Rory

The last person Rory had taught to drive was Sean. Rory had been in his early twenties, just out of college and contemplating emigrating to America or Australia. Sean was seventeen and his approach to driving reflected his approach to life: slapdash on good days, out of control on bad ones. He failed his first driving test by mounting the kerb and hitting a lamppost. He reattempted it, twice in Ireland and twice in Australia, before declaring himself a ‘proud supporter of public transport’.

Emmet was a good driver. He respected the speed limit, listened to Rory’s advice and tried to remember the rules of the road. Parking was his weakness, but wasn’t it everyone’s?

‘Alright. See that white Golf up ahead? We’ll do a reverse parallel park around that one.’

Emmet flicked on the indicator and began to brake. He pulled up next to the nominated Golf.

‘You’re a bit too close, so we’ll have to make some adjustments to our usual process.’

Unfortunately, the back wheel scraped along the kerb: an automatic fail if it happened during the test.

‘Let’s just cut our losses on this one,’ Rory said calmly. ‘We’ll try again later on.’

He had enjoyed these lessons over the last year. Rory had learned that Emmet didn’t like to talk about school or his friends or his future. Music was their connection as they drove around the local streets, clocking up the requisite driving hours. Emmet would play his music and try to convince Rory it was ‘brilliant’. Then Rory would play his favourite songs, claiming they were ‘classics that never dated’. There was mock outrage: how can you not like this song? What’s wrong with you? There were affectionate insults: your taste in music is as bad as your taste in clothes. A few minutes from home they would compromise by playing music they both liked.

‘The concert is only two months away,’ Emmet said as they listened to ‘Speed of Sound’. ‘It’s come around really fast.’

Funny his son should think that. From Rory’s perspective, the days, weeks and months had dragged. He was stuck in a lonely, silent rut and Rachel was spinning further and further away. Between her long days at work and frequent walks, she wasn’t at home very much. When she was at home, she seemed excessively polite and formal. Rory was starting to think there was something seriously wrong and he’d finally acted on his decision to seek Amy’s opinion. If something was going on, there was a good chance Amy knew about it, and an even better chance she’d tell him the truth. Discretion wasn’t her strong point. They were meeting for coffee tomorrow after work.

The song came to an end just as Emmet pulled into the driveway.

‘Perfect timing,’ Rory declared with a smile. ‘Well done, mate. You’re practically ready for the test.’

Emmet switched off the ignition, pulled up the handbrake. He turned in his seat, his expression serious. ‘Dad, I’ve got something to—’

He was interrupted by a rapping on the driver’s side window. A face peered in through the glass. Sean. Rory glanced at the clock: 11 am. His brother’s timing was a bit off this week – Sunday lunch wouldn’t be served for another few hours – which meant there was more on the agenda than food. His heart sank.

‘Better find out what it is this time,’ he muttered before getting out of the car.

Rory knew only too well what it was: money. Money had been a problem all of Sean’s adult life. Since he’d emigrated to Australia twelve years ago, Rory was the only family member he could easily hit up. Dealing with time zones and clearing times for international transfers was well beyond his organisational skills.

‘Hey, lad.’ Sean pumped Emmet’s hand, grinning maniacally. ‘You’ll be driving your old uncle around the place soon, eh?’

‘Not used to seeing you so early in the day,’ Rory said, striving for a jokey tone rather than outright sarcastic.

Sean gave a high-pitched laugh. ‘Just have a favour to ask. Early bird and all the rest …’

Rory handed Emmet the driving logbook. ‘Here, take that inside. I’ll fill it out when I get in.’

Emmet got the message. He took the book, made himself scarce. Bridie was nosier; she would have been harder to convince to go inside.

‘Look, I need to borrow some cash. A few hundred. Sorry, but the landlord’s going berserk. Can’t even stay for lunch. Gotta pay him today or else …’

Sunday seemed an unlikely day for a landlord to be engaging in debt collection, but scepticism was futile. Also futile was arguing his brother’s use of the word ‘borrow’, which implied repayment at some point.

‘Get in,’ Rory instructed, gesturing towards the car. ‘I can withdraw two hundred, nothing more.’

Like everyone else, he and Rachel were being hammered by spiralling interest rates and inflation. Rachel’s unpaid sick leave earlier in the year had also set them back. They had paused their mortgage repayments while she’d been off work. The bank now wanted them to catch up on those missed repayments.

Sean bounded towards the passenger side, full of edgy energy. Rory adjusted the seat length and mirrors after Emmet, before realising that the Learner plates were still on the exterior of the car.

‘Make yourself useful and rip off those L plates for me, would you?’

‘Let’s hope you’ve more success with Emmet than you did with me,’ Sean said, once back in the car.

‘Emmet listens to what I say and has studied the rules of the road. He’s prepared to put in the work if he wants something. Bridie too.’

‘Alright, alright, no need to lecture. I know your kids are great and I’m a fucken loser.’

Sean’s tone was more humorous than bitter. He didn’t seem overly perturbed by the fact that his nephew and niece would soon soar past him in their skills and achievements.

‘That’s not what I’m saying. Never mind. Just remember the two hundred is a loan, not a gift. You need to pay it back. And I’m serious this time.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Sean replied, his tone holding no conviction whatsoever.

Rory glanced sideways at him and wished he was like a normal brother. Someone he could share a few beers with, without worrying about him getting off his face. Someone he could chat to rather than lecture (yes, he had been lecturing). More than anything, he wished Sean was the kind of brother he could confide in, share his concerns about work, about Rachel’s coldness and the overwhelming loneliness he felt.

But Sean was not that kind of brother, and probably never would be.

Rory pulled in to the local shopping centre and withdrew the money, wincing as the machine reported the balance. Sean folded the cash, tucked it in his pocket, and left to get the bus from the stop across the road.

Later that night, as Rory lay awake, he remembered that Emmet had been about to say something in the car. He recalled the earnest expression on his son’s face, the slight tremor in his voice; it had been something important enough to make him nervous. Then Sean had banged on the car window.

Maybe Emmet was worried about his exams. Rory would check in with him in the morning. Make sure that he got whatever it was off his chest. Talking was crucial for teenage boys. For adult men, too.

The travesty was Rory had nobody at all he could talk to. Rachel was asleep with her back turned to him. Her snuffled breathing was evidence that she was right there, in the same bed, within arm’s reach. So why did it feel like she was a million miles away?