Robert Wilson - Eureka Street - A Novel of Ireland Like No Other

`I like it,' he said.

I brought my beer bottle to my lips and nearly choked on the lime some twat had stuck in it. Chuckie patted my back mildly. It was progress, he said. Belfast had to swing with the times. He liked all the new stuff. I couldn't see the point of a lime in the neck of a Harp bottle but I kept mum.

It had to be said that Chuckie was cheesed off that my face was still a bit wrecked. He'd hoped that I could occupy Max's flatmate that night and he thought my chances were impaired by my unbeauty. I tried to quiz him again about what the friend was like but he was vague. He hadn't even told me her name. He couldn't remember it, he said, though he blushed when he said it. I knew there was something dodgy going on and I wondered how much anxiety I was going to have to get through.

`Relax,' said Chuckie. `She's nice.'

'I'm keeping my fucking trousers on, Chuckie. I hope you understand that.'

Chuckie chucked his shoulders. `Have I asked you to remove them?' He changed the rapidly. `How's work?'

'A constant delight,' I said. 'I'm always conscious of how lucky I am.What do you think, Chuckie? I'm a labourer. It's the same as always.'

Chuckie smiled blandly. `My name is Charles, you know.'

I choked again. Serious this time. me again. Some yuppies looked round and frowned. Blow it out your ass, I thought.

`Could you run that by me one more time, Chuckie?'

Chuckie frowned, unselfconsciously. 'Well, I'm thirty now. I'm getting tired of being called Chuckie. I It's not very dignified, is it?'

I'd known Chuckie for fifteen years and I swear to God that it was only as I looked closely at him then that I noticed he was wearing a suit and tie for the first time since I'd known him. `Shit, Chuckie. I dig the duds.'

He surveyed himself complacently. He smiled happily.'Good, huh. Bought it all today. Took a leaf out of your book.'

I rubbed the cuff of the suit. Classic English cut, double weave wool.'Not cheap,' I suggested.

He looked at me with rare sincerity.'Quality never is.'

I gulped some beer and asked him where he was getting that kind of money.

'My boat came in.'

'What?'

His voice became hushed, conspiratorial.'You remember my dildo?'

I laughed.'Bet you say that to all the boys, Chuckie, sorry — Charles'

Chuckie didn't laugh. Then he stopped me laughing. 'I got four thousand three hundred and twenty-six letters.That's four thousand three hundred and twenty-six cheques for nine ninety-nine. So far, one hundred and eighteen people have cashed their refund cheques. That was under twelve hundred pounds. Seventy-five quid on envelopes and eight hundred and twenty on stamps.'

He drank his drink. He fished inside his jacket and handed me a slip of paper. It was a balance slip from a cash machine.

'441,138.98,' it said.

'Fuck me,' I replied.

We drank up. We drove off. Chuckie, newly mindful of his wardrobe, looked unhappy about sitting in the Wreck. His fat ass shuddered at the grimy touch of my Wreckseats. I ignored him. I switched on the radio.The news told us that a taxi-driver had been shot in Abyssinia Street and that the Tile Shop had been blown up again. I switched it off.

'Tell me more about this girl,' I asked, trying to rid myself of the envy of Chuckle's new wealth.

'Max says she's nice. That's all.'

'What does that mean?'

'Look, everything I know, you know.' He glanced at me. 'Except how to make money and how not to get hit.'

Laugh? I nearly started. 'You're so funny, it'll hurt,' I wanted him.

He smiled. `Behave yourself and she might even shag you.'

I stopped at some traffic lights. All around me unmodel citizens screeched on by. `You better marry this American, Chuckie. I wouldn't do this for anybody.'

`Relax. She'll be great.You need some love in your life. After all that Sarah bollocks, you haven't distinguished yourself. And that wee waitress wasn't exactly a great move.'

The lights changed and I fingered my face. The bruising wasn't desperately disfiguring and in the rear-view mirror, my shiner looked almost raffish. In my experience, girls didn't mind if I looked beat-up. In my experience, some girls quite liked it.

The restaurant was near the bar where Mary worked and I was briefly tempted to sail in there with that attractively damaged, unkissed kisser of mine. I knew Chuckie wouldn't swing for it, though, so we headed into the swish eaterie he had selected.

The girls were waiting for us there. In the tangle of being shown to our table, of sitting down and smiling, of figuring out which girl was which, I had enough time to be surprised and impressed by Chuckie's girl. Tall but shapely, she had that healthy American hair and those Yank teeth that glittered like jewels. She looked like how you knew you should live.

`Good to meet you,' she said. `Chuck often speaks of you.'

Chuck? It was getting complicated in Lurgan Land.

`I'm Max and this she turned to the dark-haired girl who sat beside her.

.'She made a noise like someone choking.

`Would you like some water?' I said politely.

She looked at me like I'd pissed in her pockets.

`What?'

`I said, would you like some water?

The girls exchanged looks. Chuckie frowned at me. `That's her name,' he said.

'What is?' I asked, perplexed.

The girl made the choking noise again.

'That,' said Chuckle.

It took ten minutes and they ended up borrowing a pen from a waiter and writing it down on a napkin but in the end I determined that the girl was called Aoirghe. It was Irish. And the thing about people with those kinds of names was that they didn't enjoy lexical comedy at their expense. It still sounded like a cough to me.

It got worse.

A few minutes of chit-chat passed.The cough girl and I were silent. The American threw anxious looks Chuckle's way. He shrugged chubbily. Max took it on herself to grease the wheels after my bad start.'Chuck tells me that you went to university in London?'

I dreaded the prospect of making conversational headway with this.'Ah, yeah, that's right'

'What did you study?'

Chuckie tried to smother his laugh.

'Political science,' I said.

Aoirghe didn't bother to hide her laugh.

'You liked London?' Max asked quickly, her smile too sweet.

'Yeah, London's OK.'

Aoirghe chipped in.'Why did you go to London?'

'Mmm?'

'What was wrong with Irish universities?' Her face was humourless, adamant.

I tried the Noel Coward approach. 'Well, Irish universities remind me of God. A lot of people seem to believe in them. I respect their faith but there's no real proof.'

Her face was a smile-free zone.

'As a matter of fact,' I went on quickly,'I've no idea why I went to London. I think I just wanted to avoid going to Queen's at all costs. There have to be some standards'

'I went to Queen's,' she said.

I didn't blink, I didn't pause. With my voice all bright and interested I ploughed on.'What did you do?'

`History.'

'Ali, right.'

She set down the glass she'd picked up. `What does "Ah, right" mean exactly?' she asked.

Who knows what would have happened if the waitress hadn't arrived to take our orders? Silently, I blessed this profession to which Mary belonged. Silently, I damned Chuckie's fat little eyes for getting me into this. I could have been doing something better, like having an unusual and interesting bowel disease.

We ordered and we talked on. Max and Chuckie took the burden of the conversation so Aoirghe and I could take a breather between rounds. I was amazed at all these new skills of Chuckie/Chuck/Charles. He'd be speaking French and quoting haikus next. Slat had once told me that Chuckie was a man of possibilities but I felt sure that Slat would shit himself if he could see any of this.