‘Jesus,’ Margaret said. ‘Is that Colette Crowley? She looks like she’s had a few.’
‘Margaret, I’ll say goodnight to you here,’ Izzy said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am, yeah – go on now, I’ll be grand.’
‘Well, Izzy, good luck to you.’ Margaret smiled at her and walked away already clutching her car keys. She tipped up the hood of her coat as she stepped out the door.
As soon as Izzy entered the bar, she could hear Colette over every other voice.
‘Do you see your mother often, Conal?’ she asked, her words fumbling their way out of her mouth.
Izzy stopped about a foot away from Colette, who was so focused on the barman she didn’t notice her.
‘Oh, I do,’ the barman said. ‘I visit her all the time, Colette.’ He held a glass up to the light as he spoke.
‘You must, Conal. It’s so important to be good to your mother. You only get the one. Mine’s an auld bitch.’ She placed the pint glass to her mouth and it swallowed the tail end of her sentence. She spat some of her drink back into her glass. ‘Ah no, no, no, I don’t really mean that.’ She was rising up and down off the stool, rocking back and forth, as though she was trying to gain enough momentum to launch herself across the bar. ‘And are you going to college, Conal?’
‘I told you, Colette – I’m starting at the Tourism College next year.’
She thought Colette was going to fall off the stool and she placed her hand firmly on the small of her back. Colette looked up at her then and a smile spread slowly across her face, like Izzy was the answer to a question she’d been mulling over for some time. Izzy laid her hand on Colette’s arm and Colette reached out and held it. But she said nothing, just kept smiling and looked down at the floor. Then she pulled her hand away and slapped the edge of the bar. ‘Izzy Keaveney,’ she said. ‘Here, Conal, get Izzy a drink – what are you having, Izzy?’
‘I won’t have anything,’ Izzy said to the barman. ‘I’m driving.’
‘Oh,’ Colette said, gulping at the air like a fish.
‘Do you need a lift home, Colette?’
‘I do not – sure, I’m grand. I’m just going to finish my drink here with Conal and then I’ll head off out the road. The walk’ll do me good.’
‘It’s a bad night, Colette.’
Colette had her arms folded in her lap now and was massaging her forearm with one hand. She reached for her glass and brought it to her lips and out of the corner of her mouth, she asked, ‘How are you getting on with that priest?’
‘Come on now – they’re closing up in here,’ Izzy said.
‘Aye, Colette,’ Conal said, ‘I’ll be kicking everyone out in a minute.’
Colette folded her arms again and looked down into her lap like a sullen child. ‘You stopped coming to the classes,’ she said.
‘I have a lot going on.’
‘I’d say you have, all right. So busy you can’t answer your phone. Conal!’ she shouted, suddenly very animated. ‘You wouldn’t know this – Izzy Keaveney.’ She pointed at Izzy. ‘Very, talented, poet.’ She wagged her finger at Izzy with each word. She reached out and grabbed Izzy’s arm and pulled her to her. ‘Have I told you that, Izzy?’ Her voice was shot through with concern. Izzy tried to prise Colette’s fingers from her arm.
‘Come on now, Colette, we’ll go. I’ll drive you home.’
Colette’s body suddenly slackened and she slipped off the barstool, with Izzy steadying her as her feet met the floor. Izzy was aware that everyone in the bar was watching them. A man she did not recognise, a burly, bald-headed man, approached them and offered his assistance.
‘We’ll be grand,’ Izzy said, smiling at the man. ‘I can get her home from here.’
‘Izzy’s got it all under control,’ Colette said to the man.
She linked arms with Colette, stiffening her elbow to bolster her. Izzy tried to appear stately in the face of Colette’s imminent collapse. She felt like she was leading a drunk bride to the altar.
On the pavement at the front of the hotel, Colette shouted again, ‘Izzy’s got it all under control.’
Izzy dug her elbow into Colette’s side. ‘Shut up now, Colette – you’ll wake the whole town.’
They meandered across the road to the car park, buffeted as Colette’s weight pulled them from side to side. When they got to the car Izzy opened the passenger door and pushed Colette in.
‘Put your seat belt on there, Colette,’ she said, getting in on the driver’s side.
She flashed the wipers a few times to clear the windscreen.
Colette was pawing at the seat belt but couldn’t quite get a purchase on it.
‘Give me that,’ Izzy said, reaching across her. She pulled the belt out and clicked the clasp into the buckle.
They passed along the Shore Road and through the industrial estate, where the tall streetlamps beamed a lurid yellow light over the factories. It was such a quiet night, not another car on the road, and Izzy was conscious of every sound – the gentle shush of the tyres moving along the wet road, the hum of the engine, and Colette’s breathing deepening to a jagged rasp. She glanced at Colette, who had her eyes closed and her head back against the headrest.
‘Come on now, Colette, don’t fall asleep on me – you’ll be home in two minutes.’
She reached out and jabbed Colette in the thigh. Colette made a gulping noise and sat up.
‘You’re not going to be sick, are you?’ Izzy asked. ‘Because if you are let me know and I can pull over.’
Colette leaned forward and blinked at the windscreen.
