Page 44 of The Rebound
“It’s good to see you,” he says gently. “Even if it’s under shitty circumstances.” He eyes me carefully, seeming to decide something. “You sticking around?” he asks. “I need to get back to my parents now, but I’ll be back up in a few weeks to see people. Maybe a little something on the beach? Pretend it’s not raining? You can meet Sinead.”
“I’d love that,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it. “And I’d love to meet her.”
We make tentative plans and I head back to the house in a significantly better mood than I’d left it. Losing touch with people wasn’t exactly a choice I made when I left Clonard. It happened naturally. College was intense and when we did message in those first few months, I found I had little in common with people like Rory, who stayed behind. His world had suddenly seemed very small to me, whereas mine felt big and exciting. New. I guess a part of me felt it would always be that way. That I would always feel one step removed from this place and the life I worked so hard not to have. And yet, while it’s been years since I’ve stayed so long here, years since I’ve been back at all, I’m a little shocked at how quickly I’ve grown used to it again, how easy people are to talk to over here. How Rory just shrugged off a decade apart like it had been only a few weeks.
It bugs me all the way home and I almost miss when someone calls my name, stopping only when Pat Bailey pops up from the flowerbed he’d been weeding.
“I was hoping I’d run into you,” he says as I tug out my earbuds. “I gave my cousin a ring.”
“Your cousin?”
“The one in Dublin.”
“Oh. Right.” I vaguely remember Pat talking about him at the lunch the first weekend.
“Now,” he continues, pointing with his trowel. “He spoke to his neighbor who spoke to his son and he said they had something called rolling openings, so I told him I’d pass along your details. Now where did he say they worked?”
“That’s so kind of you,” I say, distracted as he limps around the hedge. I didn’t notice it when he came for lunch but now we’re outside it’s more prominent, a pull of his right leg, almost like he’s dragging it along. I frown. “Are you o—”
“Steven’s?”
I stare at him, the limp instantly forgotten. “Stewarts?”
“That’s the one,” he says, brightening. “You know it?”
“Your cousin works at Stewarts?”
“His neighbor’s son,” Pat corrects.
Stewarts.
MacFarlane’s competitor. Or they would be if they didn’t keep losing business left, right and center. Not willing to get as down and dirty as the larger banks, their scrupulous business practice now mean they call themselvesboutique. But hey, even if they’re small, at least they’re still standing.
“Can’t say I’ve heard of them myself,” Pat continues as my mind races trying to remember everything I’ve ever heard of them. “But then what would I know about these things? Anyway, I told him all about you and how you were looking to get back into the swing of things, so to speak, and he said he'd be happy to pass on your details, so if you like, I can do just that.”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, yes, please. That would be great.”
“Ah, good.” He looks delighted with himself. “I’m glad I could help. Susan wasn’t too sure but I get a feeling about these things. I’ve always had very good instincts.”
I stay a few more minutes, listening without really listening as he talks me through a particularly risky bet he made on a horse when he was a young man. But my mind is on Stewarts. Stewarts, where I didn’t even try to apply to, knowing I wouldn’t get near the place. But a personal connection? That’s different in my world, no matter how tenuous it might be.
This is something. It has to be.
10
Dear Ms. Reynolds, many thanks for your recent application. Unfortunately…
Have you ever thought about teaching? Your cousin Alice teaches.
Dear Applicant, we regret to inform you…
She’s in one of those alternative education schools though.
We will keep your details on file.
“Unstructured play,” she calls it. It wouldn’t be for me.
We wish you all the best.
