‘Do you want him to switch offices?’ asks Roo.
I sigh. ‘Who else can I share with? I can’t split up Simon and Nora. And everyone else hates me. Fuck, I’d better reply to him, I can’t leave him on read with this.’
I spend a ridiculously long time considering how to phrase my reply and eventually write:
Hi Art, thanks for this. I’m very sorry too. What happened should never have happened and I think it’s best if we both forget that it did. There’s no need for either of us to move rooms unless you want to.
I show it to Roo, who ponders it for a minute and says, ‘If that’s how you feel—’
‘It is!’ I say.
‘Then send it.’
So I do. Art doesn’t reply.
I’m sorting laundry later that afternoon when my phone beeps with a message. I immediately grab it, convinced it must be Art. But it’s not. It’s my friend Claire.
Hey! Going for food and drinks tonight with Áine and Maggie - Sinéad can’t make it. Do you fancy joining us? We need to hear all about your fancy new job!
I’ve been home for two weeks now, and I haven’t seen my old college gang yet. I haven’t even seen Sinéad, my closest friend in that group, though in fairness she has a toddler now so she’sgenerally either too tired or too busy. I kept meaning to arrange a night out but I feel surprisingly awkward about doing stuff like that now. For over a decade I’ve only been home for Christmas or Easter or the odd weekend, and while Roo and I always immediately fell back into our easy closeness – perhaps because we’d always been a little gang of two – meet-ups with other old pals felt like an occasion, a special night out for the return of the emigrant. I’m not used to living in the same country as them yet. I’m not in the habit of organising casual nights out with these people now, and the small part of me that’s still convinced everyone thinks I’m a freak doesn’t want to looktooeager to see anyone, so I don’t feel comfortable making the first move and suggesting a meet-up. I’m delighted Claire’s done it for me. Not least because it’ll be a perfect distraction from the Art nonsense.
Although it does cross my mind that she was clearly already planning to go out with Áine and Maggie, and I’m the afterthought.
We’re meeting in a pub near the canal in Glasnevin, which makes sense because the three of them live nearby. The venue’s exterior is almost unrecognisable from the times I’ve walked by it in the past, and when I arrive I worry I’ve got the wrong place. But then, to my relief, I spot my friends at the bar.
‘This place has changed!’ I say, after we’ve all hugged. ‘There’s a whole, like, street food section out the back. When did that happen?’
‘Oh God, years ago now,’ says Claire. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t been here before! Come on, let’s get you a drink. Maggie’s eating at home so she’s not coming in till later.’
Half an hour later we’re drinking pints, eating rice bowls and catching up. I don’t want to restart our friendship by whining –I want them to begladI’m home – so I give them a brief and sanitised version of the situation atNorthside.
I do not mention Art.
‘So what else is happening besides your job?’ says Áine.
‘Um, nothing.’ God, that’s basically true, apart from Art. And I don’t want to think about him now. ‘How depressing.’
‘At least your job’s more exciting than working in a library,’ says Claire.
‘Or writing press releases about fish quotas,’ says Áine with a groan. She works in the Department of Agriculture. ‘Eamonn’s driving me mad at the moment.’
‘Oh my God, what’s he done now?’ says Claire.
‘You won’t believe this,’ says Áine, and launches into a story about her latest office drama. It takes a few minutes for me to figure out that Eamonn is not a colleague but her new boss.
‘I didn’t know you had a new boss!’ I say.
‘Oh yeah,’ says Áine. ‘For a while now.’
‘We need to add you to the local gals WhatsApp group,’ says Claire with a grin, and I smile back even though it feels weird to have it confirmed that they have a group chat that doesn’t include me. I mean, I assumed they did, it would be weirder if they didn’t, butstill…
‘Okay!’ I say. ‘I’ll get the next round.’
I head to the loo before going to the bar. In the queue, a girl turns to her friend and says, ‘I’m still not sure about this top.’ She’s wearing an eighties-style silk blouse with bubblegum-pink and black stripes.
‘What are you talking about?’ says her friend. ‘It’s gorgeous!’
‘That’s what I thought, and then when I was leaving the house my sister said I looked like I was going to Peppa Pig’s funeral.’