It was sad. But it was funny too, in a way. She was an old lady but I was a bald man with a belly the size of my head. If I was shocked, so was she.
She let go of my arm.
‘How is your dad?’ she asked.
My dad had been dead for ten years. He had lived beside Mrs Webb for more than forty years.
‘He is fine,’ I told her.
‘Ah, good,’ she said.
‘Bye bye, Mrs Webb.’
I kept going. But she grabbed me. Her grip was strong, and sore.
‘It’s not so bad,’ she said.
‘Okay.’
‘You get used to it,’ she said.
‘Grand.’
She let go of me.
‘We’ll meet again,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘And again and again.’
‘Okay.’
‘We’ll never stop meeting.’
‘Fine.’
There was a door to my left. It was open but I did not look in. It was the front room. It was the good room. I knew the coffin would be in there. Joe was in there, in the coffin. I was not ready to look yet.
I kept going. Sarah had stopped, behind me. She was talking to someone. I wanted to wait for her, but I kept going. I kept going past people I used to know.
‘Hello,’ said someone.
‘Hello, Pat,’ said someone else. ‘Long time, no see.’
‘It’s great to have you back,’ said another.
I smiled and kept going. I walked into the kitchen, alone.
It was even more packed than the rest of the house. It was hot. There was steam on the windows and all the bald heads in the room were glowing.
A tall, fat guy got out of my way.
And I saw Karen.
Do I need to remind you? Karen was Joe’s wife. She was Joe’s widow now. And I had a fling with her. Back in the day. Before I had the fight with Joe.
And, no, the fight had not been about me and Karen. As I said before, the fight had been about a horse.
But I am going to be very honest. As I stood in the steamy kitchen, I kind of wished I was still having the fling with Karen. Karen was a fine thing. She was the best-looking widow in the room.
She saw me.
She did not look too happy. But then, her husband was dead and in a box just down the hall. Why would she have looked happy?
I smiled at her. I think I smiled. It was a bit hard to tell. My face was numb and stiff. But I think I smiled. I made the effort.
‘Hello, Karen,’ I said.
I wished Sarah was with me now. She was better at this kind of thing.
Then I started to cry.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
The room went a bit silent. People were looking, people were listening. People were waiting. They knew the story. They knew all about the fight.
It was as if they had all been standing there, waiting for this moment.
Karen stood in front of me. My nose nearly touched her nose. She was a tall woman and I am not a very tall man. She really was a lovely-looking widow.
She held my hands. She took both of them in her own two hands. She had big hands, for a woman. She had nice, soft, big hands.
‘Pat,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you came.’
‘So am I,’ I said. ‘I just wish –’
‘What?’ she said.
‘I wish I had done this sooner.’
‘Ah, well,’ she said. ‘Joe said the same thing.’
‘Did he?’
‘Yes.’
‘We were stupid,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We were.’
‘I mean, me and Joe,’ I said.
I could feel myself blushing.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That too. But here you are.’
Her hands went around me and we hugged. I kissed the side of her face. Her ear was right there, ready for my words.
And I saw my son looking at me.
My son, Gavin, was standing beside the fridge. He had a can of Heineken in one hand and a girl in the other. And he was looking across at me as I kissed the dead man’s wife.
What was he doing there?
Then I remembered. Gavin had spent days in this house when he was a little lad. He had played with Sam. He had called Joe, Uncle Joe. He had called Karen, Aunty Karen.
I let go of Aunty Karen.
I smiled across at Gavin. He smiled back. He was twenty-two and sometimes he did not smile at all. But he did this time and that was nice. I had not seen him in a few days. I could not remember exactly when. We lived in the same house but only saw each other two or three times a week. I was going to go over and chat to him and the girl. I had not seen her before. But Karen patted my shoulder.
‘Go in and see Joe,’ she said.
Her hand stayed on my shoulder.
I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to look at Joe in the coffin. But the good-looking widow had told me to do it. I felt a bit evil, but that was okay. I used to feel evil a lot. And it was fine. There were worse ways to feel.
‘Okay,’ I said.
I looked over at Gavin. The girl with him looked nice. She was pretty but a bit pale. The fake tan was not doing its job.
I shouted across to him.
‘I’ll be back in a minute!’
Heads turned. People stared at me. I had been too loud. It was a wake, for God sake. There was death in the house.
I was sweating. I needed a drink. But Karen was waiting for me to go back out, to Joe. Her hand gave me a gentle push.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘He’s waiting for you.’
It was a strange thing to say, but I smiled. I kissed her on the cheek again, and turned.
Sarah was right behind me. I nearly walked into her.
‘All right?’ she asked.
‘I was just talking to Karen,’ I said.
‘So I see,’ said Sarah.
I could feel my face going red again.
‘I’m going to see Joe,’ I told her.
‘Good,’ she said.
She kissed me on the cheek. I was getting tired of women kissing me on the cheek. It was too dangerous.
I saw now, there was another woman standing beside Sarah.
She was about my age. She wore a suit, like she was coming home from work. Her hair was up on her head and her reading glasses sat on top, like an extra pair of ears. Her eyes were blue and lovely. The rest of her was nearly as lovely as her eyes.
‘Do you know Sandra?’ Sarah asked me.
‘No,’ I said.
‘Sandra used to live around here,’ said Sarah.
Sandra put her hand out.
‘Nice to meet you – is it Pat?’ she said.
‘That’s right,’ said Sarah. ‘Pat.’
I shook her hand. It was a bit cold.
‘I’m going to see Joe,’ I told Sarah.
‘Good,’ she said.
‘I just got here,’ said the other woman, Sandra. ‘I need a cup of tea. I’ll follow you in.’
‘Here goes,’ I said to Sarah.
And I walked out of the kitchen.
Chapter Ten
I went out to the hall. It was still packed. The same people were standing in the same places, leaning against the same bit of wall. And the same old woman was blocking the way.
‘Is that Pat Dunne?’ she said, again.
‘How are you, Mrs Webb?’
‘You remember me.’
‘Oh, I do.’
‘It’s not so bad,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘You get used to it,’ she said.
‘So you said.’
‘We’ll meet again,’ she said.
‘Yes, I know,’ I said.
‘And again.’
I got past her.
Young Sam was still standing at the front door, in his too-big shirt.
I waved but he didn’t wave back.
The good room was to my right. That door was open. There was nobody going in or co
ming out. I would be alone in there. With Joe. With the body.
I was tempted to keep on walking. I would open the front door and walk out, down the path. I’d walk all the way home. Maybe I’d pop into the pub on the way.
No.
I had to see Joe. I had to pay my respects.
I stepped up to the door. I stepped in.
The room was empty. Except for the coffin. And Joe.
I gasped. I nearly screamed.
‘Joe!’
‘How’s it going?’ said Joe.
He was in the coffin, but he was sitting up in it. He didn’t look too bad, for a dead man. He probably looked better than I did.
‘Joe,’ I said, again.
‘That’s me,’ he said.
He sounded exactly like Joe. I mean, it was Joe’s voice. But he was supposed to be dead. That was why I was there.
‘You are not dead,’ I said.
‘You look a bit let down,’ said Joe.
But he smiled.
‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘It’s just –’
‘Unusual,’ said Joe.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Kind of.’
It was more than unusual.
‘It’s a bit strange,’ I said.
There was a dead man talking to me. It was very bloody strange. But there was another strange thing. When Joe smiled, it hit me that he looked no older. He looked the way he had the last time we spoke. The day we had the fight. I was older and I looked older. I knew that. Sarah told me every day. And I saw it in the mirror when I shaved. I was getting older all the time.
But Joe wasn’t.
‘You look great,’ I told him.
He wore a dark blue suit and a black tie. If he had been looking for work, I would have given him the job.
‘It’s gas,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked him.
‘Well, here I am,’ he said.
He tapped the side of the coffin. He looked a bit daft in it, like it was a little sailboat – with no sail. Or a pram.
‘I’ll get out and stretch my legs,’ he said.
He laughed. And so did I. I was starting to enjoy the news. Joe wasn’t dead. I watched him climb out of the coffin. He kind of slid out, legs first, over the side. It was a bit like he was doing the high jump. But he was doing the high jump in a suit and tie. He didn’t even grunt.
He was standing right in front of me now. It was great. But I still needed answers.
‘What’s the story?’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘Ah, come on, Joe,’ I said. ‘Your funeral is tomorrow. Your death was in the paper.’
‘Oh,’ said Joe. ‘That?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That.’
‘Well,’ said Joe. ‘Have you any idea how much funerals cost?’
‘They’re expensive. Are they?’
‘Ah, man,’ he said. ‘You have no idea. They cost a fortune.’
‘I thought so,’ I said. ‘I remember my dad’s funeral cost a good bit.’
‘It leaves a big hole in your pocket,’ said Joe.
‘I’d say so,’ I said.
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Joe. ‘In fact, it leaves a big hole in my pocket.’
Joe’s face looked a bit plastic. There was a shine off it that didn’t seem right.
‘So,’ he said. ‘I said to myself. Why wait?’
‘Sorry, Joe,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit lost. What do you mean?’
‘Why wait ’til I was dead?’ said Joe.
‘Hang on,’ I said.
I stepped back. I didn’t mean to, but I could not help it. His face looked so pale and glossy, and what he was saying was so mad.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Just –’
‘What?’
‘Are you having your funeral before you die?’ I asked him. ‘Is that what you are telling me?’
‘Exactly,’ said Joe.
He tapped the side of the coffin again.
‘I paid for this thing,’ he said. ‘So I might as well enjoy it.’
I began to relax again. What Joe was saying did make sense. A bit. Good coffins cost a lot of money. His face looked normal again. His skin looked like skin, not plastic.
‘Do you want to give it a go?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘The coffin,’ he said.
‘What?’ I said. ‘Do you want me to get into it?’
‘Only if you want.’
‘What’s it like?’ I asked.
‘Not too bad,’ said Joe. ‘A bit tight.’
I went nearer to the coffin, and looked in.
‘Is it padded?’ I asked.
Joe stood beside me.
‘Only a bit,’ he said. ‘You would not want to spend too long in there.’
‘But –’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know. But I’ll be dead.’
‘But you’re not dead now,’ I said.
He didn’t answer.
‘Are you?’ I asked him.
He still didn’t answer.
‘Joe?’ I said. ‘Are you dead?’
He looked at me. He smiled.
‘Well, yes,’ he said. ‘I am.’
He looked at the door.
‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘There’s someone coming.’
He put his hands on the coffin, lifted himself, and slid in. He moved like a kid, easy and quick. He lay on his back. He winked at me, then closed his eyes.
Chapter Eleven
I thought I’d die.
Joe was dead!
That was mad, I know. That was why I was there, in his house. Because Joe was dead. But then, he wasn’t dead. And then, he was dead again. He was in the coffin and he looked very dead. But for a while, I had really thought he was alive.
But –
But –
But this was the thought that made my legs start to wobble. He was dead but he was alive. He was alive and dead. My best friend was a zombie. Or something. I wasn’t sure what a zombie was. Or how you became a zombie. Was there an exam or a test? All I knew was, Joe was dead and Joe was alive.
Someone had walked into the room.
I didn’t look.
‘Doesn’t he look super?’ said the someone.
It was a woman.
I looked behind me. It was the woman from the kitchen. Her glasses still sat on top of her hair, like an extra pair of ears. Her eyes were still blue and lovely.
She smiled.
‘Pat Dunne,’ she said.
It took me a while to answer. I was still in shock. I wasn’t sure I was Pat Dunne.
But then it came back to me. I knew who I was. There was a good looking woman beside me and I wanted to impress her.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m Pat Dunne.’
So far, so good.
I sucked in my belly. And I thought I heard Joe laugh. I looked, but his eyes were shut.
‘You haven’t changed,’ she said.
I heard that laugh again. But she had not heard it. I could tell that from her face.
‘You don’t know me,’ she said. ‘Do you?’
I looked at her carefully. I enjoyed myself.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I give up. No, hang on –’
She laughed.
‘Sandra,’ she said.
‘You’re Sandra Nolan,’ I said.
‘Well done,’ she said.
‘God,’ I said.
‘What?’
I didn’t know what to say. When me and Joe were kids – when we were teenagers – we had loved Sandra Nolan. We hung around outside her house. We sat on her wall. We waited outside her school when we should have been in our own school. I fancied her so much, I lay awake all night. Thinking of her.
I looked at her now, and I remembered. I had asked her up to dance once. Years ago.
Thirty years ago.
At a dance in the Barrytown United clubhouse.
Chapter Twelve
> Joe pushed me.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘No,’ I said. ‘She’ll say No.’
We were looking across at Sandra Nolan. She was dancing with her friends. They were in a circle. Their handbags and coats were in a pile on the floor and they were dancing around the bags. The hall was hot and the steam was as thick as juice. There was a smell of Brut and football socks.
‘Go on,’ said Joe. ‘A little bird told me she’ll say Yes if you ask her.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘Who?’
‘Ah now,’ said Joe. ‘I have my spies. Just ask her.’
‘And she’ll say Yes?’
‘My spy –’
‘Who?’
‘Shut up,’ said Joe. ‘Just trust me. Ask her.’
The DJ was an eejit called Paddy O’Hara who called himself the Night Wolf.
‘That was Black Sabbath,’ said Paddy the Night Wolf. ‘But NOW we’ll slow things DOWN. Here’s Lionel Richie. Hello.’
‘Now is your chance,’ said Joe. ‘Go on.’
‘I hate this song,’ I said.
‘Never mind the song,’ said Joe. ‘Think of the bird.’
He pushed me again, in the back. I slid over the sweat and Fanta and walked the rest of the way. To Sandra Nolan. Her back was to me. Her lovely back, with her lovely hair.
I stopped.
I waited.
I heard Joe’s voice.
‘Go on!’
I tapped her shoulder.
She turned.
I was blushing. I felt the heat in my face. I tried to smile.
‘Do you want to dance?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Get lost.’
Chapter Thirteen
Sandra was looking down at Joe. She lifted her hand and wiped her eye.
‘He was my first ride,’ she said.
‘What?’
I wasn’t sure I had heard her properly. I hoped I hadn’t heard her properly. ‘My first ride,’ she said.
She nodded at Joe in the coffin.
‘That man there.’
She looked at me now. Did she expect me to say something?
‘It’s sad,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it?’
Now I could speak.
‘Yes,’ I said.
She turned away from the coffin. I looked, and Joe was smiling up at me.
‘When did it happen?’ I asked her.
I was still looking at Joe.
‘Years ago,’ she said. ‘Behind the Barrytown United clubhouse.’
‘At the dance?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Do you remember that dance?’