Faithless (43 page)

             
"Sounds like a tool."

             
She shook her head. "Men love him too. He's such a good bloke. He can fix your car and play guitar and if you invite him round for Sunday dinner he's lovely to your auld ma too."

             
"Why did he leave such a lovely woman as yourself all alone if he's such a saint?"

             
"He'll have been helping a sick baby or rescuing a old man from a fire or something. Anyway, you're a desperate man yourself with the
lovely woman
crack. "

             
John laughed. "You're safe." He pointed at his wedding ring.

             
She smiled. "Now I do indeed feel safe to tell you that you're a fine thing Richard McIntosh. Are you very much in love?"

             
He nodded. "Sick with it."

             
"Very romantic. She's very lucky. Do you have kids?"

             
"Yes. Two girls."

             
"And what did you name them?"

             
"Morag and Eilidh."

             
Eithne seemed delighted. "Is iad ainmeacha deasa Gaelacha a tá ann!"

             
"Sorry?"

             
"I said they were lovely Gaelic names! Are you sure you don't want me to tell you about the poems of Uilleam Mac Dhunléibhe - the Islay poet who wrote
Eirinn a' gul -
Ireland weeping. How he looked over from Islay to Ireland and heard the stories of the sea divided Gael and wept at the destruction of our culture at the hands of the hated English."

             
"Some of my best friends are English."

             
"Mine too, of course. They make wonderful muffins. More drink. Yours is a Guinness?"

             
John nodded. He was feeling befuddled.

             
She came back with the drinks. "So tell me about your lovely wife. How long have you known her."

             
"Since I was 16. I fell in love with her first time I met her. I played a stupid football game to impress her."

             
"I'm impressed."

             
"So was she. I think. She's beautiful too."

             
"I expected no less."

             
"But she has her problems."

             
" Mrs McIntosh is only human."

             
"Who?"

             
"Mrs McIntosh. Your wife."

             
"Ah yes. Well she suffers from depression and she tried to kill herself."

             
"That's sad."

             
"She's really moody. I walk on eggshells. Never know when she will explode."

             
"She doesn't understand you?"

             
He shook his head. "She doesn't."

             
"I've heard this line before."

             
"You're safe. I'm in love."

             
"Well at least you've got that. That's good isn't it?"

             
He shook his head. "I'm not in love with my wife. I'm in love with someone else's wife. It's a fucking disaster."

             
"Oh dear. Have you shagged her?"

             
John winced. "Yes. But only a couple of times."

             
"I don't think it's the amount of times you've done it that is the crux of the matter."

             
"But I love her."

             
"But she's still married to someone else."

             
"I know. I'm a cunt."

             
"Some people would call you that. You just seem mixed up. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone and all that. I shagged a married man once. He was my professor. I loved him too."

             
"Don't you think loving them makes it better?"

             
"Not really. But I know where you're coming from. He didn't leave his wife by the way. Neither will yours."

             
"But she hates her husband. He's a total wanker. She hates him. She wants to be with me."

             
"Then why isn't she?"

             
"It's not as easy as that."

             
"Kids?"

             
"No."

             
"Then what's stopping her leaving him?"

             
"I don't know. But I do believe she loves me."

             
"Words are cheap Richard. Judge people by what they do not what they say."

             
John said, "I want to be honest. I'm just never honest and I hate it."

             
"Of course you do. She should be too. It's not just you in this."

             
"It'll break Karen's heart."

             
"So leave the other one."

             
"I can't. I love her."

             
"You need to do something."

             
"Yes, but when will be the right time?"

             
"Now?" said Eithne. "Never? Come on let's go somewhere else."

             
"Ok. But I can't drink too much more."

             
"Sure. Come on."

She led him out into the rainy night. She linked arms with him like she was his sister. She guided him through the darkness of the Dublin Streets. They came to the door of a club. Eithne led him in. She spoke to the people at the door in Irish. She whispered to him. "This is the Gaelic League Club  - Club Chonradh na Gaeilge. You aren't supposed to speak English in here."

             
"Then what will I speak?" Drunkenly he said, "I can speak in Russian if you want."

             
"That's interesting," said Eithne. "Did you know that the Gaelic languages and the Slavonic languages both use a system of opposing palatal and dental consontants? Narrow and broad in Irish, soft and hard in Russian."

             
"I didn't know that. Well I knew about soft and hard in Russian."

             
"Ok, now pretend to be Russian."

             
"Seriously?"

             
"Seriously. They don't like Brits here."

There followed a bizarre couple of hours where John sat drunkenly in a dark room surrounded by Eithn
e and a group of serious Irish men all conversing in Gaelic. Every now and again they would turn to him and he would say something in Russian and smile. They kept buying drinks. When no one was listening Eithne would turn to him and say "Enjoying yourself?"

             
He nodded. "This is very weird."  If the men around him realised that not only was he British, but also a serving MI5 officer, they would kill him. But they wouldn't find out. He was too good a liar. He revelled in the danger and the deceit and the Guinness. Then one of the men - dark haired and serious looking in a checked shirt said, "So, Mr Ivanov - are you a Communist or some kind of White Russian émigré?"

             
John coughed and in his best faux Russian accent, making it sound as accurate as if his life depended on it. He said, "Yes,
konyeshna.
I'm a Communist. Call me Sergei."

             
"Well Sergei. My name is Pádraig -
paw-draig"
he said laboriously pointing at his chest as if John was an idiot child. "I too am a Communist. I'm a member of the Irish Socialist Republican Party"

             
"But I'm a nationalist not a Communist," said Eithne. "My loyalty is in my country and my people."

             
Pádraig waved at her to dismiss her. They were all drunk. "No, she's wrong. My loyalty is to my class. Irish, Russian, English, American - the solidarity is with the working class. Bosses the world over exploit the poor. It doesn't matter if they speak your language."

             
"Like the Highland Clan chiefs cleared the highland clans to make room for sheep and profit," said John.

             
"You speak very good English Sergei. And I agree with the point you're making but keep your voice down. We're not supposed to speak English in here."

             
He shook John's hand vigorously. "Workers of the world unite. We have nothing to lose but our chains. So where are you from in Russia, Sergei?"

             
"I'm from Lyubertsy  - it's a suburb of Moscow."

             
"And why are you in Ireland?"

             
"I sell maps."

             
"I didn't think there was a market for Soviet maps. I bet you're really a KGB agent," he said and winked.

             
John laughed and shook his head. He took another mouthful of Guinness.

             
"At least," said Pádraig, "you're the right kind of spy. This place is riddled by MI5  informers. Fucking traitors. If we found one of them he'd be bundled into a car and wake up in the Bog of Allen with a fucking hole in his fucking head."

             
"You're right," said Eithne. "I think treachery to your own kind is the worst sin."

             
John stood up. "I feel very sick."

             
Eithne stood up with him and stroked his back. "I'd better be going too," she said.

             
"What about your rock god boyfriend?" said Pádraig.

             
"What about him?"

             
"Well you're going home with a Russian spy."

             
"I'm not so going home with him. Me and Richard are just friends."

             
"Richard? I thought he was called Sergei?"

             
Eithne shook her head. "He is. That's what I meant."

             
"Sergei doesn't sound like Richard. Is this one of your jokes Eithne?"

             
"What do you mean?"

             
"Is our Russian really Russian?"

             
"Of course."

             
"To be honest I don't care what he is as long as he isn't a fucking Brit."

             
"Das vidanye, Pádraig," said John.

             
"Aye, good night Mr KGB. Give her one for me."

It had stopped raining when they got outside. Eithne was doubled up in paroxysms of laughter. "What a gas. You really pulled it off. That's the best laugh I've had in ages."

             
"I really do feel sick you know," said John.

             
"Where are you staying?"

             
"The Shelbourne."

             
"There must be some money in map sales."

             
"Work's paying. Not me."

             
"Anyway, it's not far. I'll walk you round."

She linked arms with him again and t
hey walked across the grass and trees of St Stephen's Green. A tramp had made his bed by a bush. Outside the hotel she said, "Have you got coffee in your room?"

             
He shrugged woozily. "Not sure. Maybe. Just those little sachet things though. And little plastic pots of milk. Not real milk."

             
"What about a minibar?"

             
He nodded. "Yes, I think so. But it's expensive."

             
She turned to face him and held the lapels of his coat. "Should I come up?"

             
The penny finally dropped. "What about your boyfriend?" said John.

             
"He wouldn't ever find out."

             
"I don't know Eithne. You're very lovely."

             
"But not lovely enough?"