Andrew Fox - Over Our Heads

He felt his heart quicken as he began to make them out. Anne was walking between Ronan and a tall blonde wearing glasses and boots, the shape of whose body was untraceable beneath her gown. Martin brushed his jacket shoulders and smoothed back his hair. When Ronan saw him he broke from his mother and the girl, ran over and bounded up the steps.

‘All right?’

‘Grand, yeah.’ Martin struggled to smile. ‘Feeling better?’

‘Much.’

‘I ran into Brian Glennan.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘He sends his congrats.’

‘Good stuff. Brian Glennan.’ Ronan grinned. ‘Is his wife fucking him again?’

‘No.’ Martin laughed. ‘No, she is not.’

Ronan looked at the bag in Martin’s hand. Now, while they were alone for a last moment, was the time to give him the watch. But Ronan turned away too quickly and reached for his mother’s hand to help her up the steps. Anne took Martin in with one quick glance and looked away towards the front of the square and the archway at the main gate.

Ronan presented the blonde. ‘Da,’ he said. ‘This is Eve. She’s in my class.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’ Eve’s voice was soft. She had a silver ring in her lip and wore tortoiseshell glasses. She was good-looking, small featured and clear-skinned in a way that made Martin think of kindness. She spotted what Martin assumed to be her own parents and made her excuses.

‘I’d like to say hi too,’ Ronan said. He shot Martin and Anne a cautionary glance and left his parents alone.

Anne held herself straight, her hands gripping her bag straps. Her make-up was applied expertly and sparingly and she had little jewelled touches here and there: jade earrings, an enormous amber ring on what once had been her wedding finger.

‘So, you made it in safe?’ Martin said.

‘Yes.’

‘You look well.’

‘And you too.’

‘How’ve you been?’

‘Oh, fine.’

‘And work. How’s work?’

Anne looked at him from the tops of her dark eyes. ‘Work is work. It’s grand.’

‘I’m fine by the way.’

‘You always are, aren’t you?’

After Ronan came back they took some awkward photos on the steps and then filed into the exam hall, Ronan and Eve together with Eve’s parents, Anne struggling to keep up and Martin lagging behind. The kids went off to sit with their classmates before the dais and Martin and Anne sat together in the first row of seats arranged around the periphery.

The hall smelled of age and paper, its high walls adorned with smoky oil paintings of Elizabeth I and Raleigh, and many others Martin could not make out. There were stained-glass windows near the roof and one large window at the back of the dais through which shafts of blue and pink light entered. Families chatted amongst themselves. Martin sat with the bag in his lap.

‘So,’ Anne said after a time. ‘His hair’s short.’

‘Yeah,’ Martin said. ‘You like it?’

‘It’s not bad, actually.’ Anne’s jaw muscles were working. ‘And you let him sleep on the couch, then?’

‘Yeah. It was no trouble.’

She snorted. ‘I wouldn’t expect it to be. But the couch? On the night of his graduation?’

‘It’s a one-bed apartment. Where would you like me —’

‘Well, I wouldn’t know how big it is.’

Martin swallowed hard and said, ‘Listen. Let’s not do this.’

‘What?’

‘Let’s —’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Fine. That’s absolutely fine.’

After a while, a door opened at the top of the room and a procession of academics began. They crossed the dais with heads bowed, shuffling in long robes. The Dean of School took the podium. He was middle-aged, vaguely Scandinavian-looking, and wore a furred hood, a green sash and a pair of stylish, thick-framed glasses high on his nose. The watch would suit him, Martin thought.

Once the Dean had made his opening remarks, the department secretary began the long roll-call of names. Martin’s eyes wandered around the hall before settling on the back of Eve’s head.

He decided he would try again. He pointed over and whispered to Anne, making sure of an even tone, ‘Are they —’

‘What?’

He thought of a word. ‘Involved.’

‘Ronan and Eve?’

‘Yes.’

‘He hasn’t said anything to you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then, it’s not really my place.’

When all the names had been called and all the diplomas distributed, the Dean took the podium again. There was some cheering and some applause. Ronan and Eve leaned towards one another.

Martin bent down to be heard. ‘You did a great job on him.’

‘I know I did.’ Anne was looking straight ahead. Her eyes didn’t move.

Eve’s father was a tall, thin, gentleman-farmer type. He looked like he belonged to a golf club and could run four or five miles without losing breath. Ronan, Anne, Eve and Eve’s mother positioned themselves for more photos: beneath the Campanile; in front of the Old Library; between the stone pillars of the dining hall.

‘You must be Ronan’s father.’

‘Martin.’

‘Ken.’

The kids had their degrees now, presented as cylinders bound with blue ribbon. Eve cradled hers carefully at her chest. Ronan held his by his side like a rolled-up newspaper.

‘You look like you’re remembering the drive home from the hospital,’ Ken said.

‘Something like that. Is it that obvious?’

‘To some.’ Ken offered a cigarette. Martin shook his head. ‘I’ll tell you, though, the first time? Scariest hour and a half of my life. And we only lived forty minutes away. I crawled home. I remember every bump, every inch of that road.’ A match flared in front of Ken’s face. He puffed a ribbon of smoke and shook the match out. ‘This is your first?’

‘Only.’

‘I’ve had three go through myself already.’ Ken took his wallet from an inside pocket and opened it to show a creased picture of four little girls. The eldest was about six or seven, the youngest no more than a few months.

‘Four girls,’ Martin said.

‘Outnumbered,’ Ken winked. ‘But never outmatched.’

Eve’s mother beckoned as the others moved away.

‘So, Eve’s the baby?’ Martin said.

Ken smiled. ‘That she is.’

‘And how are they doing? The others, I mean.’

‘Some good. Some not so.’

They rounded a corner and came into a smaller, quieter square where the women and children gathered around a bench.

‘When you think about it, though,’ Ken said, ‘it’s ridiculous to expect that every one of them will just naturally be better than we are.’

‘Right.’

‘But the thing is, at the same time, it’s absolutely necessary.’

Eve’s mother handed the camera to a passing student, explained its workings and then marshalled the group. The two kids sat together on the bench while the parents stood behind them. Martin took his place between Ken and Anne. The camera flashed.

At a restaurant on Dawson Street, Martin waited with Ronan and Anne for the table she had reserved. They sat in plush armchairs in the front-of-house bar drinking complimentary cocktails.

‘So,’ Martin asked Ronan. ‘What’s next?’

Ronan set his glass down on the table and clasped his hands together between his knees. Martin admired the watch he’d managed to give while Anne was saying goodbye to Eve’s parents.

Ronan looked to his mother. She shrugged.

‘Actually, I’m thinking of taking a year off. I’m thinking of travelling a bit. Maybe Korea.’

‘Korea.’ Martin listened to his pronunciation of the word. ‘What’s in Korea?’

‘Lots of things,’ Ronan said. ‘I’m just thinking of trying it. For a while. You know, while I can.’