‘Just in case,’ I say.
Mam’s face is pained, she squints. ‘Enjoy the evening with her, won’t you?’
‘I always do.’
Gran sits in her chair. I soak her up.
She asks, smiling, ‘How was your day, love?’
‘You know what? It was fine.’ I stress the fine. ‘I learned some things about myself.’
‘That’s lovely.’
‘I quit my job too. Or resigned. Or was forced to resign. Or maybe I was fired. Maybe all those things.’
Gran looks concerned. ‘And you have other work found?’
‘I’ll find something. I had to make sure my friend’s job is safe. She has two young kids. Anyway, it’s probably time.’
‘What will you do now, pet?’
‘I don’t know, Gran. Kim offered me a room in Dublin. But maybe I should stay with you?’
‘You will not.’
‘Why not?’
‘No, Natalie. You’re a young woman and you need to spread your wings.’
‘That’s okay. I like it here.’
‘It’s time to go. I love you and I always will but you need to move on, live your life. I said this same thing to your aunt Dolores when she mentioned Australia. Go. I never got to see the world. Your generation can. Go and enjoy it.’
I don’t want everything to change again, even though I know it’s about to. ‘Will you even remember I’m gone?’
‘You won’t be gone. I won’t be gone either. Won’t we always be in each other’s hearts?’
I hold her hand for a while. Her tiny fragile bones under mine.
‘Mam asked me to ask you to pack a bag, Gran. In case you’ve to go to hospital tomorrow, it might be good to have what you want there with you.’
She agrees.
‘But first, do you want to go on a trip?’
‘Yes!’ she says.
Her delight makes me smile.
‘I love these. Where are we going, Natalie?’
‘Back to 1930s Ireland. When you were young and ye cycled everywhere and the time you met Granddad. You can tell me all the details again if I forget them. Ye’d go to the dance hall near the mountain on a Saturday night, all perfume and curled hair. The time Granddad picked you out of all the girls but you made him wait before you said yes.’
‘Always make them wait for a short whileen, they like that.’
‘You’d put the bet on the All Ireland final, and won ten pounds on it. And every Sunday, ye’d make black pudding from the pig you killed yourselves.’
‘It was the loveliest black pudding, Natalie. I remember it well. We’d be coming back from mass, through the fields, and Daddy would be there waiting for us, laughing.’
She begins, her memory crystal clear when she returns to her teens. I sit back in the chair and Gran takes me on one of her trips for the last time.
The Lepidopterist
Kim and Pete decide that it’s time I seek a love like theirs.
We’re sharing a lazy Saturday meal, sourdough loaf, mackerel curry and a big bowl of mixed Russian salad. Pete pours us a glass of merlot each. February light spills through the open window and after the grief-stricken winter, the succulent plant on the sill shoots new bright green leaves in all directions. Birdsong harmonizes with the city’s din; a far-off pneumatic drill cracks the stone of a footpath, lunchtime traffic accumulates at lights, kids laughing and crying and shouting, eighteen moods a minute.
‘Go on an app,’ Kim says enthusiastically.
Pete adds, ‘Don’t overthink it.’
Kim asks him to play a song. He plugs his phone into the speaker and puts on a Drake playlist on low volume. He nuzzles her neck and they sway together to the beat.
I take a sip of wine and hold it on my tongue, consider things. It’s not that they’re smug in their comfortable four-year-strong relationship, in their let’s-stay-in ways, their muffling groans lest I hear them through my box room wall – they just want me to be happy. As happy as they are.
‘Find yourself some action, Natalie,’ Kim says. ‘Why not, it’s 2016 after all. Can’t a woman seek a willing man in the cyber world? Hook ups. Netflix and chill. It’s all the rage.’
She says she’d be at it too if she hadn’t Pete. He says he’d be at it too if he hadn’t Kim.
A chill breeze rolls in through the open window, lifting the net curtain in the kitchen. I rub the goosebumps on my arm. Pull my sleeves down.
‘I suppose it would be nice to meet someone,’ I cede. It’s been a long time since I had any semblance of a romance.
‘You can’t beat it,’ Kim says and kisses Pete’s head. He gives her a swift smile.
Before we finish eating, I download an app on my phone and open my laptop on the kitchen table to trawl through my social media account for decent pictures. Kim gathers the dishes and scrapes the leftover curry into Tupperware. Pete doles out two scoops of mint chocolate ice-cream into bowls for each of us.
‘I suppose I’ve to make it look like I’ve a wonderful and varied lifestyle,’ I say and scratch my head.
‘Use that one as your main picture,’ Kim says, pointing at a portrait of me laughing. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I look like a loose heifer in it.’
‘Do you know how insulting it is when you won’t take a compliment?’
‘Sorry.’
I add a group picture from my cousin’s wedding, one where I wore a navy jumpsuit and hair piece and stood in the back row.
‘Delete that, Nat,’ Pete says.
‘Why?’
‘It’s too hard to tell which one you are. Your family looks alike. And you need to put in a full body one.’
‘What? Why?’
‘So there’s no surprises. Trust me. A bit of cleavage would go a long way too.’
Kim slaps his hand playfully. He loads the dishwasher and Kim wipes down the counter and the table.
I scan through the app. It’s pretty shallow. There’s lots of headless, topless men who are ‘looking for fun’, ‘here for fun’, ‘just trying to find some fun’. The bare-torsoed fun police.
Pete takes his phone out of the speakers and the room is silent except for the slosh and pump of the dishwasher. I look up to see the kitchen sparkling.
‘We’re off to town, Natalie. Gonna have a browse in the shops before Pete starts work. Catch you later.’
I nod at them and flick through profiles again, trying to guess what a man could be like from the handful of photos and one-sentence tag line he chose to present himself.
The room grows dimmer and dimmer until it’s hard to see. I check the time. Two hours since Kim and Pete left. My thumb aches from the repetitive swiping motion. My vision is blurred and squaring. This is exhausting. I decide to put my phone away on the next fella that I click Yes to.
Vincent is his name. He’s a bearded, sandalled type. He smiles broadly and drinks a bottle of root beer as he sits leaning against a tree. His profile says he likes times past, open-minded people and that he’s much too old-fashioned for this type of gallivant; however, if I like perusing his profile, to merry up his day and give him a right swipe.
There’s something about him, maybe it’s the shoulders, the muscle tone through his blazer. He probably likes Vietnamese coffee, craft beers and all things decreed cool by edgy podcasters and indie magazines.
Still, his profile’s more intriguing than a dick pic. I swipe right, put my phone on charge and go for a walk around the block to touch base with the real world again.
A couple of hours later, Kim and I channel surf and graze on popcorn when my phone vibrates. Notification.
It’s a match.
Vincent likes me back. I feel flushed with excitement.
‘What do I do now?’ I ask Kim.
‘Message him.’
‘Should I wait, he says he’s old-fashioned?’