The Whole of the Moon Read online

  “Anyway, fuck it. What's the craic?” Darragh asked when he returned, trying to lift the mood. “You don't want to sit here listening to me moaning about my troubles. Have another drink.”

  Darragh whistled over at the barmaid, Marie, and ordered two whiskeys. She smiled cheekily back at Darragh.

  “I think she fancies me.” Darragh laughed as he elbowed Conor. “She definitely has a soft spot for me. She's not bad looking, is she? She's a fine woman.”

  “She's all right.” Conor smiled. He was glad to see his old mate hadn't changed much since their college days.

  The hours slipped by and it was soon closing time. Marie and another barman tried to clear the bar.

  “One more quickie,” Darragh shouted at Marie as she walked by.

  “No bloody way. It's after one o'clock and the squad are parked across the road,” Marie said as she swept the fag butts on the floor.

  “Ah, feck it, Marie—where will we get a drink now? And it's Christmas time!”

  “You can always go to Xanadu's,” Marie replied, trying to get the lads off the stools so she could close up.

  “That shithole? Sure, the drink would kill you in that place. It's pure slop,” Darragh said as he tried to fill his pint glass by leaning over to the tap across the counter.

  “Well, you might as well go home, so, because you're getting no more here. I'm locking up in ten minutes,” Marie said, pulling the glass out of Darragh's hand.

  “Where you going then yourself, Marie?” “Don't be so bloody nosy,” she replied.

  “Ah, go on,” Darragh persisted, giving his best charming grin. “Where you off to yourself?”

  She burst out laughing at the silly grin on Darragh's face. “I'm going to that Xanadu's shithole, as you called it.”

  Darragh paused for a minute and then asked her, “How you getting there?”

  “I'm motoring there myself,” Marie said as she continued to pick up glasses from the tables.

  “Well, fuck it, Conor, what will we do? Will we go along for the craic?” Darragh asked.

  “Ah, I don't know.” Conor hesitated.

  “Come on to fuck! You're only young once and it is Christmas, the season to be merry,” Darragh said in his best convincing manner.

  “All right, what the hell,” Conor replied.

  “Hi Marie, any chance of squeezing us two fine lads in with ye and giving us a lift to Xanadu's?” Darragh asked.

  “Well, I have to pick up two of my mates from O'Brien's. I suppose I could fit you in, boys. I'm leaving in ten minutes, as soon as I'm finished here and ye feckers get out so I can lock up,” Marie said with a flirty smile.

  “Grand, so. We'll meet you outside O'Brien's,” Darragh replied as the boys went outside and had a quick smoke.

  Marie drove up outside the pub and the lads got in the backseat. They chuckled as they watched Marie's two mates stagger out of the pub next door and get awkwardly into the car as they roared laughing. Darragh looked at Conor and winked while he rubbed his hands.

  The small Mini bumped along the twenty-mile journey to Ballygalvin. It was a hilly and bumpy road pockmarked with potholes and the worn suspension of Marie's small car didn't make the journey any better.

  Conor could feel his stomach heaving as the car hit bump after bump. He was afraid at one point he would have to get out to puke, but fortunately he managed to hold the contents of his stomach down.

  Marie parked in the car park at the back of Kelly's hotel and she and the others walked around the side of the hotel towards the entrance to Xanadu's nightclub. Twenty or so teenagers were outside the front door trying to get in, but the heavily built, bearded bouncer wasn't giving them an inch. On any other weekend night, he probably would let them in, but this was Stephen's night, the busiest night of the year and the place would be packed, so he could be choosy about who he decided to allow in.

  As Conor and his companions queued up to pay, they could hear Culture Club's Karma Chameleon playing, followed by Dexys Midnight Runners' Come on Eileen. Conor hoped the DJ wasn't going to play shite music all night.

  He paid his fiver to a grumpy middle-aged woman at the door and hung up his coat in the cloakroom, then went for a quick leak in the gents along with Darragh before heading to the bar to get a pint of slop. They wouldn't chance the Guinness, instead ordering two pints of what was supposed to be Harp lager. However, it looked a very dark brown colour and had a warm, soft and slimy taste. God knew what was mixed through it.

  Conor took a mouthful and cringed as he swallowed it. “Jesus, this stuff is rotten. It's fuckin' vile.”

  “Yea, I know, it's desperate piss. I told you this place was a shithole,” Darragh replied as he took a sip from the pint and laughed.

  The boys knocked back a few more pints of the gruel and swallowed a few shots from the top shelf to wash away the taste. They decided to move away from the bar and closer to the dance floor to check out the talent on display.

  Dire Straits' The Walk of Life blared out of the speakers and the dance floor was full. The song ended and the DJ announced the final slow set of the night as he began to play Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton. As Conor and Darragh stood there propped up against the wall on the side of the dance floor, Marie walked by on her way from the bar.

  “Well lads, how ye enjoying yourself? Ye both look a bit the worse for wear.” She smiled.

  “Not a loss on me,” Darragh said as he jumped forward, stuck his chest out and straightened himself, in the process nearly knocking over a couple dancing on the edge of the dance floor. He jumped out on to the floor himself, pulling Marie after him. “I'll show you how sober I am and wait 'til you see me moves.”

  Darragh gave a piss take impression of a John Travolta's dance moves from Saturday Night Fever.

  “It's a slow set, you prick, not a disco song,” Marie said.

  “Grand, so. I'm a dab hand at the old slow set waltz too, no bother to me,” Darragh said as he wrapped his arms around Marie and pulled her close towards him. Marie laughed and seemed to enjoy Darragh's sense of humour and charm. The pair of them stayed on the floor through the next two slow songs, Foreigner's Waiting for a Girl Like You and Je T'aime. Darragh staggered a few times and at one point, he fell over, pulling Marie down on the floor with him. She helped him up off the floor and they both laughed and continued their drunken waltz.

  At the end of the dance, Marie and Darragh came over to Conor and the three of them got a seat back at the bar. They bought a few more drinks and were joined by one of Marie's friends, who was introduced as Jennifer. The four got talking and pretty soon, the DJ was playing the national anthem, which marked the end of the disco. The full lights came on and the bearded bouncer began to herd the customers out the front door like sheep.

  Conor decided to go and get his coat from the cloakroom. He was about ten minutes queuing up and when he returned to the bar area, Darragh, Marie and Jennifer were gone. He guessed they must be outside at the car.

  He followed the drunken crowd outside into the cold and frosty night air. He lit a fag and walked slowly towards the car park. Beside the gate at the entrance to the car park, he could see two figures slumped towards a wall. He didn't pay much attention at first, as there were countless couples in the shadows along the wall of the hotel. His fag blew out in the cold air and he fumbled in his coat pocket for matches but couldn't find any. He noticed the red butt of a fag end held in the hand of the couple at the gate and asked the guy for a light.

  “Any chance of a light, buddy?” Conor asked.

  He was surprised when Darragh wheeled around. He held out a lighted fag behind him and Conor noticed that Marie had her arms wrapped around him.

  “Sorry,” Conor said, surprised. “I didn't know it was you, Darragh.” He felt awkward, thinking he had come across something he wasn't supposed to have discovered.

  “Here's the keys to the car, Conor,” Marie said. “We're going to get chips. Do you want any?”

  “Yea, get us a
burger and curry chips. I'll fix up with you later.”

  “Did you see Jennifer?” Marie asked.

  “No, last time I seen her was inside in the hotel,” Conor replied as he walked towards the car.

  “Ah, she's about somewhere. Maybe at the chipper,” Marie said.

  When Conor got back to Marie's car, Jennifer was leaning against it, shivering.

  “Jesus, it's fucking freezing,” she said.

  “I've the keys to the car. I'll start her up and get the heat going,” Conor said as he opened the car door.

  “Great stuff,” Jennifer said and the pair got in.

  Jennifer climbed into the back seat. Conor admired her as she stretched to get in behind the front passenger seat. He turned the ignition on, put on the heater and got into the back seat beside Jennifer to wait for Darragh and Marie.

  “Where's your other friend who came with you? The blondie girl?” Conor asked.

  “Oh, that was Patricia. She got a shift and went off with him. Where did Marie and Darragh go?” Jennifer asked, lighting a fag and rolling down the window.

  “To the chipper,” Conor replied.

  “They are some pair, both as bad as each other. She only shifts him when she's drunk. But I think she likes him. He's going out with that snotty, black haired cow from Donegal, though. I don't like her; she's a big-headed bitch,” Jennifer said in a slurred voice.

  Conor was, in one way, shocked to hear about Darragh and Marie's ongoing affair. However, when he thought about it, he realised Darragh couldn't have changed that much since his college days, when he would be going out with four girls in the same week, sometimes in the same night. Darragh still saw himself as a bit of a Lothario.

  “What do you do, Jennifer? I mean, what do you work at?” Conor asked.

  “I work in the family pub at the weekends and during the holidays.”

  “Do you enjoy it, bar work?”

  “No, not really. Listening to old men talk about the price of cattle as they slobber over their pints. I won't be working there for much longer. I'm getting out of Ballinastrad. It's a bloody kip. I'm in second year of a Languages and Marketing Degree in UCD. Two more years and I'm off to work in Germany. I'll be out of here like a flash.” Jennifer was clearly a confident girl and in her mind, she was set for bigger and better things.

  Eventually the conversation dried up and they decided that the best way to keep warm was to snuggle up close together in the back seat. And when Darragh and Marie returned to the car a half an hour later, Conor and Jennifer quickly moved apart.

  “Conor, you old wolf you, you can't be trusted. You're some boy.” Darragh laughed.

  “Jennifer Dolan, I'm surprised at you.” Marie smiled as she got into the driver's seat. “The car is nice and warm and steamy. I can't see out the feckin' windows.” She chuckled.

  “Yea, I put the heat on to clear the frost off the windows,” Conor said.

  “You put the heat on all right, Conor,” Marie said. “But now ye can't see out with the condensation on the windows.”

  The four of them laughed as they tucked into their feed from the chipper and Marie headed the car for home. She dropped Conor and Jennifer off in Ballinastrad before swinging the car around in the middle of the main street to head out the Rossbeg road to drop Darragh home. She beeped the horn as she turned the corner and Darragh stuck his head out of the passenger car window and roared at Conor, “Take it easy on that young one. I'll see you tomorrow for the cure.”

  Conor and Jennifer stood on the street in an embarrassed silence.

  “Well, look, I suppose I might see you around,” Conor said. “Sorry about Darragh. He can be a bit of an asshole sometimes.”

  “Ah, he's all right, he's just crazy. He's good craic, though,” Jennifer said as she stared at the frosty road.

  “Yea, I suppose he is,” Conor replied. He couldn't think of anything worthwhile to say to Jennifer and made some daft comment about the weather. “It's been very cold the last few nights, hasn't it?”

  “Yea, the road is like glass, it's so slippy with the frost. I hope Marie is okay in the car; she's a bit of a lunatic of a driver. We don't want any more people killed on the roads like poor Tom Kearns,” Marie said.

  “Poor Tom, that was terrible. He was a lovely man; he used to help me and my father with the hay a few years ago. I always thought he was such a nice, quiet, gentle man and a great worker,” Conor said.

  “He came into our pub that night before he was …” Jennifer paused. She was almost in tears. “Before he was killed on the road by some cowardly bastard. Tom would always be in the bar early every evening about seven or eight o'clock. He would always chat away and ask me how I was, he was always so lovely and pleasant. I never seen him drunk, despite all he would drink. He was always the same, Tom. I can't believe somebody could knock him down on the road and just leave him there. It's too horrible to even think about.”

  “It must have been some fucker who would leave him there on the road all right. I hope the Guards get whoever is responsible soon; he or she deserves to get the book thrown at them. It was probably some drugged up scumbag low-life who killed poor old Tom,” Conor said.

  “Yea it probably was…… Look, I better get going. Goodnight, Conor.”

  Conor gave Jennifer a goodnight kiss and the pair parted. He strolled down the street to his parents' house, and Jennifer crossed the road to her father's pub, Dolan's, on Bridge Street. She let herself in through the side door and closed the door behind her.

  Chapter VI

  Renegade

  Tuesday, 27th December 1988

  Conor woke up to yet another bloody hangover.

  This one was a real doozy. His head felt like he had been kicked by a horse, and his mouth tasted like he had been kissing the same fuckin' horse's arse. He tried to raise his sore dizzy head off the pillow, at the same time reaching his right hand from under the warmth of the blankets into the cold bedroom air towards the Arsenal mug full of tap water he had brought up to bed with him earlier that morning. He brought the mug towards his lips, which he could just about open with all the sticky, scummy saliva in his mouth.

  He swallowed the cold mug of water and it felt good washing down his throat. He scratched his head and thought about getting up. Trying to focus on his wristwatch on the locker beside his bed, he eventually worked out that it was 11:45.

  He had gotten to bed about five after falling asleep in the armchair in the kitchen after telling the family dog, Jack, that he loved him very much. Could he face another day on the beer again today?

  He had made plans to meet Darragh for the cure in Sheehan's Pub at two o'clock. That didn't seem like such a good plan at that moment. The thought of it now made his stomach churn.

  Eventually, he pulled himself out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, still feeling dizzy and uncertain. He threw cold water on his face three or four times to try to wake up, then went back to his bedroom to get dressed. He gave himself a spray of Lynx deodorant under the arms to keep himself smelling sweet, then pulled on the shirt, socks and jeans he'd been wearing the night before and laced up his boots. His jeans stank of beer, smoke and curry chips.

  Conor pounded downstairs into the kitchen and made himself a rasher sandwich and a mug of tea. He started to come back to life, although his head continued to thump if he made any sudden movements, so he slumped in the armchair for a few hours and watched the film Escape to Victory in the sitting room with his dad.

  At half past two, he told his parents he was going out to get a bit of fresh air and crossed the road over to Sheehan's Pub for the cure. Darragh was already perched up at the counter.

  “Good man, Conor, you're alive! How's it hangin' today, boy?” Darragh asked, slapping Conor on the back.

  “Not the best,” Conor replied.

  “What you havin' to drink, buddy?” Darragh smiled.

  “God, I'm not sure, not feeling the best. Get me a brandy and port. It might settle me.”

&nb
sp; “Right, good stuff.” Darragh beckoned at the barman “Stick on another stout for me while you're at it.”

  The brandy medicine was a hard tonic to swallow, but Conor knew from experience that it would settle the stomach and the nerves and help to blow away the horrors. After sipping on the brandy for ten minutes, he was ready to chance a pint of stout.

  It was hard got down and he drank it slowly, nursing it for half an hour as the brothers in arms chatted about the night before and past conquests.

  “Well, how did you get on with that lassie last night? Who was she?” Darragh asked.

  “Jennifer Dolan from the pub up on the road and before you ask, nothing happened. I was the perfect gentleman as usual. What about yourself and Marie? What's going on there? I heard that the two of ye get it together whenever poor Sarah's back is turned. You'll be caught out yet.” Conor grinned.

  “I'm a smooth operator, a cunning fox. I move in the cover of darkness, in the shadows. I'm a nocturnal beast. I can't be caught. I'm a wild thing,” Darragh said as he strutted beside the counter and laughed.

  One drink turned into ten and the arms on the loud, ticking clock over the bar whizzed around until it was nine o'clock and the boys were merrily jarred again. The door opened up, allowing an icy chill to enter as Sarah walked in.

  Conor turned around and got up off his bar stool. “Ah, Sarah, how's it going? Will you have a drink?”

  “I thought I'd find ye here. Where is Darragh?” Sarah asked.

  “He's just gone for a slash,” Conor responded as he smiled with bleary, burning eyes.

  “Get me a vodka and coke, so, please,” Sarah requested.

  Even though Conor wasn't in possession of his full faculties, he could sense by Sarah's tone and body language that she wasn't in the best of form. “Are you okay, Sarah?”

  “Yea, I'm … grand,” replied Sarah as she gulped down a large mouthful of vodka and coke. “Well, to tell you the truth, I'm …”

  Just then, the door to the men's jacks opened and Darragh staggered into the bar, taking the last pull out of a fag before discarding the butt on the floor and crushing it with his boot.