Page 65 of The Reboot
‘What’s the story with your dad?’
He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Sorry,’ she said hastily. ‘I didn’t mean to be nosy.’
‘Nah, it’s fine.’
‘Is he … still around?’ Roly’s father had never really been in the picture as long as she’d known him, and she couldn’t remember Roly ever mentioning him. She knew he’d been a Premier League footballer who’d played briefly for Liverpool and had what promised to be a dazzling career cut short by a horrific leg injury. She had no idea where or when she’d heard that. It was just one of those stories that seemed to be common knowledge.
‘He’s still alive, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Do you ever see him?’
‘No. He fucked off when my mum found out she was pregnant. He lives in Thailand now. Has a wife and two kids, apparently.’ His voice had taken on a hard edge.
‘So you’ve never met him?’
‘Yeah, I did – once, after the band took off.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘He came to a gig in Manchester. I was over the moon.’ He shook his head. ‘I was such an idiot. I used to have these stupid fantasies when I was a kid about becoming a famous footballer like him, and then he’d turn up at one of my matches – when I was scoring the winning goal in the World Cup or something – and he’d be absolutely blown away by my awesome skills. So when he turned up that night I thought it was all coming true. Here I was, this big famous pop star. I thought he’d be all proud of me and shit.’
‘I’m sure he was.’
‘Nah. Turned out he just wanted money. He was hard up. His football career was over and he was drinking – a lot; he had a gambling problem.’ He drew a deep, ragged breath. ‘I said he should stay and watch the show, and we could go out for dinner afterwards – my treat. I gave him a backstage pass and everything … playing the big man.’ He rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly. ‘But he wasn’t interested in watching me “prancing around onstage, making a prat of myself”. He just wanted the money, and he acted like I was making him work for it – like watching the concert would be such a chore. Which, okay, I suppose he had a point.’
‘No he didn’t! Your shows were brilliant!’
He eyed her sceptically. ‘I seem to remember you calling us “cheesy as fuck”.’
‘Shut up,’ she mumbled, relieved when he laughed.
‘Anyway, I just gave him the cash and he buggered off. That was the first and last I saw of him.’
Ella was sorry she’d brought it up. She felt a bit ashamed that she’d never realised so much hurt and vulnerability lurked beneath the surface of Roly’s self-confidence.
‘Well, you’re better off without him.’
‘Yeah, that’s what my mum says. Good riddance.’
Roly’s nan lived in a row of narrow two-storey houses in one of Dublin’s oldest neighbourhoods, close to the Guinness brewery. The smell of roasting barley hung in the air.
‘These used to be all council houses,’ Roly told her as they turned into the street, ‘but most of the families have bought them out by now.’
‘And your nan owns hers?’
‘Yeah, they bought it out years ago – her and my grandfather.’
‘Your grandfather’s dead, right?’
‘Yeah, he died when Mum was only five.’ He smiled. ‘The men in this family check out early one way or another.’
Roly let them into the house with his own key. ‘Hi, Nan,’ he called loudly as he ushered Ella inside. The door opened directly into a bright living room, with an open-tread wooden staircase to one side. She followed Roly through to a tiny galley kitchen. It was modern and cheerful, with tongue and groove units painted sage green. Sun streamed in through an open window, and colourful crockery jostled for space on the dresser and work surfaces with piles of newspapers and magazines.
‘Hello, love.’ A short, stocky woman with cropped dark hair turned from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron, and gave Roly a hug.
‘Nan, this is Ella.’
‘Christine,’ she said, holding out her hand to Ella. ‘I’ve not met you before, have I?’ she asked as they shook hands.
‘No, you haven’t. Nice to meet you.’ The term ‘nan’ had conjured an image in Ella’s mind of a frail, twinkly-eyed old lady that was nothing like the sturdy, buxom woman standing before her in jeans and an oversized T-shirt. Her eyes were lively and bright, her cheeks ruddy, and her smile jolly and vivacious, carving deep grooves around her eyes and mouth.
