Pack Up the Moon (11 page)

were over sixty. Noel slid back the little sliding door that revealed the grille which separated saint from sinner.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey, Em, we’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he grinned.

“Well, if you’d ever pick up your phone I wouldn’t have to kneel to chat to you.”

“I thought you were going away for the weekend?”

“Change of plan,” I said. “Clo had a miscarriage today”

His eye twitched. It always twitched when he was surprised or not sure what to say.

“It’s OK,” I said. “She wasn’t ready to have a baby”

“Maybe God was listening,” he said.

I laughed bitterly like Clo had done before me. “I doubt it. He never listened to me.” I knew I was opening a debate which I normally steered away from with Noel, because I never wanted to hear what he had to say about

God and I didn’t like to fight with him, but today I wanted to hear what he had to say, just so I could tell him to shove it and maybe make myself feel a little better.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.

“Go on,” he said tentatively, sensing that I was looking for a fight.

“OK. How do you know He exists?”

“Who? God?” he asked, playing for time.

“No, Santa,” I replied sarcastically. “Of course God.” “I just do,” was his reply.

“Not good enough,” I challenged.

“OK, it says so in the Bible.”

I couldn’t believe it. “That’s it? It says so in the Bible?” That’s why he gave up his entire life? “OK, let me ask you this. What if it was discovered that the Bible was just another made-up novel written thousands of years ago by

some guy who smoked a lot of pot? Would you believe in God then?”

He laughed. “Someone would have to smoke a lot of pot to come up with that story.”

“Be serious,” I begged.

“OK, Em, I will,” he told me. “The Bible is just the guide. God is a feeling I have inside. He’s part of my soul.”

He smiled and I wondered if he was smoking pot.

Obviously sensing my dissatisfaction, he continued, “OK, you don’t believe in that. But what about all the people who have experienced miracles? What about the people who have seen Our Lady?”

That’s easy, I thought to myself. “A hell of a lot more people claim to have been abducted by aliens and they’re

called lunatics.”

I was pleased with my argument but he laughed. “I’m serious, Noel. Do you ever worry that you’re

wasting your life on someone who doesn’t even exist?” He stopped smiling and became pensive. I wished he

would just pick a fight, but he wouldn’t.

“My job is to help people. How can that be a waste of my life? God’s in all of us, Em.”

Was he trying to convince himself or me? I thought about it for a minute.

“You’re such a sap, Noel.”

“Indeed,” he agreed.

“I better go.”

He waved while I attempted to stand on brokens knees.

I sat in the empty church for a while, looking around

me. Religious statues lined the walls, the Virgin and

Child being the most prominent. I looked towards the

marble altar surrounded by golden gates. The stained glass

window depicted Jesus, bloody and dying, his mother at

his torn feet, looking desperately toward heaven, and I

took a moment to appreciate its macabre beauty

A long time after that, Noel reminded me of that day and admitted that while I was enjoying the view he was

inside his little box crying.

Ron the Ride

Sean was staying over in the spare room a lot, especially since Christmas.

Anne noticed.

“So what’s going on?” she asked casually over coffee in a packed coffee shop.

“Nothing,” I replied.

She didn’t accept “nothing”, believing Sein’s visits were more to do with me than with transport difficulties. I didn’t want to talk about it.

“How long has it been, Em?”

I was confused. “How long has what been?” I asked, pissed off. I really just wanted to have a cup of coffee.

“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?” She whispered the “sex” bit.

I thought to myself, I’ll pretend not to hear her, but I knew she’d scream the word if she had to.

“Does it matter?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

I sighed at her the way I sighed at my students. She was aware but didn’t care, as she felt the matter had to be addressed. It was just over ten months since John had gone, so therefore it seemed to me that it was obvious I hadn’t slept with someone in over ten months.

“Since John, of course,” I answered, irritated that I had to state it. “Ten months!’

“Ten months, Ern!”

“So?”

“Em,” she said seriously, “you turned twenty-seven years old in October.”

“You promised you would ignore my birthday,” I moaned, trying to change the subject. I had spent my birthday pretty much the same way I had spent Christmas, under my duvet. I began to wish I was still there.

“And I did ignore it,” she said, shaking her head from side to side.

“That includes not mentioning it and besides you sent

flowers,” I argued.

“You’re changing the subject:’

“So, what are you saying?” came my weary reply.

“So, he’s not coming back.” She sounded a little sad, as though saying it made John’s disappearance a little more

real.

“I know,” I agreed.

“Maybe you should try to get out there.” She was smiling

at me, like that would make her advice easier to take. “Get out there! You think just because it’s a new year

I should forget him?” I said in disbelief.

“No, of course not — nobody is forgetting what you

and John had. But — I know this sounds harsh — he’s gone and he’s not coming back and you are twenty-seven and

alone and we all —”

“Who are ‘we’?” I asked, annoyed.

She didn’t answer quickly enough.

“You were talking about this behind my back!” I said. Her smile faded. I almost heard her think, Oh shit! “Who’s ‘we’, Anne?”

She thought for a minute before answering. “Richard, Clo and Sean,” she blurted out.

My mouth fell open. “Oh my God! You had a fucking conference.”

She was fumbling for words now. “That is not the case and you know it. We’re just worried!’

It was obvious to me that these people had fuck all to

worry about if the big topic of conversation was my

getting laid. I was hurt.

“My sex life is private, and it’s not for you to discuss!” I was whisper-shouting.

“Look, it wasn’t planned. It’s just that Richard knows this solicitor — he’s really nice and he’s been single for over a year and …”

I stopped listening. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that she thought it was OK to be having this conversation

with me, here in this stupid packed coffee shop.

“So, you see, that’s how the conversation started and Clo and I really feel it’s time to move on.”

I had missed the middle bit. Shit, they were talking about me behind my back and that was enough. I couldn’t believe that Clo and Anne were discussing my sex life

with Sean and Richard. It was humiliating.

“Well, actually Sean was pretty quiet,” she admitted. “He does spend a lot of time in your place. Is there something we should know?”

“Nothing’s going on between Sean and me. He was John’s best friend,” I said, disgusted at her lack of consideration.

“OK,” she brightened. “So you can meet Ron.” I looked at her and repeated, “Ron?”

“Yeah, Em, the solicitor.”

I wanted to tell her to piss off, but after she talked for a long time, I found myself agreeing to meet a guy called Ron. It appears I was lonelier than I thought.

*

A week later I’m in my bedroom getting dressed to go

out on a date at eight with Ron. My first date since I was sixteen. I had bought a dress, but decided I didn’t like it. Clo and Anne were there, as helpers and spectators. They were drinking vodka and arguing whether red or black

was a better choice of colour. I was a nervous wreck, like a bad flyer facing a long-haul flight.

“What if I hate the sight of him?”

“You won’t,” said Anne.

“How do you know?”

“He’s a ride,” she responded.

“He’s a ride?” asked Clo.

“Yeah,” said Anne.

“So why have you never set him up with me?” Clo challenged. We laughed and she smiled at herself. “Anyway, just as well, I’m off men,” she reminded us.

We knew and wondered how long it would last.

It was nearly time for him to call. Clo and Anne were giddy on vodka and I was two minutes from a serious case

of the runs.

“Where’s Richard?” Clo asked Anne.

“Oh, he’s out with Sean,” she responded.

I hadn’t mentioned my date to Sean. I wasn’t quite sure how he’d take it, being John’s best friend. It made me nervous.

“Does Sean know I’m going on this date?” I asked, trying to appear casual.

“Yeah, I’m sure Richard mentioned it,” Anne replied while fixing my hair like I was a two-year-old.

“Is that a problem?” asked the ever-vigilant Clo. “No,” I responded, lying. “It’s fine.”

The doorbell rang and I wanted to vomit.

“Answer the door,” Anne prompted.

“Right,” I agreed. “You’ll stay in the kitchen. I will leave with Ron!’ I could barely make myself say the name Ron. “And then you will go home and not be here when I get back.”

They both agreed to those terms so I opened the door

and greeted my blind date.

“Hi, I’m Emma,” I said.

He smiled. “Ron Lynch. Sorry I’m late!’

It was one minute past eight.

“You’re not late,” I pointed out while grabbing my coat.

I needed to get him out fast before Clo lost her resolve

and attempted to check him out like my mother had done

with John all those years ago. “Let’s go.”

“OK,” he smiled.

We left and I walked down the path to his sports car

thinking jesus, Ron is a ride.

The curtains twitched as we took off and I knew that

Clo was giving Anne a hard time for not introducing

Ron to her. We sat in silence, occasionally turning our heads to smile at one another. He asked me if I wanted to listen to some music.

“Great,” I said over-enthusiastically.

“Any requests?” he asked and I thought it a bit stupid seeing as we were in a car.

How much choice could he have? But I remained polite. “What have you got?”

“What would you like?”

I really didn’t care. “Bruce Springsteen,” I said. “Which album?” he enquired.

Now he was just showing off.

“Well, which one do you have?” I said, smiling. “All of them,” he replied.

I gave up. “Born in the USA,” I demanded.

He used a remote control and a few seconds later Bruce

Springsteen was in the car singing “I’m on Fire”. It was truly impressive, in a kind of a “wanker” way. He smiled at me and I smiled back, trying to get comfortable in his bucket seats. We made it to the restaurant before I got to hear the title track and I made a mental note to go out and

buy the album. It reminded me of making out in John’s bedroom, which we had often managed even though his mom had made us leave the bedroom door open.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” I was miles away.

“We’re here.” He pointed to the restaurant.

“Right. Great.”

How many times was I going to say “great”, I wondered, while trying to get out of his car and still retain my

dignity. That having failed, we entered the restaurant. Obviously it was pretentious: silk walls, lots of lamps, linen tablecloths, silver service, candles, a pianist in the corner, snotty waiters, “the works” as Clo would put it. I really hated eating in places where the staff made you feel like

they were doing you a favour by letting you in.

After conferring we ordered from a set menu. The waiter, lanky and smug-looking, scribbled while sighing heavily to signify his distaste at having to serve a heathen

who dared to ask for mayonnaise.

“This is great,” I said smiling, my face starting to hurt. “You hate it,” he pointed out.

Alarmed, I said, “No,” while examining my skirt for lint.

He asked me if I wanted to go somewhere else, but the starters were on the way and for the first time I began to

relax, a little.

I looked at him across the table. He was blond, tall — square jaw, broad shoulders and kind of pretty. Not really my taste but a ride and certainly a lot of women in the

place seemed to appreciate him. I kept catching their eyes as they surveyed him and they would turn away and face

their uninteresting dates.

I heard myself sighing.

“OK, you really hate it here,” he noted and he was right.

I kept saying it was fine until eventually, after a second glass of wine, when he asked again I relented.

“It’s a bit stuffy,” I pointed out, embarrassed.

“I know,” he agreed. “I was trying to impress you.”

I smiled and it was genuine. “So I take it the sports car

is not yours either then?”

He laughed. “No, the car is mine. You don’t like it?” “It’s OK. I prefer Volvos. They’re very safe!’

He agreed that indeed they were safe.

I felt like a schoolteacher so I apologised. He laughed and we agreed that blind dates were difficult.

But it turned out that Richard had told him all about

me while I knew absolutely nothing about him. “I’m really sorry about your boyfriend.”

I nearly choked. “Thanks,” I managed and he was embarrassed and it was visible that he was sorry he

mentioned it.

I told him that it had nearly been a year and that I was

fine. He told me that he had been at Anne and Richard’s inheritance party and had noticed me entering with

John. He had asked Richard who I was, but Richard had explained that I was taken.