Running on Empty (33 page)

‘Well, we’ve a couple of days to wait before we pick up the passport. Anything you want to do’?

They both looked at each other for a moment then stood up, and still holding hands, began walking back to the room, the smiles on their faces becoming more mischievous with each step. Once there, they were both naked in a matter of seconds, throwing themselves onto the bed and making intense passionate love. When they had finished, they lay there in the semi dark room, comfortable in the silence that followed.

‘We still have a couple of days to wait’ said Grainne finally, ‘anything else you want to do’

Tom said nothing, but with his arm, he gently eased Grainne over until she was on top of him, and they began their lovemaking again. In the middle of the night, with the room faintly illuminated by the street lights outside, they made love a third time in that semi conscious half-dream state, not totally aware it was happening, but enjoying it just as much.

They sat at breakfast next morning, tired but content, while the landlady poured them coffee, with what appeared to be a slightly envious look on her face.

‘Well, what are you two young ones up to today?’ she asked, ‘you know you have to vacate the room between ten thirty and five, so we can make the beds and tidy up, don’t you? Hope this doesn’t upset the plans you have’ she added, with what Grainne suspected was a hint of sarcasm.

‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something’ replied Tom.

When she had left the table, Tom turned to Grainne.

‘’Well, what
are
we going to do, any ideas’?

‘How about if I bring you into Dublin, show you some of the sights. I know a bit of the place, having spent three years in college there’.

‘Three years in college? Y’know it’s just after dawning on me, I don’t know what you do. I know you’re good on a motorbike, a wiz on computers, and a bit of a whore in the bedroom, but that’s about it. What do you work at, or do you work at all? You seem to have a lot of spare time for someone who works’.

Grainne gave Tom a punch to the arm.

‘That’s for the whore jibe, even if it is true. As to what I work at, I’m a photographer. I studied photography in college, fine art mainly, but it’s a tough nut to crack out in the real world. So, I set myself up in a little studio in Ballina, doing wedding photography and portraiture, plus the occasional bit of freelance for the local paper, and exhibit some of the fine art stuff locally. I get the odd sale from a couple of clients, and the occasional tourist, but like I said, it’s a tough world to break into. That’s how I have a fair bit of free time this part of the year. You don’t get many weddings in wintertime in Ireland’.

‘A photographer eh? And, do you have a camera with you now, on this trip’?

‘I
always
have a camera with me’.

‘You must have some good equipment’ said Tom.

‘My equipment is fine, as I’m sure you can testify after last night. My camera gear isn’t half bad either’.

Tom smiled, but carried on.

‘How many megapixels is your biggest camera. I used to have a pretty good camera back in the States, you know’.

‘Why do men always persist in making everything a dick measuring exercise, mine is bigger than yours? I haven’t got one, a dick I mean, in case you hadn’t noticed last night. With regard to my camera gear, I have lots, but the one I use for my fine art work doesn’t have any megapixels at all. It’s a field camera, it uses film’.

‘A what? Nobody uses film any more, it’s redundant’.

‘A field camera. It’s the type that you put on a tripod, drape the black cloth over your head, and take one picture at a time, very, very slowly. And film isn’t redundant dear boy. I can extract more detail and tone out of one 5x4 negative taken with my forty year old Linhof, than you or anyone else could from the latest digital mass produced plastic toy costing megabucks’.

Tom realized he was out of his depth.

‘Ok, you seem to know what you’re talking about, I concede to your superior wisdom. So, will we finish up and head for Dublin then’?

They spent the next two days exploring Dublin, Grainne taking Tom to various points of interest. Tom pretended to be bored at first, stifling yawns when Grainne mentioned anything historical, but beneath it all he found it for the most part fascinating. He was in awe of Christchurch, marveling at how they could construct a building so grand with such primitive tools, and practically had to be dragged away from the Book of Kells in Trinity College. He was fascinated by Grainnes photo skills too, and how she managed to interact with people so well, making the camera almost disappear into the background as she kept up a conversation with them while taking their street portraits.

As darkness fell on the city, Grainne turned to Tom.

‘How would you fancy going to a session’? she enquired.

‘A what’?

‘A session, y’know, a trad session. A place where they play traditional Irish music’ she added, on seeing that Tom still didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

‘Oh, ok, sounds good’ he answered, still unsure.

They headed up Grafton Street and onto Merrion Row, hearing the music before they had even reached Mulligan’s bar. On entering, they were assaulted by the noise and the crush, as banjos, guitars, boutharns, fiddles and illin pipes tried to compete with people singing and laughing and swearing, and they in turn with others shouting their conversations, or shouting their orders to the barman.

It was total bedlam, but Tom loved it.

I think I like being a limpet,
he thought to himself.

‘What do you want to drink’? Grainne had to shout in Tom’s ear, even though they were a matter of inches apart.

‘Whatever, you choose’ he answered, and so she did.

They left the bar at around eleven thirty, or so Tom was later informed, Grainne linking his arm to keep him upright, while the lights of Dublin span round and round and round.

They didn’t make love that night. And all through the following day, Tom could still hear what he thought were those boudhrans from the previous evening, pounding their incessant thumping beat inside his throbbing head.

The following morning, Grainne got a call from Pat, informing her that the paperwork was ready for collection. After breakfast, they headed for Darndale. When they arrived back in Snowdrop Walk, little had changed. The gang were still on the corner,
did they never sleep?,
and the motorbike still sped up and down the same road. At least the burning car now seemed to be extinguished. Tom again banged his fist on the decrepit door.

‘Fuck off’ a voice called from inside.

‘Groundhog day’ said Tom under his breath, then, ‘Hey Richie, it’s Tom and Grainne again. We’re back’.

‘Who’?

‘Tom and Grainne, you remember, from Sligo’.

‘Oh right’ said Richie, and opened the door.

‘Come in’

‘No, it’s ok thanks. We’re in a bit of a hurry. Have to get back’ answered Grainne.

‘Oh, ok then. Here ye are’ he said, handing over documents wrapped up in a plastic shopping bag.

‘You’ll find everything in order’ he said, and promptly closed the door again.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a tea or a coffee’? asked Tom, ‘we’re not in that much of a rush. I kinda thought you and Richie had a bit of a thing going the last time we were here’.

‘Yeah, ok’ replied Grainne. ‘Like I said before, you wanna walk’?

They returned to the guest house. As Grainne packed some things, Tom sat down on the side of the bed and opened the plastic bag. He reached inside, and removed what appeared to be a genuine US passport. He opened it, and saw an image of himself above the name of Matthew Stephens.
Interesting name for a conger,
he thought. There was something else in the bag, he noticed. He removed an American driver’s license, with his uncle’s image, and a rather curious name, William Overdeaux. Strange, he thought, before returning them to the bag, and packing up his own few belongings in readiness for the journey back to Sligo.

After about ninety minutes on the road, they decided to stop and have something to eat, pulling up at a small restaurant in a village on the outskirts of Longford. As they began eating, Grainne looked over to Tom.

‘So, what’s the plan, then’?

‘Get busy livin, or get busy dyin’ answered Tom.

‘What?’

It’s a line from ‘Shawshank’ he countered.

‘Oh yeah right’, said Grainne. ‘Morgan Freeman, right? I love Morgan Freeman, I think he’s so….nice’.

‘People think that, but I heard that when he’s off camera, he cusses and kicks his dog’.

‘What, you serious?’ asked Grainne, shocked.

‘No, but I did hear that when he was narrating ‘March of the Penguins’, he threw a stone at a penguin once, but it missed, but because there are very few stones in Antarctica, it was probably premeditated and he brought the stone with him for the sole purpose of throwing at a penguin…then again it could have been an ice cube…and in ‘The Bucket List’, when he’s flying in that plane with Jack Nicholson over Antarctica, if you look in his eyes you can see he’s just itching to throw a stone at a penguin down below’.

Grainne erupted with laughter. It took her a few moments to regain her composure.

‘Ok, ok ya got me’ she admitted, ‘but seriously, what is the plan?’

‘I don’t know’ he answered. ‘Pat sort of has an idea of me turning into a conger’.

‘What’? Grainne looked at him as if confronting a half-wit.

‘Oh, sorry. Pat has me thinking and saying things that sound totally loopy when taken out of context. Basically, he wants me to confront my demons. He wants me to face trouble, head on, like he’d do. Me? I’m not so sure’.

‘Oh right, I get it now. But I was referring more to your immediate plans, like tonight. Where are you planning to sleep tonight? Are you going back to Pats house’?

‘I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest. Why, do I have another option’?

‘Well, I was sort of thinking of going home. Not where I have been staying for the last few years, but home, y’know, where I come from. I was thinking maybe the two of us could go and stay there for a while. I moved out after my mother died three years ago. It’d need a bit of work to make it cozy, I’d imagine. It’d probably be cold and damp initially, but it’s a nice house, and for the first time in three years I feel like it’s somewhere I’d like to be again. It’s entirely up to you Tom as to whether you want to come along. I’m going to move in anyway, you do whatever feels right’.

‘I’d be up for that’ Tom replied immediately, ‘just drop me off at Pats first so I can collect my toothbrush. Sure Grainne, I’d be one hundred percent up for that’.

‘Great, that’s the plan then. You might want more than a toothbrush though, maybe some thermal underwear for a start. It’s going to be bloody freezing the first night, I’d imagine’.

‘I’m sure we can think of something to keep warm at night’ he said with a smirk.

‘You might have something there’ she answered.

‘It’ll be nice to be a limpet for a while’ said Tom, thinking out loud.

‘What the hell, Tom? What’s with all the sea creature analogies, I’m beginning to think Pat has you going a bit weird. Either that, or you’ve been smoking something funny, and if that’s the case, you’d better break it out, and roll me one too’.

They arrived back at Pats house, to find him tinkering with an old tractor in the barn.

‘Jesus, I think you could do with a new tractor Pat. That one is ancient’.

‘Not quite ancient, Tom, but well into its fifties. If you can function as well as this when you’re in your fifties, you’ll be a happy man, believe me. Hello Grainne. See you survived Dublin without being eaten. Did Richie fix you up’?

‘Yes, he made this for me’ said Tom, producing the passport. ‘He also made this’ he said handing the license to Pat.

‘Strange name he picked for you’ he said, peering over Pats shoulder as he turned it over in his hands. ‘What sort of name is that, French-Canadian’?

‘No, he’s just telling me he’s looking for his payment for services rendered’.

‘Huh?’

‘Look at it Tom. William Overdeaux. Bill Overdue, gettit? Just a subtle reminder he’s looking for his money. I did say he was a bit of an oddball’.