Paul Murray - An Evening of Long Goodbyes

‘Oh, you know, knocking about, doing this and that.’ I sipped thoughtfully at my mochaccino. ‘Funny how the time just sort of goes , isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ Gemma agreed heavily, making a steeple of her fingers and pressing it to either side of her nose. ‘Obviously what I’m wondering here, Charles, is how all this ties up to your career in information technology.’

‘Mmm,’ I said simply, stroking my chin.

‘Perhaps you could tell me just exactly what it is that interests you in this field…?’

I thought I detected a hint of something in her voice. I couldn’t say what it was, exactly, but I began to have the inexplicable feeling that I had dropped the ball in some important respect. Suddenly I found myself thinking of the bank manager and how I’d shaken his faith in the system with my baccarat losses and wayward mortgage; I didn’t want to do the same thing to Gemma.

‘Well,’ I said slowly, ‘the fact is that information technology is indispensable these days. It’s inescapable. Because I mean everyone needs information, don’t they, or else, you know, how would we know anything? So now everywhere you go there’s, there’s information.’ I glanced furtively at Gemma. She was chewing the end of a ballpoint pen; I couldn’t tell if this was a good or a bad sign. ‘And technology,’ I went on, ‘much the same story, all over the place, making things faster and… and…’ for a moment I faltered, but then I had a burst of inspiration — ‘and when you think about it, really what better way to find out your information, than with technology? And vice-versa, what better way to learn about technology, than with, you know, information?’

‘Good,’ Gemma said opaquely when I’d finished. ‘Good.’ She picked up the application form again. ‘Charles, for my own records there’s something I just need to make sure of, so if you wouldn’t mind, what I’m going to do is read out this list of computer languages and applications, and if you’ve worked with them or are familiar with them or have encountered them before in any way at all I want you to say “Yes”, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I agreed.

‘Quark,’ she said.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Word,’ she said. I realized she had begun to read out the list. ‘Excel. PowerPoint…’

It was a long list; every so often she would glance up to see if I was still there. As she went on I felt shame creep up my cheeks. So many languages, so many applications! How was it possible I had failed to master even one? On and on she went ‘VOID. Basic Basic. Advanced Basic Basic’ — and I could do nothing more than sit and listen, as she recited the string of meaningless words like some awful futurist poem!

Finally it ended. Gemma stared at me keenly. I cleared my throat and made an invisible adjustment to my tie. ‘Charles,’ she said, ‘this may be premature of me, but I’m guessing that your multimedia skills are at a more or less equivalent level to your IT?’

I nodded dumbly. I was wondering if now was the time to bring up my can-do spirit.

‘So in short, Charles,’ Gemma stood up rather abruptly to look out at the spice garden, ‘it’s fair to say you’ve never worked for a living, is that right?’

‘Not as such,’ I admitted. It struck me that I had tended to Father’s peacocks for a number of years; but I wasn’t sure how relevant this experience would be, and given that most of the peacocks had actually died in my care I decided it might be better not to mention them at all.

‘Interests?’ Gemma said. ‘Hobbies?’

‘I like watching old films,’ I said. ‘There’s usually something good on in the afternoon, around lunchtime.’

‘Yes.’ Gemma rattled her nails against the slate-grey veneer of the desk. ‘I need something more proactive than that, Charles. You have to help me out a little bit here. What is it, tell me what it is that you want to be .’

‘Be…?’ I had never really wanted to be anything specific — not like Bel, say, who had wanted to be an actress since she was twelve, and before that put considerable preparation towards the day she became Tsarina.

‘Put it this way, where do you see yourself in five years’ time?’

I rested my finger on my bottom lip. It was a compelling question. Five years! I imagined my future self, who had mastered the intricacies of this complex world, and the trappings of my successful life there. I pictured myself in a sumptuous suite, with Art Deco prints and mirrored ceilings and automated windows overlooking the city, where I would sit at my computer effortlessly typing Solutions. I envisioned the fashionable bars where I would drink gimlets with my new friends, and how at the weekend we would go Go-Karting, or to see Cats . I looked rested and content. Everything was provided for; life was good. But then I thought, five years , and I wondered, just out of curiosity, what Amaurot might look like then — and instantly the parallel universe of my successful career dissolved, and I was back walking through the orchard in a smoking-jacket, beating away at nettles with a good stick, while on the lawn Bel paced back and forth with a sheaf of papers, murmuring the lines of the play she was auditioning for, and Mrs P appeared on the doorstep with a jug of lemonade, and so did Mother, and Mirela, and anyone else who wanted to be there, all of us just there and not worrying about how, or why –

‘Charles?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said, disorientated. ‘That’s right. Five years. Well, anywhere, really. That is to say, I’m not particular.’

Gemma sighed. ‘Charles, you see, that’s just no good. How can I place you if you don’t even know where you want to be placed? Today’s employer wants commitment. He wants to know that you share his dreams and ambitions. Because that’s how this boom came about, Charles. It’s not just about US venture capital and drastic cuts in Irish corporate tax. It’s about a group of gifted young people brought together by a dream. A dream, Charles, do you see? It isn’t enough for someone to just wander in off the street looking for their slice of the pie, if they don’t understand what the pie even is , Charles. I mean, do you even want the pie?’

‘Well, I want to eat,’ I said agitatedly, ‘you know, and I’d quite like to sleep in a bed again —’

‘Of course you do!’ Gemma said. ‘Of course you want to live in a nice place and drive a big car. Who doesn’t? But the prospective employer needs more than that. And my concern is that when I fax him this ,’ she lifted the application form, ‘what he’s going to see is not the individual of flair and imagination that I know you are, but someone whose life just stopped , three years ago.’

I blanched. Stopped ? How could she say that, when so much had happened? Bel’s passage through college, her string of unbroachable men, my efforts to reprise the courtly life of the Renaissance, Mother’s collapse, Mrs P’s collapse, Father’s death and all the screaming at that horrendous funeral –

‘Okay,’ Gemma said brightly, clapping her hands to her thighs. ‘Charles, I want to thank you again for coming in today. And I’m not going to say goodbye, because I know that you’re going to come back in here as soon as you’ve figured out what you want to do.’ On her noticeboard, the photos seemed now to have taken on a melancholy tint, as if somehow they’d turned their backs to me. ‘Because there’s a place out there waiting for you. It’s only a matter of wanting it enough.’

‘What?’ I said dazedly. ‘Oh…’ realizing she’d stretched out her hand. I shook it limply and got to my feet.

‘So see you soon,’ she said, pointing me towards the exit.