Cormac lifted his head from the suitcase to look at Annie. Her eyes were on the floor and she was slumped against the doorframe. He walked towards her and held her in his arms. When he held her, he was often filled with regret that her mother never got to feel what he felt in these moments. He was also acutely aware of the passing of time and the fact that in a few months, she would be off to university and these precious moments between them would become so scarce. He thought of the times when she was a little girl and he would kneel to take her in his arms and they would go through their daily ritual when he would say ‘guess what?’ and she would reply, ‘you love me!’ He would follow up with, ‘how do you know?’ and an exasperated Annie would reply, ‘cos you always tell me!’ The memory and, he suspected, the residual alcohol made his eyes sting.

‘I really want to go, Dad. Claire is really nice and I’ve never had the chance to see U2 or Dublin and it would be great for us to spend some time together before I go to university and Harry seems really nice and you two could get to know each other again and….’

‘Annie.’

‘What?’

‘We’re going to Dublin … relax!’

She threw her arms around his neck. He held on tight.

‘Annie.’

‘What?’

‘Guess what?’

12

The journey to Dublin passed in a blur for Cormac, who was grateful for the comfort of Harry’s car. He was asleep as soon as the engine fired up and drifted in and out of consciousness for the entire two-hour journey, until they reached the centre of Dublin. When he awoke, he was startled to find a scruffy little man peering in the front passenger window directly above his head. The cocktail of alcohol, stale sweat and smoke emanating from him caused Cormac to wretch and it took all of his powers not to propel the contents of his stomach over Harry’s pride and joy.

‘Are you all right there, my friend?’

The little man spat at Cormac.

Cormac tucked his chin to his chest and turned his head in a desperate attempt to find fresh air. He spoke through a closed mouth.

‘Yes, I’m fine, but who are you?’

‘Sure I am Pat Malloy from Tallaght, and who would I be talking to?’

Cormac looked at the little man’s face, which resembled an old peach in colour and texture. Attached to the front of it was a thick moustache which was either formerly ginger and was now going grey, or worse it was fully grey but discoloured by the substances it regularly came in contact with.

‘I’m Cormac O’Reilly.’

He offered a dirty hand.

‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure, Cormac.’

Cormac felt a sharp stab in his ribs and turned quickly to find Harry leaning across him.