Ride On (2 page)

‘Cup of tea?'

Norman looked up from where he was lying on the ground on a black plastic bag. The sun was up above the wall now and shining in his face. He raised his hand over his eyes to see if the voice was talking to him, but before he could see properly or even say anything, it spoke again.

‘I've the kettle on. Will you have a cup of tea? It's a cold morning to be out working.'

Norman put down the secateurs and smiled at the silhouette on the other side of the rosebed.

‘I've love a cup. I didn't realise what time it was.'

‘Come on so. I'm Trish.'

‘I'm Norman. Or, Robert I mean. Robert.'

He stood up and grimaced slightly at the creak in his knee and the twinge that shot down to his ankle.

‘Are you sure now?' she said smiling. She had a coat on and her arms folded tightly against the wind that was coming in off the sea. A few bits of hair were after coming loose from under her cap and she pulled them from her lips. Lovely lips they were too. He'd been admiring them from afar for about a week and now here they were, pointing at him and moving and nice words coming out of them.

‘Yeah. Robert. Well, my mates call me Norman. Long story.'

‘Come on in then. You'll have to take those boots off, though, or the charge nurse will have you scrubbing the place with a bucket and mop. I saw her doing it once to the poor lad who delivers the vegetables.'

‘I'll leave them in the porch here.'

He sat on the step and pulled his wellies off as she hung up her coat and waited just inside the door. Then he followed her into the dark corridor and past the huge statues of Our Lady on one side and St Francis of Assisi on the other. It was under the cold marble stares of that holy brace that Norman's eyes adjusted to the murkiness and he found himself gazing, with frankly confused surprise given the time of the morning, at the perfect shape of the snow-white form that was leading him towards the warm lights of the kitchen up ahead. Not that it was a uniform designed to arouse a man. God no. The last thing the nursing home needed was for the male residents to be getting the horn and annoying everyone with their delusions of virility. Christ knows, some of them were bad enough as it was. The nurses wore a plain white uniform that was crisp, no-nonsense and subdued. Herself didn't like any silliness under her roof and none of the girls felt inclined to test a ninety-kilo, sixty-year-old woman with the makings of a fairly respectable beard when the light caught her from the right angle.

But such qualities as no-nonsense and subdued are often in the eye of the beholder and Norman's eyes were following the figure-of-eight sway of Nurse Trish's hips as though tied to them by string. He'd never actually been this close to her before and none of the furtive glances of the past few days did her justice. The back of her dress was pinched very slightly half-way down to allow the merest suggestion of a tapering waist and then, below those hypnotic hips that dipped and rose in time with the tapping echoes of her shoes, there was nothing but falling fabric to the backs of her knees. But then, suddenly, like a bet you thought you'd lost, appeared her legs. Strong, firm almond-shaped calves that dived into neat white nylon ankles. By Christ, she was a fine woman. Norman picked up his pace.

There was no one else in the small kitchen.

‘They're all coming down for their breakfast now,' said Trish. ‘Everyone's in the main canteen. I'm just coming off.'

‘You work nights? That's tough.'

‘Well, we take turns. I've a few days off now and then I'll be on the morning shift. Sugar?'

‘No. No thanks. I'm grand. This is lovely. Thanks very much.'

‘That's all right. I could see you through the window when you went chasing that bag.'

Norman laughed.

‘The feckin' wind took it before I could find a stone.'

‘Bikkie?'

‘Oh lovely. Hob Nobs. Mam doesn't usually get the chocolate ones.'

Christ, will you shut your hole about Mam? Jesus …

‘Ah, sure one or two won't kill you. So how are our roses doing? Will they survive the blizzard everyone's talking about?'

‘They'll be grand. I guarantee it now, come the summer they'll be exploding into every gorgeous red and pink you've ever seen, so they will. People will be stopping on the street outside, watch.'

Trish laughed.

‘Herself upstairs will love that. They better not make a racket.'

Norman grinned back. Fuck sake, this was easy! Chatting away like old mates. He was on fire!

‘Eh … so … em …'

Fuck. Now his head was completely empty. That's what he got for being cocky.

She looked at him for a minute.

‘Would you be able to help me with something, Norman?' she said. ‘I don't s'pose you know anything at all about cars?'

His heart took a little jump for itself. She was after calling him Norman and it felt brilliant.

‘I … I do a bit. What's the problem?'

‘Well, I've a lend of my Dad's and it was acting up last night. It might be just the cold weather, but if it won't start you wouldn't be able to have a look at it or give me a little push, would you?'

‘Of course I will. Come on and we'll have a look at it.'

‘No, no. Finish your tea.'

‘I'm done sure, look. Thanks, that was lovely.'

‘Are you sure now? I don't want to keep you from your work.'

‘Two minutes, sure. Come on. No problem at all.'

She led him out to the car park and up to the car. It was a big old Sierra. A bit of a banger of a yoke. She got in and tried to start it. It lurched forward suddenly and then stopped dead.

‘Jesus,' said Norman. He'd had to jump back out of the way. ‘That didn't look good. Was it doing that this morning when you came in?'

She nodded back at him through the windscreen.

‘Lift up the bonnet there,' he said.

She released the catch and Norman bent over and stuck his head in over the engine, biting his lip.

‘See anything?' she said.

‘Hang on a sec,' said Norman, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He knew fuck all about cars, but that was okay because he wasn't planning on fixing it anyway. He just needed to give himself time to think. He might never get another chance at her. ‘Hang on. I'll just try and give the … eh … spark plugs a quick wipe. Sometimes they can get dirty. Wait now. So anyway … you're not working tonight …'

‘No. I'm off now till Monday. I was going to drive home this afternoon.'

‘Where's home? That's a Kerry accent.'

She laughed.

‘God, my friends say I'm getting a Dublin one.'

‘You are not, don't mind them.'

‘I'm from Sneem. You know Sneem?'

‘I do of course. God, Sneem's a beautiful part of the world.'

‘It's a bloody freezing part of the world too, at the moment. I'll be in front of the fire all weekend.'

‘Sure won't we all. Try it now.'

He stepped back as the car lurched again and died.

‘Yeah. The spark plugs are manky. I'm going to have to clean them all.'

He hoped she stayed in the car because all he was doing was taking some dirt from the underside of the bonnet and rubbing a bit on his face. He wouldn't know a spark plug if he sat on the pointy end of one.

‘So you won't be around tonight?' he said. ‘Ah well …'

‘What?'

‘Well, I was going to say … ah, sure, if you're not here …'

‘Yeah?'

‘I was going to say … like … would you like to go out for a drink later?'

He was glad she couldn't see him. He knew he looked petrified. He heard her laugh and felt like a total dickhead. Fuck. He was going down again. ‘Kamikaze' was what Aesop used to call him at school discos. But then …

‘I'd love to Norman. But I usually like to be able to see a fella when he's asking me out, and not be talking to the bonnet of me car, like.'

He grimaced and stood up to go around to the open door on the driver's side.

‘Sorry.' He was purple now and smiling like a dope. ‘Would you be on for a drink tonight? Maybe you could drive home to Kerry tomorrow morning? Only if it suited you, like. If you have something on at home, of course …'

‘I'd love a drink.' She was smiling at him. Something a bit cheeky in her eyes. ‘That'd be great.'

He smiled back, a big huge one. He felt sixteen feet tall and about six and a half stone in weight, instead of the other way around.

‘Yeah? Brilliant!'

Then he looked around at the open bonnet of the car and decided he better get back under it while the going was good and before he said something that would fuck everything up.

‘How is it now?' he called.

Back in the car, she pulled it out of gear and into neutral, laughing to herself. That had been a doddle. The engine roared into life.

‘Norman, you're a genius!'

‘Ah stop. It probably just needed a few goes with the cold this morning.'

He was chuffed with himself. He hadn't done anything and now she thought he was the dog's bollocks. He came back to her and leaned down on the window.

‘I'll give you a call later this afternoon?'

‘Yeah. Wait till about two, will you? I'll be asleep.'

‘Course.'

She scribbled her number on a piece of paper from the glove compartment and handed it to him with a grin.

‘Thanks for fixing the car.'

He shook his head.

‘Thanks for the tea.'

She grinned and reached out through the window to wipe at his cheek. She showed him her fingers.

‘From the spark plugs …'

‘Oh right, thanks.'

He took out his hanky and wiped his face.

‘Talk to you later so.'

‘Grand.'

The car took off down the driveway and Norman watched it for a bit. Then he trudged back to the rosebed, a big happy head on him. He didn't even notice the four nurses in the main front window laughing and pushing each other. It was the first time he'd asked a girl out in six months.

*

‘Ah … well, fuck it anyway!' shouted Jimmy at himself in the kitchen that night. He put the tin down on the counter and hung his head in disgust.

He had a deadly recipe for smoked salmon fillets with a cream pasta sauce and he was just after making a balls of it. He got the wrong salmon. It wasn't the smoked stuff at all, it was just regular tinned fucking salmon chunks that would taste of nothing by the time he'd fried up the onions and garlic and added the few chopped chives he had in the fridge.

He cooked it all up anyway rather than waste the food and sat watching the telly as he ate, still pissed off with himself. The cordless handset of his phone was sitting on the arm of the couch across the room from him and every few minutes he found himself looking away from the news to make sure it was still there. When he was finished eating, he went over to pick it up and click it on and off to make sure it wasn't out of battery or something. It hadn't rung in ages. But it was fine.

He put the plate into the sink and checked the clock in the kitchen. He put the kettle on and sat looking at it for a minute as it started to hiss.

They hadn't spoken in about three weeks. Not even an email. Jimmy remembered meeting her in Thailand the previous summer. That week often played itself out like a movie in his mind afterwards. He'd been through a fairly dry patch before that and she was just so fucking beautiful and so cool. But then when he got back to Dublin he'd had all this crap in his old IT job, and then he'd quit that, sort of, as The Grove had started to take off in a big way and he suddenly found his face on the front of magazines and his voice coming out of the radio in his car. He just didn't have the time for a long distance girlfriend. Any girlfriend in fact. Certainly not one that deserved all the attention that he couldn't give Susan. She was cool and relaxed but she wasn't a sap. Someone else would edge his way sooner or later into the gap Jimmy had left and then she really would be gone. Maybe it had already happened. Maybe that's why she hadn't called him

But it wasn't right. If it was going to be over, if he was going to let Susan go and get on with her life, he should do it properly. But he didn't want to. He didn't want it to be over and he didn't want to let her get on with her life. He wanted to come off the stage and see her there waiting for him, to have her share the insanity with him and then to grab his hand so that they could run off and hide from it all together when it got too mental. Six months. If he just had six months to wrap everything up, the album, the tour, and get the whole thing moving. Twelve months tops. In a year he'd be able to give her so much more than he could now. But, Jesus, was she going to wait around for a year for him to get his shit together? What if … if …

Bollocks to this. He had to call her.

‘Hello?'

‘Susan?'

‘Jimmy?!'

‘Yeah. How's it …'

‘Hang on a second, Jimmy. Just … hang on, give me a second.'

He could hear her hushing someone in the background, her hand on the mouthpiece making everything muffled. Who was there? Some bloke probably. A bottle of wine in one hand and a tin of smoked fucking salmon chunks in the other, the bastard.

‘Jimmy?'

‘Yeah. Still here.'

‘Sorry, it's a bit loud here.'

‘Entertaining?'

‘Kind of. Amanda is heading off tomorrow. There's a few people over.'

Amanda had been out in Thailand with Susan on holidays when they'd met. Aesop had … well, he'd made sure that Jimmy had plenty of time alone with Susan.

‘Where's she going?'

‘She's just going off travelling she says. Doesn't even know where. Said she'll head to Paris first and see what happens. She hasn't really had a great time of it recently, poor thing. They let her go in work, well she kind of quit, and she … she hasn't really been herself for a while now. But I told you all that, didn't I?'