Girl Unknown(56)

I tried to answer as evenly as I could, but my thoughts were muddled and I muttered something about not putting a price on history.

‘You don’t think twenty-two million too much to spend on what, after all, is simply a slap on the back to republican-minded people out there?’

‘No, no, I don’t … It’s a chance to re-imagine the future,’ I stammered.

I was tired, I suppose. Stressed. Here I was, the history expert, yet I couldn’t even get to grips with the events of my own past, couldn’t see or understand the history of my own life. A little voice in my head whispered: You’re a fraud.

‘You’re just a mouthpiece for government ministers,’ Kelly sneered.

‘You’re taking the whole thing out of context,’ I said. ‘The purpose of the commemorations is to –’

‘I’m not one of your students, Dr Connolly.’

‘For Christ’s sake, will you let me finish?’ I said sharply.

‘Okay, briefly now, before we finish up,’ Earley interjected, trying to bring the conversation back on track. But Kelly was leaning in, his face reddened with fury.

I hardly heard what he said, some acerbic remark about academics in their ivory towers. I thought about Caroline in Aidan’s arms, his mouth on hers. Hers on his. I thought about Zo?’s battered face.

‘You’re talking complete shite,’ I said. ‘Is that plain enough for you? You ignoramus.’

The words flew out of my mouth. I could almost see them flapping around the studio like birds. Earley went straight to an ad-break, and Kelly sat back, arms crossed over his chest, a smile of satisfaction on his stupid face. ‘I can already see the headlines,’ he gloated.

I took the earphones off and left.

I hurried to my car, Robbie half running to keep up with me. There was a storm in my brain, fury coursing through my body. If I had come across Kelly in the car park, I’d have decked him, but in truth it was myself I was furious with. We got into the car, slamming the doors. I leaned my head on the steering wheel and let out some of the breath I had been holding in a long sigh.

‘Are you okay, Dad?’

I closed my eyes. It seemed like everyone lately was asking me was I okay. And I knew I wasn’t. I was trying to hold it together, but inside I was quaking. ‘I’m sorry, Robbie. I wish you hadn’t been a witness to that.’

‘It’s okay,’ he said.

I sat back in my seat. ‘I shouldn’t have lost my temper.’

‘The guy was a tosser.’

‘Still. It was wrong.’ I pressed my fingers against my eyelids, felt the throb of a nerve at the back of my eye. ‘Christ, what a disaster.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Dad.’

‘I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Sometimes it just happens,’ he said. ‘Something snaps and you just see red.’

I took my fingers away from my eyes.

‘Once I thought I was going to lose it, big-time,’ he began, his voice a bit timorous – no doubt he was finding it strange to offer comfort to his father rather than vice versa. ‘It was at a rugby-club disco. I was outside, in the bleachers. And I saw this guy I knew – and something kind of snapped in me. You see …’

He went on, but I wasn’t really listening. My nerves were back with me again, anger replaced now with a stomach-churning dread at the thought of all those listeners, what they must have thought. My mind was racing ahead to media reaction at my outburst, the possible consequences within my academic circle. Which of my colleagues might have heard me? What about members of the interview board? My students? There was no way to erase my performance. The interview had been broadcast. It had been put into history, and there was no way of expunging it from the record.

‘… and the thought that I might have done something like that – it was really scary,’ Robbie was saying.

‘Right,’ I said distractedly, slotting the key into the ignition and starting the car. ‘Let’s get you to school. The last thing you need is to be late after your suspension.’

His eyes were on me while I reversed; there was no mistaking his disappointment. Then he looked out of the window, and hunched against the passenger door.

I dropped him at school, neither of us saying another word.

As I walked up the stairs to the History Department on the third floor, my phone began to ring. It was Caroline.

‘I suppose you heard that,’ I said, referring to my disastrous radio performance.

Instead she said: ‘David, I’ve just seen Zo?’s face.’

I trudged up the final few steps and turned down the corridor.

‘You can’t believe I did that to her? My God …’ She sounded hysterical.

‘Calm down,’ I told her. ‘We’ll talk about this later.’

‘She must have done it to herself,’ she went on, as if she hadn’t heard me. ‘She must actually have smashed her face into a wall on purpose, David.’

‘I can’t deal with this now.’

‘It’s frightening,’ she said. ‘That she would do something so violent … I don’t think I can go into the office today. I’m all over the place.’

Caroline was normally so together, unflappable. It was disconcerting to hear her so agitated, admitting to her own insecurity. ‘Please, love,’ I said, softening my voice, ‘try and pull yourself together.’