I'm Still Standing Page 8

  ‘I told Colm last night that the place looks tip-top. You’re doing a great job here, Evelyn. Breathed a bit of life back into it,’ says Christy.

  Today is a day of service and smiles, and a steady stream of people walking through the door, laughter in the corners, and goodbyes with promises to return and spread the word that Rosie Munroe’s is well worth a visit. Standing behind the bar, bathed in the midday sunlight and listening to the gentle wordless strumming across the street, I feel like I am exactly where I am supposed to be. And I am happy. Simple as that.

  Then I hear shouting, angry voices and the snap of something breaking. A scuffle. A slap. Angrier shouting. All from the pool room. I run in as fast as I can to see a gang of school kids: three boys on one side holding a blonde-haired girl back from a very angry black-haired goth girl with a broken cue in her hand.

  ‘Okay, time to move outside, please,’ I tell them in my calmest voice, trying to keep the situation measured. I know from school playground fights that the best thing to do is to try and de-escalate the situation and get them away from each other. However, in a school playground I’d have backup. I’d know their names. And I’d have some kind of authority: I could threaten to tell their parents, or suspend them. Here I’ve got nothing to back me up. And I don’t know what these kids are capable of.

  The goth girl darts me a look and then vaults over the pool table, reaching out for the blonde, who I notice is wearing a different school uniform. She grabs her by the neck and forces her backwards onto the floor. The gargling blonde’s knuckles curl around the edge of the pool table in resistance, her face twisting with pain. The two of them spiral to the ground, each grasping a fistful of hair. At least ten boys are now gathered round, chanting, ‘FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!’

  Holy shit. This is getting out of hand way too quickly. Serving drinks? Yes. Scrubbing toilets? Yes. Dealing with barroom brawls? No.

  I look to Christy, who clenches his jaw and points at the door. ‘I’ll go and get help.’ But as I look at the mob of boys, who are circling the two brawlers to create a boxing ring in the middle of the pool room, I know there’s no time. This could escalate to a level of real danger very quickly – I have my eye on the broken pool cue, which could leave someone seriously hurt.

  A scream from the centre of the tussle silences the crowd. I see some of the boys slide out their phones and start filming. There’s no time to wait for help to arrive. Colm isn’t here, and there’s no way I can let this go any further while he’s had such faith in me to do this job in the first place. It’s now or never.

  I grab hold of the goth girl by her shirt collar and drag her off the thrashing blonde’s body. As I pull her away, she lashes backwards, and her fist hits me in the mouth. She stumbles back, pumping her shoulders up and down, sucking in short breaths through pouted lips. There is a smear of blood by her nose and her black hair is mussed up like candyfloss. I taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth and realise that it’s me that’s bleeding. I reach out to steady the goth girl.

  ‘Don’t you touch me!’ She holds a gold-ringed knuckle up to my face and then, eyes down, stomps past, smacking the door frame as she leaves. Don’t crack, Evelyn, don’t fall apart. Be strong. Stay strong.

  ‘Okay, okay. Everything’s okay now,’ I hear myself say as I step back and let her leave. I stand stunned in the middle of the floor, my heart beating at a million miles an hour.

  Then I hear a man’s voice directed at the rest of the kids: firm, confident, young – not Christy or Colm. ‘Out! Go on – all of you. You shouldn’t even be here. Go back to school before I report the lot of you.’ It’s Danny. He spins around, walks towards me and places both hands on my shoulders, leaning in to study me closely. ‘Feckin’ hell, Evelyn, are you all right?’ His eyes are so brown. Deep, dark chocolate brown.

  ‘I am now, thanks,’ I tell him.

  ‘Let’s get you some ice for that lip. Looks busted to me.’ I run my tongue over my top lip and feel a huge hot lump. ‘But don’t worry, you’re still a proper stunner. And this pouty lip thing is in vogue, I hear, so it’s not all bad.’

  I need to sit down. I need to get some air. He helps me to the bar and sits me on a stool. ‘Just wait there. Don’t move.’

  There’s not a chance of that; my head is ringing and I can feel my lip starting to really sting. Christy’s moved to the doorway to make sure the kids don’t return and is shaking his head. ‘Flamin’ kids. They should be doing something constructive, not hanging about in a pub in the middle of the day, only looking up from their gadgets to fight each other. I’m telling you, in my day it was altogether different. We were up to all sorts; girls had no time for fighting, too busy having the time of their lives. The sixties, that was the time to be young.’ He pops a shot of whiskey in front of me. ‘Drink this. For your nerves.’

  I do as I’m told. I wince as I sip, as the alcohol stings my bust lip. Christy winces with me and puts a straw in the glass.

  ‘There you are. That’ll help, trust me.’

  Funny thing is, I do trust him, so I take another sip.

  Danny comes back with a first-aid kit and dabs my lip with antiseptic. ‘They’ll not mess with you again when they see you like this. I’m half afraid of you myself.’

  I try to laugh, but it hurts.

  He tells me to wait a second while he walks around the bar to the sink and opens a few drawers until he finds a clean dishcloth. He wets it under the tap, turns around and motions me over. ‘Come here under the light so I can see it properly.’ I do as he says, leaning into him under one of the low-hanging lamps. I balance on my elbows on the counter, my gaze to the ceiling. He takes my chin and angles my face to the left, pressing the cloth to my skin to clean off the drying blood. I wince. I didn’t even realise how much it was hurting till he touched it.

  He removes the cloth, rinses the blood from it under the tap and puts it back on my mouth, this time with an ice cube to numb the pain and bring down the swelling. He takes my hand and presses the ice wrap gently to my lip, letting me know exactly where to keep it.

  My cheeks instantly heat from embarrassment. He is so close I can breathe in his scent. He smells lovely, a mixture of soap and leather. And I must look absolutely ridiculous like this, with a bloody face and a fat lip. I swallow, unable to speak for a moment, realising that it matters to me what he thinks of me, how he sees me.

  I take a deep breath. The fight is barely registering with me now. It’s like a little blip, I’m already over it; the big event is happening right this second. It’s happening centimetres in front of my face, so close I can feel his actual breath as he checks my injuries. I can see each eyelash, each micro-movement of his face, his expression. His skin is soft and clear, his eyes so dark in contrast, focused on me, so close… It’s doing nothing to slow down my heart rate.

  ‘You seem to be quite the paramedic,’ I say, my words muffled by my bulging lip and the icy cloth.

  He cocks an eyebrow and a wicked little grin plays on his lips. He looks out of the window and then back to me. ‘Me and my brother… when we were younger, we were always scrapping. Loved winding up the older kids, you know. We were cocky little shits, sure as anything that we could outrun them, and mostly we did, but there were a few times…’ He points to a scar over his right eyebrow, then one across his knuckles and another directly under his chin. ‘Sometimes we bit off more than we could chew, and let’s say they caught up with us.’

  ‘Siblings, eh? The only enemy you can’t live without,’ I say, and he nods thoughtfully. I like that.

  ‘You’re from the country, right? So you probably have forty brothers and sisters and the whole town is your extended family.’

  I give him a withering look. ‘Why is it that Dubliners have this idea that everyone outside of the capital is a hillbilly? That all we do is eat sackloads of potatoes and ride like rabbits all day?’

  ‘Ride like rabbits? I didn’t know that. Maybe it’s worth a trip, in that case. So how many mill
ion siblings have you got?’

  ‘Just one younger sister actually, Tara. I’m staying with her at the moment.’

  ‘You get on?’

  ‘Yeah, always. We are very different but we look out for each other.’

  ‘Different?’ Danny asks.

  ‘She’s taller, darker… more adventurous. She’s much braver than me. Does her own thing.’

  ‘You don’t do your own thing?’

  ‘Don’t really know what my thing is yet; guess that’s why I’m here. Trying to figure it out.’

  He nods, holding my gaze thoughtfully, searching my eyes a beat too long.

  ‘I like people who try.’

  What is that supposed to mean? Is it a philosophical nugget, or something more? I look to the floor, trying to compose my thoughts.

  He dabs my lip with the antiseptic one more time. ‘Looking good,’ he says, glancing straight at me. ‘Even with a busted face.’ He laughs. ‘C’mon, let me walk you home.’

  I hold up my hands. ‘No thanks. I’ve got to stay here and work the bar; I’m not finished until this evening.’

  ‘You serious? No offence, but most people’d throw in the towel after what just happened.’

  I smile to myself. ‘Yes, well, I must have some sticking power.’

  Danny winks over to Christy. ‘Well, looks like Evelyn’ll be hanging around for another while yet. These country girls are tough.’

  Christy swirls his drink around in the glass and holds it up in a toast to me. ‘Good on you, Evelyn! Stand your ground. They’ll not scare you off. But I’m going to tell Colm that you need an extra pair of hands in here; you can’t do all this by yourself. Leave it with me.’

  Does that mean Colm won’t be back in full work mode for a while? If that’s the case, a bit of part-time help with clearing up and keeping the place ticking over would be fantastic.

  Danny slings his guitar on his back, writes his phone number on a beer mat and slides it over the counter to me. ‘Call me when your shift is over and I’ll come back to walk you home.’

  ‘Honestly, there’s no need. I’ll be fine.’

  He shoots me a wary look. ‘Listen here, it’s not you I’m worried about. This is a respectable area – can’t have you wandering around these streets with your big fat lip, scaring children and tearing the shirts off teenagers.’ He taps the beer mat. ‘Call me. I want to walk you home.’

  I shake my head. Can you imagine what people would think? Newly divorced Evelyn Dooley, black and blue from a brawl, spotted walking home from a pub with a strange man. If things were different, would I take him up on his offer? Absolutely. If I wasn’t fresh out of a failed marriage and suspect that this is what they mean by a rebound romance? Absolutely. If I didn’t care what people thought and was truly brave enough to take the next steps without fear of being hurt all over again? Absolutely.

  But things are not that way for me yet. This little matter of a decree absolute is still very raw to me. I don’t want to make another mistake. I don’t want this to go any further. Because he is very much the kind of man I could fall in love with a little too quickly. And when it all goes pear-shaped, he is very much the kind of man that would absolutely annihilate my heart. So nope. I’m back on my feet, I’m happy, I’m doing well. I can’t risk throwing all that away and messing up my life with another failed relationship. There’s too much at stake, too much to lose, too much for my fragile heart. I can see by the glimmer in his eye that he’s flirting with me. I need to set him straight.

  ‘Look, Danny, I appreciate it, all your help today. But I’m just out of a relationship and the last thing I want is to start another one. Just so you don’t waste your time, I’m not looking for anything with anyone right now.’

  He pauses a moment, bites his lip, considers the beer mat and leaves it on the counter. ‘As you like.’ He slings his guitar over his shoulder, and when he reaches the door, he turns around. ‘Good luck with all the stuff you’re trying for. I hope you figure it out. And if you do change your mind, you have my number.’

  My stomach folds in on itself. I have either done myself the biggest favour or the biggest disservice of my life. Attraction, the first flutters of possibility, the skin-tingling effect of someone standing close, someone you’ve watched from afar and tried not to daydream about. This wasn’t something I was expecting to feel just yet. I’ve been so focused on getting my own life off the ground, I didn’t factor in anybody else. I guess I thought that if I ever started seeing someone again, it would be a conscious, formal decision. A rational choice. Not just something that happened out of the blue and without my bidding. When I started on this journey, falling for another man was not something I’d worked into my plans. This excitement, this stirring in my chest was definitely not something I expected to feel right now.

  But despite what I said to Danny and echoed to my heart about not wanting anything more, I slip the beer mat into my bag.

  Chapter Eleven

  I run my tongue over my hot fat lip for the hundredth time. I must be in shock. How the hell did the day turn out like this?

  As I lock up the pub and make my way home, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I glance at it quickly, hoping it’s Tara so I can fill her in on everything that’s happened. With the time-zone difference and her crazy shift work, we are constantly missing each other. But it’s not Tara. It’s Mum. I swallow hard. I need to take this, as I haven’t called her properly since arriving here a fortnight ago, which means I still need to break the news to her that I am no longer teaching, but working in a pub.

  ‘How’s the flat? How’s the weather? How’s Tara? How’s work?’ She launches in with the interrogation as soon as I answer.

  ‘Brilliant. Everything is brilliant,’ I tell her as I carefully move the phone away from the injured side of my face. ‘I’m really enjoying it all.’ And that’s true. Even in spite of today. The work is hard, the clientele can be unpredictable, the shifts are long – sometimes a full twelve hours – but it’s actually exactly what I need right now. I look forward to going in each day, to stacking the shelves and watering the flowers and prepping the sandwiches and then opening the doors and listening to Danny. Each morning I feel full of expectation and excitement as to what will happen and who will walk in next. Because you never know – and for the first time in my life, I’m okay with not knowing. Even a teensy bit exhilarated by not knowing. I might even uncover that stage tomorrow, see what kind of condition it’s in. Who knows?

  My mother relaxes her tone. ‘Well at least that’s something. I met Mrs O’Driscoll yesterday. She asked if you’re teaching up in Dublin yet because no one has called for a reference. I told her you were, that you got a job the day after you arrived. She wants to know the name of the school, see if she knows anyone who could help you along.’

  What a busybody! She has no intention of helping me along. More like ringing them up and telling them I’ll poison their ethos. That I took a vow to be Mrs O’Connor for life and she’ll make it her personal vocation to see that I do. I came up here to escape all that. Even if I was in a school, I wouldn’t want her to have any chance of gossiping about me.

  ‘Right… well the thing is, Mum, I’m not working in a school just yet. It’ll take another couple of weeks until I know about anything available on that front, so just tell her I’ve gone into industry.’

  ‘Oh? That sounds interesting. And what’s that when it’s at home?’

  ‘I’m working in a pub.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Evelyn, are you trying to kill me altogether? Tell me you’re pulling my leg – a pub! That can’t be a good thing. If it was Tara that had turned her life on its head I’d be more prepared, I’d half expect it…’

  I hold the phone away from my ear. If my dad was alive, he’d take over now and calm the whole thing down and make me feel better. Make my mum feel better. But of course he’s not. And as hard as I tried to take his place and keep Mum happy and content, it wasn’t something I really succeeded
in. Yes, I stuck around, made sure she didn’t feel alone. But that’s what I’m realising. Being alone and feeling alone are two different things. With Tara and her flatmate away most of the time, I’ve been on my own more in the past couple of weeks than I have since… well, ever. I always imagined that being by myself would be lonely, that the emptiness, the silence would dissolve me, but I’m not finding that to be the case at all. I’m grand. If I’m not at the pub, I read and sing along to my favourite music and eat and rest and bathe and do as I please. I’ve not been lonely or bored once. I actually can’t believe that this was something I was scared of; it was a completely irrational and unfounded fear. And possibly a fear that drove me to getting married earlier and staying married longer than was good for me.

  ‘… She always had a reckless streak, but you! Evelyn, what on earth has gotten into you?’

  I don’t argue, I let her rant – she needs the release. I understand that she’s trying to knock sense into me, that what I’m doing must seem to her like moving backwards, sinking downwards.

  But here’s the thing, I don’t feel like I am.

  I feel lighter, higher and happier than I have done in ages. I feel like I’m finally getting to know myself, as weird as that sounds. When I was with James, there were really only two things that happened in order to do anything, decide on anything: we’d either have to compromise or fight. And it’s easy to forget what you actually like or want to do yourself – without consulting anyone – when you’re always either compromising or fighting. Right now, I really like this new-found peace, this independence. I like my life. I’m not full of dread or despair or anger. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I’ve had a great today. I feel like I’ve lived today, like I’m starting to let myself be myself. I did it with fear. With pain. With doubt. With hands shaking and voice trembling… but I started. I’ve got a fat lip and Danny’s number on a beer mat to show for it. And that feels good. That feels like I’ve lived. And that’s not something I’m about to take for granted.