Ordinary Miracles (10 page)

The couple beside us are openly gawking.

‘Jasmine, come back. I didn’t mean to –
’

‘I’m not a pigeon!’ I yell. And then I grab my coat.

Back at the computer course I make myself a strong cup
of tea. Then I tell Mrs Riordan I have a period pain and go
and sit in the ladies’. The toilet paper is that shiny stupid
stuff that’s no good for tears, and I only have one paper
handkerchief with me.

I should have taken some tissues from that big box in the
restaurant loo…but I really didn’t think I’d need them.

Chapter
7

Eoin has four remarkably
long hairs growing out of his left
nostril. I somehow didn’t notice them before, but now I’m
sitting opposite him in a café they loom very large. It’s a
damp, drizzly evening. I was fine while we were walking here
and talking about databases, but as soon as I sat down I felt
like a woman in a Russian novel. I long for my lost innocence
like those women long for Moscow. I long for the time when
the sadness I felt was at least familiar – and the people who
played a part in it were too.

It’s at times like these that I truly wish I’d never found that
hair grip.

Eoin is trying to be cheerful and friendly. The fact that I
manage the occasional smile seems a triumph of the human spirit. There’s no shorthand between us like there is between
me and Charlie. Sometimes it feels like the letters in our words
aren’t even joined up. Every so often I find myself losing heart
and stopping mid-way.

‘I think I’ll have a toasted san…’

‘What?’

‘Sandwich. I think I’ll have a toasted cheese and tomato
sandwich.’

‘Fine. I think I’ll have one too. That’s a nice brooch you’re
wearing.’

‘Thanks.’

The café is no frills and brisk. There’s neon lighting, bentwood chairs, and small round tables with plastic cloths
on them. Our
table rocks and has a streak of coleslaw.

‘I suppose we’d better queue,’ says Eoin.

‘It always amazes me that they don’t have a place to put
the tea-bags,’ I fume as we return to our table. ‘I mean what
are we supposed to do
with them? Just let them stew in the cup?’

‘Here, use this,’ says Eoin, shoving a saucer towards me.

‘Thanks. I’ve really got to do something about this table.
It’s ridiculous the way it rocks.’

I march up to the counter
and yank a fistful of napkins out of the small steel container. Then I come back and wedge two under a table leg and use the rest to get rid of the coleslaw streak.

Eoin takes the evening newspaper
out of his jacket pocket
and spreads it sideways on part of the table.

‘There doesn’t seem to be much on,’ I say after a swift, un
interested glance.

‘Well, I can tell you there’s a darn sight more
on here than
is on in Moate.’ Eoin comes from there. He’s staying in a B&B whilst he does the course. ‘What about Tom Cruise’s latest one?’ he asks.

‘I dunno – I’m not that keen on impossible missions.’

‘Or the one with Mell Nichols? That’s supposed to be good.’

‘I’ve rather gone off him. Actually, Eoin, I’m not really
sure
I want to go to a film. I’m rather tired. Maybe I should just
go home.’

‘Ah no – once we’re sitting in the cinema, you’ll enjoy it.’

I consider mentioning that I’m married, but I don’t feel
up to the explanations. Anyway Eoin’s got the bit between
his teeth now. He probably wouldn’t take marriage as
an
excuse. He’s not married. I checked. He’s younger than me
– mid-thirties I’d say.

‘What film would you like to see, Eoin?’ I dread the answer
this question may evoke, but it is my turn to show some
interest.

‘The one with Cameron Diaz – that’s a thriller. Or the one
with Kate Winslet. That’s a comedy about a woman who tries
to murder her husband.’

‘Okay. Let’s go to that one.’

In the cinema queue I say it’s nice that men and women can
just be friends these days. That they can, for example, go out
to a meal or a film just as buddies with no strings attached. I know it’s not particularly subtle, but Eoin is wearing a lot
of aftershave. I bring up the greyhounds at every possible
opportunity.

‘I quite enjoyed that film – it wasn’t bad at all,’ I
say afterwards as we cross the street outside the cinema. There’s a lot of traffic and Eoin links his arm through mine
protectively. Once we’ve crossed the street he keeps his arm
there so, in order to disengage us, I pretend I have to look
in my handbag for my scarf.

‘I bet you’ll be glad to get back to your greyhounds next
week,’ I say. ‘Who’s looking after them?’

‘A neighbour.’

‘That’s nice. You’ve nothing to do with coursing, I hope.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I’m involved in animal rights. I’ve marched with a pig
down this very street.’

‘Ah no – I’ve never touched coursing myself. Just the track
racing, that’s all.’

‘Have you any races coming up?’

‘There’s one next month.’

‘That’ll be exciting. Do you think you’ve got a winner?’

‘Ah I dunno, maybe. D’you fancy going for a drink?’

‘Well now, Eoin, I think I’d better be getting back. I live
past Bray. It’s a long journey.’

‘Just a quick one.’

‘No. No. It’s very kind of you but I’m quite tired.’

‘I like you, Jasmine.’

‘Thank you, Eoin. You’re a nice person too.’

O’Connell Street
is full of couples who are talking and
laughing.

‘No, I mean I really like you. I can talk to you.’

‘Thank you, Eoin. That’s a nice thing to say. We can talk
lots more tomorrow…in the tea-breaks.’

‘I want to talk to you now.’

‘Well, I’m afraid we can’t talk now, I have to get my bus.’

‘What number bus is that?’

I tell him and it turns out his bus leaves from a stop
nearby.

‘I’ll wait with you,’ says Eoin. ‘I wouldn’t leave a woman
alone this time of night on a dark street.’

‘It’s not a dark street. There are lots of lamps.’

‘Ah well – even so I’ll stay.’ He takes my hand protectively
as we cross a road and
then he doesn’t let it go, so I pretend
I have to blow my nose.

At the bus stop he takes my
hand again and pulls me gently
towards him.

I pull away. ‘No, Eoin. This isn’t that kind of date.’

‘Ah com’on, Jasmine – just a hug. Just a nice warm
friendly
hug. It’s a cold night.’

‘It’s quite mild actually.’

‘You know what I mean. Com’on.’ He gives me a tender,
teasing smile.

‘But it’s so public here.’ I look down the dark, almost
empty street
.

‘No it isn’t.’

‘Well – okay. Just a quick one,’ I say grudgingly.

But when he puts his arms around me I stop resisting.
He’s big and strong and warm and protective and I find
myself burying my face into his navy woollen jacket. We’re
okay together, as long as we don’t talk and I don’t look at
his left nostril. I need some comforting. I really do.

‘You’re lonely Jasmine.’ He’s stroking my hair. I try to
nod but my head is somewhat restricted by his elbow. ‘It’s
all right – everyone’s lonely sometimes.’

‘Oh God, is it that obvious?’ I’m thinking, but then he adds
‘You’re lovely too. You’re lovely and I like you a lot.’ He lifts
my face and I know he’s about to kiss me.

I pull away again. ‘No. No. Sorry Eoin, I can’t do this.’

‘Why?’

‘I thought we were just friends. And…and anyway, there’s something you should know.’

‘What?’

‘I’m married.’

‘Oh.’ Eoin opens his mouth as if to say something, then
he closes it again. Herds of buses are passing. I have to keep
a sharp eye out so that mine doesn’t speed by too.

‘It’s all right,’ Eoin is gently brushing a stray hair from my
face. ‘I’m almost married myself.’

‘You’re what?’

‘I’m engaged. The wedding’s after Christmas. My, we’re a
right pair, aren’t we, Jasmine? A right pair.’

‘A right pair of eejits,’ I think but what I say is, ‘Here’s my bus.’ For indeed my bus is thundering towards us. I stick out
my hand and it screeches dramatically to a halt. I get on hur
riedly, holding tightly to the handrail while I do so. The driv
er’s one of the wild, late night boyos who put the pedal down
like Jensen Button. With a roar of diesel I’m on my way.

Eoin looks a little sad. He smiles and waves as the bus
lurches onwards. I give one quick wave myself then I climb to
the top deck and sit down. I feel a bit bewildered and irritated,
but gratitude is somehow creeping in too. ‘He really likes me,’
I think as I career towards South Dublin. ‘He “thinks I’m
lovely”. Me. Jasmine Smith.’

An empty Coke tin is clattering to and fro under the seats.

‘Still, he should have mentioned his engagement.’

The coke tin is getting louder.

‘And I suppose I should have worn my wedding ring.’

I can’t take the noise of the coke tin any longer…the
hollow clatters and
empty tumblings of its crazy dance across the floor. I get up and try to catch it. People are watching me,
but I don’t care.