“Shit! Fuck it! Oh, man, here it comes. Did you feel that?”
He had felt it, he knew, but he had somehow ignored it. Another big drop landed on his head. Malone had let go his arm. He was swearing still, calling out to him as he hurried out toward the road. This time the thunder began with a snap. The noise seemed to roll across the sky.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The safest place to be, that’s right,”said Kilmartin. He leaned forward and pushed in the lighter. “Do you mind?”
“Long as you don’t fart, I don’t.”
“Huh. Like I was saying. Safest of all. It’s the rubber, you know.”
Minogue turned the ignition key and pushed the window button.
Lightning flared again.
“Listen, you’ve had your jaunt now. That’s twice today I gave in to your, what’ll I call it, your obsession, with this new motor of yours. Any excuse to go out for a drive, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“Come on so. We’ve seen enough of nature at her finest. Let’s get out of here. Never liked this kind of fireworks. Sort of puts me in mind of a redemptorist sermon during Lent.”
Minogue listened for the roll of thunder. It came from far off again, like cardboard box falling down the stairs. Eleven seconds: eleven miles.
“Did you hear the screeching earlier on?” he asked Kilmartin.
“What? Where? Back up the other end of the Park?”
“Yes. Just before the first bits of thunder.”
“The Zoo, man. Sure the poor beasts must be terrified. I mean to say. Even if they were born and reared in Ireland here-and there are many of ’em what are, I believe-they’d have their instincts. Yes. Fear. Arra Christ, I’ve had a headache hanging around all day. Like it was waiting a pounce on me. I held off with the bloody aspirin and now I don’t have them with me. Typical, isn’t it? If I wanted this class of tropical-type shagging weather, I would have taken a few bob out of the Get-Away account and toddled off to somewhere you’d expect this class of typhoon. Know what I’m saying?”
“Of course I do, Jim.”
He sensed Kilmartin’s glare on him but he didn’t turn. The lighter popped out.
“Just don’t be using the ashtray, if you please.”
Kilmartin stabbed a cigarette into his mouth and grunted. The car was full of smoke with his first pull. Minogue turned on the ignition and opened the window lower.
“I was checking the dollar the other day,” said Kilmartin. “Always had it in mind for the young lad, you know? He sends money home every now and then. To Maura. For her to buy the odd thing for herself.”
He laughed lightly.
“As if she actually needed it. But he’s a decent boy.”
Minogue wondered if Kilmartin was going to remain maudlin much longer. The Kilmartin’s only child had emigrated to the States three years ago. He turned to his colleague.
“Well I know it, Jim. Always was, as I recall.”
“Damn right, man. Didn’t pick that up off the street either, so he didn’t. Don’t get me wrong now! Maura, I mean. I wasn’t blowing me own trumpet now. Maura was reared to be helping everyone.”
Minogue stared into the darkness where the trees were and listened to Kilmartin drawing on the cigarette again. Another flash of lightning lit up the Park.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” said Kilmartin. He sat back slowly in the seat. “This was sport and games to us, of course. When we were kids, I mean. We’d be terrified, but we’d still want to see it all. The danger thing.”
On to kids now, thought Minogue. Childhood. What next? Maybe the air pressure before a storm had altered the supply of blood to his friend’s head and awakened dormant memories. Maybe Kilmartin was trying to draw him out, to see what Daithi did as regards remittances home from the States.
“They’re never reared, are they?”
“Who?”
“Your kids.”
“Mine are, Jim. They’d better be, is my attitude.”
“Ah, don’t be like that. You know what I mean.”
Minogue turned and looked at his friend.
“Is there something you want to tell me? Is it that you’re feeling sorry about Iseult or something?”
“Not at all, man.”
“You are.”
“I’d be less than candid-”
“Well, be less than candid, for God’s sake.”
“Huh. I think you’re still in shock. That’s why you aren’t able to react. That’s what I think.”
That’s what you think, thought Minogue. But he didn’t feel irritated, Kilmartin had probably thought he was doing him a favour, humouring him by going to the pub, by going along with the jaunt.
“You never know what the boys will come up with,” said Kilmartin. I mean, you worry about girls, of course, but…”
Hasn’t seen his own son since last year, Minogue had to remind himself. Maybe soon he could relay Kilmartin’s hedging to Iseult, turn it into a laugh.
“What’s the word from the States then?”
“Oh, good, good. Always good. He writes every few weeks, you now. As well as the phone calls, of course.”
Cars continued to pass Minogue’s parked Citroen. He and Kilmartin had cruised several roads in the Park before stopping in the middle, by Aras an Uachtaran. He looked down in his lap again to be sure the low-battery light hadn’t come on. The lightning flash was longer this time.
“By the divine hand a…! Will you look at that! Another one!”
Kilmartin nudged his colleague.
“Here, Matt, answer me this: who do you think organized this bloody show here tonight? Hah? All that stuff above there? We knew it was God when we were kids. What do you think it is?”
Minogue lifted the phone from his lap in the hopes it would ring.
“Who are you waiting for to get in touch there, Matt? The Man Himself? Ha, ha!”
Kilmartin threw his butt out onto the road. A tick on the window was followed by more.
“Okay,” he said. “That’s it. We’re away. Now, about starting fresh tomorrow. Round two, like. Instead of Molly, I really want Fergal-”
The phone trilled in Minogue’s hand. He jammed it against his ear.
“Now?” he asked. “Yes.”
He started the car.
“What,” said Kilmartin.
Minogue spun the tires as he accelerated away from the side of the road. Rain hit the glass like pebbles now. He brought the Citroen up to seventy before Kilmartin could finally take no more.
“Jases! Where are you taking us-to the shagging mortuary? Slow down, man!”
He put his head down as the drops hit harder and broke into a jog. Terry Malone could do what he bloody well wanted. He was pissed anyway. High too, probably. Thunderstorm or not, he was going to tear out of here on his bike. The rain began to beat the grass down and it snagged his feet as the drops landed. They drummed on his head and his sleeves. He pulled the collar of his jacket tighter under his neck and glanced back to see where Terry Malone was. He couldn’t see him. He stopped and held his hand over his eyebrows. The raindrops stung the back of his hand now. Already he felt rain-water running down the back of his ears.
“Terry!”
Sheets of rain drifted like smoke across the city’s yellow glow. To hell with him, he whispered. Maybe he’d gone back to get something from the van. He turned back toward the road and began walking. The water soaked in over his toes. He wiped the rain from his face but it kept flowing down his forehead. Was he headed the right way? The flash started as white but exploded into yellow. He dropped to his knees. He flinched and sank lower but kept his eyes open as another flash broke over him. His heart froze. For several seconds all he knew was the rainwater creeping along his spine, the drumming on his head, the tufts of wet grass between his fingers. Whoever they were, they had come out from behind the trees. The two cars beyond them couldn’t have been there before.
“My Jesus,” said Kilmartin. He sat forward in the seat and rubbed the glass with the heel of his hand. “What are you trying to prove? That this bloody car can float or something?”