Locked Out of Heaven

by Shirley Benton

  I spent the next twenty minutes going through various aspects of the kids’ bedtime routine before going up to Sammy’s room. It was like 1994 again as I went through her clothes, except it was harder to find something to suit me this time. The Blur and The Smashing Pumpkins posters were even still on the wall, faded and curling at the edges. I selected something black and left it out on the bed before going downstairs and helping the aunts to change the kids into their pyjamas.

  Sammy beckoned menacingly at me from the kitchen after the last pair of pyjamas had been administered.

  “Here.” She shoved a glass of white wine into my hand. “Step away from the kids. Leave it to the Mrs O’Briens.”

  I took a tiny sip of my drink. “I feel like I never look after my own kids myself any more since I started the boomerang shite. In fairness to Susie, she does help me out a lot. And now here you are, helping me, too.”

  “You’re only trying to make your way through the world, the same as everyone else is, and no matter what you do you’ll feel guilty anyway – you’re a mother. Get used to it. And drink up.”

  Chapter 45

  An hour later, all the kids were in bed – or possibly had been tasered – and Sammy and I were dolled up to go out. We were having another glass of wine, when Damo came back. No sooner had he returned from hunting the wren than he’d gone out visiting people he didn’t get to see much any more.

  “How was the visiting?” Sammy asked.

  “Good.” Damo proceeded to fill her in on various bits of news – who was sick, who was having affairs with who, who’d been caught driving with no tax and so on.

  “Coming out with us?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Hannigans first, then we’ll see where the night takes us.”

  “Ah, no. I should stay in really.”

  “Em . . . why? To do press-ups? It’s Christmas!”

  “I don’t drink any more!”

  “They serve soft drinks in Hannigans too, remember? You should – we were forced to buy them at the bar for long enough before we were eighteen. Then we’d have to drink half of them down in one go and go to the toilet to pour in whatever spirits we’d robbed from the folks. I’ll never forget the night that old man Hannigan noticed that your 7 Up had changed to a browny colour and copped that you’d smuggled in whiskey. He kicked your arse a mile up the road!”

  “A memory that isn’t a great incentive to go back to his pub and spend my money on his soft drinks, Sam!”

  “You know very well it’s his young lad running it now. He’s sound. So are you coming or not?”

  “Ah, I’ll pass. I’ll stay in with Rory for moral support.”

  “Rory had loads of nights out before we came down from Dublin, so don’t feel too sorry for him.”

  We went out, me half-cut already from the few glasses of wine. Sammy’s dad drove us to the pub and we giggled like a pair of naughty schoolchildren all the way.

  “Now, you make sure to ring me later if you’re stuck for a lift home,” Sammy’s dad said as we got out of the car.

  It felt like we were teenagers again and although I knew it was for one night only, I was loving every minute. Just like years ago, every head in the pub looked up or turned when we walked into Hannigans.

  “Don’t get a big head – they do that for everyone, remember?” Sammy hissed as we walked to the bar with many pairs of eyes following us.

  Within a minute of us sitting down with our drinks, a couple came over and joined us. They introduced themselves as former school friends of Sammy. Just as I was getting to know them, another woman came over to chat to Sammy – the daughter of the neighbours two farms up the road, it transpired. Then someone else landed at our table and honest to God, it was as if we had a celebrity in our midst.

  Sammy had always had the Midas touch when it came to enchanting people, but on top of that, people seemed interested in the secret behind her hen party success and had her on a pedestal because of it. The couple were well on it and it wasn’t long before they were asking her straight out how much money she’d made since she left Offaly, but she managed to sidestep the question with an ease I envied.

  After an hour, I’d run out of things to say to the couple. I was just about to go to the bar again for something to do, when I noticed a familiar face walking into the pub. I went straight over.

  “Damo! Did the crap Christmas shows get too much?”

  “Ah, Rory fell asleep on the couch after half a can of beer and I was getting cabin fever in the house.”

  “I was just about to get a round in. Sit down with Sammy and her entourage and I’ll get you a mineral water.”

  Maybe it was down to the drink, but I couldn’t help the feeling of delight that had crept over me at the sight of Damo. I wasn’t sure why exactly that was. The drive to Offaly had been very pleasant but I hadn’t had any . . . well, feelings, I suppose, towards him. I’d just broken up with my husband, for heaven’s sake. I wasn’t interested in getting involved with anyone else.

  Was I?

  Sammy’s words came into my head. “If there were no strings attached, would you go there?”

  I returned with the drinks, determined to enjoy the night and stop demanding answers of myself. It was the booze talking – or thinking.

  Damo drank the water I’d bought him and went straight up to the bar. He returned with a pint.

  “I suppose one or two drinks won’t do me any harm.”

  Damo ran his fingers up and down the condensation on his pint before eventually lifting it up and drinking half of it in one go.

  “Ha! I knew you wouldn’t last on that health kick,” Sammy said. “I wish I’d put a bet on with you about it. You’ll be on neat whiskey before the night is out.”

  “I wouldn’t like to insult the Hannigans by refusing to drink their porter,” Damo said before lifting his pint again.

  After another few rounds, it was collectively decided that a gang of us would go to the nightclub, the one we’d taken the bus to years ago. Hilariously, the bus service was still running.

  “As I told you before, not much changes around here,” Damo said when I expressed my disbelief and delight that the bus was still going strong.

  We left the pub as soon as the word spread that the bus was outside and joined a queue of drunken teenagers, too oiled ourselves to feel self-conscious about being old enough to be their parents. Damo sat beside me again this time while Sammy sat in front of us, getting quizzed by one of the women in the group on the best way to start a work-from-home business all the way.

  “Wow! there’s no shortage of money around these parts,” I shouted to Damo when we landed at the nightclub.

  It was thronged and just like years ago, the demographic ranged from teenagers who should be at home in bed to old farts drinking their pints at the bar.

  “It’s only like this because it’s St Stephen’s night. It’s usually dead. Oh, look, your old friend is here,” Damo said as soon as we reached the bar. “The guy in the checked shirt at three o’clock.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Remember Graham, the guy who stalked you one night years ago?”

  “Oh, God, yes! Well, I don’t think I need worry about him stalking me now.”

  “Last I heard, he wasn’t seeing anyone. Mum keeps me updated whether I want to be updated or not, so you just might.”

  “Sallyanne is gas. She’s such a sweetheart. I really appreciate what your family has done for us this Christmas, Damo. It means a lot.”

  “There’s always a space at the table for you in our house. Right, let’s get the drinks in.”

  Damo ordered a pint for himself, a vodka and Diet 7 Up for me and two shots of Baby Guinness. We threw the shots back before wandering off around the club. Sammy and her old friends were already on the dance floor giving the young ones a run for their money.

  We walked to a bar at the back of the nightclub where it was quieter – this was where the auld fellas hung out
– and stumbled upon two free high stools. No sooner had we sat down than we had company, in the form of a tall woman with black hair who’d materialised at Damo’s side seemingly out of nowhere.

  “Damien!” She administered a huge hug, the kind you’d see family giving their loved ones in Dublin airport on Christmas Eve. “Great to see you!”

  “And you, Amanda. How have you been?”

  “Oh, good, good. Married, two kids, very happy. You?”

  “All’s good with me, too. This is—”

  “Married?”

  “No.”

  “Kids?”

  “No.”

  “Oh!”

  Was it my imagination, or was that a hopeful “oh”?

  “This is my old friend, Holly.”

  “Now now, Damien. Gentlemen don’t call their friends old. Hello, Holly.” She shook my hand while simultaneously barely touching it. “You look familiar. I’m not sure why.”

  “Holly was on a TV show recently, Diary of a Boomeranger.”

  “Oh, that was some reality TV thing, wasn’t it? I think I saw an ad for it during the break in a documentary one night.”

  “It was reality TV, yes,” I said.

  “I don’t understand what possesses anyone over the age of twenty to go on one of those shows, but that’s just me. I hope it’s working out for you. And look, even if it doesn’t, everyone always forgets reality TV show contestants five minutes later, so you won’t have it haunting you for life.” She put a hand on Damien’s shoulder. “So! Just back for Christmas?”

  “Yes.”

  “We can’t tempt you to move back permanently? This place has its charms, you know.”

  “As does Dublin.” Damo smiled at me. “So, are you out with your husband tonight?”

  “No, he’s minding the kids. I’m all alone. Well, I came out with a few buddies but they’re all off mingling somewhere.”

  “Who did you come out with?”

  “Bernadette D’Arcy and Emma Higgins. They’re probably gone for the night now – they always tend to drift off when we’re out and I never see them again.”

  “No, I saw them at the bar about a minute ago as I was walking past. They haven’t changed a bit – I’d recognise them anywhere. Listen, I won’t delay you. Head on inside there and see if you can catch up with them. Good to see you, Amanda.”

  “But—”

  “Have a great night.” Damo patted Amanda on the arm and turned his attention to his pint.

  I just shrugged at Amanda as she looked on in dismay then I picked up my drink, too.

  “What did she do to you?” I said when she eventually sidled away.

  “I wouldn’t like to say.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll probably be thinking a lot worse things than what she actually did.”

  “It’s nothing big. We just went out for a few weeks years ago before I met Karen and it ended badly.”

  “Badly, how?”

  “You know you hear these stories about people breaking up and the person who’s been dumped breaking into men’s homes and destroying everything they own – cutting up their clothes, stamping on their CDs until they turn to confetti, that kind of thing?”

  “You didn’t!”

  He smiled. “Funny. Yeah, she made ribbons of my house. She never admitted it, of course, but who’s going to admit to a cop that they broke into their house? I let it go. She was just looking for a reaction. Haven’t seen her since.”

  “Yikes! So did you actually see those women on the way in?”

  “God, no. First thing that came into my head to say.” He drained his pint. “Hopefully, it’s safe to go to the bar now.”

  “You don’t need to worry. She’s married and very happy, remember?”

  “She might be married, but that doesn’t mean she’s still with her husband – only that the divorce hasn’t come through yet. Mum told me the husband left her last year after she had it off with some lad in his twenties. It’s the kids you feel sorry for.”

  “Tell me about it. I worry every minute of every day about mine and how they’re coping with me leaving Terry.”

  Damo stared into his pint.

  “Are you okay, Damo?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “You’ve gone very quiet.”

  “When it comes to Terry, I’m better off that way.”

  “Damo, did Sammy tell you what happened the day I married Terry? Why things happened the way they did?”

  “Yeah, she did.”

  “I’m really sorry about that day.”

  “Me too. There’s not much we can do about it now though, is there?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  Damo grabbed my hand. “I’m really enjoying tonight, Holly.”

  “Yes, me too.”

  He looked like he was thinking about kissing me, but then let go of my hand and said he’d get another round in. I watched him go to the bar, wondering what was going to happen before the night was out. If I didn’t know what I wanted earlier, I did now. The booze was very definitely talking again, but Damo suddenly seemed hesitant.

  It probably wasn’t a good idea, though. It had been such a raw time recently and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the kind of life I’d have had with Damo, had things worked out, but thinking like that was pointless now. Things might seem less complicated now that we were getting smashed, but the same complications would be there tomorrow when we sobered up.

  He returned with another pint and vodka and 7 Up, then went back up to the bar to collect two more Baby Guinness shots.

  “God, you’re determined to go on a session tonight, Damo.”

  “Been a while since my last one.”

  “Me too.”

  The rest of the night flew, and the club was soon playing the national anthem and turning the lights on. Once we got outside, Damo threw his arm around my shoulder.

  “This has been the best night I’ve had in months. Years. Longer.”

  “Is the Guinness really that good down here?”

  “It’s nothing to do with the Guinness.”

  He was slurring now. In fact, since we’d hit the air, he seemed to have crossed a line from drunk to severely intoxicated. Since he’d put his arm around my shoulder, he seemed to be steering me diagonally along the path as his weight came to bear on my frame.

  “It’s you, Holly. Hanging out with you is the best. Always was.”

  “Tonight was a good laugh all right. I’m glad Sammy talked me into it.”

  “Sammy’s the best. The best! No, you’re the best. I have to tell you this, Holly. I’ve always thought about you over the years.”

  A car drove up behind us. Damo seemed completely oblivious.

  “Damo, you’re zigzagging us all over the road here.”

  I pulled him out of harm’s way. He didn’t seem to be expecting it and stumbled into me, pushing me to the ground. He fell on top of me.

  “Ow!” It was like having a boulder on top of me, pinning me down. “Damo, get up!”

  Damo rested his head on my chest. “No, Holly. Let’s just rest here for a while. Look at the stars.”

  “You’re not going to see the stars where you’re looking right now! Seriously, get up – the ground is soaking!”

  He hoisted himself up and launched his mouth onto mine in a messy kiss. I pushed against him as hard as I could.

  “Damo, get the fuck up! My arse is buried in a fucking pothole full of rain here!”

  “Is it raining?”

  Somehow, I managed to push him off. Within seconds, he’d fallen asleep on his back. I reached for my phone, hoping it hadn’t been crushed to death, and rang Sammy.

  “Okay, we’ll pull him up between us,” she said. “That’s what he gets now for going on the dry for so long – this was inevitable. He’ll have to travel home on Dad’s trailer as punishment.”

  “Is your dad coming for us?”

  “Yep, and not just for us. He’s going to drop loads of o
ther people home too – hence the trailer.”

  “Sorry to piss on the transportation plans, but do you think drunk people potentially standing up, falling out of a trailer and subsequently dying from head injuries is such a good idea? And I’m saying this as a drunk person.”

  “Nah. Our trailer is like a mobile home. It’s either that or they can sleep on the side of the road. You won’t get a taxi for love nor money tonight and their husbands can’t leave the kids to come and collect them. Everyone’ll be grand.”

  Miraculously, they were. And to think I’d considered the incident in Club Gaga absurd . . .

  Chapter 46

  I came downstairs the next morning for a drink of water to find Damo huddled up against a radiator on a chair in the kitchen. He looked like death personified.

  “Ah! hello, Holly,” Sallyanne said when I came downstairs. “I hope you’re not as sick as this boyo. Sounds like you lot did the dog on it last night.” She walked over to Damo and crashed a cup on the table in front of him. “Peppermint tea, that’ll sort you out. It does wonders for your father’s IBS.”

  Damo pulled his chair over to the table then recoiled as he got closer to the tea.

  “I’d kill for a Lucozade,” was all he could say.

  Sammy and Rory were sitting on the other side of the table. Sammy looked dishevelled and tired but healthier than Damo. Rory had the smug look of one who’d the sense to stay in and was now feeling great while all around him were suffering.

  “How are you feeling?” Sammy croaked.

  “Not the best, but I’ll live. Where are the kids?”

  “The aunts from heaven have taken the lot of them out for a long walk around a big field. They were talking about getting them to do relay races, even the toddlers.”

  The fear had started to set in now that the drink was leaving my system. I shouldn’t have let Sammy talk me into leaving the kids. It wasn’t fair on them or on Sammy’s aunts. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of Sammy’s family’s hospitality. This was the fourth day that we’d have our feet under the table and surely they had enough to be doing other than looking after us. I really shouldn’t have been thinking untoward thoughts about Damo last night, either. Thank God he’d gone and ruined it all by getting messy drunk, or we could have been in a lot worse of a situation today.