The squally December night whipped wind off the sea. Two figures huddled together on a boulder looking over the bay as they shared a cigarette that glowed amber in the dark. Charlotte and Tomas had been amongst the last to stagger out from the Salthill hotel.
Leaving the foyer, Charlotte had spotted a guy asleep face-down in a large flower-pot. Outside, another student was being sick into her long brown hair. Charlotte had only had enough to buy three beers and she was glad of it now.
When Tomas Walsh from Third Med asked her to the Med Christmas ball, Charlotte was hit with surprise and then panic. Third Med had the lion’s share of good-looking men and attention from such quarters was enviously regarded.
“You? You really got an invite to the Med ball from Tomas Walsh?”
Sarah’s jaw had dropped with envy.
“I know,” Charlotte had responded, grinning. “Crazy, isn’t it? I’m just as surprised as you guys.”
“I wonder if Tomas’s buddies are fixed up?” Ruth had asked. “There are some seriously cool guys in Third Med.” She chewed the top of her biro. “How about we have a curry night? See if we can get a few more invites to this ball?”
“Hold on a minute,” said Charlotte, worried. This wouldn’t do at all. “You want me to invite a posse of Third Meds round here in the hope that the rest of you will get invites too?”
Ruth was deadly serious. For some reason Ruth never seemed able to arrange her own dates, always relying on the rest of them to fix her up.
“The clean-up after the last party took a week,” Sarah had groaned. She was stapling the butt-ends of two separate cigarettes together. Sarah had only just finished paying to have the front door re-glazed. The geek she’d invited to their party became so drunk that he’d cycled Kathy’s bike down the hallway and right through the front door. They’d thought it was hilarious at the time. But old man Fahy who owned the ‘Black Shawl’ and their flat said they’d have to pay for repairs. Kathy was freaking out as she reckoned Fahy’s idiot son was at the bottom of the stairs staring up through the gaping hole in the door.
“Come on, guys,” Sarah had said. “Too much partying. We have to get down to study. We’ve done bugger-all this term already.”
She was wrapping Sello-tape around the stapled butt-ends. Three heads had turned to stare at her. But Sarah was adamant. “No, it’s alright for you guys – I have years more than all of you before I qualify. I can’t afford re-sits. I’ll be on a frigging Zimmer before I get out of here.”
It had occurred to Charlotte that if Sarah refrained from embroiling herself in every protest and every student fracas, she might have time to study. In fact, if Sarah had devoted as much time to studying last term as she had to organising student protests, she might just have cleared enough to pass.
“I agree with Sarah,” Charlotte had said, not taken with the idea of inviting a shower of Med students with a reputation for wild partying into their flat. “I have a pressing problem of where to find a ball-gown,” she added.
“I have dresses back at home in Dublin,” Sarah had piped up. “You could borrow one. There’s a red silk halter-neck that might suit. I’ll bring it back after the weekend if you like.”
“What a lifesaver!” Charlotte had thrown her arms around her friend, delighted.
“No problem, Charlie. I have to go back to Dublin anyway to check in with my mother. I think she thinks I do nothing but party.” Sarah pulled a face. “I also have to a tricky cling-on situation to sort out.”
“Another one bites the dust?” Ruth had said, sounding envious.
“I wanted to give the guy a chance, you know,” said Sarah. “Terence chased me for a while.” Sarah began to flick the lighter. “I’ve never been out with a poet before. He wrote some stuff…” She lit the butt and tried inhaling. “Turns out his poetry is dire. Worse than dire. It’s sentimental crap. And this whole long-distance thing is a bummer anyway…” She started to splutter. “I’ve decided I’m not really into him after all. You kind of know after six weeks.”
“That’s not long at all.” Charlotte had disagreed. She wondered if she’d manage beyond six weeks with Tomas Walsh. She hoped so.
“Come on, Charlie. It’s certainly long enough to know if you’re into a guy. The six-week rule has always worked for me.” Sarah sucked again on the home-made cigarette. “Oh, bugger this!” Sarah abandoned the operation and pulled on her leather jacket. “See you guys later. I’m heading up to the courthouse – they always have ciggies up there.”
Charlotte threw her eyes to heaven. That’s how fragile Sarah’s resolve was. Another study evening wasted.
The courthouse was a ramshackle student house in the Hazel Park estate near the university, so named as it was home to a bunch of guys studying law. The guys wore long black coats with swinging coat-tails. They’d bought them for a pittance in a charity shop in town. The purchases had been partly tongue in cheek – extending a nod to barristers’ gowns. But the long black coats served a more practical purpose as well, they provided a defence against the constant wind and rain.
The first thing that greeted callers to the courthouse was a cardboard cut-out of a scantily clad Madonna. They’d stolen it from a cinema and had carried it past the university, and up the Newcastle Road to Hazel Park.
There was plenty of coming and going between the harbour flat and the courthouse, plenty of banter and easy company. Charlotte was unaware of any romantic interest in her from the courthouse guys. Ruth didn’t inspire that kind of interest. None of the guys were exotic enough for Sarah. But of course, there was Kathy – Charlotte couldn’t be sure about her. There was always a frisson of something between Kathy and the opposite sex.
Charlotte wasn’t looking for romantic involvement to screw up her exams. When it happened she was entirely unprepared for the charm of Tomas Walsh. And so she found herself, a few weeks after the invite, in Sarah Nugent’s red silk halter-neck at the Med Ball.
Tomas had proven himself the perfect date. Attentive and amusing. As Charlotte looked along the table, she’d noted many of the Med students getting out of hand. She’d also noticed that her dining companion on the other side was ogling her. In fact, he’d been showing far more interest in her than in the pale woman he’d brought as his date. Charlotte had flinched as his hand touched the bare flesh of her back. He’d leaned to her, his breath all booze and garlic.
“Walshie showing you a good time then? All the women love Walshie, isn’t that right – he’s going to specialise in gynae you know.” The guy was leering down her cleavage.
“Take it easy, Jed, stop being such a prick,” Tomas had said, grabbing his roving hand and slapping it back on the table.
“Piss off, Walsh,” Jed slurred. “I’m going for a pint.” And off he’d lurched, leaving his pale companion staring pathetically after him.
Charlotte had leaned over to the unfortunate girl. “If I was you, I’d pour his pint over his head when he gets back.” The pale girl had flushed with the unwanted attention. “In fact, I’d go one better…” Charlotte nodded to Jed’s discarded dinner jacket. “If he has money, I’d split and get myself a taxi home.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that, I mean…” the girl trailed off.
Charlotte shrugged. She’d tried. You couldn’t help some people. The girl should learn to stand up for herself and not be such a bloody doormat. A few moments later when no one had been looking, Charlotte had spooned butter and ketchup into the pockets of Jed’s dinner jacket.
“Jed’s okay really.” Tomas had put an arm around the back of Charlotte’s chair. “He’s hopeless with women. I can’t say I blame him trying to chat you up. You look amazing – really gorgeous.” Tomas’s hand began to caress her shoulder. His eyes had crinkled at the corners and when he smiled he showed even white teeth. Charlotte had felt herself go warm inside.
“What the –”
Something wet had suddenly hit her on the chest and slithered down her cleavage.
She fished out a sticky black cherry. The table in front of theirs had launched into a full-scale food fight. Fruit cocktail and gobs of cream were catapulting across the room.
“Duck!” Tomas had shouted.
Charlotte missed a square of pineapple. It hit Jed full in the face as he’d staggered back from the bar. Charlotte smiled.
Tomas had grabbed her hand. “Come on, time for a smoke,” he said. They dodged the missiles to scurry past an apoplectic hotel manager.
Outside, leaning against a car, Tomas had draped his dinner jacket around Charlotte’s shoulders. He’d produced a small tin from his trouser pocket.
“Want some?” he asked when he’d finished rolling the joint.
“No thanks – that stuff makes me sick.”
“Sure? It’s good…” He’d inhaled deeply and had blown the smoke playfully across her lips.
“I really don’t think so…”
“Be a sport. Open your mouth,” he’d cajoled.
Charlotte had done as she was told. As he exhaled, he’d cupped her face and covered her mouth with his. She’d felt herself go dizzy. Tomas had laughed as he ran a finger down her cheek.
“Again?” he’d asked.
“You must be joking!” Charlotte had spluttered.
Tomas had quenched the joint and had put it back in the tin. Running his hands through her spiky hair, he’d pulled her towards him, this time giving her a long deep kiss. Not bad, thought Charlotte. A possible nine out of ten.
“That better?” Tomas had asked.
“Much,” Charlotte had replied, leaning against him and slipping her hands into the pockets of his dinner jacket. It was cold outside. Feeling something small and square, she’d fished it out. A foil package.
“That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” she said.
Tomas had done his best to look confused. Taking the condom from her, he looked at it, puzzled.
“That bastard Jed must have put it there,” he’d said.
“Really?” Charlotte had said. “It would be so very presumptuous to think that I’d sleep with you on a first date.”
Charlotte had her rules and that was one of them. No first date sex. Kathy maintained that first date sex was best. But Kathy had no rules.
“I agree – I have standards too,” Tomas had said, looking so earnest that Charlotte had burst out laughing. Relieved, he’d put his arm around her shoulder and had guided her back into the mêlée. When the disco finally drew to a close, Tomas had suggested a walk on the prom. They’d walked from Seapoint ballroom to Blackrock with the wind whipping round their legs and twisting the skirt of her dress into Marilyn Monroe-like swirls.
“It is a lovely dress.” Tomas’s voice was dusky. His hand ran the silky length of fabric from her thigh to her knee.
“It’s not mine – it’s on loan from Sarah. My student pocket doesn’t stretch to designer dresses.”
“Sarah Nugent, that Dublin girl with the big sad eyes?”
Charlotte was taken aback. “What makes you say that?” She always thought of Sarah as a carefree girl and was surprised to hear her described otherwise.
“I’ve seen her in the labs. She always looks kind of sad to me. Out of place…” he trailed off. “Anyway, enough about her. It’s you I’m interested in. Time to walk you home, my ass is frozen solid sitting on this boulder.”
As they walked back to the harbour flat, they passed bedraggled revelers tucking into curried chips and coleslaw burgers, dropping wrappers as they went.
The flat was quiet and still as they sank into the threadbare sofa kicking off their shoes. Despite Tomas being brushed off earlier, it didn’t stop him trying to undo the knot in Charlotte’s halter neck. But after a few fumbled attempts, his ardour cooled, and he nodded off on Charlotte’s shoulder. She too drifted into sleep.
Sometime later Charlotte became aware of a stiffness in her neck. Her mouth felt dry. Half-awake she thought she heard a banging. It got louder. Roused into wakefulness, she registered an insistent knocking at the front door. The knocking was interspersed with door-bell chimes.
Christ almighty, where’s the fire? She struggled into a sitting position and rubbed her eyes. Fuckity fuck, I never took out my contacts. Her eyes felt gritty and dry and her mouth felt like the bottom of a birdcage. The knocking continued.
“Okay, okay, hang on to your knickers – I’m coming,” she shouted. Her voice sounded like it was coming from someone else’s head.
Charlotte picked her way over some discarded underwear in the hallway. Oh Christ no – I didn’t, did I? The moment of panic subsided as she felt the comforting ridge of her knicker elastic. She’d been reasonably sober last night. Of course she’d have remembered if she’d succumbed.
Someone’s finger was now firmly wedged on the door-bell as the chime became a continuous wail. Annoyed, she wrenched the door open with a scowl.
“For God’s sake!” She was about to swear but was startled to see a small neat woman with stiff hair wearing a fur coat and clutching an expensive-looking bag.
“Sorry to disturb you,” said the woman frostily. “I thought that even students would be awake at this hour.” Her mouth moved into a smile but her eyes remained very cold. “I assume I have the right flat – is Sarah here? Sarah Nugent?”
Christ, it must be the dreaded Mrs Nugent, Sarah’s mother. The state of the place – it was like a squat, no worse – a brothel.
“Angela Nugent, Sarah’s mother,” she said extending a hand. “I don’t imagine Sarah’s expecting me. We had a pharmacists’ conference in the Ardilaun Hotel last night. I hadn’t planned on coming.”
Too bloody right she’s not expecting you, thought Charlotte. Where was Sarah anyway? Charlotte didn’t even know if she was in the flat. By now, Mrs Nugent had edged her way into the hallway and was staring at the discarded knickers lying in the middle of the floor. Charlotte bent down as nonchalantly as she could and picked them up.
“I’m Charlotte, Mrs Nugent. Would you like to wait in the sitting room while I see if Sarah’s here?” Charlotte’s voice sounded croaky and hoarse from the night before. She suddenly remembered that Tomas was passed out on the sofa. What was she to do? The kitchen wasn’t any good. It had three days of washing up in it and someone had inexplicably left the clothes horse on the kitchen table.
Too late. Mrs Nugent was already in the sitting room coolly looking at a goggle-eyed Tomas who’d just woken. At least he was clothed. Thank Christ for small mercies. No point in introductions – she’d leave them to it.
Charlotte scurried down to Sarah and Kathy’s room and knocked on the door dislodging the stolen Moycullen 6 miles sign. Inside, hushed tones were followed by laughter. Opening the door, Charlotte peered around the corner. Sarah’s single bed was empty. Kathy’s single bed on the other hand was occupied – by Kathy and a furry-legged companion.
“It’s Sarah’s mother,” hissed Charlotte. “Where the hell is Sarah?”
Kathy bolted upright sporting nothing but a love-bite.
“Christ! Sarah’s mother – what the fuck? Let me see – Sarah went up to the courthouse last night, I think. They were doing homebrew. I came back to go through my lines for Hot Tin Roof.”
The mound in the bed started to move. “Yeah, I see,” Charlotte muttered, looking at the hairy legs. “Look, I’ll take your bike and cycle over to get her. I take it these are yours?” She tossed the knickers onto the bed and shut the door.
“Sarah not here?” asked Mrs Nugent as she looked at her gold watch. “The conference resumes shortly. What a shame.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs Nugent. Sarah’s just around the corner. I’ll get her. Just give me ten minutes.”
Charlotte tore out the front door leaving a bewildered Tomas staring blankly at Mrs Nugent who looked like a bad smell had just become worse.
Charlotte felt ridiculous, cycling hell for leather up St Mary’s road in a red silk dress. But something told her it was important that she produce Sarah.
Twenty minutes later, after a crossbar home at breakneck speed, Sarah burst into the sitting room looking disheveled, hungover, and nervous. Tomas Walsh had disappeared. Sensing trouble was afoot, Charlotte made herself scarce, hiding in the filthy kitchen. She couldn’t help but overhear the stilted conversation.
“Hi, Mum, I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I can see that.” Mrs Nugent’s tone was chilly.
“Are you eating, Sarah? Are you studying? Are you looking after yourself? This flat smells damp. And what about your chest? We don’t want you to end up in hospital like you did in the summer.”
This was news to Charlotte. Sarah hadn’t mentioned being in hospital last summer.
“God forbid I’d inconvenience you, Mum. Which question would you like me to answer first?” Sarah said.
“Don’t be petulant. You’re not here on a bloody holiday camp although I have to say this place looks like a detention center.”
Whoa there! That’s a bit harsh, thought Charlotte, chiseling welded cornflakes from the sink.
“I know, Mum, I am working….” More conciliatory now. “I’m going to lectures, I’m getting projects in on time. My asthma’s under control. There’s no need to worry. Honestly.”
“Look, Sarah, you’re an adult. You’re responsible for yourself. But Daddy and I do expect that you won’t throw another opportunity away. You’re not terribly good at focusing now are you? The pharmacy is there waiting for you when you qualify. I know it seems a bit away now but you’ve got it all to look forward to. I’ve had a word with your father and we both agree that you should work there this summer – to get a feel for the place.”
Christ, Sarah hadn’t planned on that! What about America? They were all going to work on the J1 student visa.
“But, Mum, what about my J1? I’m going to the States this summer. Remember, I got that gig working on costumes with a film company.”
“Oh, Sarah, sweetheart, don’t be ridiculous – how’s that going to advance your career? Maybe at the end of the summer you can go for a week to Aunt Dorothy in Newport. Daddy and I do know how to reward hard work you know.”
“But, Mum, you let Ava and Penny go inter-railing in Europe in their college summers – you didn’t make them work in the pharmacy.”
Charlotte felt uncomfortable listening to the desperation in Sarah’s voice. She tried to shut the kitchen door but it had warped and only shut half-way.
“And, Sarah sweetheart, you really should be more careful with your things. That red dress that your friend is half wearing is the one I bought for you in London. It’s pretty much destroyed as far as I can see.”
Face burning, Charlotte turned on the radio, quite sure she didn’t want to hear any more.
The woman was a bitch. A stupid stuck-up bitch.