— Ocean!
— Which one?
She said something back but he didn’t hear her. He was busy with the sausages. He was fuckin’ starving. It was amazing. He could feel them working, soaking up the poison. He wiped his mouth — missed it the first time.
The arse on Ocean.
Noeleen was still there.
— When does the chemo start? she asked him. — Do you mind my asking?
— No — you’re grand, he said. — Middle of January.
The room was fuller. A lot of skinny young lads and the odd fatso — usually the drummer — in skinny jeans. Noeleen’s new bands. And the skinny girlfriends. He saw some of his people as well. The Halfbreds — Connie (aka Brenda) and Barry — were over where the water cooler used to be, before it became unnecessary. They were hissing at each other. Jimmy waved. Connie waved back but Barry didn’t. There was no sign of any of the Celtic Rock pricks. But Des Savage was there, the oldest drummer in the room. He liked Des. He’d go over to Des. He’d fill his glass on the way, or see if there was anything better. Beer or something.
— The bonus thing, he said to Noeleen. — That should’ve been a joint decision.
— You weren’t here.
— Actually, Noeleen.
Think like Aoife, think like Aoife.
— That’s no excuse, he said.
Perfect.
Then he woke up.
There was daylight — tomorrow. He was at home.
Thank fuck.
He couldn’t remember anything. Not a fuckin’ thing. His head — his brain — was dry, shrivelled, killing him.
Great.
He’d had a normal day. He was dying now, in a pre-cancer kind of way. Being punished for it. And it was great. He turned the pillow — he could manage that, just about — and lowered his head back down onto it.
He still couldn’t remember a thing.
It was Christmas Eve. Loads to do.
Bollix to it. He didn’t care. The big things were sorted.
There was the turkey — sorted.
He’d ended up in a Chinese place. There was a gang of them — he thought.
And the ham. It was in the fridge.
He could hear the telly under him and the dog yapping, and feet — Aoife’s shoes, maybe Mahalia’s. The fuckin’ dog. He remembered now. It was theirs. He couldn’t even remember its name. What was the story with the sister? Break-up? Money trouble?
He’d stood up and left the Chinese restaurant. He’d eaten a spring roll or something like a spring roll — he could taste it now — and he’d stood up. He remembered, the backs of his legs against the chair. He’d just walked away. He’d check now, in a minute, make sure he’d brought home his jacket and his wallet.
The phone. He lifted his head. It wasn’t too bad. He leaned out. He usually left it on the floor beside him. It was there. He grabbed it and lay back. He wrote — he composed — a text. Do I owe anyone money? He fired it off to Noeleen.
He heard someone on the stairs. He listened to the door being opened quietly, slowly. The hinge needed oil.
— Awake?
— Good mornin’, he said. — Is it mornin’?
— It’s not that late, said Aoife. — It’s eleven or so.
— I didn’t wake anyone when I was comin’ in, did I?
It was gloomy but he could see that she was smiling.
— Wha’?
— You really don’t remember?
— What?
— We were all watching telly, she said.
— Oh.
— Do you remember now?
— No, he said.
— You were lovely.
— Was I?
He could feel himself getting hard. An erection! Christ. A blast from the fuckin’ past.
He grabbed her — he grabbed his wife. She didn’t object.
— Are you sure? she said.
It wasn’t an objection. And she didn’t object to him taking off her shirt — his shirt. He gave up on the buttons. She lifted her arms. Fuck, she was lovely when she did that. He sat up properly — he had to — to get the shirt over her head.
— The door.
He watched her stand and go to the door. For a horrible second, he thought she was going to keep going. But she was back on the bed, in beside him.
— Are you sure? she said.
— You asked that already.
— And you didn’t answer me.
— If the stitches burst, or whatever, it might be manslaughter but definitely not murder.
— Oh, fine.
— I’ll die happy.
— Stop.
— Why —
— No, not that! Don’t stop.
— Make your fuckin’ mind up.
— Was that your stomach? she asked.
— Ignore it.
— I am.
— I’m still alive, he said.
— Damn.
— You thought you’d ride me to death.
— That was the evil plan.
— I love you.
— I love you too.
— The dog —
— Forget about the dog.
— Okay.
— It’s ours.
— Grand.
— You’ll love it.
— Yeah.
The phone hopped. She leaned out and grabbed it. She brought it right up to her eyes. They were going blind together.
A name roared across him. Imelda.
— Noeleen, she said.
She handed it to him. He held it so she could read it too. Not money but u owe someone apology. X
— What does that mean? Aoife asked.
There was no edge in her voice.
— Fuck knows, he said. — I was locked.
— You’re never drunk.
— I know.
— It was lovely.
— Grand.
— You were funny.
— Hang on.
He wrote one back. Why?
— Don’t forget the X, said Aoife.
— Oh yeah. X
He fired it off.
He was falling asleep. She was so warm beside him, hot.
She sighed.
— What?
— I was just thinking about Sinéad.
He edged away from her, slightly. He was wide awake and getting hard again. Women’s names — Christ. They were the best thing about them.
— It’s bad, he said.
Broken glass, Mother Teresa.
— The worst thing about it, said Aoife. — It’s selfish but — Sinéad.
Enda Kenny, broken glass.
— She told Angela. Not me.
— You didn’t know her that well, he said. — Did you?
She didn’t answer.
— Are you cryin’? Aoife?
— No.
The phone hopped again.
— Why? said Aoife.
— Why what? said Jimmy. — I don’t follow yeh.
He was nervous now. Words were dangerous.
— Why didn’t I know her that well? said Aoife.
— I don’t know, said Jimmy. — Yeh can’t know everyone.
— For God’s sake.
She was moving, getting up.
— Hang on, he said. — Am I bein’ blamed for this?
She was standing now. She was putting on his shirt. The door was open. She was gone.
He’d get up.
He could see her point of view. He thought he could. But they’d both agreed, Conor was a wanker. It had been a joint agreement.
He found the phone and read the text. U kept callin Ocean Atlantic. X
Is that all? X
He’d had sex. He’d just made love. He was still alive.
The phone again. He unlocked it. No.
It could wait. It, she, fuckin’ they. He’d remember what he’d done and he’d deal with it.
He got out of the bed and found his tracksuit bottoms. He went across to the bathroom.