Pack Up the Moon Page 11

  “And then there were three,” Clo whispered and I felt like crying again.

  Seán rubbed his hands together. “Who’s coming for a pint?”

  Clo refused, based on her need to go home, shower and beautify herself for the lovely Tom Ellis. I agreed. Leonard could wait; he’d gone through three tins of cat food for breakfast. It couldn’t be healthy.

  We sat in Seán’s local and discussed Clo’s impending date, which led to us discussing our own sad and depressing single status. I hadn’t attempted to date since Ron and Seán’s last encounter turned out to be some sort of a stalker. We sat with our pints, resigned.

  “So do you ever hear from Carrie?” I asked. Carrie was the name we’d christened his stalker, her real name being Janet.

  “No, thank Christ. I heard she’s seeing Pete, in accounts,” he said.

  I couldn’t believe it. Carrie was a looney. “So I presume Pete does know she’s a lunatic?”

  “Well, if he’s spending time with her he must,” he replied and smiled at himself, satisfied with his smartness.

  “Don’t be smart, it’s very unappealing,” I said and continued, disgusted. “I can’t believe you haven’t set him straight.”

  “You’d do the same thing,” he pointed out.

  I was outraged. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

  “Yeah, you would. If you had some nutcase banging down your door every five minutes and he found himself a distraction, there’s no way you’d jeopardise that.”

  I shook my head. “There’s something wrong with you.”

  “You’d do the same thing.”

  I changed the subject because he knew that I knew that he was right. After another few pints I began to talk about the future. I was worried because, the way I saw it, Clo had been out with a lot of guys, all of them total assholes. I had found one guy, the perfect guy, at sixteen. He was The One and now he was gone. By sheer statistics I was bound to end up going through years of dating complete dicks before ever, if ever, meeting the right guy again. And what if I didn’t ever meet the right guy? What if I just got so pissed off sharing my lonely little world with Leonard and his eating problem and I decided to marry some dick, just to have someone? I was feeling a little panicky.

  Seán laughed. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “It could,” I argued.

  “No way,” he stated.

  “Why? Why no way?” I enquired.

  “Because,” he smiled.

  “Because what?” I pushed.

  “Because you’d never settle for that.”

  I smiled.

  It was a nice thing to say until he followed it up with, “You’re too high maintenance.”

  But I chose to ignore that.

  We fell silent again. It struck me, despite all our chat, Seán seemed preoccupied. He was staring at his drink and fiddling with his left ear.

  “You seem a little off form?” I said.

  “Do I?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded.

  “Based on?” he asked, intrigued.

  “You know the way I pick invisible lint when I’m nervous?” I asked and he nodded to confirm that he did. “Well, you pull on your left ear.”

  He grinned and took his hand away from his ear. “You want to know what’s wrong?” he teased.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Partly to help and partly to feel I’m not the only one with concerns.”

  He laughed. “It’s delicate.”

  “Delicate? Delicate how?”

  “Well, you know I work in an office with ten women and twenty guys.”

  I nodded. I did know.

  “OK, so you sleep with some of those women and it’s cool, but then you sleep with some more and, well, women talk.”

  The conversation had taken an interesting turn and the gossip in me was screaming, Get to the point!

  “It turns out that a few of them compared notes and there’s something written about me on the ladies’ toilet wall.”

  “What?” I asked silently wondering if I really wanted to know.

  He cleared his throat. “Seán Brogan gives good head.”

  I nearly choked on my drink.

  “Now when they’re together they whistle when I pass.

  I feel violated,” he continued, having resumed pulling on his left ear.

  I really didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to laugh and the other part wanted to pick invisible lint from my trousers so I folded my arms.

  “Wow. That’s terrible,” I managed, hoping I wasn’t about to blush. I felt sorry for him. He should have had a guy to talk to. I was useless.

  “It’s a bloody nightmare. Carrie’s in on it and that bitch has pictures!”

  “Sweet Jesus!” I said, now feeling hugely uncomfortable.

  “What would you do?” he asked, seriously.

  “I’d just keep my head down,” I said and suddenly he was laughing and I realised what I’d said and quietly died.

  Keep my head down. I cannot believe I just said that.

  Then I found myself laughing too.

  After a few pints, Seán decided never to sleep with someone he worked with again and we both drank to his very wise choice.

  I got home around ten; Seán was meeting some girl that he didn’t work with. The TV was on and I could hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen. As I lived alone, this was troublesome.

  “Noel?” I called out, raising my umbrella while making a mental note to go for the bollocks. “Noel? Is that you?”

  I had my back to the stairs and was aiming my umbrella at the half-open sitting-room door.

  “Hey!” I heard behind me and swung around making stabbing motions with my umbrella.

  “It’s me – Noel! Don’t kill me, please!” he said, smiling, while holding his hands up.

  “Jesus Christ, Noel, you scared the shit out of me!” I said, visibly shaken.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was in the loo and please don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.” He always had a bloody cheek.

  “It’s my house! I’ll say whatever I want.” I dropped the umbrella onto my foot as I spoke. “Jesus Christ, my foot!” He went to speak but I was too quick. “Shut up! It’s my house!”

  He told me I’d survive and then I followed him into the kitchen. He made coffee and told me he had been worried that I’d feel extra lonely now that Anne and Richard had moved to Kerry. He did have a bloody cheek, but he was also bloody kind. I swore I was fine and after my few drinks with Seán I was telling the truth. I told him about the graffiti on the ladies’ toilet wall and we had a laugh at Seán’s expense.

  Then out of the blue Noel noted thoughtfully, “I suppose that’s one of the reasons priests should remain celibate. ‘Father Noel gives good head’ just doesn’t sound right.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know – apparently there are a lot of priests that do!” I laughed again loudly at my joke.

  He looked uncomfortable.

  I apologised, suddenly realising the comment wasn’t in good taste. (Excuse the pun.) “Sorry, Noel, sick joke.”

  “It’s OK.” He smiled, but the mood had changed.

  I asked him what was wrong.

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  “Come on,” I goaded. “It’s obvious there’s something up, even to me, and I’m renowned for being self-absorbed.”

  He smiled. “That’s true.”

  I encouraged him to talk and he did. He told me that he had been lonely for so long. He had spent so many years defending his celibacy that he refused to question why it was necessary, until now. He had met someone. She was a social worker, in her early thirties and separated from her husband; they had hit it off. He said that she was beautiful and funny. She was intelligent and told him where to go when he was boring her and nobody did that except for his family. He said that she made him feel like a man. I sat in silence and listened to him, telling me about the colour of her hair, and I watched him s
mile as he remembered it. He spoke of her warmth and her wide smile.

  He told me that one look from her made him question all that he was and all that he wanted. From his description I knew he was talking about the woman I’d seen him with in the pub all those months ago. I was dumbfounded. I was usually quite good at giving unsolicited advice, but I was speechless, busy trying to get used to the idea of my brother being a sexual being. But it was more than that. All these years I had believed that his beliefs were enough to keep Noel warm at night, enough to keep him company on winter evenings, enough to make up for living a life alone, but I was wrong. Nobody is built to be alone, especially those who dedicate their lives to caring for others.

  I wanted to tell him to give it all up and run off to Jamaica with her, but I recognised that I didn’t have a clue what he was going through and that in most situations there is no easy answer.

  “Jesus!” I said, before quickly apologising. It was the least I could do under the circumstances.

  We were silent for a while.

  Then I ventured to ask, “Have you kissed her?”

  “We’ve been together, Em,” he responded, without being able to face me.

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly realising why my brother looked so desperate. So what? I wanted to scream but knowing it wouldn’t be helpful I swallowed the words. “Are you in love?”

  “Yes,” he mumbled

  “What do you want to do?” I asked gently, afraid my question would break him.

  “I just wish that I could be a priest without having to sacrifice everything. It’s not fair. I spend my life marrying couples and christening babies and I’m never ever going to have any of that and when I look at her I want it. I want to wake up next to her in the morning. I want to have the kids run into our bedroom at six o’clock on a Saturday morning. I want to go to parent teacher nights and apologise for my kids not being able to shut up in class, but the problem is I need to be a priest. I can’t imagine my life doing something else. I know it’s what I’m here to do.” He sank his head in his hands and he cried like a baby. “I’m just so lonely, Emma.”

  I held him close and I told him that everything would be fine, hoping that it would be. He apologised, embarrassed to be sharing his problems as the unpractised often do. We sat in silence for a while.

  “Life’s a bitch,” I said.

  “Indeed,” he agreed.

  We laughed.

  “It’s got to get better than this,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he sighed.

  “It will. You just have to work through it. Right?”

  “Right,” he answered sadly.

  He said he should go, but I wanted him to stay. He didn’t argue.

  Later, I was lying in bed processing his revelation. He passed, returning from the toilet.

  “Night, Noel!” I called out.

  “Night, Mary Ellen!” he called back.

  I smiled at him.

  Christ, I can’t wait to tell Clo.

  Chapter 14

  Three’s Company

  It wasn’t long after our little conversation that Noel split up with his one true love. She needed him to make a choice; she could no longer watch him tear himself apart.

  “No more guilt,” she had demanded.

  Noel knew that it would not be possible. He couldn’t give up being a priest and, in admitting that, he was forced to let go of any hopes that he had allowed himself over the past year. It was over. She cried desperately as did he. She begged him to stay with her and he pleaded with her to understand. The hurt was immense. She was clinging on to all they had and he was desperately trying to let go. He left her crying, sitting on her doorstep in a nightdress and slippers. He walked down the street blinded by tears, his heart breaking and the sound of her desperation in his ears.

  Oh God, what have I done?

  Noel didn’t see her after that. She had picked herself up from her step and walked inside, closing the door on him and their aborted future. He went back to the house he shared with Rafferty who was blissfully unaware of his predicament.

  He found it difficult to be alone in his room. He needed people around him. Someone that made him feel normal. Someone who wouldn’t judge and who would understand that he needed time to heal. He starting spending more time in my place and I was glad of the company. We fell into a routine. Noel would stay three or four nights out of seven. He wasn’t a great cook, but much better than me. I’d come home to find a shepherd’s pie in the oven and Noel cleaning the kitchen.

  He liked to keep busy and I liked that he liked to keep busy because cleaning was definitely not my scene. Of course I did it, but it depressed me. I wasn’t meant for cleaning. I was a messer. We’d watch movies together and sometimes he’d take out John’s video games and I’d watch him play them as intensely as John had once done. He was sad and sometimes he looked like he’d been crying, but then other times he was almost like the old Noel. Almost.

  * * *

  Seán split up with the latest girlfriend but, worse, he was suffering from writer’s block. He had been working on a novel for over six months and initially it had been going well, but he had reached an impasse and his computer terminal was taunting him. He evacuated the house at any given opportunity. Once he realised that Noel was spending time with me he joined the gang. The house was starting to get a little packed. Now four out of seven nights I’d come home to Seán and Noel drinking tea and fighting over the remote.

  “Noel, I am not watching re-runs of Starsky and Hutch!” I roared over the blaring theme tune.

  “Ah, come on!” they both pleaded.

  “Oh, Sweet Mother,” I sighed.

  There were twin beds in the spare room so every now and then they both would stay over. I could hear them chat and laugh through the wall and it felt like camp. They’d talk into the small hours. I’d wake up cranky and queue for the shower. When I got to the fridge the milk would be gone and my toast would mysteriously vanish when I turned my back. We were relying on each other too much and we were doing it in my house. It wasn’t healthy. I knew things had to change.

  One particular evening, when Noel and Seán were having a few beers in front of Ireland-v-Latvia, Clo called with her new boyfriend, Tom. Noel and Seán were more than happy to share their beers; I just wanted a quiet night in, but was obviously outvoted. Tom was delighted, drinking beer and watching soccer, and he was clearly enchanted with the two people responsible for his newfound joy. The lads quickly bonded while discussing the importance of good defence and their own idea on team strategies, each believing that they knew better than the Irish coach.

  Clo and I escaped to the kitchen.

  “I didn’t realise it would be a full house,” she said.

  It was never anything but and for some insane reason I actually missed being alone so I exploded. “It’s a nightmare! They’re here all the time. It’s not like they don’t have any homes to go to! Jesus, I just want to be able to curl up and read a bloody book or not have to watch Wrestle-Mania.”

  “So tell them to go home,” she said.

  She was right. Enough was enough. Still, I didn’t want to frighten them away completely. I would miss them. It’s not like they weren’t a good laugh sometimes and deep down I did have a soft spot for Starsky and Hutch. I just didn’t want to have to queue for the bathroom four times a week.

  “I’ll tell them,” I said.

  I asked her how Tom was.

  “Lovely,” she smirked.

  They’d been seeing one another for a month and had not slept together.

  “Tomorrow’s the night,” she grinned.

  “About time,” I noted.

  “You can’t talk,” she pointed out.

  She was right. I shut up.

  “I’m thinking of wearing my black V-neck dress. What do you think?” she asked.

  “You’ve made him wait to get his leg over for more than a month – I think you could wear dog vomit and he’d jump your bones.”

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bsp; “Good point,” she said and smiled. “I’m going to cook for him, some soft music, candles … I even bought silk sheets.”

  She had style, I’ll give her that.

  “Nice,” I said.

  “Yeah,” she agreed.

  We both daydreamed about warm bodies for a few minutes.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “Nobody,” I said.

  Seán walked in, took three beers out of the fridge and made a joke about Noel’s taste in men. I laughed and watched him walk out.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “What?” I enquired.

  “Are you sure there’s no one?”

  “There’s no one,” I told her firmly, but I was lying to both of us. She didn’t push and I didn’t want her to.

  “Hey,” she said after a while, “would you like my vibrator?”

  I looked at her, waiting for her to burst into laughter. She didn’t.

  “It’s really great, compact, you can fit it in your handbag and I won’t need it after tomorrow night.” She was smiling.

  Jesus!

  It was a lovely thought, but I told her that she should keep it for a rainy day, while attempting to hide my discomfort.

  “Emma, you’re such a prude,” she smiled.

  “Indeed,” I agreed.

  Clo and I moved into the sitting-room. Tom and the lads were getting on like old friends. I later discovered that initially Tom was slightly perturbed at the notion of hanging out with a priest. I suppose he was worried about conversation. Most people find it hard to talk about anything other than the weather to a priest for fear that they may incriminate themselves in the eyes of God. However he took his cue from Seán who wasn’t ever afraid to share his feelings, God or no God.

  Clo was beaming. Tom put his hand on her leg as he talked with the others and she made jokes that made everyone laugh. It was nice to see it and it made me wish I had someone to touch my leg. I looked over at Seán and he was smiling at me. We looked at each other for only a moment before re-engaging in conversation, but it felt close. Close and a little weird due to my stomach doing a little flip like it had the first time John had introduced me to him in the college bar.