Surviving Michael (18 page)

I feel my shoulders collapse under the weight. The speedometer just then hits one hundred miles per hour.

THE MOTORWAY bends inwards, north and south, like a giant question mark. We’re parked on the hard shoulder, leaning against the car, as the other cars scream past us; people rushing to their next destination, the next moment in their lives, where there’s always the possibility that things will be better, where their ambitions will be reached and where happiness is just around the corner. Dashing to their jobs to bitch about their home life, then dashing home to bitch about work.

We shoot each other furtive glances, but there’s nothing to say. Both Nick and Liam looked tired; their eyes a little unfocused, their hair messy, their posture a little worn. Liam’s clothes that were so sharp and pressed yesterday hang on him ruffled and blunt. I’ve no doubt that I look the same, or worse. I feel it anyway. I run my tongue along the inside of my mouth and feel the huge lump.

We finally see what we’ve been hoping and waiting for. About three miles away a blue light winks at us the promise of an impending thrill. We push ourselves off the car and focus on the horizon. Next we hear the siren and feel like children hearing an ice cream van. As if the roar of his engine and siren have an avalanche effect on the clouds, they split open, and heavy drops of rain bounce off the road, the cars and us. The tiredness falls off us, washed away by the rain, but it has little effect in dampening our spirits. Steaming rain trails off the backs of the cars as they go by, like dancing demons onto the drivers behind them, enveloping their windscreens with huge flurries of soaking wet smoke.

It’s Nick who spots it first. ‘Em, how many blue lights do you see?’

Silence.

‘Oh fuck,’ I say.

We can hear the siren more clearly now, and just like the beacon’s twin, we can hear the second siren out of sync with Charlie’s, as if they were two mating calls vying for the same female.

‘It’s a bike,’ Nick screams. ‘A cop bike.’

‘What do we do?’ Liam asks.

‘We’re in shit,’ I say.

‘Let’s get the fuck out of here,’ Liam says and turns back to the car.

Charlie’s car is clearly visible now, and we can just about see Charlie’s blond head behind the wheel. His windscreen wipers are going at full blast but the bike is just behind him.

‘He’s fucked,’ Nick shouts at me above the rain.

‘We’re all fucked,’ I tell him and run back to the car. Nick has one last look at the two blue beacons tearing down on us and follows me.

We are all back in the car by the time Charlie passes us. All eyes follow his as he goes by in a blur of blue water and noise, a brief moment of eye contact, and then he’s gone; the motorbike barely a car’s length behind him and going so fast that the rain seems to part for him.

After only a few seconds of frozen disbelief, my senses return, and I start the car and take off after them.

‘What are you going to do?’ Liam asks, but I don’t answer. I’ve no idea what I’m going to do.

I work my way quickly through the gears of the BMW and soon have them back in our sights. Charlie has slowed down a little. I can’t imagine what’s going through his head. Nick tries to phone him but he doesn’t answer. Before we get to Liffey Valley, we see the bike pull up alongside of him. Charlie has slowed down to about seventy miles per hour now. The Garda signals to Charlie, but Charlie seems to be ignoring him.

‘He might as well pull over now,’ Liam says. They are now only a few car lengths ahead of us.

Nick leans forward in his seat. ‘The copper’s not telling him to pull over,’ he says.

The Garda signals to him again. We can see Charlie turn to look at him.

‘Holy fuck, he thinks Charlie’s a real cop.’

We see Charlie’s hand go up and give the Garda a thumbs up. Ridiculously the Garda gives him one back.

‘What the fuck?’ Liam says. Charlie turns his attention back to the road. The Liffey Valley exit is about half a mile away. Passing the exit is a little red Nissan Micra. Charlie turns back to the Garda and points at the Micra. The Garda looks at him but Charlie points again, this time almost like a command. The Garda nods, slips the bike down a gear and tears off ahead of him.

Just at the bike passes the off-ramp, and leaving it to the last possible moment, Charlie swerves his car violently to the left and shoots up the off-ramp. We follow him just as we see the Garda catching up with the Micra and pointing at him to pull over. Poor bastards must have got the fright of their lives.

Charlie has the car parked at a bus stop and is opening his door just as we catch up with him. There are a few people waiting for a bus and they all stare at Charlie as he jumps out of the car. He’s turned off the siren, but the blue beacon is still on the roof. I pull in behind him, and he runs to us, but just before he gets into my car, he runs back to the Garda car and leans in the driver’s window. What the fuck is he doing?

The people at the bus stop are watching him. This time he’s smiling and holding up the key in the air. Thank fuck he remembered it. I’m already in second gear before he even shuts his door.

‘YOU NEED TO have an appointment, love,’ the porter sitting behind the desk says. “Jimmy” according to his nametag. ‘This is not an A and E department.’

‘An A what?’ I ask.

‘A and E,’ he repeats.

His younger sidekick, with the name tag “Martin”, leans over. ‘He means that it’s not ER.’

‘Oh,’ I say, ‘but this is a maternity hospital, right?’

‘Yeah, one of the biggest in Europe,’ the younger guy continues, ‘ten thousand babies go out them very doors every year.’

The older man, Jimmy, leans back in his chair and stares at Martin. Martin’s adolescent smile falls off his face when he sees the nonverbal rebuke, and he slides his chair back to his newspaper.

‘Sorry about that,’ Jimmy says to me. ‘I’ll have someone come down and talk to you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m just not sure how it works. I mean, the system here. It’s different at home. Actually, I’m not so sure how that system works either, to be honest. It’s not like I’m some Catholic popping them out every year. Oh, no offense. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, as Jerry Seinfeld says, ha ha, it’s just… I’m sorry. I’m talking too much.’

They’re both staring at me now.

‘That’s okay, love,’ Jimmy says and at the same time he picks up the phone. I turn away from him and look around the tiny waiting room; a woman heavily pregnant sitting uncomfortably in an uncomfortable chair; an elderly couple, both smiling, a new grandchild to think about; a man in his forties, his mobile in his hand, staring at the floor, motionless, expressionless. Perhaps one of the ten thousand babies didn’t arrive quite as he’d expected.

‘Someone’s on the way out to see you, Miss,’ Jimmy says to me.

I’ve gone from a ‘Love’ to a ‘Miss’. Not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

‘Thank you very much,’ I tell him and go sit down.

I think about Danny. I should call him. Or maybe he should call me. I want to give him a chance. To give us one more chance. I’d rather he rejected me than he have any regrets in the future. If I do decide to go home, and at the moment I don’t see what choice I have, but if it comes to that then I also don’t want to feel in any way guilty for taking this baby out of his country, and away from him.

‘Hello,’ a voice says to me.

I look up and into the middle-aged face of a nurse leaning down to me. Maybe she’s a midwife. She’s wearing a blue uniform. They all seem to wear different colored uniforms, but I’ve no idea what they mean.

‘Hi,’ I reply.

‘Were you looking to see someone?’ she asks.

‘Yes, please.’

After a few moments pause, I realize that she means I’ve to talk to her here.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘Yes?’

I lean around her slightly and see Jimmy and Martin also waiting for my question.

‘Well,’ I say, ‘I think I’m pregnant and I wasn’t sure about how I need to go about it. Do I need to register or..?’

‘Are you in any pain?’ she asks me.

‘No.’

‘Have you been to see your GP?’

‘My what?’

‘Your doctor.’

‘Uh, no.’

‘Well then, the first thing you need to do is that. Make an appointment with your local doctor, and then he’ll send you on to us.’

I’m not sure what to say. I feel all eyes on me waiting for my reply. Since I don’t give any, the nurse straightens herself up, turns on her heels and marches off. I feel as if I’ve been rebuked by the principal of my high school in front of my fellow students. I feel a little dizzy when I stand up, and as I walk back out the door, I think I see a smirk running across Martin’s face.

The rain has cleared and it’s sunny again. People walk around me. Couples and families. Busy with appointments. Being collected. Being dropped off. Places to go. Strangers’ faces. I feel alone and more foreign than I’ve ever felt. As if realizing I don’t belong here. This is not my home. It never was. I want to be somewhere that I fit in again. I don’t want to be the odd one out with the different accent. I don’t want every conversation I have with a stranger at a bus stop to be about the States and what they think about my country’s politics. I don’t give a shit what they think and I sure as fuck know that my country doesn’t give two shits either what they fucking think or how they fucking feel about Iraq or Afghanistan or the Twin fucking Towers.

I turn and walk up toward Merrion Square. Without realizing it, my cell phone is in my hand. I’m holding it tightly. Proof that I’m not alone. There’s a ringing sound in my ear before I even realize that I’ve dialed.

The ringing stops but there’s only silence.

‘Danny?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ve been looking for you.’

More silence.

‘So, who’s the father?’ he blurts out.

‘I can’t, Danny. Please. Not now. It’s… it’s not important right now.’

‘Oh, I beg to fucking differ.’

‘I told you. It was a mistake.’

‘A mistake? Is that what you call cheating on me? Getting pregnant? A fucking mistake?’

‘I know all that, Danny. I know there’s nothing I can say to you. I’m so sorry for that, but I’m trying my best to be upfront and honest with you.’

‘Honest with me?’ he shouts into the phone. ‘Honest with me? Are you having a laugh?’

More silence. I can hear his anger in the silence. Feel his pain. Please don’t hang up on me.

‘Who is he?’

‘It was just one night. He… I want to be with you Danny. I always have. I know I’m asking a lot.’

‘Do I know him?’

‘Please, let’s leave that for now.’

‘Do I fucking know him?’

I’m trying so hard, but I can’t help it. The tears burst out of me like vomit and my face contorts in my heartache.

‘Yes.’

Silence again before his voice comes back on. Calm this time. I can hear him breathing deeply.

‘Is it Ricky?’ he asks, almost gently. ‘Is it?’

‘Please, Danny.’

‘Is it that prick Ricky?’ he shouts.

People are walking around me and giving me looks. ‘I have to go,’ I say. ‘Can we talk later?’

‘I’ll come to the bar tonight,’ he says.

‘No, not there.’

‘Why? Is he going to be there?’

‘I have to go.’

This time we’re both silent. If only I could reach out to him. Past his anger. To the Danny that I love and who once loved me.

‘I’m so sorry, Danny. And I know it’s not enough just to say that. Not near enough. I wish I could explain it to you. I want to try. I need you and I want so much to be with you. But I understand if you don’t… I just need you so much right now.’

‘Why?’ Danny spits into the phone, ‘so I can raise your little bastard for you?’

My tears stop and all my pleading dries up. I feel as if I’ve been slapped hard across the face. I hold the phone away from me, looking at it. I can hear Danny’s voice in it - ‘Hello?’ ‘Hello?’ ‘Ruby?’ I don’t reply. He knows he’s gone too far. I don’t want to talk to him now. I take a deep breath in and already feel a little better. I hear him say ‘Ruby’ one more time as I switch off the phone and put it in my pocket.

It’s Sunday morning and the sun is shining. Merrion Square is bright and green. An emerald jewel in a crown of gray thorns. I have an urge to take a photo. I almost feel like a tourist and it feels good. I should move on now. My baby and me. The rain is clearing quickly and the sun is out again, warming up a city of half-finished buildings and half-truths. A city of ‘To Let’ signs and ‘Closing Down Sale’ banners. I’m glad I wasn’t here for all those Celtic Tiger days. It would be just too sad right now.

I guess everything has its time and everything has its ending. Even nations. Even me. The party’s over, folks. It’s time to go home.

OF COURSE Charlie insists we go straight to the hairdressers and follow through on our side of the dare.

‘Fair’s fair,’ he keeps sayin’ over and over, his mantra to any argument we might have as to why we shouldn’t go now. He raises his arms in the air as if surrenderin’, like there’s fuck all he can do about it.

‘Fair’s fair, lads,’ he says and shrugs his shoulders.

‘I just spent a hundred and twenty fuckin’ euro on me hair yesterday,’ I says to him.

‘Ah now, cuz, fair’s fair.’

Danny comes back from bein’ on the phone to the Yank. He’s looks even more pissed off than he was before.

‘Are you alright, Danny?’ Nick says, but Danny just shakes his head at him and gets in the car.

We drive to a poxy little hairdressers in Crumlin village. The one in charge says she’s about to close up but they’ll stay open and we’ll be fun lovin’ blondes before she leaves.

She’s the oldest. A real 1664 with jet black hair and a face that’s seen too many sunbeds and too much makeup. When she raises the scissors she looks like the mother in the Addams family.

There are two younger ones. One of them has her head stuck in some shite mag with Kim Kardashian on the cover and the other one is playin’ with her peroxide blonde curls and tryin’ to get Charlie to notice her.

‘Now who’d like to be first?’ the auld one asks.