The Accident by S D Monaghan

Author:S D Monaghan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture

Chapter Eight

Five years ago, Tara had been one of a dozen students crammed around a table in a tutoring room of Trinity College. At the head of the table sat David, pointer in hand, a map of Europe unfurled behind him, and next to him, colour slides of MacArthur and Truman. Thirty-five years old, he was dressed in the ageing-hipster attire of suit jacket, T-shirt and Converse sneakers. There was a festive feel to the tutorial, as it was the last class of the semester. The oldest of David’s mature students – ladies in their sixties – had brought in cookies and expensive unseasonal strawberries with whipped cream, which seemed to have the effect of alcohol, making the group boisterous and rowdy as the treats were consumed. But David was disappointed at how distant Tara remained. Perhaps he’d only imagined that her gaze had often lingered on him a fraction of a second more than was necessary over the past few months.

‘OK,’ David announced. ‘Time’s up. Our semester is over, and I’m adjourning to O’Neill’s for a farewell pint. If any of my brilliant students want to accompany me, I’ll be getting the first round.’

As chairs scraped against boards and a few students rose to their feet, Tara finally spoke, loud and assured, from the other end of the table. ‘You keep mentioning that we’ll be fine out here in the West as long as we have these “perfect wars”. What are they again?’

A hush spread as the few standing bodies plopped back into their seats. Tara rarely spoke in class, but when she did, it was always worth listening to. There was also the fact that most of the young men wanted to sleep with her, so whenever she made a contribution it meant that they could stare at her without self-consciousness.

David examined a small dollop of cream on his finger. He wanted to suck it clean, but thought that would make him look sleazy. Instead, he dropped his hand beneath the table and rubbed his finger back and forth on the side of the chair. Matching Tara’s gaze, David tried not to be obvious in his admiration for her curious brown eyes, her full lips and healthy, free-falling auburn hair.

‘When missiles, planes and drones do their job, it’s a perfect war – no infantry required,’ he explained.

‘And you honestly think that’s a good thing?’

Her classmates steeled themselves for a show. Up to now, Tara had kept her counsel in David’s tutorials, but he was aware of her difficult reputation from her mainstream lecturers. They considered her dangerous: looks, sharp intellect, plus don’t-give-a-fuck confidence in a twenty-five-year-old student meant that she could have whatever she wanted in this world.

‘I didn’t say what I thought.’ David picked up a strawberry and pondered eating it, before returning it to the table between his perched elbows. ‘I’m here to tell you how it is – or rather was.’

‘So instead of solving things, we come up with machines to keep the status quo as the world spins on to its stupid end.

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