Chapter 28
Adam
‘WHEYYY!’ Bil roars, pumping his fist in the air.
‘Oh Christ,’ I bury my head in my hands.
‘Shut up, Bil.’ Piotr thumps him on the arm. ‘Don’t make us those people.’
‘What people?’ Bil looks around the plane incredulously. ‘The fun people?’
‘The dickheads screaming at the back of the plane,’ I correct him. ‘We’ll get chucked off.’
Ferg swivels around in his seat and raises a smug eyebrow. ‘Thanks for sorting the seating plan, Piotr. I’m really comfortable.’
I am less than comfortable, wedged in on the back row between Bil, who is intent on making us all look as laddish as possible, and Piotr, who keeps sticking his legs out into the aisle and accidentally tripping up the air stewards. Ferg, as the only member of the group who was principally against pre-booked seats, seems to have come off the best. He’s a row in front and on the other side of the aisle, so he can quite easily pretend he doesn’t know us.
Bil is pacified as the drinks trolley comes around, mercifully reaching us first. The plane is full of people on their way to some flower event; it’s all anyone’s talking about.
‘. . . looking forward to seeing the Florina talks,’ someone in the row in front is saying.
‘Might be nice to see some of the smaller brands, too. They always seem to dominate the whole event...’ their friend replies.
‘Adam?’ Piotr is nudging me. ‘What do you think about Chicken Cottage for tea?’
‘Are you serious?’
A small argument erupts over the merits and downfalls of Chicken Cottage as a holiday tea option, and by the time we’ve decided on Nando’s (which nobody wanted, but which was chosen because chicken had, by this point, become the focal point) we’re touching down in Dublin.
I rush to turn my phone on, wishing I’d put it on airplane mode rather than switch it off completely, desperate to check that there’s no news about Hugh.
‘Ad, everything’s going to be OK,’ Piotr murmurs to me. ‘Keep it on extra loud, and we’ll stay where there’s signal, but try not to obsess.’
‘I know,’ I say, grappling for another excuse. ‘I’ve got my students as well, though.’
‘On the weekend?’ Piotr looks at me kindly as the intercom reminds us all to stay in our seats.
‘Yeah. Okie — the one who’s hoping to go to uni — he might need me for something.’
My phone starts up and beeps loudly with a new message. People turn around to stare.
‘Anything?’ Bil asks.
‘No,’ I say, smiling at the picture of the cat Eve has just sent me. I start to reply, but remember my promise not to stay glued to my phone, and pocket it.
* * *
‘Goodbye to Katie!’ Bil raises a can and droplets of beer splash across my duvet.
‘Goodbye to Katie!’ the others cheer. I join in.
We’ve just got back from Nando’s, and the drinks are flowing. Tonight, it has been decided, is my first foray into a Katie-less world. We’re in my room at the Cosgrove hotel, drinking cans of BrewDog and researching the best pubs on Temple Bar.
‘Ooh, a concept bar.’ Bil shows his phone to Ferg, who grimaces and snatches it off him.
‘Traditional, please,’ he says, swaying on his feet. ‘Let’s try and be a little bit cultural.’
They begin to bicker, and Piotr sits next to me on the bed. ‘Bil’s ordered the Uber, so drink up,’ he says. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m good.’ I nod, smiling. ‘Yeah, I think I’m OK.’
He nudges me. ‘Knew you would be.’
‘Yeah. Thanks for this.’
‘Any time.’
There’s a pause as Piotr looks at me, a strange expression on his face. His mouth opens slightly, and then he sighs. ‘You know Chloe’s been in touch.’
I meet his gaze. ‘I don’t want to speak to her right now.’
‘Alright.’ He nods. ‘OK. But do you think—’
‘Not now.’
Bil thuds into the chair opposite us and takes a swig of his drink as Ferg goes into the bathroom. ‘What are you two doing next Friday?’
‘I’ve got a session with Okie, but think I’m free in the evening.’
Piotr and Bil share a glance.
‘What?’
Piotr opens his mouth to speak, but Bil jumps in.
‘Do you think you’re getting a bit too... involved? With Okie?’
I sit back. ‘What?’ I say again.
‘Not in a bad way.’ Bil leans forward. ‘I mean... offering to work for free, organising his exams... it’s more than going above and beyond, isn’t it?’
A rare feeling of defensiveness rises up inside me. ‘And the alternative would be?’ I challenge. ‘Let him fall behind because he can’t afford it? Withdraw help when I’m perfectly able to provide it?’
Piotr holds his hands up. ‘Ad, that’s not what we’re saying. We’re just worried, that’s all. You give such a lot of yourself to people.’
I run my hand through my beard, all my energy leaving me. ‘If someone had offered to do this for Hugh, before... it’s important to me that he doesn’t miss that opportunity.’
When we were young, we had no money. Hugh lived at home with me, Mum and Dad, and there wasn’t even wriggle room for specialist provisions. Hugh didn’t even have a proper bed — just a wide sofa a family friend donated — and Mum was his sole carer. With only Dad working, money was tight, and Hugh missed out on a million opportunities simply because we couldn’t afford them. It’s only now, with the insurance money, that he can have the life he always deserved.
Bil places a hand on my shoulder. ‘I get it. I get it. We’re just looking out for you.’
I nod. ‘I know.’ I slide my phone out of my pocket, ready for the conversation to be over. ‘I’ll just check the cameras, and then let’s go.’
‘Alright.’ They stand up.
Bil walks over to the bathroom and raps hard on the door, his phone held in front of his face. ‘Uber’s here, Ferg! Come on!’
He opens the door to my room and stands in the corridor, gesturing to us all to hurry up. Piotr drains his can.
I quickly open my phone while we wait for Ferg, clicking onto the camera app. Hugh’s room is dark, and I can see the shape of him in his bed, curled up, asleep. I cycle back quickly — the camera records twenty-four hours of footage before overwriting it — and manage to catch the moment before the lights are switched off. Becky stands in the doorway, saying something; Hugh is lying sleepily in his bed. She pulls the door to, flicking off the light, before closing it.
I close the app and quickly tap out a response to Eve, smiling as I look at the photo of the cat in the jumper again.
‘Guys!’ Bil roars.
‘Ugh,’ comes a moan from the bathroom.
Piotr rattles the bathroom door handle until Ferg lets him in.
Bil checks his phone again, standing at the door. ‘Come on, Piotr, for Christ’s sake! The taxi’s here!’ he calls.
‘Ferg’s chundered all over the bathroom!’ Piotr shouts back.
A muddled twenty minutes pass as Ferg is thrown into the shower and force-fed a pint of water. Another taxi is ordered, three more cans of BrewDog are opened, and then we’re on our way.
* * *
‘The free stuff’s this way.’ Bil pounds the stairs ahead of us, yanking Ferg by the sleeve.
‘No! No, Bil, we haven’t even seen the hop room!’ Ferg protests shrilly, his face the colour of a custard tart.
‘The beer isn’t free if you’ve paid €15 entry just to get to it,’ I add, dragging myself up the stairs, my head pounding.
The Guiness Storehouse is heaving with families and couples taking selfies, and this, paired with a rapidly growing hangover from last night, renders me unable to fight.
‘The problem with you, Bil,’ Piotr says as we reach the top and join the back of the snaking queue for the bar, ‘is that you’re the bad influence and the only one who doesn’t get hangovers.’
Bil cranes over the crowds of people to see how far off we are. Ferg starts arguing that we should go and see the exhibition about the history of Guinness while the queue quietens, but he’s quickly shot down.
We make it to the front, and after a few gut-wrenching sips, the beer slips down nicely and my headache starts to ease.
‘Hair of the dog sorted.’ Bil grins, and starts his descent towards the exit.
‘You’re joking?’ Ferg scrambles after him. ‘We’re actually not going to see anything?’
Piotr joins in the debate, flitting from one side to the other: ‘We’ve paid to get in, we should at least get out money’s worth’, ‘but then again, it’s full of tourists and it stinks a bit’.
My phone beeps loudly in my pocket, and I pull it out. It’s a comment on my Facebook post about Old Sausage.
Glenda McDonald: Shared in Devon. Hope he turns up.
I snort, and screenshot the response. I send it on to Eve, with the message:
Thanks, Glenda. Note: ‘he’.
She doesn’t reply immediately, so I pocket my phone. While I’ve been typing, the boys have moved towards the exit. I catch them up and we emerge outside, the bickering continuing.
‘What’s the point ?’ Ferg is wailing. ‘Fifteen euros for a pint of Guinness!’
‘We paid seven last night on Temple Bar!’ Bil retorts. ‘It’s an experience, Ferg.’
We meander through the small side streets until we come out onto the main road. People bustle past in every direction, shouting down phones and jostling each other. Women on stilts dressed as giant flowers saunter down the pavement, and outside a bar is a huddle of people wearing lanyards, the words ‘UK and Ireland Floristry Expo 2022’ printed on the front.
‘Reckon we should crash the conference?’ Bil grins mischievously.
‘No!’ Ferg cries.
We keep moving, wandering aimlessly, back-and-forth-ing about where to go next, and I think about how much I needed this; how just 24 hours of distance has given me a good shift in perspective.
Katie has gone, and it’s time to start afresh.
‘. . . quite embarrassing, really.’ I catch snippets of conversation as people pass. ‘They’re the biggest retailer in the country, it was a complete shambles...’
‘. . . and you’d have thought they’d be better prepared. That girl really showed herself up. Thank god the other one was more professional about things...’
I spot a bar across the street, the words ‘FREE POOL TABLE’ emblazoned on the front. ‘Guys,’ I nudge Ferg, ‘Fancy a game?’
Ferg begins to respond, saying something about the Little Museum, but he’s drowned out by the loud ringing of my phone.
I dig into my pocket and pull it out.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Adam Parks?’
‘Speaking.’
‘This is Janet calling, from Rosegreen Residential Care. I’m afraid Hugh has been taken into hospital. You might want to come down.’