The applications for the J1 visa to America seemed straightforward enough and Ciara picked up two. She would persuade Alison to come with her. It would be the best time, swishing around Boston or Cape Cod with money in their pockets and the sun high in the sky. They could pretend that they were Oscar Wilde’s or James Joyce’s grand-nieces or great-grand-nieces. She would work out which one would be chronologically plausible, obviously. The Americans loved the young Irish, but they were fairly well up on their heroes too so there was no point in trying to tell a blatant lie. Sure they would walk into good jobs, preferably not on the burger line of some highway fast-food place. She could do without the monotony of that and she was certain that Alison would prefer a change from a café job too. Now that Dan Abernethy was snared the shifts at the Daisy May had surely fulfilled their purpose. She could see him any time now and not just when he fancied a coffee. No, a job in an art gallery or museum or in one of those massive American bookshops with coffee houses and four-piece jazz bands playing in the basement would do nicely. Good sociable hours so they could get out every night and meet anyone worth meeting and spend their money. Ciara raced home, skipping her Tuesday-evening lecture such was her excitement.
‘What do you mean you don’t want to go? Are you off your head? This is one of the main reasons I came to college, the chance to spend the summer abroad. We can spend the summer in Dublin next year or any time at all but we would be raving mad to pass up on this.’ Ciara shook the treasured visa applications in disbelief. Sometimes Alison needed a good boot.
‘I wasn’t actually planning on spending the summer anywhere but at home in Caharoe. I kind of promised Mam and Dad that as soon as the exams were over I would head for home. They want me to work at the surgery because Maggie is going on maternity leave.’ Alison was surprised that Ciara had presumed she would be keen on going. Sure they had talked about it, but in general terms only, saying that it would be great to do it some time.
‘They could get anyone to do that job instead of you. A temping agency would supply someone at short notice. They are probably only obliging you by giving you the job when they could easily get someone else. I bet you if you were to ring them now they would tell you to go and not to be daft. Look, if I can scrape the money together you have no excuse. Better still, I will ring your dad now and tell him that you would love to go to America but are worried about letting him down. I would have the whole thing sorted in a few minutes. Sure Dick Shepherd and myself are drinking buddies. I could charm him in an instant.’
Alison was in a panic; the last thing she wanted was Ciara taking up the reins to fight a battle on her behalf that she didn’t want to win. ‘Look, Ciara, I don’t want to go. I want to go home. My folks miss me and I miss them and I would like to spend the summer there. Besides . . .’
‘Besides what, Alison? Dan Abernethy is here and that’s why you want to stay, like a gillie at his beck and call? I should have known it would boil down to proximity to Dan. Don’t you trust him? Don’t you trust that he would still be here waiting for you when you came back? It’s pathetic, Alison. He would go if he were in your shoes, make no mistake about that. He wouldn’t be afraid to leave your side. He’s the first guy you have ever gone out with. Don’t you think you need a bit of perspective? There could be a bigger, better, sexier doctor or lawyer in Boston or New York just waiting to sweep you off your feet but you will never know because you are too bloody timid to find out.’ Ciara flung the visa-application papers at the fireplace in disgust before collapsing on the couch exhausted by her own rage.
‘Are you finished your rant?’ Alison asked, her voice a total contrast in tone to her flatmate’s. When Ciara refused to answer Alison took it as permission to speak without interruption or heckling from a temper out of control. ‘I have promised my folks to go home for the summer and I don’t think there is anything timid about that. They pay for everything for me and the least I can do is to keep my tiny side of the bargain. I do miss them. For as long as I remember it’s been just them and me and I have found being away from home for weeks at a time fairly hard to get used to. Whereas you seem happy enough to give the odd phone call and skip the visits entirely. I would like to go to the US but not this summer, Ciara. Maybe next year or the year after.’
‘You have made your point, Alison, but don’t tell me it has nothing to do with Dan because I won’t believe you.’
‘Yes I am looking forward to seeing Dan during the summer, but he is staying in Dublin on a placement so I won’t exactly be in his pocket clinging on for dear life. Thanks for pointing out that he is my first boyfriend, as if that makes me some sort of a freak. I know it might not last but I don’t think there is anything wrong with hoping that it might or enjoying it while it does.’
‘You are just doing the typical girl thing, putting your life on hold for someone whom you have just built up in your head as Mr Perfect. It pisses me off!’
‘Only a few weeks ago you were singing Paul Crampton’s praises, saying he was sound, sexy and funny. The list went on and on. I bet you wouldn’t be going to America if it had worked out with him and we wouldn’t be sitting here fighting like cats.’
‘He was just a little dickhead like all the rest of them. I should have added big-headed, pretentious and spineless to the list. It would have made it a touch more accurate.’
‘Jesus, that bad, was he?’ Ciara hadn’t really told Alison the ins and outs of how they had broken up, just that it was finished and that his name was a pile of dung to be stepped over in conversation. ‘What exactly happened, or do you not want to talk about it?’
‘I went to the loo in Harty’s the night after that stupid rugby match that he persuaded me to go to. I overheard a friend of his telling Paul that I didn’t seem like his type. Well, I waited for Paul’s answer to put him in his place. He didn’t realize I was standing behind him and he told this little upstart that there was room for all types of fillies in his stable while he waited for his thoroughbred and no better man to put them all through their paces.’
‘My God! You poor thing, what did you say?’ Alison was incredulous. What kind of a horrible person would talk like that about Ciara? Paul had seemed so sweet too.
‘Oh, talking is too good for a prick like that. I landed a pint of warm Smithwick’s on top of his head and while he was struggling to see through that I kneed him in the groin to make his insignificant little willy shrivel like a three-day-old sausage dipped in vinegar. It felt good, even if I did get some beer on my green slingbacks. A small price to pay, I suppose.’
‘I am so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me before now? You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.’
‘I fully meant to tell you. I called to an off licence on the way home and got the bottle of rosé that’s sitting in the fridge, but you and Dan were here cuddled up on the couch looking like Tracy and Hepburn before they did the dirty deed so I took myself off to bed. There was no point in ruining your night too.’
‘I could have told Dan to go. He would have understood. And seeing as you’re fishing for information, no, we have not done the dirty deed, as you so charmingly put it.’ Alison blushed. It was no good. She could never carry off talk like this and keep her composure.
‘I should bloody hope not. A girl has to have standards. You will have to wait at least a year so he respects you.’
‘Would you cop on with your standards, Ciara Clancy, seeing as you have no intention of ever adhering to your own rules of engagement? You wouldn’t have even waited this long!’
‘You cheeky wagon! I will thank you not to take pot shots at my virtue. I have the highest of standards: I just haven’t met any man who even comes close to deserving my good behaviour. Trust me, Ali, they are all plonkers really, even the delectable Dr Dan. Now crack open that bottle of rosé. I am parched.’
Alison got two glasses. She would have just a little taste to keep Ciara company for a bit instead of letting her drink alone. She hadn’t really liked the taste of wine any time she had tried it. She found the bottle opener buried deep in the utensil drawer and looked at the bottle without a clue what to do next.
Ciara got to her feet. ‘It’s a screw top, honey, just like Paul Crampton’s brain.’ She poured two generous glasses. Alison nearly fainted at the measure. She had never even drunk a fraction of that.
‘That’s a bit much for me, Ciara. You know I don’t really drink.’
‘Oh, this stuff is like TK Lemonade. It’s barely alcoholic. Besides, if I can’t bring you to America with me, the least I can do is show you how to drink a glass of wine without losing the run of yourself entirely. Call it part of your education. The off-syllabus parts are my speciality.’
Alison took a little sip. It wasn’t very strong, she had to admit. Maybe it was even a bit pleasant.
‘To a good life,’ Ciara toasted.
‘To good men!’ Alison ventured.
‘To a life without arseholes or at least to having damn fine shoes to step over them,’ Ciara countered as they clinked their glasses.