Page 91 of Fling

‘Are me and Tara supposed to stay together?’

WITHOUT A DOUBT

‘Are me and Claire supposed to be together?’

IT IS CERTAIN

‘Will my marriage to Tara last forever?’

YOU MAY RELY ON IT

‘Should I have an affair with Claire?’

ALL SIGNS POINT TO YES

‘This thing doesn’t have a clue,’ Colin said, throwing the Magic 8 Ball across the shed.

He rooted through the box again and found a whole host of memorabilia that she had kept from her college days. Notepads from her lectures, her O’Malley’s work uniform, the box was seemingly endless. She had kept their Interrail passes, all the ticket stubs from the concerts they had gone to together, old photos of the two of them and his UCD college hoody that Tara used to wear constantly. He picked up the hoody that he himself had only worn a handful of times. He put it on over his clothes and discovered that it still fitted him. He smelled her scent on it and his brain was flooded with memories. He used to love seeing her wear it.

He even found Tara’s paper titled ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fundamental Rights: A New Theory of Synth-Wave Feminism’. It had 49% written on it in red pen, the grade that crushed Tara, even to this day. He picked up a photo of the two of them on their Interrail stop in Paris. The Eiffel Tower stood behind them as Tara planted a kiss on Colin’s cheek.

They looked so happy.

Colin then realized this box he was rummaging through was essentially a shrine to their relationship. A time capsule he never even knew existed. He had never been the sentimental type but the items in the box pulled at his heartstrings and inspired an idea. He stood up and looked around the small shed.

Maybe there was still time to turn off the road to ruin and onto the road to redemption.

He knew what he had to do, although it certainly wouldn’t be easy. It seemed as if Tara would be gone for the rest of the weekend, and when she came home, he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell her how sorry he was. He would have to show her.

It was time to get to work.

Chapter 31

After a rejuvenating weekend with her mother, Tara decided it was time to head back home. She made a promise to herself that she would visit Galway at least once a month. The long drive was a small price to pay for the tonic of a mother’s love. She had arrived on the verge of a breakdown but she was leaving full of hope. It was Sunday evening and she had her lunch meeting with Dick Mulligan in less than twenty-four hours. Even though she was currently dealing with the heartache of infidelity, she was still determined to land Dick as a client, if only to prove to the Lads that she could.

Before she got on the motorway towards Dublin, however, Tara had one little stop to make. She drove into the heart of Galway, heading straight for O’Malley’s pub. As she sauntered down Shop Street, Tara could feel the electric energy of the city all around her. She always felt at home here, like she could relax her shoulders and just exist. She saw the usual tourists wandering around, taking photos of the colourful bars and bronze statues. Galway just had a certain magic about it. It was like a living, breathing postcard.

When she finally reached O’Malley’s, it looked exactly the same as it always did. Not even a fresh coat of green paint on its rustic exterior. When Tara opened the door, she was thrilled to see the interior still hadn’t changed one bit either. It was one of Galway’s smallest pubs but this meant it always had a warm, full feeling. It never looked empty. Even now on a Sunday evening, it vibrated good energy. Tara wasn’t in the door five seconds when Tom O’Malley spotted her.

‘TARA FITZSIMONS!’ he shouted from behind the bar.

‘TOM O’MALLEY!’ Tara shouted back, walking over to him. ‘You shouldn’t still be working at your age!’

‘Sure who’d run O’Malley’s only O’Malley himself.’ Tom laughed. He had aged quite a bit since Tara had last seen him, but he was right. The place wouldn’t be the same without him.

‘But you must be in your seventies at this stage, Tom?’ she said.

‘That’s very kind of you, Tara, but I actually turned eighty a few weeks back,’ Tom said, flattered.

‘Oh my God, Tom, and you’re still working away?’

‘Well, you know what they say, retirement is the number one killer of old people. Once you have a job, you have to stay alive to do it,’ he said, laughing. ‘What brings you back to Galway?’

‘Oh, long story. Big fight with my husband. Just needed to get away,’ Tara said, taking a seat at the bar.

‘I always say fight fire with fire. If your marriage is on the rocks, you need a whiskey on the rocks,’ Tom said, producing a bottle of Jameson.

‘I wish I could, Tom, but I have a three-hour drive ahead of me. Just a 7up for me, please,’ Tara said.

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