His dad’s money had run out quickly. On bricks, a replacement sheet of tin and a roof beam. Three bottles of cooking gas, too. And food. His dream was turning to dust, or to be more precise getting covered in it. The book idea was out the window too unless there was a drastic upturn in fortune. He hadn’t written one word. Besides, no one was going to buy a self-help book where the main character made such a piss-poor attempt to overcome adversity. Even Naiyana had abandoned her vlogs. When he had asked why, she had said she wasn’t getting enough subscribers to make it worthwhile. Lorcan thought it was boredom, the same shots, the same people. They were stuck in the whirlpool, circling ever so slowly towards the plughole. As if the malaise of the situation was creeping into their psyches. He guessed that if they talked honestly, both would admit that they under-estimated the difficulties they would encounter.
But they weren’t talking. Naiyana was constantly going back and forth to the town claiming to have forgotten to pick up something. But he knew the truth. She just wanted to get away from him. He had disappointed her. The move had been a failure.
Even Dylan had noticed that they weren’t talking to each other. This morning, he had explained in a devastatingly honest way that it felt like he had two separate parents. Something which he complained about but had learned to play to his advantage, his mining operation in the dirt hill expanded and extensively equipped, the different mines connected by roads and even a base at the bottom where the dirt was being sifted by a bent colander salvaged from the kitchen.
Lorcan was trying to work up the motivation to repair the gable wall again. Instead he sat and watched Dylan from the shade. It felt as if they were slowly wasting away in this desert, that the sand and dust was smoothing all the edges off them, their lives now bland and uninteresting. A daily slog that was as monotonous as the sky overhead. Even a perfect blue became boring after a while. He missed the irregular beauty in a cloud, edges and colours that gave the eye something to focus on, something new to appreciate. It was as if they were in stasis, waiting for something to happen, something to spark them into action, living under the same – collapsed – roof but enduring separate existences.
He watched as another load left the mine and was delivered to the foot of the hill. He glanced down the road beyond the crossroads and wondered what was happening in the actual mine. They were raking it in, he was sure of it. There was no other reason for putting up with his bullshit.
Last night Nee had again told him to leave them alone. Out of nowhere. As if she had been peering into his innermost thoughts, some shred of some telekinetic connection remaining between them. She admitted that she was nervous of them. And that it should make him nervous too. But he was sick of being nervous. After fucking up so many times, something had to go right eventually. The law of averages said so.
‘Wait here,’ he told Dylan.
The boy looked up at him. ‘Where are you going, Daddy?’
‘To conduct some business.’
He waited outside the wooden building. He had plenty of time to wait today. Nothing was going to be built. Chalk it up as a rest day. Christmas leave.
He heard them before he saw them. Mike and Stevie.
‘Those women last night… dios mío… but that Naiyana…’ said Mike, letting out a long whistle followed by the familiar clack of gum.
‘I prefer my women larger,’ said Stevie.
‘I know you do,’ laughed Mike.
They exited the building out into the sun. Seeing Lorcan they paused, the chatter between them coming to an abrupt halt.
‘What about Naiyana?’ asked Lorcan.
Mike’s mouth clamped shut. Stevie averted his eyes. Lorcan knew they were discussing his wife. For which he supposed he should be flattered, considering that she was his wife and not theirs but somehow he felt cuckolded by the gossip.
‘Naiyana from yesterday,’ said Stevie. He looked at Mike. ‘A stripper at a place we went to.’
‘Then an all-you-can-eat and motel with clean sheets,’ said Mike, stifling a burp. ‘Still feeling the effects today.’
‘But still stuck down a hole in the middle of summer,’ said Lorcan, making a show of basking in the stifling sun.
‘We might be dirty,’ said Mike, ‘but we’re making money.’
‘I can get my hands dirty too,’ said Lorcan, making a subtle bid to help. One he could easily retreat from if prospects weren’t favourable.
‘And you should be,’ said Mike.
Lorcan’s hopes raised that maybe there was something. That the ice was melting.
‘By fixing that roof,’ added Mike with a laugh and an annoying clack of gum.
‘I mean down there,’ said Lorcan, arching his head towards the tunnel.
‘Barely room for three,’ said Mike, throwing another piece of gum in his mouth.