When All Is Said(48)

You gave me this bottle of eighteen-year-old Jefferson malt last Christmas. It’s been hiding in the bag at my feet all evening.

‘Here, put that behind the bar,’ I say, handing it to Svetlana, when she comes to clear my barely picked-at plate.

She looks at me like I’m stone mad.

‘I’ll be wanting a swig of that, when I get back.’

I attempt to jump down from the bar stool but it’s more like a slow motion topple. Still, I make it safely to solid ground and off I go. I look back at her still staring at the bottle looking very worried.

‘I cleared it with Emily, you’ll not lose your job.’ Of course, I never mentioned a thing to Emily, but I’m sure she’d have had no objections. And even if she had, well, I’d have done it anyway.

She looks at me and smiles, a smile that says she knows I’m lying but she takes it anyway and puts it under the counter.

‘You know those people at the awards are on dessert, now? Seriously, how you Irish not all get indigestion. You eat too fast.’



* * *



It’s a funny thing walking these corridors. The place has changed a lot since my day – extensions and renovations heading off in different directions. But still there are parts I recognise. Like this corner here. There is the smallest of dents. If you weren’t watching out you’d miss it. That was me. One day when they were short-handed in the house they asked me to bring wood to the main drawing room. I had to take my shoes off before they let me through. Thankfully, my mother had only darned my socks the previous week so I didn’t make a holy-show of her. As I made my way down the corridors I became distracted by the furniture as big as myself, and pictures, great massive jobs spanning whole walls, with men in red coats on horses. There was a big grandfather clock in the main hallway that I couldn’t take my eyes off. I couldn’t believe clocks were made that big. We had a clock that sat over the range at home, small thing that never made an impression on me. Not like that one. I watched the pendulum swing, ticking so clearly, so grandly – announcing its importance to the world. Possibly would’ve stood there all day had the basket not begun to weigh me down. As I hooshed it back up and moved off, didn’t Big Ben decide it was time to chime, it having hit the hour. Well, I jumped. The wall saved the basket from falling, but not before it made this little dent right here. I remember brushing at it as much as I dared. Not sure what I was trying to achieve, it possibly only made it worse. But I moved away quick smart before I was caught and hanged. That must have been the day I ended up getting lost, opening up Dollard’s library door by accident. I’d forgotten that.

‘Not here, next door, on the left,’ he said, lifting his eyes from his desk.

‘Sorry, sir,’ I managed, before backing out. And now that I think of it, it was the only time I remember him not scaring the hell out of me. He seemed almost normal and, if my memory isn’t playing tricks on me, I think I saw him get up in an attempt to help me with the door. But I was gone so fast, he didn’t need to. Well now, isn’t that a turn-up for the books? Isn’t it interesting what the mind chooses to remember, or forget, for that matter?

‘Well, Maurice, is all going to plan?’ Robert is sitting there at the bar waiting for me when I get back. ‘No, I’m not stopping,’ he says, lowering my hand that I raise in the lassie’s direction.

‘I can’t buy anyone a drink tonight, it seems.’

‘No, honestly, Maurice, I can’t,’ he continues when I give it another go. ‘Yvonne needs me home. Am just in for an hour or so at the awards. A bit of business you know, thought I’d catch some of those lads on the hop.’

‘Sure aren’t you every woman’s dream getting home and the evening only beginning.’

‘What can I say, Maurice? Have you not moved on to the champers yet?’

‘Not yet. You ordered it so for herself.’

‘I did. And tell me this, have they figured out it’s you?’

‘Figured out “it’s me” what?’

‘I reckon they think it’s someone turning up for this gig. I wish I could be here when they realise it’s farmer Hannigan and his mucky wellies who’s their VIP.’

‘Where’re you going with the mucky wellies, sure don’t I have my Sunday best on?’

‘You do and all. Very smart, altogether.’ I run my hand over the front of my green jumper. ‘Listen, have you the forwarding address of this nursing home of yours, for the files like?’ he asks.

‘Did I not give it to you? I’ll drop it over tomorrow before I head.’

‘Good man yourself,’ he says, stepping away from the stool he’s been half hanging off for the last few minutes. ‘Listen, enjoy the rest of the evening,’ he says, with a big wink. ‘We’ll be talking. Drop by tomorrow before you go, so. Good man.’

And with a slap on my back he’s off.

‘Svetlana,’ he calls, knocking on the bar and then waving to her as she stands at the other end, doing something with her phone.

She waves back before he disappears through the door.

‘Do you know that man, young Robert?’ I ask, nodding my head after him.

‘Oh Robert, yes, yes,’ she says enthusiastically, coming over to me, leading me to regret my question.