Her friend laughs and I repress a smile. God, I’ve missed Dublin slagging. I’ve missed how people here speak. It hits me that myNorthsidejob is the first time I’ve written professionally for Irish characters. I might have to steal that funeral line …
I’m on my way to the bar when I spot a dark-haired man wearing a striped T-shirt on the other side of the room. My stomach lurches. The man’s back is to me but he’s the right size and he has the right hair and it hits me that Art doesn’t live too far from this pub. It could easily be him.
Then he turns around and I see it’s not Art after all and feel a flood of relief.
At least, I’m pretty sure it’s relief.
‘Sorry I took so long,’ I say when I return to the table. ‘I think the person serving me was a literal child.’
‘I know the one you mean,’ says Áine. ‘God love him, he looks like he’s going to cry every time he gets a really big order.’
‘I always feel I should askhimfor ID,’ says Claire.
I laugh. The old ease is returning between us, and as the evening goes on I almost feel like I never left Dublin. We’re trying to decide whether the DJ was actually born when the noughties bangers he’s playing were released when a very pregnant Maggie (she wasn’t even showing the last time I saw her) arrives with her husband, Jim, and a group of women I’ve never met before.
‘Look who I bumped into outside!’ says Maggie.
‘Annie, this is …’ begins Claire, and she lists a string of names I immediately forget. They’re all women who live in the neighbourhood, befriended through yoga classes and local events. Jim sits down next to me, and it hits me that I barely know thehusband of one of my old friends. Since I emigrated, most of my nights out with my college girlfriends have been the five of us, no partners. It feels weird to just be on small-talk terms with the father of my friend’s future baby.
‘How are you settling in?’ he says.
‘Ah, you know!’ I say. ‘It’s great to be back.’
The conversation becomes general, and I find myself growing more quiet. The others do their best to keep me involved, and I’m touched by the effort everyone’s making to ensure I don’t feel too left out, but they can’t help talking about people and things I don’t know. This has happened before, of course. But it didn’t seem to matter so much when I was the visitor, popping in briefly before returning to my real life in England. Now it’s painfully obvious how out of the loop I am.
But again, things get easier as the night goes on, and I find myself deep in conversation with Jim about his job. He works in a bank, but he also plays in a wedding band.
‘Last summer there was a bridesmaid who became totally fixated on my bandmate Karl,’ he says. ‘It was kind of scary. She turned up at his day job and everything.’
‘Jesus,’ I say. ‘Is he okay? Did she stop?’
‘Eventually,’ says Jim. ‘He’s grand now but he was totally freaked at the time. It was like something out of your soap opera.’
‘There actually is a character inNorthsidewho’s in a wedding band.’ An idea sparks in my mind. It feels a bit tasteless to say it out loud but then Jim says, ‘Ha, if you’re looking for a story for him, stalkers are definitely a hazard of the job.’
‘You know, they haven’t done a stalker story in years,’ I say. ‘I might have to pitch it.’
‘Oh my God,’ says one of the yoga girls, turning towards us.I think her name might be Orla. ‘Are you their friend who writes forNorthside?’
‘Um, yeah,’ I say.
‘I’mobsessedwithNorthside!’ she says. ‘Do you know Adam Pender who plays Ritchie? I love Ritchie!’
‘I’ve only just met him,’ I say.
‘Oh wow, I don’t suppose he needs a yoga teacher, does he? I’d give him a special discount.’
It looks likeNorthsidestill has some fans after all. Maybe a little too devoted. Still, I shouldn’t complain about that unless she actually is a real-life stalker. ‘Um, I could always ask.’
‘Oh don’t worry, I was joking. Though Iwouldlove to give him a yoga class.’ Orla sighs. ‘I can’t believe you’re writing scripts for Adam Pender. Don’t let anything bad happen to Ritchie, will you?’ She grips my arm. ‘I mean it. We’re friends now, and friends don’t let friends’ crushes die.’
I laugh. ‘It’s a soap opera. I can’t promise anything!’
At the end of the night I bid fond farewells to the rest of the group (‘I’ll be looking out for your name in theNorthsidecredits!’ says Orla) and get a taxi. I’m almost home when I get an alert on my phone telling me I’ve been added to a group called Frog Boyfriend Gang. The other members are Claire, Áine, Maggie and Sinéad, so it’s obviously the group chat Claire mentioned earlier, but the name of the group means nothing to me. It must be one of their in-jokes.
Still, I’m in the gang now. Soon I’ll get the in-jokes and I’ll find my way back to normal life in Dublin. It’s an adjustment. And I’ll adjust.
Roo is curled up on the couch looking at her phone when I arrive home. She drops it when I walk in.