I roll my eyes. ‘Of course you did.’
‘I’m not, like, boasting about it!’ protests Art. ‘It was just a fact! And I lived in LA for so long it was the same there. But now …’
I actually know what he means.
‘It’s like we’re tourists,’ I say. ‘Except we’re home.’
‘Exactly,’ says Art. ‘I know this city by heart. But I know a version of it that doesn’t exist anymore.’
‘Well,’ I say, as we reach a junction, ‘now we can discover the one that does exist.’
A small boy tears around the corner on a scooter followed by an older girl shrieking, ‘Karl, you little bollix, slow down or I’ll bleedingburstye!’
‘You know, maybe I did miss this place after all,’ says Art.
We keep walking further into the city centre, past the spot where my first college boyfriend declared his love for me after a night out (I do not mention this to Art) and the road where my sister lived after she moved out of home (I do mention this to Art, because I went to a spectacular fancy-dress party in that house). We pass a spot where Art filmed some of his award-winning student film (hedoesn’t mention the award) and we pass the location of his college girlfriend’s flat (he does mention her name, presumably because she’s now quite a well-known actress). We’re properly in the inner city now.
‘I’ve travelled this route by bus or taxi or bike so many times but I haven’t walked it for ages,’ says Art. ‘This used to be my walk to school.’
‘That’ll be the north inner-city school you told Bernard about,’ I say with a grin.
Art looks slightly embarrassed. ‘That wasn’t a lie! It’s in the inner city.’
‘You didn’t mention it has its own swimming pool,’ I say. ‘Seriously, though, do you want to walk down there now? I mean, if we’re reconnecting with our past …’
‘No, it’s grand,’ says Art. ‘I had a great time at school but I have no desire to go back. I never wanted to be one of those men still banging on about their old school’s rugby matches when they’re, like, fifty.’
‘Good to know,’ I say.
Art looks utterly at ease as we head closer to the heart of the city, and I realise I feel utterly at ease too. The voices of the passers-by sound familiar. They sound like home. We wander through Mountjoy Square, with its shabby Georgian houses and its playground full of gleeful small children, and eventually down Parnell Street, past the Szechuan and Korean restaurants and African barbers and Asian supermarkets, past the bookshop and bike shop and cinema. This street has everything you could possibly want.
‘I can’t believe you can get Korean food in Dublin now,’ says Art. ‘I doubt it’s as good as California.’
I can’t think of any response to this that doesn’t sound sarcastic, so I say nothing.
When we reach Capel Street, Art looks around in surprise. ‘God, this has changed. When did they pedestrianise it?’
‘Wow, I dunno.’ Instead of traffic, the street is full of pleasingly asymmetric benches and flower planters, and several bars and cafés have outdoor seating. ‘It’s an improvement.’
‘Well,’ says Art, ‘Bernard wants us to people watch in the city. Why don’t we do that here?’ He looks at his watch. ‘It’s half twelve. We might as well get lunch.’
An hour later we’re sitting outside a brightly painted restaurant, finishing some delicious tacos.
‘These aren’t bad,’ says Art. ‘Like, obviously not the same as back in LA …’
‘Yes, obviously.’ I fight the urge to roll my eyes again. I’m sure he’s right, but I can’t help thinking that if he’s going to keep comparing Dublin to Los Angeles, he’s never going to be happy here. I clearly don’t fight the urge hard enough because Art says, ‘I did live there for a long time, you know. I mean, it’s all I have to compare things to.’
I’m so used to being irritated by him, it hits me that I may not always be fair to him. ‘I know. Sorry. You went there straight from college, didn’t you?’
Art swallows some taco and nods. ‘Yeah, more or less. The producers put me up for the first few months, so that made the move easier. They sorted everything out with visas and stuff. And then when I sold my script I found a nice place of my own. How about you? When did you go to England?’
‘Full-time? Six months after college.’ I think of my first year in London, sleeping on friends’ couches, finally moving into a house full of fellow Irish media workers where I had to share a bedroom with a friend. ‘Wow, the last time either of us lived in Dublin we were basically kids. It’s different being here as an adult with a job.’ I take a sip of water. ‘I think that’s the biggest change for me. Like, how do I live here in my thirties?’
‘Yeah,’ says Art. ‘It did hit me that the good places I knew back in the day were, you know, good for twenty-two-year-olds.’
‘So have you figured it out?’ I say. ‘How to live here as an adult?’
‘I dunno,’ he says. ‘I’m currently sleeping in my childhood bedroom, so that’s not helping.’