When All Is Said(59)
‘And tell me, is this what they teach you over in Duncashel, how to frighten the shite out of prospective clients?’ I lowered the gun to my side. David’s head dropped as Gearstick whined and licked his ear. And as true as I am sitting here, the boy reached out his hand and petted him.
‘I’m new,’ he replied, as my hand lowered to pull him up.
Only I felt I owed him, I might never have visited the centre in Duncashel. I decided the bingo was the safer bet. They offered to send the bus to collect me but it was best not to take the chance. Always important to have a means of escape. I sat outside in the car for a while after I arrived, wondering what the feck I was at. This loneliness was pushing me to lengths I’d’ve never considered before your mother died. Like reading the notices on the Community Board in the SuperValu:
Seniors’ Bridge – Duncashel Amenity Centre. Thursdays 10 a.m.
Bereavement Support Group, Fridays 7 p.m., Presbyterian Church Hall – call Anna
Medjugorje Pilgrimage – August 2014
Even to stop in front of that yoke at the back of the tills was risky. Anyone could’ve seen me. I had to keep pretending to look at the car section, to be on the safe side. I’ve imagined myself at every one of those bloody things, son. Pictured myself sitting among the strangers, nodding, making small talk about the weather and the price of things and the curse of computers. Or worse, crying my eyes out. I promise you, I’ve willed myself to live this worn-out life of mine. I even called ‘Anna’. Encouraged me to attend ‘even the one meeting. What about next Friday?’ she said. ‘I’ll think about it,’ I said. I watched the clock tick by on the mantelpiece the following Friday. The hand hit half past, then twenty-five to, then twenty to. My heart thumped and my hand rubbed away at my forehead, forging another worry line as it reached quarter to. In the background the weatherman on the telly gave the forecast for ice with the threat of snow showers. Ah, here, I said to myself, I’m not risking those roads.
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?’