Gurriers (3 page)

I was in great form that afternoon. The chase had pumped me full of adrenalin and the grappling had me as horny as hell. My mind was totally occupied with what I was going to do to my wonderful lady when I got my hands on her and how much she was going to love it. I felt truly privileged to be so in love and also to have such a source of excitement all wrapped up in such a fantastic girlfriend.

How many bikers are lucky enough to have a woman in their lives that has the skill and training to out-drive them on two wheels? Not very many I would think.

And speaking of training, Saoirse’s martial arts expertise made for some pretty special bedroom rough stuff, and she was tough enough to be thrown as well as to throw about. Not that I ever got the better of her when she felt like a bit of rough and tumble (being the gentleman that I am, physical foreplay must be initiated by the girl). She out-roughed and out-tumbled me every time.

There was just that one time that I had my left arm across her shoulders and managed to get my right arm behind her knees to lift her and throw her with all my strength. I threw her onto the
bed, of course, but there was too much force involved and she bounced up – limbs flailing wildly – and off the other side of the bed to land awkwardly on the floor with a crump and a yelp. I felt terrible and was straight over to help and comfort her. She was just a little winded – nothing to a tough chick like her – and we ended up having some gentle, caring sex in lieu of the physical, aggressive fuck that we had set out for…all good!

It was hitting on four that afternoon and the shrill ring of the phone on my desk startled me out of my inner reverie. Mr Murray, aka “the big boss”, wanted to see me in his office straight away.

Being so in love with Saoirse, my first reaction to her surprise presence in Murray’s office was delight. This joy was only replaced by concern after she lowered her eyes to the floor to avoid meeting my gaze, the lightning design mark of my tyre just going that little bit redder than the rest of her complexion.

My concerns were multiplied when I realised that she was accompanied by Sergeant Fynes, who had no problem meeting my gaze and sternly matching eye contact until I weakly turned to my boss for some sort of explanation.

“Sean, this is Sergeant Fynes and you know Garda Murphy.”

“Of course I do, we’re a couple. What’s going on, Saoirse?”

“You talk to me, boy, I’m the senior garda here and you’re in trouble.” Fynes butted in.

“What sort of trouble?”

“Speeding, reckless driving, driving without due care and attention, damaging Garda property and assaulting a garda.”

“Saoirse?”

“Garda Murphy has already tried to protect you, Mister Flanagan, but has been persuaded to tell the truth about events, some of which I witnessed myself on my way to work, leading to the damage done to the Garda vehicle that pursued yours as you endangered the lives of the public and the assault on Garda Murphy, which left her with the visible injury to her face.”

“That’ll be gone tomorrow. Look, I was just having a bit of fun.”

“The graveyards are full of people that would say the exact words if they had any breath to say them with,” Fynes said in an unimpressed tone.

“Saoirse, can I see you alone for a moment, please?”

“Everything you have to say can be said to the senior garda here, Mr Flanagan. You talk to me.” His tone was harsh, like that of an outraged headmaster.

“Saoirse, remember the way you told me that Fynes creeps you and the other female gardaí out by the lecherous way that he speaks to you and looks at you and how it’s strange that a man of his age in his position still hasn’t managed to get a wife yet? Well, I understand that to be the real reason that you were dragged in here this afternoon and I don’t hold you to blame for anything that this lonely, old wanker does to me out of jealousy. The most important thing for us is that we don’t let this come between us. Stuff like this tends to strengthen the bond between couples.”

“Garda Murphy knows that gardaí have to be extra careful who they associate with in their private lives and that bad decisions can have a very negative effect on their careers. Mr Murray is also aware that it is frowned upon to employ such a menace to society as you have proven yourself to be today. You will be very lucky if your actions don’t land you in prison.”

“Mr Murray needn’t worry – I quit, effective immediately. The only reason that I am lucky is because of the woman that I share my life with. Saoirse?”

When she finally spoke her voice was weaker and shakier than I had ever heard it before, but the words demolished me completely – leaving me on the brink of tears with nothing inside me except searing regret for everything that had happened that day, from taking the chase to showing up Fynes, to quitting my job.

“Sean, I have wanted to be a garda since I was a little girl. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t say that; don’t let him take you away from me. Don’t let the lonely, old creep destroy something so wonderful.”

“It’s time we were going, Garda Murphy.” Fynes said forcefully.

“Saoirse, please!”

“I’m sorry, Sean.”

And then she was gone, and all of my dreams and hopes of happiness went with her.

I went back to my desk like a boxer who had just gone 15 rounds might go back to his dressing room. I was battered. After an indeterminate amount of time just sitting there numb, I managed to pick up the phone and call my friend, Eoin.

Eoin, who had married his childhood sweetheart, Marie two months previously, was a chartered accountant who had recently bought a three bedroom semi in Lucan on the outskirts of Dublin.

During an emotional phone call, when I broke down in tears several times, I persuaded Eoin to come to Ballinasloe in his car the following Saturday to collect me and my stuff and allow me to move into the spare room of his house. I was moving back to Dublin to heal myself.

I had to get out of Ballinasloe to suffer what I knew lay ahead of me. It was just too small a town for a man to go through a broken heart in. There wasn’t a pub or restaurant in the town that I hadn’t been to with Saoirse; I would be forever haunted by the memories of previous happiness every place we went to in Ballinasloe. It was time to leave and besides, I had a promise to keep.

A promise I had made to Saoirse in bed one glorious, sex-filled wet Sunday morning, when I was feeling ready and able and had already started fishing for my next shag.

“I’m never going to be a burden to you, my love.” I said.

“What makes you say that, darling?”

“My desire to never have a negative effect on your life, no matter what.”

“You’re so deep, Sean.” she answered, staring deep into my eyes.

“Seriously, if you ever dump me I will make it easy for you. No calling around to your place drunk, crying and begging, no mat
ter how much I want to. I will allow myself one letter begging you to change your mind and come back to me. Apart from posting that letter I will make no other attempt to contact you.”

“That’s sweet, Sean, but I’m not going to dump you.”

“You are so mind numbingly beautiful. Say that you’re not going to dump me again.”

“I’m not going to dump you again!”

“D’you wanna know something else?”

“Yes,” she said, quite eager to hear what I was about to tell her.

“I’ve got a lollipop under the duvet for you.”

“Ooh, Sean!” she said, giggling like a little schoolgirl.

The letter! Thinking about the begging letter filled me full of hope. It could well work. It had to work. I was going to spend every waking moment between now and Saturday creating a masterpiece of literary persuasion that was going to inspire her to tell that evil sergeant that she couldn’t live without me and call his bluff on what I would convince her was an empty threat about the detrimental effect on her career that seeing me would have. The letter could fix everything.

When Eoin called to the flat on Saturday, I was a mere shadow of the friend that he had last seen on his wedding day. I was pale, gaunt and hungover and on the point of bursting into tears whenever I wasn’t actually bursting into tears, which I did more than once whilst recounting my tale of woe to him.

I was ready to go, though. I had sorted out the finances with the landlord and packed all of my belongings into boxes that would all fit in the car. The only thing that would be coming with me on the bike was the letter - enveloped, addressed and stamped – all ready for the post box. I could have posted it in town, but had decided to post it in Dublin to emphasise the fact that I had moved out of Ballinasloe which might, according to my broken hearted logic, help swing the decision in my favour.

The air of poignancy involved in closing the door of a home behind you for the last time was magnified beyond bearing due to the misery of my current situation, contrasting the happiness that had
been my life in this flat and my eyes were full of tears as I waved Eoin off.

Then I went to Mulligan’s on the main street to have what was possibly going to be my last ever pint in Ballinasloe. There were a few reasons for me having a pint before following after Eoin. I needed a cure. I needed to pull myself together. The car needed a decent head start.

In all the turmoil that was this wretch’s life this week, amidst all the loss and misery and uncertainty one thing was definite: when this wretch got on his bike and a good grip on the throttle with a long journey ahead of him, he was going to go fast.

He was going to go extremely fucking fast!!!