I think what a day as I stop in to Cora’s for a pouch of amber leaf.  Lara’s behind the counter. Tanya is stacking shelves. It’s been a while Liamo, you been on holidays?’ ‘That’s right Lara, was off in Peru for a bit.’ She looks unsure, trying to work out if I’m serious. As I’m leaving, Tanya’s whispering loudly, ‘you still got a thing for Liamo?’ And I’m grinning as they wonder if Peru is in Spain or the Canaries. Best looking girl around when we were in school, was Lara. I left after Junior Cert, but she still asked me to her debs and I remember for a moment how good that felt.

 It’s that part of the day that makes it easy to smile. Lazy heat left in the dropping sun, people winding down from whatever it is that has them wound up, the bird song, if you take a moment to tune in over the noise of lawnmowers and children playing. Fresh cut grass and the heavy buzz of insects. The smell of just lit tobacco and it’s as close to heaven as I’m ever likely to get.

Billy whizzes down on his motorised chair. ‘How are you mate?’ I ask, as he slows to a halt. ‘Sure, there’s no point complaining Liamo, nobody will listen,’ and then he’s asking if I’m still off the gargle and I says, ‘I am, Billy,’ and he says, ‘best thing to do Liamo, keep it up and how’s the chaps?’ ‘Great Billy, no thanks to me, but their Ma does a great job.’

 ‘I hear they’re great at the football, Liamo. Sure, you were handy enough, nearly as good as me!’ He laughs, waving, smiling. Always smiling. The Cerebral palsy has it that he can’t walk although he made a fair effort on his crutches at school. He went into the chair after that and then he went heavy on the drink. Ask him if he’d had a good night back then and he’d tell you it was such a night he even walked home. Tee Total now. I roll a few neat as lollipop sticks as I sit on the wall and wait. In Rehab everyone rolled their own. Something to do.    

I only went to stay out of the Joy. Thought it would be a right kip but turns out it wasn’t. Missed the kids but not the stress of getting by. The money gone and one of the chaps still needing new shoes or runners.  Like weeds, look away and they sprouted up again.

I’m distracted from my thoughts as Rubber sidles up, shuffling in his tatty runners, the smell of stale piss wafting towards me as I try not to notice. ‘How’s life treating you, Rubber?’

‘Good now I’ve found me old pal,’ he says. ‘Been worried about you, Liamo,’ he says. ‘Not set eyes on you in days,’ he says. I don’t tell him it’s been months nor that he has his runners on the wrong feet. I offer him a rollie. He sticks it over his ear. I offer him another and he says, ‘ah, Liamo, you always were the man.’ We sit in silence as he smokes and I wait.  

‘Any way you could loan your old friend a score?’ There it is. If I was the bank of Liamo his account would be well overdrawn. I tell him I can spare a tenner. ‘You working Liamo?’ he asks, and I tell him I’m looking.  ‘Are you going back to the plastering, Liamo?’ ‘Think I might be Rubber.’ He puts out his hand and we shake as he mumbles some jumbled platitude.

Shoulders hunched, head bent, he shuffles away to buy his cans of Dutchgold, taking the smell of piss with him and I resolve to sort my shit out.  Stay sober. Get a job. Look after me kids.

One thing to do first. This lad approached me in rehab, says I still owe them. He’s all ‘sorry, Liamo’ and ‘if it was up to me, Liamo’ and ‘I know what it’s like, Liamo’ and ‘I hate coming to you here, of all places, Liamo.’

I says, ‘Micko get to the point or leave me be.’ And he says, ‘I can’t leave you be, Liamo. The boss wants his money and what the boss wants the boss gets, if you get me drift, Liamo?’ I tell him his boss will get his money and he asks, ‘when will he get it?’ And I says, ‘as soon as I get out Micko,’ and we both know I’m talking through me arse. But what else can I say and sure what else can he say other than the interests up ten percent weekly because the boss is not getting any younger waiting. After that chat I could really do with something to take the edge off but I’m in the wrong place for happy hour. Five hundred borrowed in April. Not five months later and it’s just over two grand. Next day Micko’s stupid grin appears at dinner time. He says, it’s your lucky day, Liamo. He’s offering you an alternative, Liamo, a way to clear your debt.  He’s a fair man you’ll have to give him that.’

‘A puppet master, Micko, is what he is.’

‘Collect a debt from that crew down your way, Liamo. That’s it.’

 That’s never it but I tell myself it is.

Rehab helped. I might make a go of it and be some sort of a decent dad. Those trusting green eyes behind the thick glasses beseech me to do better. Bouncing freckles, crinkled nose, as that gummy smile appears. A soft, warm hand sneaking its way, unsolicited, but welcome into my large calloused one. The kisses and cuddles after a story. None of it had been enough, until now.

Joe was my counsellor and despite calling him a muppet every day for months, he helped me see that it is enough. Each man has to define his own success.   

 I’m glad to get home to the boys and their excitement. Da this and Da that and Da you promised and I did promise. Promised I’d bring them to the zoo the day after I got out. Two hours on the bus there and two hours back. I’m terrorised by their energy and their questions make me squirm. But it’s worth it. On the bus home, as I watch the rise and fall of their chests and the flutter of their lashes as they sleep, I know I’ll sort myself out.

Now I’m calling in the debt for Micko’s boss so I can walk away.

I sit on the wall and wait, rolling a few for later. Fish pulls up, Paddy ducks low in the passenger seat. Donny, Paddy’s brother in the back, sweating. We are crossing the dualer onto the windy back roads up to only God knows where. I tell Fish there’s no need to go driving all over the countryside and he says, ‘this is what the boss wants, Liamo.’ We pull onto a narrow track, a line of grass sprouting up the center, the sound of scraping on metal as we pass too close to the hedge row and I know by their nervous banter and the way Fish’ eyes keep shifting in the rear-view mirror. I want to slam all their heads together but I don’t.  As we drive into a clearing I see the man himself. He’s holding one arm inside his jacket, the other arm keeping the jacket in place. Another lad stands there. Don’t know him but I know scared. Fish, hand on my shoulder, says he’s sorry, this isn’t what he thought. His boss is telling him to shut up, and telling me I shouldn’t be doing that Dublin crowd’s dirty work as he brandishes his shot gun, his spittle spraying across my face.  I tell him to do whatever he has to do and stop shitting his pants.

 I feel a crunch as the side of his elbow crashes into my jaw. Rubbing my face, I notice the shovels against the tree and I ask were they doing a bit of gardening or just digging a hole? A loud bang echoes around the wood followed by the whoosh of birds and an eerie echo. I feel a warmth on my stomach and the haunted look on Fish’s face forces me to break away from those eyes. I look skyward and I feel a gush of wind as all those wings flap together in their mass departure and I think, what a day it is.

Fish is looking down with those sad eyes as the boss man kicks the side of my head and then I hear his voice, more distant, telling them to finish up. Fish shouts after him.

‘He’s not fucking dead.’

 ‘He will be. Bury him and get out of here.’

 Paddy’s crying, saying, ‘Jesus Christ, this wasn’t what was meant to happen,’ and then Fish is crying saying, ‘he’s killed Liamo.’ I’m guessing the boss man is gone. I want to say I’m not dead yet, Fish. No words come out. Then Donny’s voice. ‘There’s nothing to do lads but bury him and get out of here.’  No response except the birds calling in the silence. The golden crests, the tree creepers, the willow warblers, the chiff chaffs, the black caps. I’ve always loved the birds. 

I’m dragging along the ground. I feel more hands on me and then I’m rolling. Fish’s voice. ‘Did he get you to dig this hole, Marky?’ ‘He did Fish but I thought it was just to scare him. Sorry Fish, I didn’t think he’d do it for real.’ And then he’s crying and they’re all telling him to shut up and I ‘m silently crying too. For me boys and the missus, the da and me ma and for these lads, who I grew up with, because I know they will never get out now.  As I feel myself swallowing dirt I turn my head to the side and one of them screams like a prissy girl. ‘He’s not even dead yet!’ And Fish says, like the know it all he’s always been, ‘don’t worry man he’s dead, sometimes the dead move.’ I wish I could laugh out loud. 

There’s pain now and it feels like I’m breathing wet sand into my lungs. I’m drowning, struggling to fight the panic. I think what a day it is and feel my body relax as I see little green eyes over scrunched up freckles and shiny lips as they say, ‘you’re alright daddy, don’t worry daddy.’

 And I say, ‘it’s you I’m worried about Seanie, will you be OK?’ And his scrunched-up freckles and green eyes smile. ‘I’ll be grand, daddy, don’t you worry.’

 And then I see the blonde hair over the glistening blue eyes, brimming with tears as Tommy says, ‘I won’t be OK daddy. Please don’t go’ and Seanie says, ‘he’ll be grand, daddy. I’ll mind him, he’s just being a baby,’ and I says ‘good lad Seanie, I love you.’ 

It’s clear which way I should go but I can’t because something is pulling me, as it always has. I can feel and hear drops of rain. As they become heavier I realise it’s not rain. Then I hear Donny. ‘Enough lads, we need to get out of here.’

 I hear a sniffle, then Fish. ‘God speed, Liamo.’

 The others laugh. He always was a soft git. The woods seem silent and I’m very cold. I move my leg and kick through the soil that covers it.  I’m dead but it may help them find me. And then I am drowning to the sound of birdsong, loud and clear through the rustling woods and the smell of soil and wet damp foliage. I think of me ma. Me ma saying she loves me, like it’s herself she’s trying to convince. But at that moment I know she does and I tell her one last time. I love you ma, and I think what a day it is.