Pack Up the Moon (14 page)

“Neither can I,” Richard responded excitedly.

Anne remained silent. She had been quiet all day and everyone, bar her husband, was acutely aware that she didn’t want to move to Kerry. We finished lunch. The movers still hadn’t arrived.

“Bastards,” noted an agitated Anne.

We sat in silence waiting for the movers. Richard was off in his own little world dreaming about golfing and

catching fish. Anne appeared to be frozen like a deer caught in headlights. Clo and I were wallowing in self-pity brought on by our friends’ departure.

Sean eventually got pissed off. “Hello, can someone please talk?”

Nobody was listening to him.

“Hello?” he repeated. “Right, that’s it! I’m having a beer.”

He got up and went to pick up his bag of warm beers

while mumbling that he couldn’t believe they had sent off

the important things like chairs and the bloody fridge

first. He started to drink. Clo came out of her coma.

“Hey, what about the rest of us?” she asked, disgusted.

“Oh, now someone speaks!”

She smiled. “You’d be surprised what I’d do for booze.” He thought about it for a second. “No, I probably wouldn’t.”

She grinned. “Oh yeah, you’re probably right.”

I hated when they flirted, especially when it included a mention of their little fling. I asked for a beer to change the subject. Anne and Richard decided to join us rather

than beat us. So there we were drinking beers in an empty house while waiting for the movers to come and take our

friends’ possessions and, with them, our friends. Clo perked up after her second beer.

“I met someone during the week,” she said.

This sparked considerable interest because since her

miscarriage she had decided all men had pricks and therefore

were pricks. This meant that they should be avoided at all costs.

“Who?” I asked.

She told us he was a graphic designer who had

worked on her last ad campaign. They had gone to lunch together a few times and really got on. She hadn’t slept with him, but she was definitely interested. She said he made her laugh and he was kind. She especially liked the way that he always offered her food from his plate. He was cute in a “Mulder” sort of way. He had great teeth and they both loved the same films. We all agreed that he sounded great, but guessed that he was lying about liking the same films because Clo’s taste in entertainment was

up her arse.

I reminded her that she had declared herself a lesbian

the week before. She nodded, noting that it had seemed like a good idea. However when she really gave it some thought, she realised that men may be pricks but women were bitches and, besides, Page Three just didn’t do it for her.

Clo’s new love interest was called Tom Ellis. She was going to meet him for a drink later and she was quite

excited about it. For a minute I envied her, but then I remembered most dates involved hour-long conversations

based on star signs and I was glad to be heading home to

Leonard.

The movers arrived and we all helped them haul Anne

and Richard’s worldly possessions into the van and then

they were ready to go. Everyone was out in the garden. Anne had gone inside to take one last look around. Richard was busy discussing the directions with the

movers. After a while I followed her. I found her in the kitchen.

“Hey,” I announced myself.

“Hey, yourself,” she smiled. She looked like she was about to cry.

“It’s going to be great in Kerry. The house is fantastic; it’s by the sea for God’s sake. And the place looks great, and if you want you’ll find a job there, no problem. You’re only sixty miles from Cork and that’s got

everything that Dublin’s got —” I was on a roll but she cut me short.

“It doesn’t have my friends,” she said quietly.

I knew how she felt. “It’s not like we can’t talk on the phone and Richard still has business in Dublin. You can come up and down as much as you like and we’ll visit you. It’ll be great,” I said, trying to comfort myself as much as comfort her.

She brightened. “I know, I know and you’re right. Kerry is beautiful and the house is beautiful and the people

seem great, and it’s a really quaint little village and Richard loves it. It’s a great place to bring up kids and I know we’re lucky, but I just hope that we’re doing the right thing.”

I hoped they were too. I wanted to say, don’t go. I’d even volunteer to unpack all the boxes. But I just put my

arm around her. “It’s going to be great,” I repeated.

She smiled. “Promise me, just because I live somewhere else, you won’t forget about me. OK?”

I laughed. “Christ, Anne, you spend more time on the phone than Maureen Lipman. I couldn’t forget you if I wanted to!’

We laughed and Richard came in to call us. He took one look around.

“Goodbye, kip!” he cheered.

Anne mumbled “men” under her breath and we locked the door behind us. We all hugged at their car. Richard reminded us to visit them at Christmas. We all agreed. Sean and Richard made plans to head to the UK for a

soccer match the following month. Anne and I cried. Clo was busy taking photographs, which happened to be her new hobby. They drove off and Sean, Clo and I stood at their gate waving.

“And then there were three,” Clo whispered and I felt like crying again.

Sean rubbed his hands together. “Who’s coming for a pint?”

Clo refused, based on her need to go home, shower and beautify herself for the lovely Tom Ellis. I agreed. Leonard could wait; he’d gone through three tins of cat food for breakfast. It couldn’t be healthy.

We sat in Sean’s local and discussed Clo’s impending

date, which led to us discussing our own sad and depressing single status. I hadn’t attempted to date since Ron and Sean’s last encounter turned out to be some sort of a

stalker. We sat with our pints, resigned.

“So do you ever hear from Carrie?” I asked. Carrie was

the name we’d christened his stalker, her real name being Janet.

“No, thank Christ. I heard she’s seeing Pete, in accounts,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it. Carrie was a looney. “So I presume Pete does know she’s a lunatic?”

“Well, if he’s spending time with her he must,” he replied and smiled at himself, satisfied with his smartness.

“Don’t be smart, it’s very unappealing,” I said and continued, disgusted. “I can’t believe you haven’t set him straight.”

“You’d do the same thing,” he pointed out.

I was outraged. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, you would. If you had some nutcase banging down your door every five minutes and he found himself

a distraction, there’s no way you’d jeopardise that!’

I shook my head. “There’s something wrong with you.”

“You’d do the same thing!’

I changed the subject because he knew that I knew

that he was right. After another few pints I began to talk about the future. I was worried because, the way I saw it, Clo had been out with a lot of guys, all of them total assholes. I had found one guy, the perfect guy, at sixteen. He was The One and now he was gone. By sheer statistics I was bound to end up going through years of dating

complete dicks before ever, if ever, meeting the right guy again. And what if I didn’t ever meet the right guy? What if I just got so pissed off sharing my lonely little world

with Leonard and his eating problem and I decided to

marry some dick, just to have someone? I was feeling a little panicky.

Sean laughed. “That’s not going to happen.” “It could,” I argued.

“No way,” he stated.

“Why? Why no way?” I enquired.

“Because,” he smiled.

“Because what?” I pushed.

“Because you’d never settle for that.”

I smiled.

It was a nice thing to say until he followed it up with, “You’re too high maintenance.”

But I chose to ignore that.

We fell silent again. It struck me, despite all our chat, Sean seemed preoccupied. He was staring at his drink and fiddling with his left ear.

“You seem a little off form?” I said.

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“Based on?” he asked, intrigued.

“You know the way I pick invisible lint when I’m

nervous?” I asked and he nodded to confirm that he did. “Well, you pull on your left ear.”

He grinned and took his hand away from his ear. “You want to know what’s wrong?” he teased.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Partly to help and partly to feel I’m not the only one

with concerns!’

He laughed. “It’s delicate!’

“Delicate? Delicate how?”

“Well, you know I work in an office with ten women and twenty guys.”

I nodded. I did know.

“OK, so you sleep with some of those women and it’s cool, but then you sleep with some more and, well, women talk.”

The conversation had taken an interesting turn and the

gossip in me was screaming, Get to the point!

“It turns out that a few of them compared notes and

there’s something written about me on the ladies’ toilet

wall.”

“What?” I asked silently wondering if I really wanted to know.

He cleared his throat. “Sean Brogan gives good head.” I nearly choked on my drink.

“Now when they’re together they whistle when I pass. I feel violated,” he continued, having resumed pulling on his left ear.

I really didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to laugh and the other part wanted to pick invisible lint from

my trousers so I folded my arms.

“Wow. That’s terrible,” I managed, hoping I wasn’t about to blush. I felt sorry for him. He should have had a guy to talk to. I was useless.

“It’s a bloody nightmare. Carrie’s in on it and that bitch has pictures!”

“Sweet Jesus!” I said, now feeling hugely uncomfortable. “What would you do?” he asked, seriously.

“I’d just keep my head down,” I said and suddenly he

was laughing and I realised what I’d said and quietly died. Keep my head down. I cannot believe I just said that. Then I found myself laughing too.

After a few pints, Sean decided never to sleep with

someone he worked with again and we both drank to his

very wise choice.

I got home around ten; Sean was meeting some girl that he didn’t work with. The TV was on and I could hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen. As I lived alone, this was troublesome.

“Noel?” I called out, raising my umbrella while making a mental note to go for the bollocks. “Noel? Is that you?”

I had my back to the stairs and was aiming my umbrella

at the half-open sitting-room door.

“Hey!” I heard behind me and swung around making stabbing motions with my umbrella.

“It’s me — Noel! Don’t kill me, please!” he said, smiling, while holding his hands up.

“Jesus Christ, Noel, you scared the shit out of me!” I said, visibly shaken.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was in the loo and please don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.” He always had a bloody cheek.

“It’s my house! I’ll say whatever I want.” I dropped the umbrella onto my foot as I spoke. “Jesus Christ, my foot!” He went to speak but I was too quick. “Shut up! It’s my house!”

He told me I’d survive and then I followed him into

the kitchen. He made coffee and told me he had been worried that I’d feel extra lonely now that Anne and

Richard had moved to Kerry He did have a bloody cheek, but he was also bloody kind. I swore I was fine and after my few drinks with Sean I was telling the truth. I told him about the graffiti on the ladies’ toilet wall and we had

a laugh at Sean’s expense.

Then out of the blue Noel noted thoughtfully, “I suppose that’s one of the reasons priests should remain

celibate. ‘Father Noel gives good head’ just doesn’t sound right.”

I laughed. “I don’t know — apparently there are a lot of priests that do!” I laughed again loudly at my joke.

He looked uncomfortable.

I apologised, suddenly realising the comment wasn’t in

good taste. (Excuse the pun.) “Sorry, Noel, sick joke.” “It’s OK.” He smiled, but the mood had changed. I asked him what was wrong.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“Come on,” I goaded. “It’s obvious there’s something up, even to me, and I’m renowned for being self-absorbed.” He smiled. “That’s true:’

I encouraged him to talk and he did. He told me that he had been lonely for so long. He had spent so many years defending his celibacy that he refused to question

why it was necessary, until now. He had met someone. She was a social worker, in her early thirties and separated from her husband; they had hit it off. He said that she was beautiful and funny. She was intelligent and told him where to go when he was boring her and nobody did that except

for his family. He said that she made him feel like a man. I sat in silence and listened to him, telling me about the colour of her hair, and I watched him smile as he remembered it. He spoke of her warmth and her wide smile.

He told me that one look from her made him question

all that he was and all that he wanted. From his description I knew he was talking about the woman I’d seen him with

in the pub all those months ago. I was dumbfounded. I was usually quite good at giving unsolicited advice, but I was

speechless, busy trying to get used to the idea of my brother being a sexual being. But it was more than that. All these years I had believed that his beliefs were enough

to keep Noel warm at night, enough to keep him company on winter evenings, enough to make up for living a life alone, but I was wrong. Nobody is built to be alone, especially those who dedicate their lives to caring for

others.

I wanted to tell him to give it all up and run off to

Jamaica with her, but I recognised that I didn’t have a clue what he was going through and that in most situations

there is no easy answer.