him leave. She had tried to pretend she wasn’t annoyed, convincing herself perhaps. Certainly not him. He had to go see Murph, he told her; an opportunity he shouldn’t miss. He’d be home in an hour, an hour and a half.
What he didn’t tell Brid was that he was more than glad of an excuse to get out for a pint. For some reason, he wanted more than a few pints this evening. Maybe it had something to do with wanting to wash away the confusion he had brought home with him after that dog fight.
He stared into the red traffic light as the car came to a stop, and fell to speculating again when he’d ask Brid to go away with him for a night at least. It’d be a proper date: babysitter for Aisling, a dinner reservation, meet up with friends, if that’s what Brid wanted. It was too important to postpone.
They could talk about anything and everything that way, no holds barred, and most importantly where they were headed — as a couple, as parents, in their work. He’d bring up the unthinkable, getting out of Dublin to try the continent again: Berlin, Copenhagen. Amsterdam. The South of France even. They needed to remember that they were not just another set of suburban clones, doing the family thing and the 9 to 5. Well, her 9 to 5, anyway.
Maybe that was it, he thought then: farmers versus cowboys. Simple enough really. Brid wanted a real home, and she wanted more kids before it was too late. She wanted a provider. She couldn’t admit these things to herself. Even if she could, she wouldn’t want to tell him that because she knew she would unsettle him. And on the other side of the equation, he wanted…?
The lights changed.
The interior of the car had warmed up, and Fanning became more aware of the flowery scent of baby powder that was always in the car, and how it blended with the stale rankness of milk spills that were already baked into the upholstery. Stains on the dashboard, dust. Soon he was in sight of Ranelagh village.
Galloping Hogan’s was one of the newer pub makeovers here. He saw no sign of Murphy’s pimp-mobile white BMW. He let Murph’s words play back in his thoughts again: “He wants to meet you, he who can help with your project.”
“Help you with your project.”
Well that was scripted, for sure. Murphy didn’t talk like that. He probably didn’t even think like that. But Murph wouldn’t answer any of his questions during the phone call When Fanning had told him he was needed at home with his family, Murphy had pounced on him. He had to come, he just had to. The opportunity of a lifetime. Fanning let himself believe that the tension in Murph’s voice was from anticipation of some coup.
A Range Rover was leaving, with two men in suits laughing about something. Fanning took their spot.
Galloping Hogan’s was doing good business for this time of evening. The big screen was on Sky, but it wasn’t loud. Iraq again.
Murphy was suddenly beside him.
“Okay,” he said, “about time.”
Fanning tried to settle on what was different about Murphy’s features. He looked older, tireder? Maybe it was the light.
“So where’s this fella, this exciting pal of yours?”
“He’s not actually a pal. He’ll be here in a minute.”
“Is he someone I’d know?”
“I doubt it.”
Murph’s eyes moved around the room. Fanning saw he was biting his lip.
“I’m not sitting around, waiting for anyone,” he said.
“Just listen to what he has to say, okay?”
“Get him to email me.”
“Don’t try to be funny about it.”
“You’re telling me what to say now?”
“Shut up,” said Murph suddenly. “Just shut up, will you. For once?”
A threshold crossed, Fanning knew. Murphy wouldn’t meet his stare.
“Okay,” Murphy said then, and straightened up.
Fanning followed his stare. The man wore the same leather jacket, and even the same expression that Fanning had seen at the dog fight. He was light on his feet, loping gently more than walking. As he came closer Fanning saw that there were bags under his eyes and the beginnings of five o’clock shadow.
“Quit staring,” Murphy hissed.
Fanning watched the expression on Murphy’s face turn into a manic smile. A waft of cologne came to him, and he almost sniggered. Hadn’t everyone gone through that when he was fifteen or something?
“Cully, man” Murphy said, clearing his throat. “Great to see you.”
The man seemed to look to both sides of them. He drew to a stop, gave Fanning a quick look and nodded.
“Okay,” said Fanning. “Sure — yeah, thanks. Okay?”
Cully said nothing, but waited for Murph to go. Then he turned to Fanning.
“You’re Dermot Fanning? Michael Cullen. Cully, people say.”
No handshake was offered. Fanning gave him a howiya.
“Buy you a drink there, Dermot?”
The lack of eye contact irked Fanning.
“Well I don’t know,” he said. “I’m thinking of heading home.”
Cully nodded several times “It’d help you in your work, you know.”
Fanning couldn’t place the accent at all yet. Cully gave him a glance, but quickly returned to his study of the mirrors behind the lines of bottles.
Maybe he was just painfully shy, Fanning thought. Shy more than crazy.
“Better than what you have now,” Cully added.
There was definitely a Dublin accent buried in there somewhere, Fanning decided.
The barman placed beer mats in front of them. Cully ordered a brandy and soda. Fanning shrugged, asked for a pint of Budweiser. Cully leaned his forearm on the counter, and turned to him.
“You’re working on a project I hear.”
“It’s at the research stage, yes.”
“Research stage,” said Cully, as if it pleased him. He scratched at his palm with his baby finger.
“Might come to nothing of course,” Fanning said. “But that’s the way.”
Cully looked sideways at him.
“You put a proposal, don’t you? A pitch?”
It was a Dublin accent all right, Fanning was sure.
“Or you get someone to do it for you. A connection in the business helps.”
“And then they…?”
“Well they see if it could have legs. They could shop it around for me.”
Cully nodded slowly. He looked down onto the counter where the barman was now placing Fanning’s glass. Fanning took a long swallow.
“That business earlier on today,” Fanning said afterwards.
“Yes. Something else. What do you think?”
Wotcha, Fanning heard. He shrugged, and exchanged a look with Cully. There was an indifference in his expression, almost a blurriness, that seemed to echo the monotone in his way of speaking. It didn’t come across as sarcasm, or even irony.
Impressions collided in Fanning’s mind: well dressed, maybe even fastidious, and yet there was something careless and unfinished about the guy too. There was an air about him that suggested to Fanning that he didn’t much enjoy, or even want, to be here.
“That was part of the research,” he said to Cully. “The visit to that place.”
“Right. Murph brought you.”
“He did. He’s my ‘guide.’”
“He says you pay him. Like you employ him.”
Fanning bit back his irritation again.
“That’s research for you,” he said. “I’d probably never get near the likes of that unless I know someone. And I don’t.”
