“No, of course I want to see you. The band has been busy, touring and cutting a new album, but I’ll be home to see you the week after next. You and the boys were next on my list; it would have been sooner if Paddy hadn’t been getting married.” That part was true. I missed her and my two eighteen year old nephews. Catrina had been a single stay-at-home mom thanks to my earnings.
The door creaked open and Daisy came and stood in front of me, a small reporter's notebook in her hand and a brewery gifted pen.
After another scolding, Catrina gave me Paddy’s number and I said it back to her as Daisy wrote it down.
“Thanks, you’re a godsend.”
“Remember that the next time I tell you not to give the boys alcohol,” she admonished. I chuckled and told her I loved her then hung up.
It had felt good to have spoken to her because the length of time I hadn’t, had become a weird thing for me about delaying the call.
Glancing up at Daisy, I smiled as I took the pad from her, then I noticed the deep crease on her forehead. I quickly realized how my one-sided conversation had looked.
“My sister—she busts my balls for not calling or visiting,” I explained with a sheepish grin. Daisy shrugged and turned away without comment.
“Hey, wait.” I grabbed her by the hand and stood to face her. “Seriously, it was Catrina. My sister is a single parent and hers is the only number I can remember off by heart.”
She stared me out for a few seconds then her shoulders slumped and in the short time I’d known her I could tell she believed me.
“I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day and I have to be up by 6am for The Drayman.”
I had thought of reaching out to her again, but I figured I should at least know my plans before I said anything else. Without looking back, Daisy left me there, sitting on her spare bed with her tablet and notebook in my hand.
Picking up the handset again, I punched in the number and heard the call connect. The first time it went to voicemail. “Pick up the fucking phone,” I said frustrated and cut the call off. Paddy wasn’t a light sleeper and on the early morning of his wedding I knew he’d have had more than a couple of sherries to drink—so I kept on ringing… and ringing.
“What the feck is going on? It’s ten after three in the morning and your phone has the whole fecking house awake,” said his mother in the angriest, thickest accent. At least I think that’s what she said. “Paddy, will you wake the hell up and talk to this nutcase at the other end of this cell phone before I smash the fecking thing off the nearest wall.” Paddy’s mom had answered the call, but instead of talking to me she was shouting at Paddy.
“Jesus, Maw, what the hell is wrong with you, ouch,” he said as his breath caught in his chest. “This better be fucking good,” he threatened as he spoke into his cell.
“It’s me,” I told him with a smirk on my face.
“And where the fuck have you been? No, don’t answer that. You better say you’re at my front door,” he warned.
“Dublin. It’s snowing and you must have been in touch with Donna by now.”
“She was mounting a search party at first light. All set to call the police if you never showed up.”
“I haven’t yet. Have you seen the snow? I tried everything to get to yours yesterday and there are no rooms here in Dublin—”
“No rooms anywhere, it’s St. Patrick’s Day,” he advised. I felt if I heard that one more time I’d rip my clothes off and run naked down the snow-covered streets shouting “Don’t tell me what day it is, I already fucking know.”
“Not sure how I’m gonna make it up there. The wedding is only about eight hours from now, right?”
“Tell me where you are, and I’ll get you picked up. Got a snow plough and a 4x4 waiting to retrieve you. We couldn’t do that until we knew where you were. Incidentally, charge your fucking phone,” he advised me.
“Donna left with the kit. I had to call Catrina to get your number.”
Paddy chuckled heartily for the first time since I called, “Serves you right,” he said, as if he knew what the call had been like for me.
I quickly changed the subject and told him where I was. When I started to give him the address he chuckled, “It’s a pub, they’ll find it. Get your gear ready. I’ll tell them to come now. I’m going back to sleep.”
Before I could protest I needed a little time he’d hung up. Shit.
Gathering up the clothes I had discarded earlier, I stuffed them into my leather carry-on and zipped it closed. Daisy had gone to bed, but I sat on the bed wondering whether to go and wake her up or let her sleep. I decided to leave her sleeping and wrote her a note instead.
I knew she’d think it was my easy way out. In truth I’d have preferred to talk to her, but I didn’t want to wake her when she had such a long day ahead in what I’d been told several times was the busiest day of the year.
Taking the reporter’s pad, I started my letter to her, not quite sure how to describe how I felt on a pad that cost less than a dollar.
“Hello, sweetheart.
I know what you probably thought when you opened the door and found me gone. I’m telling you it's not what it looks like. After you went to bed Paddy arranged for some guys with a snow plough to take me to Belfast for his wedding. I had to leave there and then, or I was in danger of missing it. I know what we did was completely out of character for you, and completely in character for me, (if you read the press… incidentally, that part hasn’t always been true either). But, I am what I am; there’s no denying that I’ve done what this looks like more times than I care to remember, although this one with you was different. I would have much preferred to stay here in Dublin.
The letter went on to tell her how much I appreciated her time, her hospitality and generosity at opening her door and for trusting me in the most intimate of ways in her home. Then I told her I’d be back. I wasn’t sure when because I had no idea what the weather was going to do and what else could happen that would sidetrack me. I’d ended on a lighter note by saying:
“It's St. Patrick’s Day, the busiest day of the year, enjoy it, have fun, drink, dance and be merry.”
In the distance I could hear a couple of engines toil and knew instinctively it was my ride.
I signed the note 'Barney, your loving Canadian pen-friend.’ Placing it on top of the pillow, I hoped her eyes would be drawn to it the moment she entered the room.
Creeping down the stairs, it struck me how still and quiet the old building was in comparison to how it had been just a few hours before, and as I cracked open the outside door a bluster of wind pushed against me. I pulled it ajar just enough against a backdraught and slid my body around it, closing it tightly behind me.
After checking once more to make sure it was secure, I turned, stuffing my hands in my pockets. I glanced up at the dark windows of her apartment and back to the brightly lit snowy path beneath the orange glow of the street lamp. As I did this, a silver gray Range Rover pulled up directly behind the snow plough.
“Oh my, are you a hard man to find or what?” the tiny Irish driver asked.
“No. I’ve been in a public house all night,” I replied. A public house was another name for a pub and the driver chuckled at my sarcastic remark until his chest wheezed and he coughed.