she said, more to herself.
To calm things down she started making tea. Then she put on some music. Balkan wedding music, of all things. She was trying to make me feel at home, but the music was so familiar that I was overwhelmed by homesickness and horror simultaneously.
I was instantly reminded of my sister’s wedding, the wedding that never took place because of the car accident on the way. The violence in the street had brought back everything I had been trying to leave behind. Now the music was returning me to the same fatal scene in which my parents had died, repatriating me to the country I had just escaped from. But how could I explain that to her? In any case, neither of us were really listening to the music, only staring at the floor, silently going over what had just happened and wondering what was laid out before us.
She said it was probably best for me to spend the night there and prepared a place for me to sleep on the sofa.
When Kevin finally returned, he looked at the two of us with great suspicion, as though we had been talking about him all this time.
‘What’s that music?’ he asked.
‘Where the fuck were you?’ she demanded.
It took him a while to answer. He went to the fridge first and took out a beer, then began to open it with his teeth, just to annoy her, it seemed, because she flinched and said, ‘Jesus, will you get an opener, Kevin.’ Then he took a long drink before he finally spoke.
‘The less you know, the better,’ he said.
‘I want to know what’s happened to that man,’ she asked.
‘He’s outside, waiting for you,’ he said to me.
‘Christ,’ she said.
‘Only joking,’ he laughed. ‘He’s alive and well. In the best of health, as a matter of fact.’
She turned and disappeared into the bedroom. He went in after her and they continued arguing, occasionally shouting at each other, sometimes mentioning my name.
I hated being involved in all this and felt like slipping out, making a run for it. I imagined the police arriving any minute. I even thought of leaving the money that he had given me to start the work.
They were arguing for a long while. At times they went silent, but then she raised her voice once more, calling him a thug and telling him not to touch her.
‘It’s the pissing,’ I heard him say to her. ‘That’s what’s getting to you, isn’t it?’
‘You don’t fucking care, do you?’
‘Come on, Helen. Admit it. You’re only worked up because I did a wee-wee on your car, isn’t that so?’
‘Wake up, Kevin,’ she said. ‘Think of what you have done. Assault, that’s what they will call it. You have just put your entire career in jeopardy and you think it’s funny.’
He paused. He seemed to be reflecting on what she had said.
‘Look, Helen,’ he said, finally, ‘I’m sorry for doing a wee-wee on your car.’
‘Asshole,’ she shouted.
Then he came out grinning while she slammed the door behind him. I suppose you could say it was a victory for him, sort of. Even though he got kicked out of the bedroom by his girlfriend, he was still able to claim that he had won. The world was falling apart around him, but he was happy holding on to the last laugh. He didn’t say anything more to me, just sat down in an armchair and dozed off, buried in sleep with a smile spreading across his face.
Next morning he stood above me with the sun behind him, ready to leave. He had a glass of water in his hand, which he drank down and put on the table with a clack, the equivalent of saying, ‘Come on, let’s go.’ There was no looking back. No retracing steps. No time to reflect on what had gone by.
‘Mental, last night,’ he said.
I couldn’t make out why he was not more concerned. But this was a new day and it was time to put everything behind us. Within minutes I was sitting in his car, speeding over to his mother’s house.
‘Listen, Vid. What happened last night – don’t give it another thought.’
My reading was that these things never go away.
‘I work with them,’ I said. ‘They know me, those guys.’
‘He’s not dead,’ he said with great confidence. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘What if they go to the police?’
‘You’ve done nothing against the law, Vid.’
‘Yes. But what about you?’
‘Look. This is important,’ he said, pulling in to the side of the road for a moment. ‘You cannot mention my name. I can’t be dragged into this.’
He had done me a favour and now it was my turn to return the favour, to put my hand in the fire for him.
‘You’re doing a job at my mother’s house, that’s all you have to say. If they come looking for information, you call me. Say nothing. They cannot force you to answer any questions until you have your solicitor present. You understand that?’
He drove on with the windows open and his elbow out, coaching me, assuring me that everything would be fine.
‘You remember nothing, right?’
He smiled at me, placing his hand on my neck.
‘OK, my friend.’
We were tied to each other now, though I couldn’t work out whether he needed me or whether I had become a dead weight around his shoulders.
He stopped to buy a newspaper, flicked swiftly through the pages, then showed me a small report on the incident which described the victim as a man in his early sixties who was the subject of a serious assault. He was recovering in hospital and the Garda were appealing for witnesses. They were looking for two attackers, believed to be non-national, of Polish extraction.
‘They have it all arse-ways,’ he laughed, throwing the paper into the back seat.
As he moved on again, I noticed that he had time to examine every woman we passed on the street. He spoke quite openly about what he liked and disliked, what turned him on and what he would never touch in a million years. He started telling me about his life, about Helen, about his family. Disposing of his biography, so to speak, in a single breath, like something he needed to leave behind rather than something he had grown into over the years.
I heard somebody once say that your childhood runs after you like a little dog. He started telling me things about his family that he wanted to get away from, confiding in me as an outsider who could be trusted, knowing that I would keep it all to myself.
His
