Chapter 67
67
Mourning Joey was a constant ache. But we all lose people we love.
Meanwhile, I was part of a community who cared about me, my family was just a drive away and—still mildly crazed with gratitude about this—Jacqui was my friend again.
Could I be blamed for an occasional bout of smugness about how well I was doing?
Then something happened.
A bright evening in late May, I’d just left my little house, heading into town, when out of nowhere, shock and sorrow winded me. I felt bereft, without knowing why. Patching thoughts together, it took several seconds to understand I’d seen a jeep like Joey’s, driving in the direction of the Shithole on the Hill.
It might not have been Joey. But I had to go back inside and have two cups of sugary tea and a Caramel Galaxy.
For the next week I was haunted by now-familiar nightmares where, all night long, I searched for him in a deserted hotel, broken by my loss.
“Present for you.” Jacqui dropped her weekend case on my hall floor, then passed me a small paper bag.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” I said, obediently. “Your presence—”
“—is the present,” she finished. “Yuck.”
I foraged in the bag. “Condoms! How thoughtful. Thank you, Jacqui.”
“By the time this Loaves and Fishes festival is over, I want the whole box emptied.”
“I love your optimism but you haven’t seen the state of the visitors.”
The town was overrun with poets, “inaccessible” novelists and a certain type of actor, several staying in the five holiday homes around mine.
In fact…“Jacqui, look .” Three men had just emerged from the house two doors along.
Her face, as she studied the men in their linen suits and striped waistcoats, was a mix of confusion and contempt. “What’s with the straw boaters?”
“Some sort of crossover with Bloomsday? Haven’t a notion, really.”
Far was it from me to criticize Vivian but conceptually the Loaves and Fishes Feast was a mishmash. There were readings, fishing trips, breadmaking and—God help us all—“feasting on the beach.”
“Okay, forget them,” Jacqui said. “What about mad Steve? Colm says you’re compatible.”
“He’s confusing ‘compatible’ with ‘short.’ Two people being below average height isn’t a good enough basis for a relationship.”
“What about his mustache? Colm says it’s magnificent. And you’d never go short of pains au chocolat.”
“All true. Steve is nice, I like him.” But I was off romantic entanglements.
“Hold on to the condoms anyway,” Jacqui said. “Sooner or later Joey Armstrong’s mickey will be released for good behavior. Think positive.”
Now and again, she said this. Well intentioned, it was to reiterate that Joey would never come between us again.
“I do better when I don’t think of him at all.”
“…God. Anna. Is it bad?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “Jacks, can we not talk about him?”
“Okay. Of course. Sorry. Right then! We’re going down the town. One question: are we laughing at them or with them?”
“How about we mix it up?”
“Lovely stuff. Let’s go!”
At the tiny dock, we watched barefoot, baggy-trousered thespians wobbling about in rowing boats as they scanned the waters for fish. When the “fleet” (all four boats of it) returned, Hal clambered out, red-faced from his exertions with his oars. We went for a toasted sandwich in the Boot, where we bumped into Aber, Karina and Farrelly the Flowers. This set the tone for an entire weekend of eating, day-drinking, reminiscing, staying out late, making new friends and laughing a lot, sometimes at the visitors and other times with them.
Rose was much in evidence this weekend, in the thick of the thesps. We treated each other to cool smiles, then looked away.
“That’s her?” Jacqui hissed, staring openly. “Joey hasn’t mentioned her. But I guess he wouldn’t, not to me. They could be banging—”
“Oh, Jacqui!” I was in anguish.
“—but it’s unlikely, is what I was going to say. Like, the cut of her. Literally poker-up-her-arse stuff? Sorry, Anna, I’ll stop.”
—
On Jacqui’s last morning, I pleaded, “Don’t go!”
“How about I come back in August with Griff and the babies for a whole week ?”
“Yes!” I screamed. “Please!”
She opened my front door, about to stow her wheelie bag in the car. Outside the nearest cottage was a red-faced man in a linen suit; both were the worse for wear. When he spotted Jacqui, he boomed, “ Always in your mind keep Ithaca! ”
“Good spot, is it? Any designer outlets?” Jacqui let her case fall. Incapable with laughter, we clutched each other.
“ To arrive there is your destiny. ”
She stuck her head out. “He’s still at it,” she whispered. “Oh, Anna, best weekend ever.”
I’m happy , I realized. I’m really happy.
Not long afterwards, when Brigit asked if I’d stay until the end of the summer, I, with a lightly tanned face and a heart overspilling with love for all of mankind, readily agreed.
Everything was delightful until I informed Courtney of my joyous state.
“Happy?” She sounded uncertain. “Well, enjoy it now, because we’re all looking at a long, cold, lonely winter .”