It’s that time of night at the Black Swan when voices drift into laughter, rising like spirals of smoke into suspended reality. As if there are no consequences outside the privacy of this public house, no Monday morning waiting on the other side of sleep. We work the lounge, a long, carpeted attempt at comfort with upholstered booths opposite the bar and smaller tables dotted in between. Mam’s regulars, the thinkers and the talkers, slouch on the tall stools at the bar, their solitary lives lined up along the ring-stained mahogany stage.
I tackle the floor, the courting couples, the gangs of lads squeezing the last bit of fun out of the weekend. They’re buoyed by booze at this stage of the evening and it’s part of my job to ignore the suggestive comments, the brush of a hand against my arm or leg. I’m taking an order from a group of regulars, a quartet of red-faced men in their thirties, when I feel a pinch on my bum so hard I cry out.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
The culprit grins up at me, sweat beading across the bridge of his crooked nose.
“Is it all too much for you, the level of talent at the table?”
He bursts into laughter, elbowing the mullet in the Liverpool shirt beside him. But his mate across the table has seen what’s happened and he points his cigarette at the crooked-faced offender.
“Jesus, Mikey. Would you ever behave yourself?”
Mikey clearly has no regrets. If anything, he’s emboldened by the attention.
“Come on, Dermo, would ye blame me? When you see an arse as sweet as that, it’d be rude not to.”
He turns to me as I dig my thumbnail into my finger, an attempt to stop the tears.
“Gimme a Jameson with that Harp, will you?”
I take a breather behind a pillar by the bar, but Martina, the other lounge girl, is on me before I’ve had time to pull myself together.
“What’s up with you?”
“It’s that prick, Mikey. With the beer-belly gang.”
Martina is bigger and brasher than me and the likes of Mikey and his mates would know better than to get physical with her.
“What did he do?”
“He pinched my arse so hard. It really hurt.”
Now that it’s out, the tears follow, and that makes me feel even worse, that I’m losing it over a bunch of gobshites who’ve probably forgotten me already.
“Ah here, don’t cry,” says Martina. “Look, you take a break and go to the toilet or something and I’ll hold the fort here, OK?”
“Thanks, Martina, you’re a star.”
“No sweat. I’ll spit in his pint for you.”
I have to walk around the bar to get to the toilet, and I don’t want Mam to see me but her guilty eyes are watching and she catches me before I can make it round the corner.
“What’s wrong, love?”
“Nothing.”
I haven’t had a chance to wipe all the tears away yet.
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Is someone hassling you?”
“No.”
“Please tell me, Lou.”
She looks so dejected that I tell her just so she can be the hero.
“Mikey, with the curly hair…”
“That fucking goon, what did he do?”
Her face flushes with such fury I know he’s going to pay for what he did, and I want the price to be high.
“He grabbed my bum and pinched it. Hard. Really hard.”
She wipes her hands on a towel, flips up the bar hatch and walks over to Mikey’s table.
“You…” She points at Mikey and then flings her finger at the door: “… out.”
“What?” His eyes travel from her white stilettos to her bleached hair, but she doesn’t flinch. He tries to laugh, as if it’s a game. “You can’t do that.”
“Get. Out.”
“Jesus, Rose,” says Mikey. “Can you calm down and tell me what’s going on here?”
“You assaulted a member of staff and we don’t put up with that sort of shit in here.”
“Assaulted? For fuck’s sake, Rose. I gave the girl a compliment, that’s all.”
Mikey looks to the lads for support, but they’re way too interested in the contents of their pint glasses.
“Get out. Now,” says Mam.
Mikey takes his cigarettes and lighter from the table and stands up slowly, keeping his eyes on Mam.
“If your kid can’t handle a bit of banter,” he says when he gets to the door, “what the fuck is she doing in here?”
“You’re barred,” shouts Mam. “And if any of the rest of you have a problem with that, you can leave, too.”
I’M HAVING A COKE AND a packet of crisps in a booth by the door when Joe arrives, stone-washed denim jacket buttoned all the way up, cheeks pink from the cold. He chats to Mam while his pint settles and I know he’ll be on the way over. He’s been calling all weekend for an update on my outing with McQueen, but I haven’t had the stomach to deal with any of it.
“Howiye, Lou,” he says, sliding in opposite me.
“Howiye.”
“You’re a hard woman to reach,” he says. “I’d almost think you were avoiding me.”
I say nothing, hoping he’ll take the hint.
“How’d it go?” he says. “Your hockey match and … everything.”
He offers me a cigarette but I shake my head. I never smoke around Mam so we can both keep up the pretense that I don’t smoke at all. She gave up two years ago and she clings to that virtue as if it absolves her of all other vices.
“Yeah. It went.”
“What d’ye mean? Did he try anything?”
I know I have to tell him. Maybe it will help me work through it.
“Yeah.” I drop my head and lean closer to Joe, but I can’t look at him. “He put his hand right up between my legs and he pushed his tongue into my mouth.”
“Shit,” says Joe. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and blows a lungful of smoke at the ceiling. “But this is good. We’ve got him where we want him.”
His elation at the news I’ve been molested sinks my heart, even though I get it. It’s what I thought I wanted, to lead McQueen on enough to entrap him. But I know now for certain that nobody would ever do this unless they had no choice.
“I don’t know if I can do it,” I say. “I thought I could, but…”
“What can’t you do?”
“I don’t want him to touch me again.”
Joe sighs.
“Lou, we’re so close. We could set something up for next week. You tell me where you’re going to be and I’ll get one of my classmates to come with me and we’ll walk in on you.”
“Why don’t you fuck him and I’ll walk in?”
Our eyes lock and the pain and the memories shift between us until I look away, determined not to cry twice in one shift. Joe swings round the table, pushes in beside me and puts his arms around me, and I let him hug me. When I’ve calmed down I pull away, but he leaves his arm around my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just so wound up thinking about him. I wouldn’t get a chance to fuck him cos I’d batter him first.”
I smile in solidarity, and he smiles back, a look that lingers a little too long.
“Look, Lou, I’ll step up. I’ll do whatever I can. Research, interviews. I have an assignment coming up in college I can use for cover.”
He’s still smiling, his arm heavy on my back, and I shift awkwardly. He moves toward me and I think he’s going to whisper in my ear until his lips are on mine and I stiffen with the shock. I push him away with the scrap of strength I have left.
“I thought…” he says.
“You thought what? That I was the school bike?”
“No!” He recoils, and I’m finally free of his arm. “Jesus, Lou. I just … you know I always liked you. I didn’t just stop having feelings for you.”
“But you didn’t think about what I wanted?”
I stand up and he’s forced to do the same to let me out. I squeeze past him and grab my empty glass and crisp packet.
“This is the last fucking thing I need right now,” I say before I leave.
I WANT TO WALK HOME in silence, leave all thoughts of the night behind, but Mam’s tongue has been loosened by vodka and she won’t let me forget.
“A bit of banter,” she says, her voice thick with outrage. “The cheek of him.”
The wind follows us along the main road to our estate and my tuxedo jacket is not enough to stop it shivering through to my bones. I pull my lapels tight across my chest.
“I can dish it out and I can take it, but there’s a line and that eejit crossed it tonight. I’m sorry it happened to you, love, but I’ll make sure he never bothers you again.”
I’m grateful, but I know better than to get into a heated discussion when she’s on this trajectory.
“Yeah, thanks, Mam.”
She turns into the laneway that leads to our estate and I follow close behind.
“If he tries to set foot in the Swan again, he’ll have me to answer to.”
Mam gets to the end of the lane and stops, and I see taillights outside Bridie Brady’s house.
“What’s going on?”
She shushes me and I look over her shoulder at the red Ford Capri. It’s Kenny O’Kane.
“Let’s take the long way round,” I say, pulling at her sleeve, but it’s too late.
The stooped shape of Kenny is coming down the drive, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket.
“Evenin’, Rosie,” he says.
“Howiye, Kenny,” says Mam cautiously.
He’s a short, skinny man with a wedge of red hair, intimidating only by reputation.
“You up in the Swan tonight?”
“Yeah, working,” says Mam.
“Glad to hear it,” says Kenny.
He nods at me and I fold my arms across my chest.
“I hope you’re looking after your ma,” he says.
“Yeah, I am,” I say, although I don’t know why Kenny would care about that.
“What with her working all hours now,” he says, opening the car door. “I hope you appreciate her.”
The Capri shoots off with a guttural rumble that’s audible long after it’s turned out of sight.
“What did he mean by that?” I ask.
“Just ignore him,” says Mam. “He’s trying to wind us up, that’s all.”
She picks up speed and I trot after her.
“Mam, what’s happening with all of that stuff?”
I’ve been afraid to ask.
“I’m on top of it,” she says. “Don’t worry. With my new shifts and the extra you’re giving me too, it’ll be all paid off by Christmas, I promise.”
When we get in, Mam goes straight for the vodka and Coke and settles in the sitting room in front of some late-night tennis. I’m left alone in the kitchen, staring at the bottles on the counter until they morph from threat to comfort. I take a large glass of the sickly sweet concoction to my room and let it burn a path down my throat as the distorted reverb of Psychocandy by The Jesus and Mary Chain takes control. I lie on my bed with my eyes shut and the fuzz and feedback swirl around me until the noise in my head fades to a whisper.