Chapter 36
PATRICK
‘Was that the stage show?’ asked Kate to Patrick, once she had placed a whiskey into his hand.
‘Honestly, these domestics should remain in the kitchen. Not at my best friend’s wedding.
As bridesmaid-in-chief, I should give that Laurence a piece of my mind.
’ She glared at the tent flap, where Laurence and Nessa had shuffled out, followed by Rosie and Grace.
And some good-looking fella in overalls.
Who was that man? He had his arm across Rosie’s. It seemed quite proprietary.
Patrick shook his head. ‘Best to leave it. Seán and Niamh seemed unfazed.’ And they did, both were dancing with a group of their friends, all singing and jumping up and down.
‘This is just the rehearsal dinner,’ said Kate.
‘They’d better keep away for the main event tomorrow.
’ She paused. ‘Let’s have another drink.
I know… shots! I’ll get them in.’ She grabbed his lapels excitedly.
‘Tequila!’ She pulled a sexy face. ‘I bet you’re a tequila man, hmmm?
George Clooney is. And you remind me a little of George Clooney. Younger, of course.’
He wished he could just have a bit of fun with Kate, loosen up.
But his problem was, he couldn’t fake it.
The last person he was completely at ease with was Rosie, all those years ago.
Perhaps that was another thing that had scared him, that she’d soon see the real him, the insecure, vulnerable Patrick.
And then as soon as they were over, he could go back to pretending he was cooler and invulnerable.
But now, with Kate, he just didn’t want to fake it.
There was only one person he wanted to loosen up with and he’d blown that years ago.
‘Maybe tomorrow,’ he promised. ‘We’ve got to be on duty in the morning. And all day.’
She smiled at him, flirtatiously. ‘Okay then, Mr Taskmaster. God, you’re so commanding. So bossy.’ She paused. ‘I like it.’
He groaned inwardly. But Kate carried on talking, telling him gossip about various people, asking him endless questions about his life in Boston and about the restaurant, telling him about her life in Dublin.
‘I did a sub-three-hour in the last marathon. I was thinking of signing up for the Boston one. I could…’ – she gazed up at him – ‘give you a call when I come over?’
‘Of course. Come to the restaurant and I’ll stand you dinner.’
She smiled that Lego smile. ‘I would love that.’ Her gaze was penetrating. ‘You could… show me a thing or two.’ She paused, staring right into his eyes.
‘You mean Harvard and all that? Love to. I’m always a tour guide for any of my Irish friends.’
‘I would love to see the sights…’
He felt almost hypnotised and gave himself a shake. ‘So, what are your jobs for the morning, as matron of honour?’
‘Uh, maid of honour. I’m not married. Or old.
’ She laughed again. ‘But, you know, help Niamh get dressed, tell her she looks amazing, blah blah. Fix the train. Make sure the bouquet hasn’t got lost. Drink some champagne.
The usual.’ She shrugged. ‘Weddings are not exactly difficult. What are your jobs, as best man?’
‘Keep the rings safe, make a speech. That’s kind of it.’
‘Well, I hope you mention the amazing bridesmaid-in-chief and that this wedding would not be happening if it wasn’t for her.’ She laughed.
‘I’ll see if I can squeeze it all in.’ He smiled at her, wondering if it was too early to slip away and go to bed. But then he looked up to see Brian walking towards them.
‘So Sandra’s fecked off,’ he said, swaying in front of them. ‘I’m on my own again. Just like when your mam kicked me out.’
‘Mam never kicked you out,’ said Patrick, feeling his blood rise, his hands begin to sweat. ‘You moved into town. Into Sandra’s, remember?’
His father appraised him through slitted eyes. ‘Is that, right, eh? Is that right, Mr Too Clever By Half? Mr Know-it-all.’
‘Mr Power,’ said Kate, ‘I think that you might have had a bit too much to drink. And perhaps it’s time to call it a night, yes?’ She sounded like the doctor she was, brisk, commanding and able to deal with the trickiest and drunkest in A & E at midnight on a weekend.
‘Oh, who’s this then?’ said Brian.
‘Kate Thomas,’ said Kate, holding out her hand. ‘Niamh’s best friend, bridesmaid-in-chief and junior doctor at St Vincent’s Hospital. And, Mr Power, if I may…?’
But Brian Power was one of the least intimidated of men. He held up a hand. ‘And you, miss, can keep this shut.’ He motioned to his mouth.
‘Dad, stop,’ said Patrick. ‘I mean it. Just stop. And stop inflicting yourself on people. Especially women. Go away and leave us.’ He turned to Kate quickly, trying to smile, and then back to his father.
He had to get him to leave them all alone and then he could go to bed.
Dad was his burden, he realised. He would always be trying to manage him and deal with him.
But he looked at this once powerful man, who could lift a hay bale as though it was a beach ball, who was gored by a bull and survived, who drank too much and bullied his wife and boys, and he felt nothing but pity for him. He was old and pathetic.
Brian glared at him. ‘Think ye’re too good for us, ha?’
Patrick shook his head. ‘Not at all. But I’m too good to be talking about the past with you.
’ He gazed down at his father, who was barely held up on those bandy legs of his, his back was gone, he could tell, and his face looked ravaged from the drink.
‘Next time I’m in Midleton, I’ll come and see you and I hope that you’ll be off the drink and being a bit nicer to people… ’
‘But I’m nice to everyone. Sure, the whole town loves me.’
‘The whole town doesn’t have to love you. But the people who are closest to you should love you. And you know something, you’re hard to love.’
His father swayed on his skinny legs, and looked as though he was about to collapse. Patrick saw Seán looking over, worried.
Patrick reached out and steadied his father. ‘Go and sit down. And stay there.’
Brian’s eyes were glazed again as he stared back at his son, his face shuffling through different expressions from anger, to irritation, until he settled on resignation. ‘I’ll head back to the room,’ he growled, shaking off Patrick’s arm. ‘I’ll be grand. I don’t need your help.’
Anger shot through Patrick for a moment, rage suddenly reverberating.
Calm, he told himself. Calm. This is the past. This man can’t hurt you, Seán or Mam any longer.
His father was an old man who only had his words and a power to draw Patrick back into decades-old arguments and rows.
That was what kept Brian Power energised.
Patrick could see it in his eyes as they watched him, looking for signs that Patrick had taken the bait, that Patrick was right back in there, arguing, fighting…
connecting. That was it, he realised. His father had no idea how to connect with another human unless he was fighting with them.
It was the only way he felt alive, that he had agency or power.
And it was up to Patrick whether or not to give it to him.
Patrick stood for a moment, watching his father walk away, and for the first time in his life he realised he didn’t feel very much for him at all.
He had thought he was full of fire and ire, but he could actually feel it dissipating.
His father was a sorry figure of a man, nothing like Seán, who was soft and gentle and who shared domestic tasks, who loved and respected Niamh.
Patrick felt a simmering pride for his younger brother, who had taken it all on, learned all the lessons and was powering on.
Patrick could learn a lot from Seán. In a way, Patrick had allowed himself to be trapped on that dairy farm.
Never mind all his nice suits and smooth manners, he was still the kid in the overalls and the filthy wellies.
Before, he’d wanted to prove himself. Before, he’d needed validation.
Now he knew what he wanted and that was not success or making money or being as far from the farm as possible.
He wanted to love and to be loved. He needed and craved it.
Before he’d been too proud, too young, to realise it.
He glanced over at Kate. ‘Sorry about this family drama.’ His mind was ablaze, his body ablaze. But it wasn’t his father he was thinking about. It was Rosie.
‘Oh, you haven’t met my dad,’ she said. ‘Total narcissist. His latest wife is even younger than me. I went non-contact years ago. Best thing I ever did.’
Patrick put down his barely touched whiskey. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said, and began walking away.
‘But we haven’t even discussed buttonholes!’ shouted Kate at his retreating form. ‘And your tie! We need to co-ordinate! Patrick! Patrick!’
But he had something he needed to do, and he couldn’t wait another second.