Page 45 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin
‘If you weren’t here I might have done it. People in a line hold hands really tightly and you run through their hands to break their bond.’
‘If only life were that easy,’ I say with an unconscious, deep sigh, then stop myself, turn my head to look at him.
Again, Donal sees me.
‘Things will work out just as they should, you’ll see. Trust the process, yeah?’
I realise, as he steps down off the kerb now to allow me more space on the narrowing path where workmen are re-laying cement in between yellow warning cones, that I like Donal. So much.
I swallow unforeseen emotion. ‘I know, I will,’ I whisper.
‘How’s your week going, anyway?’ He lightens his tone, looking at me now from the roadside. I get a waft of his fresh-smelling cologne as the light summer breeze whips up, momentarily but gloriously.
‘Busy; blistered fingers, but all good. I was working with a great bunch of women— Mind the traffic!’ I yell as a silent electric car zooms past him. ‘And you? How was your week?’ Will he tell me about the date I saw him with in Bewley’s, I wonder?
‘Best week in a long time, thank you for asking! Finally finished a project that’s been tying me up in knots for four-and-a-half years, sleepless nights and mid-week panic drinking. She was a biggie. But it’s all done. I was able to retire from my Chinese deliveries and have some family time at last. And now,here I am, with you again, Grace .?.?. so all good.’ He hops back up on to the wider pavement as we turn up King Street.
‘Thanks again for coming with me,’ I say, wondering why he didn’t mention the woman in the dungarees.
We come to a stop outside Wagamama, then head down the steps. ‘After you,’ he says as he holds the door open for me. I step inside to wondrous aromas.
The restaurant is buzzing. Staff zigzag rapidly between long benches, and diners chat animatedly, hip-hop music plays low. The smell of fresh ginger engulfs my hungry nostrils.
‘Two?’ a busy waiter asks Donal, holding two fingers in the air.
‘Please.’ Donal moves to one side of him as the waiter grabs a couple of menus from the holder and holds them above his head.
‘Follow me, guys!’
Donal steps back once again to allow me to go first, and I love the impeccable old-fashioned manners he has. We slide into a long bench beside another couple, and I look at them with a grin. They are in casual clothes, and all of a sudden I feel very overdressed. Again, Donal reads me.
‘I hope this place is fancy enough for your stunning outfit. You don’t feel overdressed for here, do you?’
‘Not at all, it’s perfect,’ I fib. ‘I’ll get a Japanese beer. You?’
‘Same.’ He smiles. ‘We’re only pretending that we need to look at the menu, right?’ He rests the menu lightly on the ends of his full beard, turning to the side so he can cross one long leg over the other, his runner swinging freely.
‘Totally!’ I agree and we drop the menus at the exact same time.
‘So, tell me more about thisdivorceparty?’ he says when we’ve ordered our drinks. ‘I had to call my sister and ask her what exactly happens at a divorce party. I’m so not woke.’
Our beers arrive speedily, large and frothy in deep tankardglasses. We clink.
‘Me, either. But I was telling you in Fallon & Byrne about Mia. Moaning Michael was her very dull ex-husband. It’s just a bit of fun,’ I tell him, lifting the heavy glass by the handle. The couple beside us have not said a single word to one another in the time we’ve been sitting here. She is just staring into space and he’s scrolling on his phone. They both look like they’re in their late twenties. I sip and replace the glass in front of me.
A waiter appears in front of us. ‘Can I take your orders, folks?’ It’s a different waiter to the one who showed us to our seats. He has a heavy, Eastern European accent and is beefed up, muscly, wearing a skintight, white long-sleeved top, draped in thick gold cross chains, big happy head on him.
‘I’ll take the Yaki Udon, please.’ I order, watching the couple beside us now both on their phones, heads bent over in concentration.
‘I’ll do the Beef Ramen, and can I get extra chillies, fresh ones? On the side?’ Donal asks. The waiter nods at him as he scribbles on his pad.
‘I can’t get over how people just don’t talk to each other, can you?’ I whisper to Donal after the waiter leaves. ‘It’s one of the things Mia stated as a catalyst in her divorce from Michael: they had nothing to say to each other.’
‘Me neither, it’s my worst nightmare to run out of conversation with anyone. Oh, I meant to tell you! I had a date the other day, and she was really lovely .?.?.’ His eyes light up.
My breath catches in my throat. I clear it. I feel my head spin a little. I swallow hard. I’m lost for words.
Donal tilts his head, looks at me. ‘You okay?’ A concerned look fleetingly passes across his face.
