Gurriers (46 page)

“So, my friend, what appears to be troubling you?” John, the last of the quartet to arrive, had just settled himself on the sofa and opened his first can.

“The dog’s dead!”

“The tramp’s dog?”

“Yes. He was gone when I went there today.”

“How can you be sure?” Naoise tried to sound optimistic.

“He’d been there for months and was in no hurry to go anywhere else. I think he died from the cold last night. You know it was the coldest night of the year so far?”

“Maybe the cold forced him to move. He could be curled up on a rug in front of the fire in some gaff in the estates up the road even as we speak.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll be driving by lots in the hope of seeing him again.”

“Hope! The tormentor of the grieving heart! The prolonger of suffering! You’re better off without it. Abandon hope!”John proclaimed with gusto.

I could feel water building up in my eyes. I knocked back the last of my can, blinking furiously and jumped out of my seat.

“Anybody else want anything from the fridge?”

Vinno signalled affirmative by raising the can that he had been silently and solemnly staring at thus far in the proceedings, noticing that I was upset as he made eye contact.

“I wouldn’t say abandon hope, John,” Naoise said thoughtfully, as I left the room.

I had no problem hearing them from the kitchen.

“What good does hope ever achieve? All it does is prolong the grief!”

“It cushions the blow.”

“Drags out the pain.”

“What you need, my brother,” Vinno’s interjection was loud enough to get the attention of the whole room, including me, as I brought out the fresh cans from the kitchen. “Is serenity.”

“Serenity?” All three of us questioned simultaneously.

“As in: ‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference!’ Death is definitely something that we can’t change and so would be best approached and dealt with applying every ounce of serenity you can muster up, Sean, because in this job that you’ve chosen for yourself, you are more than likely going to have to deal with it again.”

I handed him his can and sat down during the oncoming reverent silence. I knew what was coming next. Fallen comrades were going to be remembered.

As usual I sat quietly as they told tales of Steve and Gerry and Aiden with the ‘e’. But this time, instead of wishing that I’d known these men, I felt lucky that I hadn’t had to suffer their loss, as my comrades had. I felt that I understood a little more
about the pain of losing a friend.

Several beers and joints later, Naoise returned from a trip to the toilet to notice that I had drifted away from the conversation with John and Vinno and had my head down in a typical maudlin pose. His loud voice ended the others’ conversation instantly.

“If you can keep your head when all around you are losing theirs and blaming it on you,” The full volume recital of Rudyard Kiplings If that followed, picked me up no end – filling me full of the grit and gristle of manhood, as uniquely portrayed by the master.

Until the end, that is, when Naoise substituting “my brother, Sean” for “my son”, choked me up with emotion and had me blubbering like a little girl. “And which is more - you’ll be a man, my brother, Sean.”

“Thanks Naiose – that was beautiful!”

“Dig down deep, brother, plant your feet firmly on the ground, brace your shoulders and shout into the storm!”

“Thanks John.”

“Stop sniffling like a girl and get a joint together; things are never goin to be tha’ bad for ye now tha’ ye have all us fuckers on yer side, is’ i’?”

“No Vinno, thanks.”

John then got the bit between his teeth and belted out a magnificent poem, Rastafarian style, that he had written about being arrested in London.

More cans and joints later, I recited a poem of mine called “The Lonely Shore” which was well received by all but wasn’t a patch on John’s material.

All in all, the evening was exactly what I needed. I went to bed in good form, focussing on my success in asking Jenny out and also on my success at keeping it quiet all night, drunk and all!

I wasn’t in good form the next morning though. One thought struck me like a bolt of lightning as I awoke at a quarter past eight: what if I get a chance to bring Jenny home? To this mess!

By twenty past eight I was nudging Naoise on the sofa. “Naoise – wake up! Are you going to radio in from here or are you going home?”

“Home. Breakfast.”

“Right – ye better get goin’ ‘cause ye have to get John up to move his bike out first. Jesus Christ! Look at all those cans! How many did we drink?”

“We had a tray, you had a tray, Vinno had a bagful… em… lots, Shy Boy. We drank lots! Calm down, man, it’s Okay! Vinno was wi’ us. Ye’re not gonna geh fucked owa the gaff or an’in!”

I was frantically collecting cans. “Just give us a hand, Naoise. Empty those ashtrays into that one. I’ll empty it after I get rid of these cans. Give us over that rubbish. Jesus Christ! What the fuck is that?”

“It’s something that has nothing to do with me that I’d rec
ommend using disinfectant on. What’s up with you this morning? Jesus Christ! It’s not even half eight!”

“I just want a clean house, Naoise. That’s not too much to ask for, is it?”

“Ye’ve gone to work an’ left ih worse than this before.”

“Well, not today, man. Oh Jaysus, look what we did to the fucking kitchen!”

By the time John surfaced from the spare room at a quarter to nine, we had the rubbish cleared, the ashtrays emptied and most of the surfaces wiped. I was filling the kitchen sink to wash up and scrubbing the draining board while Naoise gathered and stacked the dirty dishes and glasses from around the kitchen to the countertop beside the sink, scraping into the bin whenever necessary.

“Impressive housework, my friends. I wish I’d been up to lend a little assistance with your chores.”

I opened the press beneath the sink and produced a half bottle of Shake ‘n’ Vac. “Fret not, my friend, you’re still in time to make a contribution. There’s enough in here for a light sprinkling of the other room, but do the heavy traffic areas first, just in case!”

“This will definitely be my first time doin’ this after a session.”

We were all occupied in our duties when Vinno got up five minutes later.

“Here, Snow fuckin’ White! Have ye got the other five dwarves whistlin’ while they work down in the garden or wha’?”

“Oh fuck! What time is it? Have to radio in on time; I’m finishing early today. Will I tell John that you two are here also?”

“I’m leavin’ here this minute headin’ home, ye can tell him.” “I’ll start from here.”

“Four Sean.”

“Sean, Aidan told me tha’ I mi’ hear from you early this morning.”

“Sorry, John. I have a lot of stuff to get done today. I’ve been busy all morning. Nineteen Naiose just left heading home and Fif
teen John is going to start from here. We’re all ready to go.”

“That explains a lot. Tell John I have one in Sandyford going to Blackrock; get him down to cover low for me, I have one for you in Superquinn Ballinteer going to Sutton, going to be left at customer services for you. Tell Naoise to turn on his radio also.”

“Roger.”

“I thought you said he was gone.”

Shit! The bastard caught me out. “He’s downstairs getting his bike out of the corridor. I can shout down to him…Hey Naoise, turn on your radio!” I screamed at the top of my voice to the man five feet away from me.

“Thou shalt not bullshit thy base controller. Eight Ray got ye there, stand by!”

That Thursday was not a good day. Between the hangover, the depression about Tramp and the frantic start to the day (early panic seemed to have a knock on effect to the mood of the whole morning, if not the entire day), I was in foul mood that morning.

The bathroom hadn’t been touched and I had to do something to improve the downstairs corridor. The black “wet glove” handprints, the black oil marks and the various other stains on the walls did not make the best first impression and shuffling past two motorbikes while the “pleasant to only few” engine/ workshop/ oily spanners smell made its dominance of this area obvious, did not do much, if anything, to improve the impression.

My second pick-up was in Overseas Investments in Sandy-ford Office Park. An A4 cardboard sign declaring that “couriers must fully remove helmets” was cellotaped to the inside of the glass door, incurring my wrath with their purile attitude that shoving a helmet to the top of my head to make the face visible was not enough of a security measure and, even though I was obviously just a man with his hands full trying to do his job, I was likely to produce a weapon and rob the place if I was not made to struggle with my helmet vying for valuable finger space
with all the other shit. And they didn’t even have the decency to say please! I shoved my helmet up to balance on my head as per usual!

My rebellious attitude increased in the five minutes that the less than friendly old receptionist, whose make-up looked like a botched plaster job, kept me waiting while she ignorantly (from my perspective) finished whatever she had been busy at, before spending the ten seconds required to fish my envelope from her out tray. The scowl that accompanied the envelope as it crossed the reception desk confirmed in my mind that I had been kept waiting out of spite. The sour old bitch!

I wasn’t under any pressure at the time but that was irrelevant. If I had been, her malevolence would have had a horrible effect on me. I snatched the envelope from her hand in as fast a movement as I could, causing her to jump slightly in surprise, turned on my heel and marched towards the door, fuming. I held the envelope squeezed against the signature book with the two smallest fingers on my left hand while the other two grabbed the handle of the door with enough force to swing it open angrily.

For a split second my body was between the dragon and the door with my right hand free. Before I had a chance to consider what I was doing, I had ripped the offensive sign from the door on my way out of the building. I threw the sign into the box with a wave of guilt washing over the rage; theft and vandalism being so alien to me. As I accelerated furiously away from the building it occurred to me that the sign would cover one of the black marks in the corridor at home with a humorous twist to it.

The notion developed into a plan very quickly and by the time I left Sandyford, I was mentally flicking through the locations of the “Remove Helmets” signs that I could remember that did not say “please”.

I was in a pretty foul form right up to lunchtime – late lunch-time actually - and arriving at the base at ten to two, starving, to finally eat the roll that I had bought at half twelve added to the downward spiral that was my spirit that day.

I slammed an envelope going to Phibsboro, en route to Finglas, that I had picked up in Walkinstown on my way in from Tallaght, onto the shelf at the hatch forcefully enough to make Aidan postpone the lighting up of his after lunch smoke and to glare sternly at me.

“Everything else is dropped. Am I Okay to grab a bite now?” I demanded aggressively, almost daring him to delay my lunch any further.

An element of intrigue made its way into his expression as he slowly and deliberately lifted the envelope without breaking eye contact, the unlit cigarette remaining motionless in his mouth as if to accentuate the coolness with which I would be dealt.

When his eyes briefly flicked onto the address written on the envelope, there wasn’t the slightest flicker of movement from any other muscle. “Do ye noh wan’ to see the dog today?” He found a question to answer a question, to help him get control of the situation.

“The dog’s dead!” I retorted, short, blunt and cold, epitomising my mood. His reaction was to look away to light his cigarette; the delay either a time to compose a reply or an opportunity for me to cool down, or both.

“You sit down and enjoy your lunch. Take all the time you want,” he replied through a cloud of smoke.

“Thanks.” I answered, much softer than before. I had never heard Aidan tell anybody to enjoy anything before, let alone telling a courier to take his time! It was good to get a glimpse of heart through the cold hard exterior. My mood improved in leaps and bounds during lunch, helped greatly by Paddy and Shay taking the piss out of Mick over the state of his bike.