Caravan of the Lost and Left Behind by Deirdre Shanahan

Author:Deirdre Shanahan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bluemoose Books Ltd
Published: 2019-03-21T14:47:21+00:00

2

Caitlin said the community centre was the only place where local bands played decent music.

‘Decent if you define it as live and loud. Or there’s a Sunday night DJ and band at the Paradiso Hotel. Old boys in from the farms who can barely hold a guitar,’ she laughed.

‘No, it’s fine. Whatever they are.’ He gritted his teeth.

At the entrance, she pointed out the carved lettering, ‘Ceol na mara.’

‘What’s it mean?’ he asked.

‘Ceol is music. So it’s music of the sea. Music is the best of it. Usually they have evening classes, or information sessions for farmers,’ she laughed. ‘You sure you want to see this band?’ She broke into a bar of chocolate. ‘They might be rubbish and you’ll think we’ve nothing around here.’

‘I’m happy to. A couple of hours out of my life’s all right.’ He put his arm around her shoulder and bent as she fed him pieces of fruit-and-nut chocolate.

Drips smeared her fingers. She licked them then gave her fingers to him to suck. Even though he had not taken anything, he was high and buzzy. He could climb a ceiling. Touch the stars. He was with her. Anything was possible. The evening opened in front of them. All he wanted. More than he had expected.

His phone shivered. Marcus.

‘Sorry.’ He pulled the phone from his pocket.

‘How’re things?’ Marcus slurred. He must have been drinking. He had the freedom to roam in and out of pubs, probably had a bit of money.

‘I’m all right.’ Torin backed from Caitlin.

‘Least you don’t feel as bad as me.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Game at the weekend. Didn’t you see it? QPR slaughtered. Bloody Spurs.’

He had not seen a match all the way through for weeks. If he was there, he’d be going if he got the cash together or be able to see at in the pub at the corner. His life was slipping away.

‘What was the score?’

‘Three bloody two, to them. They’ll go down the table… Ricardo was useless. The new manager has no idea what to do with him.’

‘Is there anything else?’

‘Harjit’s still in hospital. Critical Care.’

‘What’s that mean? Bad news?’

‘Must do. We ain’t heard any more. But I’ve gotta go. Someone’s ringing on my other phone. See you.’

Marcus had probably run down the street, past cars and flats, houses and offices, crowding out where they lived, free to go where he liked.

Torin saw the knife on the pavement. The blade in a flicker of light and the girl in the sequinned top saying to ring for an ambulance, but as its siren ripped through the night air he was running. He tore down the alley stinking of piss and fags and drink, onto the High Road. He had slowed, so as not to draw attention. Walked as if he had no cares in the world while neon tore in the night in the video shop, ‘Two for one offer. Last fortnight.’ All he had known was that the night was over before it had begun, and he and his mates and

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