— Thanks, said Des.
— I’m not just sayin’ that, said Jimmy.
— I know.
— If I can help —. Sorry. I mean it.
— I know.
— It’s a ceili band playin’ ‘Black an’ Tan Fantasy’, said Jimmy.
— My God, said Aoife. — In 1932?
— Yep, said Jimmy. — It’s a Duke Ellington song. But they didn’t call it that. These guys here.
— What did they call it?
— Liscannor Bay Fantasy.
— Brilliant.
They listened to an accordion doing what should have been done by a trumpet.
— Did you recognise it?
— Nope, said Jimmy. — I fuckin’ hate jazz.
— I forgot, said Aoife. — Sorry for asking.
— You’re grand, said Jimmy. — No, it was the young one.
— Ocean?
— Yeah. She spotted it immediately. Turns out she knows her onions. Whatever that means.
They said nothing for a bit while they both enjoyed the madness of it.
— How are you feeling? she asked him.
— Grand, he said. — Really. Grand.
— It mightn’t happen this time.
— It will, said Jimmy. — But it’s okay. I’ll survive.
He paused the song.
— And you know what’s good?
— What?
— This, he said. — The searchin’. The Eucharistic Congress is in June an’ we’ve still only got about half an album’s worth o’ songs. But she’s brilliant. Ocean.
— And she’s the girl you thought was being seduced by her father.
— Same one, he said. — Seems like ages ago. Fuckin’ hell.
They laughed.
— Anyway, said Jimmy, — we need about five more songs and we might be able to get away with four.
He held up the laptop, just before he put it on the floor beside the bed.
— It’s good though, isn’t it? The latest one.
— Yes, she said. — It is.
— I love that, he said. — Ceili lads listenin’ to nigger jazz, down a boreen somewhere.
— With the sound down low.
— Very low. Huddled around the gramophone, like. And hidin’ the record. Passin’ it around. In a different cover. It might even’ve been illegal. Banned.
— Different times.
— The good ol’ days, he said. — They must’ve been lookin’ for new music.
— And they found it.
— Yeah, but they had to disguise it.
He slid down under the duvet.
— I want to find somethin’ that wasn’t disguised.
— What?
— Don’t know.
She slid down beside him.
— Do me a favour, she said.
— Wha’?
— Concentrate a bit on the kids.
— I took Brian and May to my parents —
— The other two.
— They hardly know if I’m here or not.
— They’re worried. Just like the younger ones.
— They’ve some way o’ showin’ it.
— Ah Jimmy.
He knew he was being a prick. A complete one.
— Sorry.
— It’s okay.
She was still right in against him. It was great but it made him nervous. He was sure there was a smell of something off him — guilt, or fuckin’ stupidity. That was just stupid, he knew. But he couldn’t believe he’d get away with it. And he kind of didn’t care.
He turned in the bed, to face her properly. He bent his legs, so one of his knees touched her thigh.
— Tell me one thing, he said.
— What?
— If they’re so worried, if Marvin’s so worried —. This is a real question now. It isn’t self-pity.
— Go on.
— Right, said Jimmy. — The last time I was sick. An’ they all saw the state of me —
— You shouldn’t feel bad about that.
— Easily said.
— Jimmy, I’m tired of this. I really am. You’re flogging yourself. But, actually, you’re not. You’re flogging us. Me.
— Okay, he said. — Sorry. I hear you. You’re right. Just — Marvin.
— Go on.
— He sees me, he sees you gettin’ me up the stairs. And he leaves — he goes out the fuckin’ door, to a party.
She sighed, but she didn’t move.
— Yes.
— So, said Jimmy. — What? He’s goin’ to a party because he’s upset?
— Jesus, Jimmy. Use your imagination.
— I know. I do. I just wish he’d be a bit more conventional. I wish he’d fuckin’ hug me.
— When was the last time you hugged him?
— Okay — yeah. Yeah.
He closed the curtains. He got onto the bed. He sat back against the wall.
It was coming. He knew it was coming.
Oh God.
Oh fuck.
The house was empty.
Just him.
He listened again, the same voice, the exact same unbelievable message.
— Okay, he said. — I’ll have to —. Did you phone my wife, by the way?
He listened carefully.
— Okay.
He looked across at Ocean and Noeleen.
— Okay, he said. — Grand. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
He was finishing the call, about to press the red button. Then he thought of something.
— Thanks.
He inhaled, and slowly exhaled. He looked at the women, and stood up.
— Sorry, he said. — A family thing. I’ve to go.
— Is everything alright? said Noeleen.
— Yeah, he said. — It’ll be grand. I just have to —. Sorry about this.
He was on his way.
— Jimbo?!
— Yeah?
— Is there anything we can do? A phone call or anything?
— No, he said. — Thanks. It’s under control.
Jesus.
Down the stairs, out to the street, and the two corners to the car park at the back of the building. He had the key out, all ready to point at the car.
Nearly there — he was sweating like a bastard.
The code, the code — the car-park gate. He hit Cancel. He’d been punching in his bank card number. He had the right one now. 1977. How could he have forgotten that? Heroes, Exodus, Lust for Life. Maybe that was the steroids too — forgetting simple things. He’d ask Aoife. She’d know.
His heart — he could feel it.
He had the car going. On his way. He’d be there in twenty minutes.
— Mister Rabbitte?
— Yes.
— Mahalia Egan-Rabbitte’s father?
— Is something after happenin’?
Mahalia had gone back to class after the lunch break, drunk.
He checked his hands, loosened his grip on the wheel. They were fine — no shakes.
Pissed in home economics.
Mahalia — May. She was brilliant in school. She always had been. Since day one. Drunk as a skunk while making a swiss roll.
It wasn’t funny.
He was over the East Link now, past the O2.
Aoife had told him to concentrate on the kids. Well, her wish was coming true. Her wish and his. He’d be well able for this.
He’d texted Des as he went down the school corridor. Might hve to cancel trumpt. I’ll get bac. He’d texted Aoife too. On way. X. He’d been tempted to call her but he’d thought it would’ve looked bad, arriving at the Principal’s door with the phone to his ear.
— Where is she now? he asked.
He was in the Principal’s office, sitting in front of her desk. Missis Halpin. He thought her first name was Fionnuala.
— Sickbay, she answered.
— I want to see her, said Jimmy.
— Of course, she said. — We’ll just wait till Miss Traynor joins us. Miss Traynor was the Year Head. He’d met her before — he thought. At one of the parent — teacher meetings. She’d been alright.