The Bright Side (44 page)

“I’m not defending him.
”

“You’ve been weird about this since the start. I –
”

“It’s hardly your father’s fault that you picked a job where you’re liable to end up in the papers when something goes wrong!
”

He shook his head. “You’re priceless, you are. Unbelievable …
”

“Tell me what happened in the club,” I said. “You might as well.
”

“Why? So you can have a go at me?
”

“I’m not going to have a go at you. Tell me about it, please.” He sat back and did his jaw-rubbing thing, saying nothing
.

I said, “If you don’t give me your side of it, I’ll have nothing to go on but the piece in
The
Sun
. Is that what you want?
”

That seemed to get through to him. Another few seconds went by and then he finally spoke up
.

“I was rotten drunk, for a start. I was out with Ginger and Bogie.
”

“Who?
”

“You don’t know them, never mind that bit. Club Zed. It’s a private, after-hours sort of joint. About one, maybe one thirty, I got up to go for a whizz. Y’know, go to the toilet.
”

“I know what a whizz is, Robert, I’m not a nun.” “Christ, I’m just saying –
”

“All right, all right. Go on.
”

He shook his head and muttered something indecipherable. “On my way to the jacks, I spotted her. Lisa. Sitting with this greasy-looking gobshite with a fake tan and a bucket of wax on him.
”

“A bucket of what?” “
Wax
. On his hair.” “Wax?
”

“Jesus,
yes
. It’s like gel. People use wax now, all right? What does it matter?
”

This was starting to resemble one of our old-school conversations. I told myself that he was under a lot of stress and tried to remain pleasant
.

“It doesn’t matter. But you don’t have to take my head off.
”

He
glanced
away
for
a
moment.
“Right,
so
I’m
on
my
way to
the
jacks
and
I
spot
them
in
the
corner.
He
was
all
over her,
pawing
at
her,
and
she
was
giving
it
loads,
all
that
business.”
He
paused
and
did
a
reasonable
mime
of
a
woman being
pawed
and
loving
it,
head
back,
eyes-a-flutter.
“I mean,
I’d
seen
her
in
there
before
and
all,
but
I
dunno
…
for some reason
I
was
sure
I’d
never
see
her again.
I
was
kinda
staring,
I
suppose.
I
don’t
think
I
was
even
planning
on saying
anything,
to
begin
with.
Then
she
caught
my
eye
and I
could
see
that
she
was
trying
to
place
me.
I’d
only
met
her the
once,
at
that
barbeque
you
had.
Then
she
sort
of
… smirked.
”

I recalled the look she’d given me through the front-room window and nodded
.

“Well, maybe not smirked, but … she certainly didn’t look embarrassed or anything. Then the boyfriend turned to see what she was looking at and I caught
his
eye and there was another bit of staring. Then he crooked his finger at me, you know, like he was beckoning a fucking waiter. I knew he was going to start, but I marched over anyway. He says, ‘Do you think my girlfriend’s attractive?’, all cool and sneery. And I said, ‘Lots of people do, by all accounts’ or something similar. Then he says, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ and I ignored him. Then I made some sort of a comment to her.
”

“Like what?
”

“I can’t remember.” “Robert …
”

“I really can’t. But it was something about being a slut or a tramp. Or maybe a whore. Something along those lines.
”

“Brilliant. What did you think that was going to achieve?” “I thought you weren’t going to have a go at me?
”

“This isn’t having a go, Robert. If I wanted to have a go, I’d –
”

“Anyway.
The
boyfriend
jumped
up
and
punched
me.
I went
back
on
another
table
or
a
person
or
something
–
I didn’t
fall
anyway.
And
when
he
came
for
me
again,
I
was
ready and I … beat
the shit out of
him.
”

This was said in a challenging tone, with more than a hint of pride
.

I said, “Do you expect me to be impressed?” Robert’s face soured. “You? No.
”

Sensing
trouble,
I
changed
course.
“What
happened
then?” “Bouncers
bundled
in,
I
was
bundled
out.
I
got
in
a
taxi
and
went
home.
”

“And this was on
Monday
night?” “Yeah, why?
”

“Nothing. I just didn’t know people went to night-clubs on a Monday night.
”

He tossed his head back. “Jesus, you never listen! It isn’t a night-club, it’s an after-hours drinking club!
”

“But you know what I mean. You’re still out at one in the morning. Don’t people have jobs any more?
”

He ground his teeth at me but didn’t bother with an actual reply
.

“So what about RTÉ?” I said then. “When did they find out?
”

“Yesterday. Paper rang them for a comment.
”

“Probably would have been better coming from you,” I ventured
.

“Well, I wasn’t out there, was I? I’m not shooting anything until tomorrow.
”

“Still, you could have called them.
”

He rubbed his hands over his face and tented his fingers. His lips moved but no words came out
.

“I’m sorry, Robert,” I said. “I don’t mean to be critical.
”

He dropped his hands to the table. “No, you never do, do you?
”

I took a couple of slow breaths. “Have they been in touch? RTÉ?
”

“There are messages. Which I haven’t returned.” “That’s a great strategy.
”

He made no reply
.

I tried again: “What do you think they’ll say?” “
How
the
fuck
would
I
know?”
he boomed. That tore it.

“Maybe I should just go,” I said quietly
.

He gave the tiniest of shrugs, which I took to mean that he agreed. I got up from the table and waited for him to get up too, or to at least say something. When he didn’t, I turned and walked to the door
.

“See you soon,” I said as I turned the handle. “Yeah,” he said from his seat. “See ya.
”

CHAPTER
19

When
I
got
back
to
the
car,
I
was
shaking
so
badly
that
I didn’t
think
it
wise
to
get
behind
the
wheel.
Instead,
I
walked
around
the
corner
and
up
onto
Baggot
Street,
where I
went
into
the
first
coffee
shop
I
saw.
I
ordered
a
pot
of
tea for
one
and
the
unhealthiest-looking
bun
they
had.
There was
a
free
table
by
the
window.
I
took
a
seat
there
and
in
the next
hour
rose
only
once,
to
get
more
tea.
At
about
two-thirty or
so,
a
short,
doughy
man
came
along
and
sat
at
the
next table.
He
was
a
carpenter,
I
guessed,
or
maybe
an
electrician
he
had
a
tool-belt
on
him
at
any
rate.
As
well
an
apple
and a
bag
of
crisps,
he
had
before
him
an
enormous
baguette
that, as
far
as
I
could
tell,
he’d
asked
the
assistant
to
stuff
with every
filling
available.
He
read
The
Sun
as
he
ate,
holding
the paper
up
so
unnaturally
high
that
I
wondered
if
he
was
doing
it
deliberately
to
annoy
me.
Every
time
I
glanced
across
and saw
Robert’s
face,
the
corners
of
the
mouth
turned
down,
the eyes
narrowed
and
the
nose
twitched,
just
as
they
did
when he
was
launching
another
jibe
my
way.
The
carpenter
didn’t seem
remotely
interested
in
the
story;
he’d
taken
one
look
at the
headline
and
moved
on
to
the
inside
pages.
But
that
was no
comfort to
me.
I
could
easily
imagine
what
he’d
thought
when
he
saw
the
headline:
Another
overpaid
so-called
“celebrity”
wanker
throwing
his
weight
around.
Boring
.
Somehow I
think
I
would
have
preferred
it
if
he’d
read
the
story
avidly, muttering
to
himself
and
shaking
his
head
in
disgust.
If Robert
was
going
to
be
a
tabloid-fodder
thug,
I
thought,
let him
at
least
be
an
interesting
tabloid-fodder
thug.
That
was no
longer
my
main
concern,
in
any
event.
Apparently, Robert’s
recent
change
of
attitude
towards
me
had
been
a mere
blip.
The
very
moment
he
had
problems
of
his
own,
we were
back
to
square
one,
me
and
him,
as
if
nothing
had
ever happened.
It
was
a
poor
day
indeed,
I
couldn’t
help
but think,
when
your
son’s
humiliation
on
the
cover
of
a
national newspaper
wasn’t
even
the
worst
thing
that
happened
to you
.