Pack Up the Moon (37 page)

months later he did leave the priesthood. The first time he met his son was on a Sunday in a park. Laura brought him there on the pretext of duck-feeding. They would bump into one another as though by accident. There was to be no build-up. Noel would just slip into his child’s life slowly and carefully. Of course, your grandmother took to her bed when told of Noel’s paternity and career change. She emerged after a week of sulking and found, despite what the neighbours would say, Noel’s new status was the one she had dreamed of all along. Dad was cool about it but that’s just him — your granddad is cool. I asked Noel once what was it like to meet his son for the first time. He remembered the ducks and Laura leaning over a little boy

who was giggling and as he got closer the little boy

looked around and he saw his face and something inside

clicked. He smiled at the memory and I knew what he meant.

Of course it wasn’t all roses — having to admit that he’d ate the apple to the bishop and a room full of clergy

wasn’t a laugh. Leaving behind his life and his vocation was no picnic either. He was lost for a while. He was

forced to move home and Mom said it was like dealing

with a bloody teenager. He and Laura were rocky for a while but spending days in the park or at the movies or

in the garden with his son made up for most of it. They got back on track a few years ago and Noel Junior was

soon joined by Gina, who at two years old is your archenemy while Jamie, her twin brother, has become your unconditional slave.

Noel went back to college too and now works as a

social worker. The money’s crap, but then money was never an issue for my brother.

*

Last night Sean was holding my hand and I turned to

examine his familiar face. He has aged,. in the past few years. All his boyishness has left him. Instead I was staring at a rugged handsome man. Little lines are appearing around his eyes and each with a little story to tell. His five o’clock shadow makes him look dangerous but his eyes

remain forever the same. Sometimes I lose myself in him, his strength, his calm and his humour.

He smiled at me and pushed my hair out of my face. “The first time I saw you I fell in love with you,” he said.

“The first time you saw me you didn’t even notice me,” I grinned, remembering John trying to catch his attention in the Buttery bar, desperate to introduce his girlfriend to his new best friend. “You were too busy chatting up some blonde medical student.” I remembered her clearly.

“That wasn’t the first time,” he whispered which shut me up instantly. “It was in the Arts Block a few days before that night:’

I turned and faced him, attempted to lean on my elbow, missed and hit myself in the face.

He laughed as I fixed myself. “I was drinking coffee sitting by the wall opposite the library. I saw you coming up the steps. You were carrying books piled on one another. Your hair was in your face, but I swear the light behind you made your green eyes glow. You were stunning and it was obvious that you didn’t have a clue about that. I could tell by the way you held yourself. Beautiful women usually have an air of arrogance, but you didn’t have that. Of course two seconds later you tripped and dropped

your books all over the place. I wanted to help you, but I couldn’t move. You picked them up and got up, slowly mumbling to yourself. You were standing when they fell again. You blushed until you were purple.” He was laughing.

I hit him playfully, urging him to go on.

“You gave up after that. You just sat amongst the books and lit up a cigarette. Then you put your Walkman on and sang alone, totally unaware of anyone or anything around you and I was in love!’

“Wow! I didn’t know that,” I admitted, remembering the terrible humiliation that he spoke of, and the embarrassing way I used to forget that just because the

general public couldn’t hear my Walkman didn’t mean

they couldn’t hear me.

“Such a klutz!” he laughed into my ear.

“I’m not a klutz,” I argued.

“Emma, you punched yourself in the face less than two minutes ago.”

I didn’t argue again. “I hated every girl you ever dated. I

even hated Clo for a second or two,- I admitted without guilt.

“I know,” he grinned.

“I love you,” I said.

“You couldn’t help yourself,” he smiled and I, remembering John, nodded.

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Till death do us part!” he noted triumphantly. “And beyond,” I mumbled.

*

You were appearing in your first school play earlier

tonight. Five years old and already you think you’re Halle Berry. You were so cute as the Virgin Mary. Sean caught it all on camera and no doubt I’m going to have to listen

to an endless stream of latest editing techniques this

weekend. You forgot your line, my heart stopped but you just burst into the chorus of Outkast’s “Caroline”. I’m not sure that the Virgin Mary ever sang about someone’s shit

not stinking, but you made it work. You took a bow and received a standing ovation. It was the best school play I’d been to and I’ve been to them all. Maybe you’ll be the next Halle Berry after all. You went to bed full of orange juice and biscuits.

I retired to my room to finish this journal. I started it on your second birthday because it was on that day, standing in sunlight surrounded by friends, balloons, toys, treats and you aged two twirling around until dizzy and

puking, that I realised I could have missed it. I could have missed knowing you and being there for you and there is

nothing that I or anybody else could have done about it.

It was then that I decided to tell you some things about

the past and about what I’ve learned in this life just in case

in the future I’m not around. You could treat this as a kind of reference book. More often than not it will be a reference book on what not to do but that’s OK. I gave it to Clo to see what she thought because maybe some of it

was a little sexy for a mother to tell her daughter. She didn’t think it was too sexy but then again Clo thinks I’m

about as sexual as a green runner bean or an old lady

eating grapes. She told me I should have it published, like anyone is going to be interested. I told her she was insane.

“You’re insane,” she retorted.

“You,” I said.

“You,” she replied.

“You,” I reiterated.

“You,” she reiterated.

We went on like that for quite some time. I only mention it because it merely goes to show that adults can

often act like children when they think no one is watching.

Anne had already read it. She’d been reading it on and off for over a year now. Every few months I’d hand over the latest instalment and she’d read it over a coffee and a

few Digestives, laughing or crying, and then together we’d reminisce about the way we were and are. Although she enjoyed trotting down Memory Lane, it concerned her that maybe I was writing some sort of obituary but

that’s not what this is about. Maybe I’ll live to a grand old age and if I do I’ll be there and you won’t need these

words but maybe I won’t and if so this journal is a little

insurance and to that end I just want to end up by

imparting the little wisdom I’ve gleamed to date.

I’m old enough and I’ve watched too many sitcoms to

know that I don’t know everything. I can’t live your life for you. I can’t even protect you as much as I’d wish to. You have to go out into the world and live your own life. You have to follow your heart and make your own

mistakes of which you will make many, because everyone makes mistakes and nobody is perfect. Not even that kid with the golden hair and the beauty-queen eyes that will

sit opposite you on the bus when you’re feeling like some

old dog left out in the rain or that boy who every boy

wants to be and every girl wants to be with or even the

genius being primed to be the next Bill Gates. They will all know pain and hurt and rejection, but they’ll also know love and laughter and joy just like you. My life can only ever be a lesson to me. So this is just a heads-up on the four key things that my life has taught me thus far.

After night comes day.

After death comes life.

Even at your darkest time look around because you are

never really alone.

You are loved.

THE END

My love and thanks to Mary and Kevin Flood for always

being there. To my friends: Fergus (Jergilious) Egan for the best times I’ve ever had in a kitchen and teaching me

how to write; Enda Barron for being the Darth to my Vader; Tracy (feel the weight of tha’) Kennedy for your infectious laugh; Joanne Costello and John Goodman without whom no holiday would be complete; Lucy Walsh for always knowing what to do; Darren Walsh for being the funniest man in Ireland. To Edel Simpson for recognising when I’m talking through my ass, Noel Simpson for his kindness, Valerie (Hallie) Kerins because she has to be mentioned at least twice, Graham & Bernice Darcy for your support and ideas, Angela (Dorian Grey) Delaney for your divine taste and one-liners, Martin Clancy for all the answers and Trish Clancy for making

Martin happy. To those who’ve stuck it out since our teens: Leonie Kerins for perfecting the waddle walk to the dance floor; Dermot Kerins for New Year’s Eve 1996; Clifton Moore for always seeing the best in me; Gareth Tierney for sharing my taste in the nerdy stuff. Stephane Duclot for being French. The McPartlins, especially Don and Terry for their support. To my family, the O’Shea’s: Maime and T, who define the term “role model”, Denis

for your enthusiasm and warmth, Lisa for your goodness and dirty grin, Siobhan for your splendid and filthy mind, Paul for finding Siobhan, Brenda for being the giddiest person I know, Mark for putting up with the giddiest person I know, Caroline and Ger for being adventurers, Aisling (Bing-a-ling) otherwise know as Xena (Buffy loves you), Dave for taking care of me in NZ. To the kids, Daniel, Nicole, David and my godson Conor — I love you all. To Claire McSwiney, Paudie McSwiney and all the McSwiney clan. Aisling Cronin, I miss you. To David Constantine for your humour. To my workmates David Jenkins, Kevin O’Connor, Suzanne Daly, Sophie Morley and all at Chubb Insurance. Everyone at Poolbeg, including Kieran, all the girls and especially Gaye Shortland for her patience and insight and Paula Campbell for being my

champion. Finally my husband Donal for everything.