Lisa McInerney - The Glorious Heresies

‘Oh man. That’s such a shitty thing to say.’

‘No, I mean… Because I didn’t want to the first time. Or I didn’t mean to, and so now at least… Fuck. You know.’

‘You didn’t mean to, like, you feel Missus MILF had all the power or something?’

‘I don’t even fucking remember. It’s just… Yeah. Probably. I dunno. I don’t know why I did it and it kills me.’

‘Ever think you’re being too hard on yourself? We all did stupid shit when we were kids, like. I was into shoplifting and I only got caught once and I’m still morto. And fifteen-year-old boys are just… all dick, like. So, maybe it was just hormonal. Adolescent craziness. Maybe fucking own it. Face up to it, own it, and let it go.’

‘How do I own it? I didn’t want it. Hence the last few ould dolls I fucked. If I’m going to be hung for it, it might as well be for shit I actually wanted to do. Every fuck improves the ratio.’

A girl walking behind them stood on his fingers. He examined them as she came down to his level, put her arm around his shoulder and bawled an apology into his ear. Ryan smiled forgiveness. The girl kissed his cheek.

‘That is seriously fucked up!’ Izzy shouted, once the clumsy girl had barrelled on. ‘Dude, I love you wholly right now, but you have issues. Like I think you need to see someone.’

Ryan stared at his muddy fingers.

‘But you’re not going to do that, are you?’ Izzy went on. ‘Because you’re too fucking male or something. Well, you know what I think you should do? I think you should go talk to Missus MILF. Ask her for the gory details. This is a part of your story you can’t even remember and it’s turned you into a control freak.’

‘I can’t do that either,’ Ryan said. ‘She took off a few months back. Left a ton of debt behind her, locked the doors and hightailed it. Even her daughter doesn’t know where she is.’

‘This is insane!’ Saskia hissed. ‘Mo, I am totally on your team in terms of philosophy, absolutely, one hundred per cent, you are right and I should know, I’ve been looking for truth long enough. But this? This is morally wrong. Criminally wrong. I can’t be part of it. I can’t blah blah blah blah blah .’

Maureen stood at the gable end of the church, her back to rolling, sightless countryside. She had already broken a stained-glass window, partly to take the first step and partly to check whether the place was alarmed. It wasn’t. It was probably too small. This was the thing with the countryside parishes; you were attacking something of minor import and massive sentimental value.

‘Mo, listen…’ reasoned Saskia; she did not make as good a pupil as her ex cult-mate. ‘You have a bone to pick with the Catholic Church; I get that. I’m Irish as well, you know. We all harbour resentment. But this is criminal damage! You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison!’

‘Jesus, how old do you think I am?’

‘I can’t be a part of this. The Gardaí will follow this back to the commune. Think of the others. Everyone’s trying to deal with their own issues. Causing havoc will impinge on them.’

‘Era, it’s not like we’re family.’

‘You can’t come back, then. This kind of mischief is at total odds with how we’re trying to live!’

‘Mischief me arse,’ cried Maureen. ‘How you’re trying to live… don’t make me cough up a lung! Wasters and dropouts and dregs, hiding in fields in the arse end of Ireland, oh! don’t stick your heads out of the trenches anyway, for fear, for fear.’

‘Oh right! Right! So we’re just not being active enough. And what in God’s name is this going to achieve? D’you think this is anarchy? This isn’t anarchy!’

‘It’s what you make of it.’ Maureen turned, her back to the stone, and held the night sky in her outstretched arms. ‘And you should run with it, because they can’t catch me, you know. I’ve done my time. Everything after that is my bonus to spend as I wish. Take advantage if you want to make your mark.’

‘What, and follow you? Mo, this is insane because you are insane, and I’ve copped preachers a lot more cunning than you.’

‘Grand,’ said Maureen. ‘Off you go. Tell Scooby Doo thanks for everything.’

‘Oh my God. You have no respect.’

‘Scoot along, Saskia. And for Jesus’s sake will you learn to stand on your own pair? Commune to commune — get a fecking job!’

Well, that had done it. Maureen had banked on having an ally, and Shattered Saskia had seemed a damn good candidate, in the absence of tried-and-tested serfs. It certainly looked as if she was going to tell tales, which was probably to be expected in an off-the-wagon born-again. She hadn’t even waited long enough to hear blinding reason: the smoke would belch into the air but everyone would feel cleaner after it. It had worked for the Laundry, it had worked for Jimmy’s brothel, and it would work for the Catholic Church.

As Saskia stalked away, Maureen lifted onto tiptoes and peered in through the splintered glass. Not much to see but varnished shadows, and varnish likes to burn.

Three days of Carling cans, dropping nodges, woodland confessions and curry cheese chips left Ryan in a haze bordering incoherence, but Joseph was working on the Monday evening and so he’d promised to drive him home immediately after the closing gigs. They packed up their gear on the Sunday afternoon and Ryan and Joseph carried it back to the car park, twenty minutes away, in two trips, while Karine went gatting in the dell with a bunch of college friends. They all met up again, Joseph got off with one of the college girls, Karine had a minor meltdown over having left her facial wipes in the wrong bag, and Ryan popped his final yoke from the stash tucked down his balls and lay back on the grass and tried, gamely but unsuccessfully, to let the lot float off and pop in the sticky autumn air.

They made for the arena a couple of hours later to catch the last of the big-hitters. Joseph had some experimental guitarist he wanted to see; he brought Karine’s college friend with him. Ryan and Karine headed to the main stage. They found a patch of grass near the back and away from the main thoroughfare, and sat down, and she positioned herself in front of him so as to secure rueful cuddles without having to speak to him. He put his arms around her, pulled her back against his chest, put his nose against her bare shoulder and closed his eyes as the sediment of his last pill settled onto the pit of his stomach.

How they had managed to barney away the sweet evenings of the dying summer he didn’t know. It felt like they’d been fighting forever. Stuff he’d said, stuff she’d said, wound upon wound ripped of their stitches. He remembered something of Niall Vaughan, and something of Elena from Salerno whose scent Karine had identified on her boyfriend’s body after he’d laid stammered clues at her feet, like a cat bringing corpses to its mistress. He remembered his conversation with Izzy.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

She turned her head. ‘What are you sorry for?’

‘Everything.’

Directly across from him a mammy wearing face paint and fairy wings held a joggling toddler at arm’s length and brushed unseen contaminants off its back and legs.

Karine waited until he took his head from her shoulder and let him kiss her. A quarter of a mile away, a figure lost on a mammoth stage invited a thunderstorm of approval. Karine took a sip from her drink. ‘Is it sad that I just wanna go home now?’ she asked, and he kissed her again and told her no, course it wasn’t, it had been a crazy weekend, he was just as keen for a shower and his bed.

They set off from the car park at two in the morning, with Joseph’s new squeeze in tow. Ryan had a fag coming back through Stradbally, another when he hit the motorway. In the back seat the girls nodded. Joseph, still buzzing, blethered on about the experimental guitarist, the inspiration he was bringing home with him, the whole experience. ‘We’re definitely coming back next year,’ he said. In the rear-view mirror Ryan watched Karine’s nose twitch and her mouth fall open. Mist dashed the window behind her and for a moment it felt like there was something in pursuit. His luck catching up with him, maybe. The moment washed over him and dissipated before he could get a handle on it. Maybe the only thing following him was a mighty hangover. He shook his head.