But sitting there in the Jeep in Duncashel, waiting to go in to David and his Seniors’ Group bingo, I wondered might I really do it this time. Might I really be able to take the leap of faith into a world that offered me a bit of hope, even at this late stage? It struck me then, that maybe David was heaven sent. Maybe he was your mother’s doing. Maybe she’d sent him to force me into trying to make it on my own. Next thing I knew I was pushing my way through the door. My palm laid flat on the ‘Fáilte, Welcome, Bienvenue’.
‘Maurice. Good to see you, man,’ David called, coming over to shake my hand.
‘David,’ I replied. ‘You’ve recovered after the other day, I take it.’
‘What? Ah yeah, no bother, man. Sure, me Da was in stitches when I told him. Said he’d love to have a pint with you.’
‘Did he now?’ I said, scoping out the Presbyterian hall that I’d never been in before. Four long gridded windows faced each other over a scuffed wooden floor that looked like it had suffered one fête too many over the years. Pairs of depressed red velvet curtains, orange and frayed at the edges, hung on each. Up on stage, behind the white bingo machine, a gaggle of unwanted chairs and benches clung to each other on the verge of one massive avalanche.
‘You’re not from around these parts?’ I asked, although I was sure I’d possibly asked him the same thing the first day. Still.
‘Me? No. Finglas. We came down here after the Ma died three years ago. Me Da said it just wasn’t the same without her. Wanted a change, you know what I mean?’
Twenty or so plastic black chairs, the uncomfortable kind, were lined up at the front of the hall. And there, in pockets of twos and threes, in front and to the side of them, stood my great hope: my peers. Those who would pick me up and stick me back together again. My stomach lurched and my heart slowed with the effort of it all.
‘What has you working here anyway?’ I managed. I breathed in the mustiness of the place and it caught in my throat.
‘It was the Da. He read about it in the Duncashel Topic and started to come every Thursday. Then it was a Tuesday too and sure, he may as well’ve moved in by the end. I used to drop him off. The odd time I’d come in and help out a bit with the setting up and I’d get chatting. Fidelma, the boss, got me on Job Bridge a month ago.’
‘And is he here, your father?’
‘Da? No. He died there last year. Reckon he just gave up. Couldn’t hack it without her, you know.’
He looked at me all-sheepish, like he was considering whether I could be trusted with a secret. ‘I talk to him all the time in me head. Stupid, I know, but…’
I looked at him, son, and I swear to God I could’ve hugged him. A man who knew what it was to talk to ghosts.
‘So this is the lone ranger.’ A woman of no more than five foot and almost the same wide announced, approaching me from the front of the hall. Her step near shook the boards as she made a beeline for me.
‘Fidelma Moore, Mr Hannigan. I hope you left the gun at home today,’ she said grabbing my hand despite it not being offered. ‘We had a great laugh in the office over that one. What were you like at all, at all?’
I considered her with a stare, while I heard David shuffle nervously beside me. I looked at him, then back at her.
‘You don’t live alone then,’ I said, ‘in the arse end of nowhere, with only a gun to protect you from the gangs who steal your few bob and leave you half dead?’
She didn’t reply but moved a hand to her chest as her eyebrows rose and her forehead concertinaed.
‘Well, now, I’m sure I didn’t mean to offend you…’
‘No,’ I said, leaning down to her, ‘but you did.’
I turned from her then, and watched the bingo caller play with his balls, setting them up at the top of the room while your woman decided what to do with me. Rocking back and forth on my feet, I concluded that even if it was my wife’s divine intervention that had me there with these people, eviction was still fine by me.
‘They’re just about to start,’ she said finally, her words having lost their earlier confidence. ‘David, take Mr Hannigan up like a good man.’
I know her eyes watched me as I made my way to the back row, where I sat on my own at the edge. I felt old that day, son. Looking around, watching those white-haired men and women with their dried-out, droopy skin, and teary eyes and fading clothes, wasting away the afternoon with neon highlighters. I don’t know how I managed to sit as long as I did. I didn’t even bother marking down the numbers, just pretended every now and again. I’m sure David noticed, standing to the side, running up and down, doing the checking of those who called ‘house’, shaking their books in the air like they were drowning. Mostly, I rubbed at the floor with the sole of my shoe.
Before half-time, he came over and bent to my ear:
‘I have to get the tea now, Maurice, alright? But I’ll sit beside you after. I reckon if we play our cards right that box of Roses is ours. Bags the hazelnut whirl, though,’ he said, patting me on the shoulder. I nodded.
When the bingo caller announced the break, my fellow senior citizens passed by, getting a good look at the new boy. Some smiled. I looked away, unable for it. Unable for the lie of a man I would have to become to make my way into their circle. To be accepted, to belong. But here’s the thing, son, I only ever wanted to belong to one person and she wasn’t in that room. And in my heart I knew that even if I was a man comfortable with all the small talk it would take to break into that new life, I didn’t want it. I simply did not want it.
I took out my phone to check a few non-existent messages as they milled about the table. David there among them, smiling and laughing, scratching his head. Filling cups, pouring milk and offering biscuits. And when I was sure he was far too distracted to wonder about me, I left. Got into the Jeep and drove straight home. Locked the doors and drew the curtains.
David called round a couple of times after. Some talker. Entertained me with his life story: Eamo and Deco and Gizzo, his mates back in Dublin.
‘Drugs,’ he said, ‘that’s all they’re into now. Selling drugs. Wasn’t me. Had to get out, man.’
I told him bits about you. Not much, but bits. He was calling you Kev by the end.
‘So is Kev planning any visits home?’ ‘How many kids does Kev have again?’
‘Two,’ I said, ‘Kev has two.’
But after a while I didn’t answer the door any more. Couldn’t face him. Knowing how desperate he was trying to keep me connected to this world, when I wanted nothing more to do with it. I knew for sure then, I had no other choice but to find your mother.
Chapter Six
10.10 p.m.
Final Toast: to Sadie
Midleton Whiskey
I’ve left the best ’til last in every way.
Svetlana places my final drink down in front of me: Midleton, you can’t fault it. Majestic stuff. I look at it like she has just handed me the keys to a new harvester. It’s the autumn colours that get me. It’s the earth of it, the trees, the leaves, the late evening sky. Its smell, so full of life that it catches in my throat before it’s even touched my lips, sending a shiver down my spine.
Do you know it gives me a dead shoulder every time I drink it? Sounds mad, I know. I’m convinced it doesn’t go down my throat at all but creeps along the muscles of my neck, over to my shoulder, numbing it. Doesn’t do it with any other brand, mind, knows when I’m on the good stuff. I asked the Doc, the new one – Taylor, what that was all about. He told me cutting back was the only cure he knew of.
‘I didn’t ask for the cure,’ I said.
‘Drink isn’t the way to deal with loss, Mr Hannigan,’ came his reply.