BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

There had been a moment in the escape room when, as our bodies had been working diligently side by side, trying to unlock drawers, something had sparked in me. Quin had smelt…the only way I can describe it was attractively not-safe. For the first time in years, my body had reacted like the animal it was and felt full of longing.

So now, in light of the red flags, I was disappointed.

I picked up my keys and phone. ‘Thank you, Quin, I had a good time today but I’m leaving now.’

8

Jesus, it was nearly two o’clock! The best seats were already gone in the Abbot’s Quarter but I got a mid-ranking one. Last to arrive was Trassa—who looked pointedly at the sole remaining chair: a two-hour stint on it was hard going even for those without elderly joints. Immediately Chalkie stood up and directed Trassa to sit on the upholstered armchair he’d been colonizing.

Okay, it was time for Trassa’s life story.

There were times when listening to a client’s version of their life was actually a pleasure, almost like being at a good one-man play. Chalkie’s, for example, had been insightful, almost unbearably moving and, at times, hilarious. Roxy, who worked in the music industry, had presented a tale of travel and glamour.

Trassa, though. Christ alive. Snooze city.

And no surprise. Trassa was far too skilled at protecting her addiction to let any truths slip out.

‘I was born in…’ We got a ream of blah about a happy childhood in rural Carlow: school, brothers, soda bread, fudge…We were treated to a couple of would-be funny stories, one about her and her brothers trying to catch a runaway ram. Naturally, somebody slipped in the mud and ‘needless to say’ (although it was said anyway) the ram was recaptured.

Meeting and marrying her husband was one cliché after another, as was the birth of her five boys. The phrase, ‘the happiest woman in Ireland’ was used several times.

But would someone really be ‘the happiest woman in Ireland’ by the time they gave birth to their fifth son in eleven years? Without any pain relief? Knowing she’d be bringing him home to an overcrowded, three-bedroomed house? Where she would spend four weeks on maternity leave before returning to her job on the production line in the local concrete factory?

Pages of tedium on the school years of her sons followed, plus far too much about Seamus Senior’s health woes. It struck me suddenly as a very lonely life. No mention of female friends, just her three brothers, her five sons, her invalid husband, useless men everywhere, overrunning her days without bringing any real joy.