Page 14 of To Hell With It
‘He’s staying for the weekend, until his car is fixed.’
‘You’re fucking joking?’
‘I wish I was.’
‘And you said yes to that?’
I nodded, because if I spoke I knew I would be sick.
Una thought it was a great idea, of course she bloody did. She didn’t see the harm in a couple of nights. She didn’t see the problems it would cause me, the stress. She couldn’t see that I would have to come downstairs even earlier to have my breakfast so that Jack didn’t see me doing any of the shite that I usually did, or that I’d have to be extra quiet at night when I checked everything a hundred times.
And what if he was a night owl? What if he stayed up until the early hours? There was no way I could have gone to sleep not knowing if the door was locked, if he’d left something on and fallen asleep. I didn’t even know if he smoked for Christ’s sake. What then? Would he leave his cigarette butts outside? What if one landed on a woodlouse and it curled up with the pain of the heat like Niall had said happened? Or caught the curtain on fire like in those TV adverts? How would I check it all with someone else in my house? How would I explain it if he walked in on me checking?
One of the reasons why I had stayed in the village was the familiarity of it. It felt safe. I knew everyone, I knew every part of the village, I knew the lanes, I knew the bus timetable (seven in the morning was always the empty bus) if I needed to go into town, I knew my life.
The last time I went abroad was with my parents and since then I hadn’t left the village to go further than Clonmel, the next town along. Life was just easier if I minimised everything. I had my parents, I had my house, I had my job, I had Una, and that was enough.
That was enough, until I met Jack.
ChapterNine
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven … penis.I ran up my stairs and then down them again.One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, Mr O’Callaghan’s penis in my face.I ran back down.
Trees, trees, trees.One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.
When I got to the spare room, I was out of breath and flustered, but penis free. I had an hour before Jack was due to arrive. I had no idea how much stuff he would have but how much stuff did someone need when they lived out of a bag? It couldn’t have been much; he didn’t seem the high-maintenance type. I’d bought some extra toothpaste and a bar of soap from O’Callaghan’s, because I couldn’t bear the thought of sharing my soap.
Una thought it would be funny to slip a pack of condoms into my bag so I’d posted them through the salon door with her name in bold print on my way home. I’d sprayed the toilet, stocked up on loo rolls. I’d put a fresh hand towel (I’d kept mine in my room) and a clean bath towel on the spare bed so he knew they were his.
I’d told myself that a weekend would be doable. I would stay up as long as needed (three in the morning, I didn’t care) just to come down and do everything when he was asleep. That way, I wouldn’t have to worry about what Jack might have left on because he’d be asleep by then, surely? I’d wake up an hour early to give myself plenty of time to get down the stairs and if I did it all in one go I’d go for a walk to clear my head.
Come Monday morning, he’d be out of my house and well on his way to Dublin (that was where he was headed, by the way, when his car broke down) and I’d be fine, I’d get through it.
I was already downstairs doing a mental check of the house when the doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock, he was early but that was fine, I was ready (I wasn’t ready). I took a deep breath and visualised my worries drifting away down the river on a raft while I watched from the riverbank on a beautiful summer’s day, until they disappeared out of sight.
Mairéad had taught me that one. I’d tried to tell her that it was all very well until I was joined on the riverbank by an orgy of penises, with Mr O’Callaghan’s taking centre stage. But she persisted, anyway, and I didn’t mind. I wasn’t paying her. I got the sessions for free through a mental-health society –WellMind –I’d joined when I moved into my grandmother’s house, as part of the deal with my parents to get my own house.
When I opened the door I almost passed out. Mairéad was stood there not Jack. We have our sessions on a Saturday because I am too tired during the week and Mairéad is too busy.
‘Everything OK, Pearl?’ she asked with a concerned look on her face.
‘I forgot you were coming,’ I said, flustered.
‘I always come on a Saturday.’
‘No, I know, it’s just that I am expecting someone and it’s all a bit out of the blue, so it’s thrown me.’
‘A date?’ Her eyes sparkled.
I shook my head.
‘A friend?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Now I’m even more intrigued.’ She laughed but I think she could tell I wasn’t in a place for humour.
‘He’s called Jack.’
