Gurriers (24 page)

The large sheet metal map had consisted of three rectangular sheets supported on a metal frame. Two of these sheets were missing and 3 Rock Road was not on the remaining third of the map. Now it was time to panic. It actually didn’t occur to me to look in my street finder as my anxiety ran amok.

I deduced that the remaining sector was somewhere to my right, as I went into the estate and that therefore my destination must be somewhere towards the right. Or the middle, remembering that there was twice as much missing as there was present. The notion of calling Aidan for assistance was dismissed, as I was determined to find Falco on my own. In my stupidity it still didn’t occur to me to use my street finder. The word “map” in my panic-ridden brain still being attached solely to the metal remains at the entrance.

I proceeded onwards and soon came to a T- junction. Logic decreed that I should turn right here, which I did. I passed by a left turn, not pausing enough to turn and then deciding not to, before coming to another T-junction. I turned left this time figuring (correctly) that a right turn would bring me back towards the exit. I found myself on a big fast road with no turn offs and only fields on my right. On my left there were factories going all along the road but no entrances from this direction. I also noticed a couple of smaller roads which ended with cul-de-sacs where they might have joined this road but were prevented from doing so by the width of grass which ran parallel to this road on my left.

I got the impression that this was a perimeter road that ringed the entire estate and vowed to take the next possible left. That left didn’t come until the very end of the road and it wasn’t a turn off. The whole road swung left with nowhere to go but to
follow it. I felt as if I was going deeper into a maze and got even more confused when my next possible turn was a right instead of a left, which my ring road theory had me expecting. For no reason other than to satisfy my curiosity, I turned right. This road was smaller and had no grass verge. I felt oddly claustrophobic having the factories so close to me all of a sudden, even more so when the road swung right after a couple of hundred yards. Having no choice but to follow the road magnified my panic, as I came to another T about a 100 yards further on. Seeing that right led to a dead end, I turned left, feeling more lost and panicky by the second.

“Four Sean,” Aidan called. I didn’t know what to tell him.

“Four Sean, four,” he called again.

It was time to face the music. “Go ahead.”

“How’re you gettin’ on there?”

I didn’t know what to say. “I’m just coming to 3 Rock Road now.”

“Okay, call me when you have Falco on board. I have another one for ye up there.”

“Roger.” I knew that he knew I was lying. It was evident in his voice.

The stopwatch was on me now. I had to find this 3 Rock Road fast. What to do, what to do? I could always ask somebody but who and where? Straight on would have brought me into a dead end so I turned left and found myself on a long straight stretch. A little bit further up on my left, I saw a coffee shop called Fuscos. Perfect!

I had found a place where I could ask someone for directions.

There were two people sitting on high stools at a shelf along one wall which was the only seating area in the tiny retail outlet of what was primarily a bakery, and the lady behind the counter was occupied while cleaning. I decided to ask her.

“Er… excuse me, sorry. Would you know where 3 Rock Road is please?” My heart sank as she scrunched up her face in an effort to place it. If she had to think that hard it was very doubtful that she would come up with directions for me. Her
reply, when it did come, gutted me.

“I think that’s over in Sandyford, son!”

Over in Sandyford? That means I wasn’t even in the right industrial estate!

“But…but… but this is Sandyford!” I felt as if I was going to faint! I had driven into Sandyford – hadn’t I? Could it be that what I thought was Sandyford was somewhere else? Where? How?

“No, son – this is Stillorgan Industrial Park. Sandyford’s over the other side.”

Stillorgan! Stillorgan’s miles away! Where the hell was Sandy-ford? This is wrong, I thought. This is all pear shaped. I should just turn off the radio and go home – give up, forget about it.

Then I was instantly filled with determination. No! I said to myself. I’m going to find Sandyford if it kills me.

“Er, .sorry, missus, I’m new at this – the other side of what?”

“The other side of the main road.”

“The main road?” My brain was in so much of a tizzy that it needed everything spoon-fed to it.

“Yes, love, the road just behind us!”

“Oh. So Stillorgan’s this side of that road and Sandyford’s the other side.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks very much.”

So Sandyford was where I had always thought it was and this Stillorgan Industrial Park was an addition to it. This improvement picked me up no end and things got better as I reached the door.

“Where’d ye say ye were looking for?” A youngish man who had been reading his paper at the shelf sounded curious. I couldn’t help sounding hopeful.

“3 Rock Road.”

“What company?”

“Falco,” Then I added as an afterthought,”opposite Dun
lop.”

“Ah yes! Around here people don’t know the street names as well as they know the factories. Carry on up, next left- go as far as the T , that’s the main road- you turn right. Take your next left into Sandyford, next left again an’ then first right. That’d be 3 Rock Road ‘cos Dunlop’s just on yer left.”

“Thank you very, very much indeed.” I couldn’t hide my delight at the prospect of having my torment ended. I took his right hand in both of mine and shook it vigorously, as I thanked him so profusely before bounding out to get on my bike and follow his glorious directions. I’m sure his stunned gaze followed me until I was out of sight.

You’re not out of the fire yet, Sean, I reminded myself. As I nailed the bike towards the real Sandyford, I knew that I had to get to this place and fast before Aidan called or else I’d be found out as a liar. Go, go, go, he’s not going to pull out. Oh shit! Brake, brake, brake and beep! Gobshite! Another two fingered salute to the asshole that had pulled out in front of me without allowing for the speed I was moving at.

I found my way into Sandyford, took the next left and then the next right, and there it was! I had found Dunlop! That means that Falco must be here between these two buildings. There was nothing but a fire escape on the right so I thought that it had to be on the other side. The lack of signs didn’t help me but there was a bell beside the door and I pushed it. It seemed an age before the door finally opened and a spotty studenty sort of young man’s head popped out.

“Er, is this Falco?” My voice was filled with trepidation.

“Yes, you’re going to the IFSC?”

“Yes,” I responded, utterly relieved.

“I’ll be back in one minute.”

“Four Sean.”

“Go ahead.”

“Have you not got Falco on board yet?”

“I’m…er…just waiting for him to bring it out to me.”

“Sean, I want you to tell me every time you’re delayed anywhere. It’s very important for me to be able to make things run
smoothly.”

I nearly told him that I had only got here but I was hit with a flash of inspiration almost as my thumb pushed the speak button and instead I said, “He said he’d be back in a minute.” Without lying, I had implied that I had been here for ages.

“They always say that, Sean. I’ll put a quarter on it. Get back on to me if you’re delayed anymore.”

I was just about to ask him what he meant by putting a quarter on it, when the student reappeared carrying a box - a big box. The picture of a printer on the outside declared its contents to me, as I gawked dumbfounded at it with only one thought going through my mind: how the hell am I going to carry this on a motorbike?

“Er, where do you want this?” He was obviously tiring from the weight.

“In a van or on a truck or something. Do you think that will fit in here?” I gestured at the bag angrily.

He didn’t utter a word in reply. Tired, he lowered the box onto the back of my saddle – just as I remembered what Shay had said that morning about the moulded shape of the grip rails on my bike. A quick check revealed that the grips were as he had told me.

“Do you have any rope or something? Here, I’ll hold that.” My angered tone inspired immediate obedience that was gratifying in a bullying sort of way. The idea of me being a bully made me realise how much it didn’t appeal to me, however, and I vowed not to be so snappy with him when he came back. I busied myself in the interim by lining the box into the optimum position for it to be attached to the bike.

I couldn’t help a certain foreboding at connecting something so big onto the bike via such small bumps in the handrails under my saddle – especially using rope. Bungees would be much better because of their elasticity. I vowed to buy bungees that afternoon. In the meantime there was something I had to do.

“Four Sean.”

“Go ahead, four.”

“This job is a big box. He’s just gone to get rope to tie it onto the bike.”

“For fuck’s sake. Rie I’m goin’ to add another quarter on an’ change it to a van rate. Get yer book ou’ an’ write this down in the meantime - number 17 Torquay Woods in Foxrock. See Mary there an’ she’ll give ye one comin’ into the Bank of Ireland on College Green. Call me when you have i’ on board.”

“Roger.”

I tried to take the map out of my bag with one hand while still holding the box in good balance with the other but clumsily dropped it. I scolded myself, not for dropping the map but because the map had landed open on an index page with the bold heading “Industrial Estates” sneering up at me from the tarmac. What an idiot I was for blindly stumbling around the place that was so strange to me instead of just taking the god-damn map out of my bag and looking at that!

I had just worked out my route to Torquay Woods when the help arrived back with string instead of rope, but there was lots of it. Between us, we wrapped the string across the box and back three times as tightly as we could before I set off cautiously for Foxrock, making sure to lean slightly backwards so that I was just barely touching the box at all times. It dawned on me as I was leaving the estate that I had broken Aidan’s eleventh commandment. To hell with him, I had gotten away with it!

The house numbers were all over the place in Torquay Woods but it didn’t take me too long to find number 17. A pleasant elderly lady had just gone into what I presumed to be her living room to get my package when I unexpectedly heard the Channel Two beep coming from my radio, which was turned up full at that moment in time. It didn’t occur to me to defensively turn down the thing in case of play acting.

“Gay bikers on acid – wahay!” blared my radio at full blast into this poor lady’s house. I pounced on it and had it turned right down by the time Aidan’s abusive reply came over the air-waves. My face was bright red inside the helmet, as the poor lady returned with an envelope in her hand.

“I...er...sorry about that, someone messing!” I said.

“Of course.” Politeness prevented her from saying what she meant as she handed me the envelope but I felt a strong undercurrent of “get away from my house now” and complied promptly.

I was so embarrassed that I got on the bike and drove around the corner before pulling over to report to the base. This took several attempts since I forgot that the radio was turned down low and never heard him answer me. Finally I turned the radio back up and had a rather irate Aidan despatch a pick up from the cinema in Stillorgan going to In Dublin magazine on Trinity Street in Dublin 2. I was delighted to be given a pick up from somewhere I knew but less than impressed to hear a pickup in Sandyford being despatched to Nineteen Naoise just as I pulled up outside the cinema.

He could have given that to me, I decided sulkily, before sending me to Stillorgan, which was the next village on the way in from Sandyford. He must have known that I was bullshitting him in Sandyford and was punishing me by giving the work to Naoise. I ran in to the cinema quickly to get the job on board and call him in my sulkiest voice as soon as possible to let Fatso know how pissed off I was to be missing out on work like that.

“Four Sean.”

“Go ahead.”

“I have that Stillorgan on board”

“Okay, Sean. Pop into RTE, there’s something left in the main TV reception that came from the newsroom coming into government buildings on Merrion Street.”

“Roger.” The edge had gone off the sulkiness due to the unexpected work being given to me. Supposing to myself that Bollicky Balls was looking at the bigger picture, I set off for the nation’s broadcasting corporation. I knew where it was; who could miss the gigantic pylon that dominates the skyline on the corner of Stillorgan Road and Nutley Lane, but I had never been in RTE before and found myself relishing the prospect of having reason to be there. The box had held fast on the back of the bike on the two short journeys – Sandyford to Foxrock and
then down to Stillorgan – but I had no faith whatsoever in the twine that it was held on with. In order to feel the box that little better, I moved my bag around to the front to have nothing between my back and the box and then off I went in eagerness to RTE.