me.
I stand behind the three of them and keep my mouth shut. I’m kind of miffed that Jason is playing it so coolly with Sabrina. The whole idea of this trip is to get him excited about her. She’s so open and genuine — would be a good steady influence on him if it worked out. But he seems to be treating her like another mate of his. The three of them are just laughing and joking. He should be all over her, letting her know that he’s really into her. Maybe he’s playing it cool on purpose — trying to treat her differently to how he treats any other girl he picks up on a Friday night.
At least he’s laughing. He seems to be a far cry from the Jason who was crying on my shoulder an hour ago. I let out a big sigh as another passenger at the front of the queue has to be called back to take his bloody belt off. What the fuck am I doing here? I just want to be at home. Would love to be curled up, spooning my girlfriend right now.
I take my phone from my pocket again, flick through my pictures. I bring up a photo of Niamh and pinch at my screen so I can zoom right into her face, to catch her beauty. I know most men wouldn’t find her attractive, but I can make out every perfection on her face when I do this. I fancy her as much now as I did when I first fell in love with her three years ago.
I flick to the image of the engagement ring I’ve ordered for her and it sends a spark of excitement through my stomach. I can’t wait to make her mine forever.
23:20
Jason
I can tell Li is agitated. I’m not sure if it’s because he thinks we’re going to miss the flight or whether it’s down to the fact that he’s going to miss Niamh tonight. He’s the last one through. Typical that the alarm would go off as he walks under the security gate. Myself, Zach and Sabrina stand back, watch him get patted down and when the security guard finally waves him on, the four of us race as quickly as we can through Duty Free, slaloming around the aisles as we go.
We all come to a stop at a large screen when we reach the other side. I spot the flight we’re on first.
‘There,’ I say. ‘The 690 flight. Gate 117.’
‘It says ‘closing’,’ Li screeches, before we all sprint off again.
‘We’ll be fine.’
It’s a good job we’ve got no baggage with us. The airport is fairly empty, but I can sense everybody in here staring at us
as we leap over cases and seats, pelting through the departure lounges as if our lives depend on it.
If somebody caught this on video, I’m pretty sure it would make the news. ‘Kenny Races Through Airport’. It’s a nothing story. But I’ve been part of nothing stories plenty of times. I think the most needless headline I’ve ever read about myself was ‘Kenny Queues For Burger’. Somebody spotted me ordering at a food truck in Newcastle’s city centre during a random mid-week lunch time. And that was it. That was the story. A man ordering lunch. That’s modern media. Everybody and anybody can be a journalist. They just need to use that little mobile device they have in their pocket and if they get an image of a celebrity doing anything, the media will lap it up. Journalism well and truly has gone to the dogs. Anything can be posted as news these days, passed off as fact when it isn’t true whatsoever. It’s how Donald Trump got into the White House, how fuckwits like Boris Johnson, Michael Gove and Nigel Farage managed to persuade people in Britain to leave the EU. All lies. And the main problem is that most people are just too fucking dumb to see through the lies. I’m definitely depressed about not having my contract renewed at Sunderland. But the one shining light about no longer being a pro footballer will be the fact that I’m no longer newsworthy. Knowing that I can queue up for a burger without being paranoid that I might be making a headline will be a nice little victory for me.
‘Down here,’ Li says, pointing at steps. The bloody Ryanair flights always take off from the back arse of every airport. That company are too miserable with their money to spend on the nearer gates to depart from.
The four of us shuffle down the steps and when we arrive at gate 117 we’re met by nobody. It’s empty. Totally derelict. The only thing left here is a wheelchair that somebody must have taken to the departure gate. I hate seeing wheelchairs or disabled signs. They make me think of Caitlin Tyrell.
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