of Ed Sheeran and oat milk all night.’
‘Ten minutes,’ I promised.
I hoped it would be longer.
You wandered over,
waving the peanuts
I’d left on the bar.
Rebecca sat on my left,
you on my right,
and she told us about the house you’d redesigned.
You were the architect,
she worked on interiors.
It had all been ‘taxing beyond’
but ‘God, so worth it.’
Rebecca had a way of simpering
when she spoke that gulped all the
elegance from her face;
I gazed into my glass, embarrassed by it.
You didn’t look at her much,
didn’t touch those lean arms,
instead described a deprived Catholic childhood
and subsequent rise to success
in a forged Irish accent
that made me order more wine.
You’d grown up on the Haringey Ladder,
went to St Aloysius,
which, even back then, was a road to better things.
I’d dated a boy from the same school,
one I’d met in confirmation classes
who couldn’t understand his own hard-ons,
apologised for them and repeated over and over,
It’ll deflate in a tick
It’ll deflate in a tick.
And you knew St Michael’s Grammar,
where I trekked each day from Wood Green
to get my holier-than-thou education.
‘So you were a smarty-pants then?’ you said.
I nodded.
Tanya yawned.
Rebecca adjusted her wristwatch.
‘What were your sixth-form haunts?’ you asked.
‘Donnelly’s in Turnpike Lane mainly.
They sold only booze and crackers.’
‘They did!’
‘And there was the one and only
O’Rafferty’s with Shebeen out back.
I loved that place.’
‘I worked there!’ You half stood to announce this.
‘What a dive!’ I screeched,
knowing your pride wasn’t about where you were from
but who you were now,
how different it all looked.
And I was your witness. Rebecca your prize.
‘It’s all boarded up now, you know.
To let. When I drive past
I get sentimental for some reason.’
‘Do you live close to it?’ you asked.
‘Not far. Ally Pally. Still trying to escape North London.
Well, I did leave for uni but came back.
Remind me where you guys live.’
Rebecca was tapping her teeth
against the rim of her empty wine glass.
‘Hampstead Garden Suburb,’ she said sharply.
When Tanya got bored of being ignored
and eyeballed me,
we made our excuses.
‘Christ, she’s dull,’ Tanya said, walking me to the bus stop.
‘He’s alright though.’
‘A bit of alright, you mean.
And he likes you.
Hampstead Garden Suburb though?
Basically they’re from East Finchley. Tossers.’
Undeterred by the time or my heels,
I walked part of the way home,
the whole length of Fortis Green
until the balls of my feet throbbed,
and, taking my shoes off in the hallway, I thought,
Connor Mooney, I like you too.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ I say.
‘Anything important come up?’
Tanya scampers out of her office looking horrified.
‘What’s with the burka?’
‘It’s from Cos.’
‘I didn’t know they sold burkas.’
I pull off the tights and dump them in Helen’s bin.
She is wearing earphones and hasn’t noticed my arrival.
‘I had a thing,’ I say.
‘Fair enough. But Graham was going mental.
Apparently you missed an important client meeting.
I said you had a migraine. He wasn’t buying it.’
‘I forgot we’d rearranged that.’
Tanya has a look that is new:
examining,
almost benign.
‘Your roots need doing.
You look like crap.’
Helen unplugs herself, sees me.
‘You had about a million calls.
Everyone seems to be dying.
And you missed a client.’
Those who loved you, or liked you,
or with whom you were mildly acquainted,
are gathered together while you burn.
I have had to flee
at the very moment you are vanishing,
embrace invisibility again.
Even my attendance at the funeral
you would have judged a transgression –
making myself real,
getting
too close
to those you did everything to protect.
‘You’re not my boss, Helen, so drop the attitude, right?’
I slam closed my office door.
A minute later, Graham smashes it open.
In his right hand, a half-eaten boiled egg.
‘Oh, afternoon, Ana.
Delighted you’ve pootled into work.’
‘Sorry. I’ll call them. I had something.’
‘No doubt.’
He leans over my desk so I can see down his shirt,
dark hair on white skin all the way to his waist.
‘Your phone was off.’
‘Yeah. As I said, sorry.’
The egg stinks.
Graham takes a bite, crumbled yolk sticking to his beard.
‘Look, do you fancy grabbing a coffee?’
‘No. No, I fucking well don’t, Graham.’
He pushes the last of the egg into his mouth, turns,
and giving me the finger for good measure,
leaves.
Witnessing the will took minutes.
‘I was hoping to discuss another matter.’
I closed the door. ‘Go on.’
I didn’t have to feign interest as I did with other clients.
I wanted all you had.
Tell me.
And you did. About your grandfather’s house in Mullingar,
how an uncle had commandeered it after his death
and getting your share looked hopeless,
unless I could help. Could I?
‘Well, I know a contentious cases solicitor in Dublin.
I could give you his number.
I can’t take the case myself.’
A double-decker rattled by,
passengers staring in like we were on exhibit.
I’ve never understood the sort of people who sit upstairs.
Even as a teenager I took cover down by the driver.
Up there was a wild place
for people not needing protection
or who were spoiling for something.
The office door opened and Tanya’s head appeared.
‘I thought you were free, sorry.
I can’t make lunch. Friday fury.’
She half recognised you and smiled. ‘Hi, there.’
And we were alone again,
though I forgot what we’d been discussing,
peered at my notes.
A family house. County Meath. Dublin lawyer.
‘Did your grandfather have a will?’
‘If you’re hungry, I’m about to grab a sandwich,’ you said.
It was not a date.
It was a sandwich.
At four in the morning I finally disavow sleep –
sit on the sofa in the dark,