CHAPTER THREE

Saturday night

She knew that she’d been a total pushover, but she didn’t care. The
truth of it was she didn’t want to go home, not yet, and for one night
only she could stay out as long as she wanted.
Five minutes to midnight. She checked the time on her phone and
her daughter’s face looked up at her. A big smile on her face, the pic-
ture taken that time they’d visited pets’ corner in the zoo. What does a
sheep say, baby? Baaa. Réaltín loved sheep. Mad, considering she was
growing up on a housing estate in the middle of Dublin. But she was
fascinated by them, loved looking at the pictures every night in the big
book they kept by the side of her cot. Nearly died of happiness when
she got to see one in real life. What does a sheep say, sweetheart? Baaa,
she’d said, looking from the sheep to her mother with delight. The big
blue eyes wide open as if to say, look, Ma, a real one!
‘Everything okay?’
‘Cool, yeah!’
Jesus girl, let it go. Time to concentrate on the night ahead. She
turned the phone off with a slow, deliberate movement and smiled at
him. Réaltín would be fine. Her Mam and Dad loved having her, they’d
been pestering her to leave her overnight for months. It had just been

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so weird, packing her little bag full of pyjamas and nappies, finding
her favourite toys, putting in those little tubs of fruit she loved. Strange
to think they wouldn’t be spending the night together. Their first night
apart in almost two years. Weird, but kind of nice as well. She loved
the baba, loved her to distraction, but twenty months of broken sleep
had taken their toll, particularly when there was no one else there to
share the burden. The break would do them both good.
‘The apartment’s just around the corner, we can walk if you don’t
mind?’
‘Yeah. Grand.’
Not grand actually, not grand at all. Not in the highest shoes
she’d worn since Réaltín was born. But she wasn’t going to start com-
plaining. Instead, she hesitated for a moment before grabbing his arm.
He looked . . . pleased. Surprised and then pleased. Like she’d made the
first move towards something.
‘It’s cool, you coming back. I didn’t . . . well I thought it might be a
bit cheeky. To ask. I haven’t done this in a while.’
‘Jesus, me neither! Sure I feel like I’m on my holidays if I’m out past
ten o’clock!’
Woah there, Miriam. She took a deep breath and forced herself to
calm down. Cool it. Enough of the whole housebound mother thing.
But he didn’t look like he minded. Instead he shook his head, a funny
little shy movement and then smiled at her, as if to say it’s okay, this
is new to me too.
She stroked his arm, under the coat sleeve. It felt nice. Solid.
The weird thing was that she had felt all day as if she was going
on a blind date, even though that wasn’t how it was supposed to be at
all. But the build-up had been the same: selecting the clothes, trying to
look nice but not too nice. Attractive, but not like she’d made too much
of an effort. Like she did this sort of thing all the time. She’d had her

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hair blow-dried. Sucked the Mummy Tummy in under the waistband

of her best jeans. Kept small sticky fingers off her blue top and cream
cardigan.
‘Mammy’s getting ready! You play nice with Granda, now.’
‘Baaaa.’
Her Da had offered her a lift to the pub but she’d told him he’d be
better off getting Réaltín settled. So they’d left, in a whirl of pyjamas
and nappies and toy sheep and Miriam had paused for a second,
looked around the living room and exhaled. Breathed in the silence.
For a second she’d thought about cancelling, just staying in alone and
having a bath, a glass of wine. Renting a DVD and sleeping for as
long as she wanted. But her mother would have killed her, she’d been
nagging her to get her social life back in gear. And besides, she didn’t
have a phone number to call. Just a date, a time and a location. It
would be rude not to turn up after all the planning. So there it was
then, she had to go.
She couldn’t have taken a lift off her Dad anyway, because she hadn’t
exactly been honest about where she was going, and why. Muttered
something about a reunion, mentioned the names of a few of the girls
from school. Given her Mam the name of a pub that sounded like some-
where a load of women would congregate on a night off the leash. Then
got on a bus going in the opposite direction. Well. Her Mam and Dad
had been great, the past two years. But they were still her Mam and
Dad. Didn’t need to know everything.
And they certainly didn’t need to know about this.
Their walk had taken them to an apartment block, one of the
new ones built near the Luas line. An abandoned election poster flut-
tered from a lamp post, the breeze lifting it high into the air as they
approached the huge metal gates which were almost totally covered
by For Sale and To Let signs. The place looked deserted, lights showing

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in barely a quarter of the windows. Miriam shivered as a blast of cold

air sobered her up a little. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea . . .
‘We can just have coffee you know! A chat. Come in out of the cold
anyway.’
Yeah, well, fair enough. His hand stroked hers and she felt soothed
again. He walked past the large gates and tapped a code into the box
beside the small metal pedestrian entrance. Miriam hadn’t noticed
a name on the apartment block, but they all looked the same to her
anyway. A massive redbrick building, three blocks visible from the street
with maybe another two behind, built at the height of the madness,
back when they were asking half a million for a two-bed in a place like
this. They’d be lucky to get half that now. As if he could read her mind
he looked at her, and shrugged.
‘Bought it with herself. Bad move. She left me with the mortgage
when we split up. Stuck with it, now. You know how it is.’
She didn’t, but nodded anyway. She had never done the whole prop-
erty ladder thing. One of her few sensible decisions.
‘So sorry if the place looks a bit bare. Not a lot left in the kitty for
furniture!’
‘Ah, no, it’s lovely.’
It wasn’t really. They walked along a narrow dark corridor, half lit
by a series of dim fluorescent bulbs. Someone had spilt what looked
like a Chinese takeaway on the ground and she was glad of his arm as
she stepped, wobbling over the mess.
His door was painted cream, identical to the rest. Number 183. How
many apartments were there in this place? And it looked like most
of them were empty. He took out a key and fumbled for a moment.
Strange, he’d only had a few pints. Maybe he was nervous.
‘You’ll have a glass of wine?’
‘Ah, go on, so.’

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The walk had sobered her up, but not so much that she wanted the
evening to end. She wasn’t quite sure where she wanted it to go, really.
She’d been out of the game for a long time. But there’d be no harm in
a glass of wine. He went into the kitchen and she settled herself on the
narrow corduroy sofa. He hadn’t been joking about the place being
bare. Not a picture on the wall, nothing on the mantelpiece apart from
a takeaway menu and a coffee mug. The ex must have taken everything.
He was probably still getting over her too. Well that suited Miriam just
fine. She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. That certainly wasn’t why she’d
come out this evening. But a bit of fun wouldn’t do anyone any harm.
‘Red okay?’
‘Lovely.’
The sound of a cork popping, some rattling in the kitchen and then
he emerged, carrying two large glasses. She took a big swallow and
exhaled, happily. She had forgotten how good this felt. Tipsy, but not
drunk, relaxed, but not too pissed. Aware of her surroundings. The
cream walls, the wooden floor. The sigh of the springs as she settled fur-
ther into the sofa. The space she left for him to come and sit beside her.
The conversation was easy, a few gaps in places, but that was okay
too. He chatted a bit about the ex, the problems he had with the heating
in the apartment. She tried to stay away from the topic of Réaltín but
failed. Showed him a few more photos, the ones from her wallet, the
baby ones. He said he didn’t mind, just poured her another glass of
wine. This time she savoured it. It was nice, feeling like this. Relaxed.
A bit tired. But happy. Not drunk. But happy.
Not drunk, but then drunk, or something like it. She sipped at the
wine again and blinked as a fog enveloped her. Weird feeling. Distant.
Strange. She shook her head gently. Drank wine a lot, at home. ‘Woush
ent ushually get. . .’ She tried to say the words, but her tongue was too
thick, too dry. Stupid. Headache . . .

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‘Afther. Drinkingtoomuch.’
‘Ah, no, you’re grand.’
Miriam shook her head again, trying to clear her brain. But the
words wouldn’t come out straight and she could feel her eyes growing
heavier, the fog descending. She coughed and tried to straighten herself
up on the sofa. That was when she realised his hand was around her
shoulder. It was firm. Warm. She resisted the pressure for the moment
and then found herself curving back against him.
And then he asked her a question. And she couldn’t for the life of her
understand why he wanted to know that. So she laughed, and thought
instead of her daughter.
Baaa.
What does a sheep say, baby?
Baaa.
She couldn’t say her name. But she was thinking of her, as the fog
thickened and her eyelids drooped. She was thinking of Réaltín as they
closed.

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