I declined. “I’m rather knackered at the moment. What say we meet up back here at 8 o’clock before going to Temple Bar?”
“That’ll do. Enjoy… whatever it is you’ll be doing,” said Deborah.
I lay down in my room for a few minutes but quickly grew restless. I had a pilgrimage to make. After asking the concierge for directions, a ten-euro cab ride took me outside the premises of the Irish-Jewish Museum in the Portobello district. The building was a lot smaller than I’d imagined, and the actual museum was even tinier: a room filled with mementos of several lost Irish-Jewish communities and an entire section devoted to Chaim Herzog, the Dublin-born former President of Israel.
The curator, a stout woman in her late thirties, looked almost apologetic. “The communities were very small, and they didn’t donate very much. But we do what we can.”
“You don’t need to apologize at all,” I said. “It’s wonderful. I’m so glad I could come.”
“You also know about the upstairs synagogue?”
“Is it open for visitors?”
She smiled. “You’re in luck. But only for another hour.” She stepped away when another, more irate visitor, demanded she answer his question.
I left the room and walked upstairs. What awaited me were the remnants of one of the oldest city synagogues in all its haphazard glory. To my left was the ark, half-open with a Torah scroll peeking through; a thin layer of dust covered the wooden pews, and a display to my right held toys donated by the area schools. It had been a very long time since I’d stepped inside the premises of any sort of synagogue, and I hadn’t given much thought to praying lately. But suddenly, I was gripped with the desire to face the ark, kneel down, and pray.
I’m sorry, my mind repeated over and over. And I hope you’ll understand.
The fever passed and I stood up, mildly disoriented. A voice called out to me: “Miss? We’re closing the museum soon.”
I checked my watch. Six o’clock already. I dashed down the stairs, called a cab, and was back in my hotel room within twenty minutes. After a quick shower and change, I headed down to the bar, certain I was early. Deborah and the girls were well into their second round.
“You have a good afternoon then?” Hannah asked somewhat condescendingly. I noticed she was wearing new shoes, which pointed in odd directions and were decidedly unflattering.
“I got a good nap,” I replied, trying not to stare at her shoes.
Too late. “Ferragamo. I never thought I’d find them in this ridiculous town.”
“Stop it, Hannah,” said Deborah, who’d swiveled herself in our direction, “We should get to Temple Bar. It’s probably a madhouse by now.”
It was. I’d warned Deborah, but even I couldn’t imagine how many people had crowded themselves into this small area of bars, restaurants, and art galleries. I could barely hear what anyone was saying, and when at one point I tried to sit on a bench in the square’s center, a shabby vagrant launched into a tirade about how he’d earmarked the seat for his own. I jumped away and followed the girls into Gogarty’s, where Deborah had reserved the upper floor for her hen night needs.
Once we’d settled into our seats, Adele took out the tiara, Hannah brought out the lingerie, and a waiter appeared with cocktails. The chattering got louder and the gossip got nastier by the time Deborah quieted us all with a challenge.
“It’s my last big weekend out and I’m with the girls I love most. But before I get married, I have to purge myself of all the shit I used to do as a single girl-”
“You’re still single!” Carol yelled out.
“Barely, and besides, it’ll be so much nicer when I’m married and I can boss you lot around.”
Deborah giggled, and we joined in to humor her, even though it really wasn’t all that funny.
“So in the spirit of things, we’re all going to play a game called Confession.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” I said.
“That’s because I just made it up. But it’ll be great. So, each of you tell us something you’ve never revealed before, then drink your whole cocktail.”
The rest of us glanced around nervously. Deborah was obviously pissed out of her tree, but this was a bit much.
“Well? Who’s going to go first?”
Adele sat up in her chair. “Oh, all right. I shagged two blokes at the same time in uni.”
Laura cackled. “How was it?”
Adele downed her drink. “Bloody painful!”
Everybody laughed, and the tension lifted.
Laura then proudly confessed to skimming a few thousand quid from her boss over the last couple of years. “But you’ve met him,” pointing to Hannah and Carol, “so you see why. He’s a complete tosser.”
They nodded, and Laura drank up.
Carol’s confession was hardly anything, just some bit about shoplifting. The only surprise was where and how much.
“Harrods? A five-thousand-pound sweater?” Deborah’s eyes nearly popped out. “But how did you get away with it?”
Carol shrugged. “Dunno, but it wasn’t so hard. Too nerve-wracking, though, and I wouldn’t do it again.” She looked down and fingered her sleeve. Seeing that, we all drank.
Hannah put down her glass angrily. “You lot make me fucking sick.”
“What?” we chorused.
“You make me absolutely ill! Confessing all these horrendous things. You’re all just play-acting anyway. You wouldn’t know what something horrible is if you stared it in the face!”
Hannah’s own had changed from red to purple.
“It’s confession time, and I’ll tell each and every one of you something, oh yes I will. Adele, you’re a malicious cow who’d stab every one of us in the back if you could. And probably has. Remember David?”
Adele’s face paled.
“Oh, yes bet you thought I’d never find out. You sorry little bitch. And then you, Carol, always stealing my work, passing it off as your own, and then getting better marks!”
Hannah stood up. “Now, I don’t have much to say to you, Laura, but that you’d admit so happily to stealing money from someone who you set me up with? That you said time and again would be a good match for me? Why the fuck would I want to date someone like that, then?”
“I… I…” Laura stammered helplessly.
“And as for you, Andrea, you’re simply nothing. No drive, no personality. I mean, why are you here? Because of Deborah’s charity, that’s why. Because you’re just the poor fucking pseudo-relation who grew up on the wrong side of town and always got the scraps. Deborah’s not your friend, she just pities you. Like the rest of us.”
I couldn’t move. It hurt to hear what I’d long suspected was the truth, especially broadcast for the entire bar.
“And then there’s the would-be bride. Ha, that’s what you think. Well, I’ve got a surprise, because it’s time you knew the truth about Sam and what an utter wanker he is.”
All of us sat on the edge of our seats, looking between Hannah and Deborah.
“Do you know he’s tried to pull each and every woman sitting here? In some cases, he’s actually succeeded. In fact, thanks to your dear fiancé, I’m going to have to get a fucking procedure when I get home from this sorry excuse for a party.”
“You fucking bitch!” Deborah leaned across the table and would have punched Hannah if Laura hadn’t caught her arm in time. “I never want to see any of you again!” Hannah threw the remains of her drink on the table and stormed out of the bar.
Deborah sat down shakily, trying to get her bearings. “Can someone get me another fucking drink?”
The night somehow continued, though the party feeling was long gone. After a while, Adele turned to me and asked half-heartedly if I had anything to confess.
I thought of the last time I’d seen Sam, right before I was due to board the plane. I’d asked him to come over even though he was busy at work. He’d been nastier than ever, threatening to tell Deborah all sorts of lies about me that would irrevocably ruin our friendship, hurling all sorts of awful insults at me. I couldn’t help it. I grabbed the nearest thing I could to shut him up. It wasn’t till he’d fallen to the ground, blood gushing out of his head, his eyes fixed in a stricken expression, that I realized what had happened. I had to act fast, especially as the cab I’d called would be arriving at any moment. Thankfully, so were the garbage collectors.