him and Izzy, sparking off each other. Once upon a time, when they’d all been so ridiculously young and carefree, he and his housemates were woken at 3 a.m. by a persistent ringing on their bell.
When a bleary Johnny had opened the door, Izzy was outside, laughing. ‘Open wide, as the bishop said to the actress!’
‘What’re you doing here?’
‘Curiosity,’ she said. ‘Where’s your bedroom?’
He’d tensed. He fancied her but he was besotted with the entire Kinsella clan and he didn’t want complications.
She had already disappeared up the stairs. ‘Feck’s sake, Johnny Casey,’ she called down. ‘I don’t want to marry you. I just want a ride. C’mon!’
In his room, she kicked off her boots and unzipped her jeans.
‘Yeah, but …’
‘Stop over-thinking things.’
In the morning, she was just as breezy. ‘Nothing happened, okay? We don’t want an atmosphere around Ellen’s dinner table.’
‘Yes. Yep.’ His relief had been huge.
Next time, he showed up at her home.
Over the following few years, they made occasional booty calls on each other. Sometimes a flurry of several in one month, then a long time without anything at all. Eventually it petered away entirely.
In the months after she had broken up with Tristão, a routine developed, where most Saturday afternoons, Izzy and Johnny came to Errislannan and stayed until Sunday evening. Ellen would load them up with home baking and they would indulge in gentle pursuits like Monopoly and Risk. If there was a birthday or some sort of celebration, Jessie visited with Ferdia and Saoirse. As would Keeva, Christy and their kids. They’d sing and eat cake and carry on around the appalling absence in their lives.
Johnny was still Michael’s little helper. When Christy’s van broke down, even though Johnny understood nothing about engines, he went along to help.
During the snow, when a tree fell across a neighbour’s gate, Johnny helped Michael chainsaw it away.
It was Liam who eventually challenged Johnny. ‘Wait a minute, you’re nearly thirty-five. You spend your downtime sleeping in a single bed in your dead mate’s parents’ house. You need to man up.’
But Liam hadn’t a clue: too young and too hard.
‘Or are you, like, depressed?’ Liam had asked. ‘Go see the doctor, get some tablets and get a grip.’
Weeks later, Johnny looked up the signs of depression. Coincidentally he saw he did have some of them but there was no need to see a doctor: time would take care of him.
EIGHTY-FIVE
Monday evening after work. Both speaking urgently on their phones, Jessie and Mary-Laine arrived at the hipster bar at exactly the same time.
‘Gotta go.’ Jessie hung up, then hugged Mary-Laine. ‘Thanks for this.’
‘There’s a table.’ Mary-Laine pounced, then waved over a waiter.
‘Gin and tonic,’ Jessie said to him gratefully. ‘In a giant round glass – you know the one I mean? With loads of ice.’
‘Same for me,’ Mary-Laine said. ‘You had me at “giant round glass”.’ Then to Jessie, ‘So what’s up?’
‘Who would I talk to about changing the business to online?’
Mary-Laine frowned. ‘You want to do that?’
‘Not really,’ Jessie admitted. ‘But Johnny does.’ She hesitated before confiding the next part. ‘His birthday is coming up. This will be his present. Look, I know!’ She forestalled Mary-Laine.
‘I didn’t say a thing!’
‘You’re thinking he doesn’t deserve anything after the total shambles he organized for my birthday –’
‘I felt sorry for him, if you must know.’
‘And you’d be right. But, look, I’m over it now. This means a lot to him. But I don’t know where to start.’
‘Talk to a management consultant.’
‘I don’t know any. And I don’t know who to trust.’
‘Karl Brennan. He’s the absolute best.’
‘Well, thanks!’
‘The only thing is, he’s sort of … awful. Handsy. Creepy. Always having children with different women. Oh, thank God, here come our giant drinks!’
‘It’s like a goldfish bowl.’ Jessie admired her enormous round glass, then clinked with Mary-Laine. ‘To gin.’
After a glorious swallow, Jessie said, ‘Remember when gin wasn’t cool? What was wrong with us?’
‘We hadn’t a clue.’ Mary-Laine gulped a mouthful and sighed. ‘Christ, that’s lovely. They’re trying to make whiskey a thing now, but I don’t think I’ll ever like it.’
‘Why would we, when we have gin?’
‘Should I “reach out” to Karl on your behalf?’
‘I actually feel like singing a song about how much I love gin,’ Jessie said. She pulled back to study her giant glass. ‘These must be stronger than I realized.’
‘I’ve nearly finished mine.’
‘That’s because we’re businesswomen! Energetic self-starters. Do. Reach out. But in strictest confidence.’