Alan Glynn - Winterland

Not that he’s complaining. He loves this. The last time he was in the cabinet, over five years ago, he practically had a nervous breakdown. He couldn’t take the pressure, the hours, the constant infighting, and besides, he was still drinking back then, and carrying on with your woman, what was her name, Avril, his bookie’s wife …

He finishes, and does up his zip.

It was a miracle that he survived that period of his life, politically let alone any other way. This time around he’s sober, celibate and extremely focused, and the weird thing is, not only does he have his sights set on the leadership of the party, but it seems to be what a few other people want for him as well.

At fifty-three, he feels that his time has come.

As he washes his hands, he glances at himself in the mirror. He’s better-looking now, too – that distinguished grey fleck in his hair, laser surgery taking care of the glasses, the sharper suits.

Fuck it, he positively exudes gravitas.

Bolger comes out of the men’s room and stands in the corridor. He’ll get a quick call in to Paddy Norton before the vultures descend on him again. He only heard the news about Noel Rafferty as he was going on air, and he wants to check that there isn’t anything about the story he needs to be up to speed on.

But as he’s getting the phone out of his pocket, it rings.

‘Larry, Paddy.’

‘Oh, I was just about to -’

‘Listen, I was on to our friend in New York earlier, and you remember that thing we talked about? Well, it seems they want to go ahead with it.’

‘Right. Jesus. Good.’ He pauses. ‘That’s great .’

‘Yeah, but keep it under wraps, OK? Don’t go around mouthing off about it to anyone.’

‘Paddy, give me a little credit, would you?’

‘No, I’m just saying . I mean, you know what this town is like.’

‘OK, OK, whatever.’

‘But anyway, I’ll get back to you later with the details.’

‘Fine.’

‘Right.’

There is a pause.

‘Listen,’ Bolger then says, ‘I was going to ask you about this Noel Rafferty thing.’

‘Oh? What about it?’

‘I was wondering, you know, what’s the story?’

Bolger knew Noel Rafferty fairly well and had professional dealings with him on a number of occasions – most recently, of course, in relation to Richmond Plaza.

‘There’s no story. What do you mean what’s the story?’

‘No, I just… I thought I’d check that -’

‘Look, he was over the limit, well over, and shouldn’t have been behind the wheel of a car, OK? That’s the story. You won’t read it in the papers, but believe me, I have it on good authority.’

‘Oh.’

‘I had a drink with him earlier, in town, and he was well on at that stage. The other thing is, you know that shooting last night in the pub? The guy who got shot was his nephew.’

‘ What? ’

‘Yeah, but that won’t be in the papers either. The Guards aren’t releasing his name yet, not for a day or two anyway. Out of sensitivity to the family.’ Norton pauses. ‘Look,I don’t know, I suppose he’d just heard the news about his nephew, he was upset, he’d had too much to drink, and boom, he loses control at the wheel. Before you know it he’s brown bread. Fucking tragic, but that’s the story.’

‘Jesus,’ Bolger says, subdued now. ‘Poor bastard.’

Maybe it’s a bit of a stretch to say that he’d had actual ‘dealings’ with Rafferty in relation to Richmond Plaza, but their paths had crossed many times over the years. There’d been a few foreign trips back in the nineties – those trade delegations to Shanghai. And he’d often met him at the races or at Lansdowne Road. They’d even played cards a few times.

‘But anyway,’ he says, ‘tell us, is this going to delay things at all?’

‘No, of course not. Everything’s in place. It’s like clockwork at this stage.’

‘OK.’

Clearly thinking this over, Norton then adds, ‘And again, don’t you go around mouthing off about it, saying there will be delays, or anything like it, do you hear me?’

Bolger can’t believe what he’s hearing. ‘Jesus, Paddy -’

‘Because we’re at a very delicate stage in negotiations at the moment, with Amcan. If we lose them we’re fucked.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘So, let’s stay on the same page here.’

‘Right, right, whatever. Look, I’ll talk to you again.’

‘OK.’

Bolger puts his phone away.

Bad-tempered prick .

Now, as he heads back along the corridor to face his assistants and handlers, he’s in a bad mood as well.

But wasn’t the concern he expressed entirely legitimate? Because take a key player out of any team and who knows what the consequences will be? The thing is, already – months before completion – Richmond Plaza has achieved brand recognition, iconic status even, and with his own name firmly linked to it in the public’s mind, Bolger feels he has an awful lot to lose if anything goes wrong.

Initially, of course – because there was so much opposition to the project – nothing seemed to go right. There was widespread concern about the visual impact a high-rise development would have on the city’s skyline. The number of appeals lodged against it with An Bord Pleanála was unprecedented. Submissions came from An Taisce, the Green Party, the Irish Georgian Society, community groups, local councillors, activists, grey-haired hippies, crusties, every toerag in a beard and a woolly jumper.

But when it came to putting a case for the defence, Bolger was indefatigable. He was also passionate – and never more so than one Monday evening on RTÉ’s Questions and Answers programme. A speaker on the panel was making some laboured, predictable point about tall buildings and phallic symbolism when Bolger cut in saying that Richmond Plaza wasn’t even going to be particularly tall, not by global standards. OK, it was probably going to be one of the tallest buildings in Europe, but so what? With the growth of the new service-based economies, Europe was going to have to get its act together anyway and reform its planning regulations, because ten years down the line, cities like Frankfurt and Brussels, The Hague and Berlin, these would all be just like American and Asian cities, just like Houston and Kuala Lumpur… a process that we in this country – he said, banging his fist on the table – that we in this city , had the unique chance to kick-start, right here, right now…

It was one of his more full-on performances.

But he also did a lot behind the scenes. He persuaded, cajoled, used his charm, and took a lot of flak – so all in all it’s not as if he hasn’t played his part. And what? The thanks he gets for his loyalty is to be talked to like he’s one of the fucking hired help?

Bolger spots his press secretary, Paula, and one of his advisers standing by a pillar in the reception area. They’re both on their mobiles. Paula holds up a hand to indicate that she’ll be with him in a second.

He waits.

Bolger has known Paddy Norton for many, many years and is beholden to him in ways he’d rather not think about. In fact, he can’t really imagine his career without him – but still, there are times, like today, when he wishes to God he’d never met the man.

It is just as Mark Griffin is approaching the roundabout that he hears it, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. ‘… joining me now from our Dáil studio… Larry Bolger… ’

At that point, Mark would normally be reaching for the dial to switch the radio off, but with an articulated truck on his tail and the meat grinder of the Cherryvale roundabout directly ahead of him, it is several seconds before this can happen.