The Wake - Table of contents

The Wake - afters (9)

“Aisling’ll be there. You’ll see her in there. Look out for that man teaches in your school though. Master O’Reilly.”

“Pearse? How do you mean?”

“I’d stay clear of him if I were you. He’s going to get himself thrown out the way he’s going on.”

“Sure Pearse is off the drink. He’s been off it since ...” I couldn’t remember.  She was there.

“Well he’s not off it tonight. He’s shooting off his mouth at everybody he meets.” 

I didn’t see her at first. But I saw Pearse sitting with Michael Cole and I could tell right away he was off the wagon. He had a whiskey glass in his hand and there was something about the loose way he was holding it that told me it was far from his first that night. But after those few seconds it hardly fizzed on me, just this feeling of dull disappointment that was away in no time. I gave the two of them a vague nod and Michael nodded back and smiled but Pearse didn’t notice me. Then I saw her. She was at a table to the side of them with some girl I never saw before. I went and held out my hand and my fingers were trembling.

“Vinny Coyle was just telling me there about Audrey. I’m sorry Aisling. That was such a terrible thing to happen.”

It wasn’t anything like my voice I was hearing. She took my hand in hers. I wasn’t sorry. Was she? She held my hand tentatively and the softness and the warmth suffused me. The street was grey the last time I saw her, the night we waked Maud, the night the children’s swings in Bull Park got swallowed in the dew.

“Thanks Jeremiah.” She held onto my hand as I was taking it away. Just for that extra part of a second. Old time’s sake? Her eyes were on me, turquoise gleam, I tried to read them and couldn’t, waited for more, anything, an introduction to the one beside her even. Who was the one beside her? Bit of a welterweight, looked like a dyke to be honest, square-looking face the colour of white chalk, eyes I couldn’t see, black polo neck, dark hair cut short like the military get done, more man than woman, made me think of some of these ones I saw on the marches, dressed like men some of them, feminists denying their femininity, this way of looking at you meant to make you shrivel. Was she Aisling’s comfort now in these mourning days and nights? No introduction. What did that tell? I stood on, five seconds, ten, I don’t know, and then I began to turn away and saw her lips parting, lips that kissed me everywhere, remembered her voice hoarse with wanting every time she saw me again.

“I’ll see you anyway,” she said. I saw my fingers detach themselves from the rest of me and reach out to the loose little bow at the neck. The whole thing slid down her shimmering back and was held for a moment, sweet moment, at the swell of her thighs until with barely a twitch she made it fall the rest of the way to the floor leaving her bottom and its bone-white furrow bare. “Now strap me up,” she whispered.

“The last tortoise I had,” Michael said. “Wee bugger. Honest to Christ you couldn’t take your eyes off him any length of time. You’d sit there watching him for ages and he wouldn’t move a muscle but do you see if you turned your back for one second, he was away on you and you never saw him again. I don’t know how many tortoises I lost that way.”

“Fuck off,” said Pearse.

“I’ll see you anyway.”

That’s what she said. I’ll see you anyway. She wants to see me again. I sat down beside Michael and Pearse, legs not there, rest of me light as a summer cloud.

“How’s tricks?”

“Not bad Michael. And you?”

“Not so good. Got shot down at the dance there and drowning my sorrows.”

“Droning your sorrows you mean,” said Pearse.

“Hey, Pearse is fierce hard on me tonight, no sympathy at all.”

“Why don’t you just fuck off Cole.”

Michael gave him a look then and put the glass to his mouth and swallowed the last of his drink in a rush.

“Must go. Best of luck anyway.”

He was still within earshot when Pearse said to me: “Eejit so he is. Empty-headed tithead.”

“I was thinking of going myself. Are you heading?” I’d go and then come back when I got shot of him.