It took (rugby) balls.
“Great win, wasn’t it?” he said. “Incredible really, an
enormous occasion, much more than just a game of rugby,” I replied, noticing
his wide smile and big blue eyes. We were
both sat on the 9pm train out of Dublin’s Heuston station en route to Cork. It
was the 25th of February 2007 and Ireland had just beaten England
off the pitch in Croke Park in a game that had truly transcended sport.
There was a striking silence in the carriage, broken only
by intermittent rustle of newspapers, the crinkle of tayto crisp bags,
the frizzing crack of (much needed) Lucozade bottles being opened and the sharp
snap of another heavenly paracetamol tablet being released from its blistery
foil. It was obvious to the world and her mother that a good 99% of the punters
on this train had been celebrating the night before and were now happily (albeit
with great tiredness) basking in the warmth of the incredible victory. It was also obvious that a large proportion
of them were hungover, as was I.
Opposite me was a white haired gent, an older man,
in his seventies maybe. He was devouring (with some satisfaction I imagine) the
sports section of the paper. Every so often I noticed how he would lower his
newspaper and sneak a quick glance at me and the blue eyed "joy" sitting beside
me. The boy’s name was Seán ( not real name) from West
Cork ( real place) and he was utterly lovely. A big strong guy, messy dark brown curls framing
a strikingly rugged but kind face. The train journey flew by as we chatted and
laughed like old friends. There was a frisson of something in our exchanges
that could have been mistaken for mild flirtation- whatever it was, it was
great and I was quite happy to go with it! Seán had a friend with him too, but
he didn’t talk much, listening to his music mainly, and at times it felt like
myself and this fine thing were the only two people on the train.
“Oh good for you,” I gushed (a little too much) as he explained
that he was very soon due to leave his job in Cork and take flight to
Australia. “I’ve just returned myself,” and on went the conversation about
travel and its merits. “But the Celtic Tiger is roaring loudly here I said,
maybe you should stay around for another bit? His feet were too itchy he
explained – “when it’s time to go, it’s time to go, you know yourself,” he confided.
Did I ever. No stopping this one I thought to myself. Nor would I want to- kindred
spirit and so on. Ah well, timing is key.
“This is me, I think.” Mallow train station. I smiled
politely as the gentle giant retrieved my case from the overhead storage. “It
was really nice chatting to you, “he smiled broadly at me. “ You too and the
best of luck with everything.” And off with me, scarf on, leather jacket zipped
up tightly in readiness for the bitter cold that awaited me outside. Waiting by
the train’s door I checked my watch, just after 11pm, my body was exhausted and I longed for my bed.
“Will I? Ah, no way, no, not my style, and
there are too many people around and I’m too hungover AND shur what’s the point?
he’s leaving the bloody country…! But he was so lovely and they say you should
do the things that scare you, but no, I’m not going to , stop Liz, stop now, just leave
it”- These were my thoughts. Just as the last thought slid upwards into the
ether I decided to go for it. Just do it.
I reached into my handbag, wrote down my name and details on
a post it note and began the incredible nerve wracking walk back down the long
narrow aisle of the carriage, back to Seán (swoon), the mute friend and Mr.
Newspaper man. I stood and looked down at him in his seat.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing came out of his (gorgeously formed)
mouth for what felt like five minutes, (which of course, in reality, was only a few ), but he did struggle to talk, he was in shock I
think. Then at last he blurted out: “Oh right, yeah, fair
play, thanks, ok, shur eh, well, shur, I dunno but thanks very much, ok”, he
was shifting his eyes nervously from the post- it to
me with embarrassed eyes and back again. Thanks a lot, mmm”, he finished.
With a pounding heart, palms drowning in a sinful bath of
vodka and red bull from the night before and lips that felt they were no longer
part of my own face, I turned on my heel to flee, and as I did, Mr. newspaper
man lowered his newspaper for the last time and like a scene from an old black
and white movie gave me that “here’s looking at you kid” smile with a quick wink
of his right eye. I acknowledged his
approval with a big smile. Ok, get me off this train…..NOW!
“Em actually no, no, I’m grand here,” I said, “honestly, I’m grand.-" Back to your carriage now love, "No, I can’t, I actually cannot go back to my seat.” I’ll say it once more now love, back to your seat, please love”.
OH.JESUS.CHRIST.
After fruitless pleading for a few more seconds but to no avail, I very
slowly returned to my seat
and through mortified
silence sat there for another half an hour, clinging to my case, waiting. Nobody
spoke a single word for the rest of the journey.
***
I finally got home and clambered, exhausted, in to my lovely
safe bed. Sleep came easily I can tell you. As for Seán, lovely, strong and blue
eyed Seán, well he did go to Australia and emailed me to say he was having the
time of his life and didn’t think he would ever come home and “wasn’t it a pity
we hadn’t met earlier?.” I never heard
from him again.
God damn him to hell.
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