Chapter Nine
INT: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE / INT: PUB IN GLASNEVIN / INT: MCDERMOTT FAMILY HOME
‘I think it might be a good thing,’ says Roo on Saturday morning. ‘In the long run.’
I stare at her. ‘A good thing? The fact that I kissed my awful officemate? The fact that he then literally ran away from me? How on earth is any of that good?’
Roo was out again last night, at a birthday dinner for one of her college friends, so it wasn’t until this morning that I could tell her what had happened with Art. And now here we are in the kitchen, as she tries to persuade me that kissing the most irritating man I know was a great idea.
‘Wasn’t there tension between you all week?’ she says. ‘It sounded like there was plenty of tension.’
‘Yeah, but it wasn’t, like, sexual tension.’ Roo gives me a sceptical look and I say, ‘It wasn’t!’
‘If you say so,’ says Roo. ‘So did kissing him release any of this tension?’
I get a flashback of Art’s surprisingly strong, hard body pressed up against me, the touch of his hand on my face, the urgency of his mouth on mine. I remember the sound of my breath, still quick and heavy, after he disappeared from the office.
‘Um, I suppose so,’ I say. ‘Maybe.’
‘Well then,’ says Roo. ‘It’ll probably be fine between you on Monday. It’ll be better than fine! All that tension will be gone. He won’t annoy you at all.’
I wouldn’t bet on that. I sip my tea and then a horrible thought strikes me.
‘God, Roo,’ I say, ‘I kissed him first. Apart from the, like, general awfulness of being with Art Sullivan, that was so inappropriate. He’s my colleague!’
‘Didn’t you do it after he said he liked your face?’ says Roo. ‘That wasn’t exactly professional either. Plus he kissed you back so he can’t have minded too much.’
‘Still!’ I feel genuinely upset. ‘It’s not on. Fuck, I should apologise to him.’
Roo looks a little sceptical. ‘If you’re sure …’
‘Where’s my phone?’ I realise I left it charging next to my bed. And when I grab it I see there’s a new message. Sent about twenty minutes ago.
It’s from Art.
Annie, I’m very sorry about what happened yesterday. It was totally unprofessional and I can assure you it won’t happen again. If you want, I can ask Susan to move me to another office. Many apologies again.
I stare at the message for a long moment. Then I return to the kitchen and show it to Roo.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘On the bright side, it doesn’t look like he’s blaming you.’
I don’t say anything. I’m genuinely not sure how I feel right now.
‘Do you want him to switch offices?’ asks Roo.
I sigh. ‘Who else can I share with? I can’t split up Simon and Nora. And everyone else hates me. Fuck, I’d better reply to him, I can’t leave him on read with this.’
I spend a ridiculously long time considering how to phrase my reply and eventually write:
Hi Art, thanks for this. I’m very sorry too. What happened should never have happened and I think it’s best if we both forget that it did. There’s no need for either of us to move rooms unless you want to.
I show it to Roo, who ponders it for a minute and says, ‘If that’s how you feel—’
‘It is!’ I say.
‘Then send it.’
So I do. Art doesn’t reply.
I’m sorting laundry later that afternoon when my phone beeps with a message. I immediately grab it, convinced it must be Art. But it’s not. It’s my friend Claire.
Hey! Going for food and drinks tonight with áine and Maggie - Sinéad can’t make it. Do you fancy joining us? We need to hear all about your fancy new job!
I’ve been home for two weeks now, and I haven’t seen my old college gang yet.
I haven’t even seen Sinéad, my closest friend in that group, though in fairness she has a toddler now so she’s generally either too tired or too busy.
I kept meaning to arrange a night out but I feel surprisingly awkward about doing stuff like that now.
For over a decade I’ve only been home for Christmas or Easter or the odd weekend, and while Roo and I always immediately fell back into our easy closeness – perhaps because we’d always been a little gang of two – meet-ups with other old pals felt like an occasion, a special night out for the return of the emigrant.
I’m not used to living in the same country as them yet.
I’m not in the habit of organising casual nights out with these people now, and the small part of me that’s still convinced everyone thinks I’m a freak doesn’t want to look too eager to see anyone, so I don’t feel comfortable making the first move and suggesting a meet-up.
I’m delighted Claire’s done it for me. Not least because it’ll be a perfect distraction from the Art nonsense.
Although it does cross my mind that she was clearly already planning to go out with áine and Maggie, and I’m the afterthought.
We’re meeting in a pub near the canal in Glasnevin, which makes sense because the three of them live nearby.
The venue’s exterior is almost unrecognisable from the times I’ve walked by it in the past, and when I arrive I worry I’ve got the wrong place.
But then, to my relief, I spot my friends at the bar.
‘This place has changed!’ I say, after we’ve all hugged. ‘There’s a whole, like, street food section out the back. When did that happen?’
‘Oh God, years ago now,’ says Claire. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t been here before! Come on, let’s get you a drink. Maggie’s eating at home so she’s not coming in till later.’
Half an hour later we’re drinking pints, eating rice bowls and catching up. I don’t want to restart our friendship by whining – I want them to be glad I’m home – so I give them a brief and sanitised version of the situation at Northside.
I do not mention Art.
‘So what else is happening besides your job?’ says áine.
‘Um, nothing.’ God, that’s basically true, apart from Art. And I don’t want to think about him now. ‘How depressing.’
‘At least your job’s more exciting than working in a library,’ says Claire.
‘Or writing press releases about fish quotas,’ says áine with a groan. She works in the Department of Agriculture. ‘Eamonn’s driving me mad at the moment.’
‘Oh my God, what’s he done now?’ says Claire.
‘You won’t believe this,’ says áine, and launches into a story about her latest office drama. It takes a few minutes for me to figure out that Eamonn is not a colleague but her new boss.
‘I didn’t know you had a new boss!’ I say.
‘Oh yeah,’ says áine. ‘For a while now.’
‘We need to add you to the local gals WhatsApp group,’ says Claire with a grin, and I smile back even though it feels weird to have it confirmed that they have a group chat that doesn’t include me. I mean, I assumed they did, it would be weirder if they didn’t, but still …
‘Okay!’ I say. ‘I’ll get the next round.’
I head to the loo before going to the bar. In the queue, a girl turns to her friend and says, ‘I’m still not sure about this top.’ She’s wearing an eighties-style silk blouse with bubblegum-pink and black stripes.
‘What are you talking about?’ says her friend. ‘It’s gorgeous!’
‘That’s what I thought, and then when I was leaving the house my sister said I looked like I was going to Peppa Pig’s funeral.’
Her friend laughs and I repress a smile. God, I’ve missed Dublin slagging. I’ve missed how people here speak. It hits me that my Northside job is the first time I’ve written professionally for Irish characters. I might have to steal that funeral line …
I’m on my way to the bar when I spot a dark-haired man wearing a striped T-shirt on the other side of the room. My stomach lurches. The man’s back is to me but he’s the right size and he has the right hair and it hits me that Art doesn’t live too far from this pub. It could easily be him.
Then he turns around and I see it’s not Art after all and feel a flood of relief.
At least, I’m pretty sure it’s relief.
‘Sorry I took so long,’ I say when I return to the table. ‘I think the person serving me was a literal child.’
‘I know the one you mean,’ says áine. ‘God love him, he looks like he’s going to cry every time he gets a really big order.’
‘I always feel I should ask him for ID,’ says Claire.
I laugh. The old ease is returning between us, and as the evening goes on I almost feel like I never left Dublin.
We’re trying to decide whether the DJ was actually born when the noughties bangers he’s playing were released when a very pregnant Maggie (she wasn’t even showing the last time I saw her) arrives with her husband, Jim, and a group of women I’ve never met before.
‘Look who I bumped into outside!’ says Maggie.
‘Annie, this is …’ begins Claire, and she lists a string of names I immediately forget.
They’re all women who live in the neighbourhood, befriended through yoga classes and local events.
Jim sits down next to me, and it hits me that I barely know the husband of one of my old friends.
Since I emigrated, most of my nights out with my college girlfriends have been the five of us, no partners.
It feels weird to just be on small-talk terms with the father of my friend’s future baby.
‘How are you settling in?’ he says.
‘Ah, you know!’ I say. ‘It’s great to be back.’
The conversation becomes general, and I find myself growing more quiet.
The others do their best to keep me involved, and I’m touched by the effort everyone’s making to ensure I don’t feel too left out, but they can’t help talking about people and things I don’t know.
This has happened before, of course. But it didn’t seem to matter so much when I was the visitor, popping in briefly before returning to my real life in England.
Now it’s painfully obvious how out of the loop I am.
But again, things get easier as the night goes on, and I find myself deep in conversation with Jim about his job. He works in a bank, but he also plays in a wedding band.
‘Last summer there was a bridesmaid who became totally fixated on my bandmate Karl,’ he says. ‘It was kind of scary. She turned up at his day job and everything.’