I say to George somewhere that working for charity obviously comes at a price, and I admire Daisy for giving up her life to help others. I’m not sure I believe what I’m saying but I’m still hopeful that the vision I had of Daisy can be salvaged anyway. George laughs at me.
Daisy, work, he asks, she hasn’t got a job. Her parents pay for her to go and volunteer to make it look like she’s actually doing something with her life. They treat it like rehab. She doesn’t have a choice.
At some point, outside, linking arms, walking to the next destination, I ask Daisy about Finn. Her boyfriend from school. Perfect Daisy and perfect Finn, Sandy Olsson and Danny Zuko, the dream couple of our year. Does she ever see him, what’s he doing with his life. The last delusion of her, I suppose. And then the final petal falls and the beauty truly becomes the beast.
Oh my God, she says. Finn O’Neill. He was done for possession of cannabis, that’s why we broke up. All hush-hush of course. He was up in court on intent to supply. He was facing five years in prison. Last time I saw him was a few months ago and he was standing on a bar pissing on someone’s head.
I remember laughing at what she was saying, laughing because it was all so ridiculous, not funny. I dreamed of being in a relationship like Daisy and Finn’s, just as most girls in my year did, we collectively grieved for them when they broke up. And now here we are, turning over the rock to find the woodlice beneath.
We end up in a dark sweaty basement club called Moonshine that plays dance music with a beat so monotonous I have to leave. I don’t know where Daisy and George have gone to and to be honest I don’t search too hard. I’ve had enough. So I leave alone and start walking to D’Olier Street for the Nitelink home.
As I’m walking I can hear laughing. At first I think it’s nothing to do with me and then I realise it’s directed at me. I don’t turn around, I don’t want to be drawn into a 3 a.m. street fight. And then I can’t take it any more, what is so very funny about the way I’m walking. If these Dublin gobshites want a fight I’ll give them a fight, this evening has not been what I wanted it to be, I’m ready to knock somebody out. I spin around and catch sight of Daisy and George hiding behind a rickshaw, then see them from the corner of my eye as they race across the street to a bin. They’re playing spies, and it’s all so childish that I can’t help but laugh. They want to continue the party, back at my place.
It’s my stupid ego that makes me say yes. I’ve put Daisy up on a pedestal. Her job, her clothes, her Instagram account, while I’m nothing. But now I want her to see my life in comparison to her rat piss ugly room.
We lose George outside a bar when he stops to talk to some people and I guide Daisy away. As we walk further from him, I’m hopeful she’s going to be better without him, that it’ll be easier to have her to myself. Maybe she’ll go back to nice Daisy once she’s sobered up and has gone thirty minutes without putting something up her greased lightning, boho chic Daisy. Happy nomad.
Twenty-Two
The pay-off is, when she sees the house, she’s impressed. I have to tell her to keep her voice down. I have to tell her to shut up rather forcefully. It’s 4 a.m., the family are all in bed. They have kids. It will be bright soon. Shut up please. In the gym she puts full lights on and climbs on machines, drops weights with a clang. Like a monkey let loose. I follow her around, tidying up, putting things back, telling her to keep it down, trying to drag her from the gym. I see the light go on in Becky’s bathroom and I quickly turn off the gym lights and hustle Daisy upstairs. Regardless of the fact I’m not smiling or replying, Daisy talks incessantly until 5 a.m., about nothing really, if I think about it. Then she takes her clothes off and falls asleep in her underwear in my bed. I take the couch. Even though I’m exhausted and hungover, I wake early. I make a pot of coffee and keep an eye on Daisy. I needn’t have tiptoed around, a herd of elephants wouldn’t have woken her. I have to violently shake her awake at noon. I need to leave for Paddy’s barbecue.
Daisy is quiet. I give her a coffee. She looks out the window and slowly wakes up, I wonder if she’s recalling events from last night. Bit by bit, like it happens for me. Never in the right order and never completely recovered. I await the realisation. The apology. The some sort of something. But she doesn’t apologise. Doesn’t appear to be embarrassed. Nothing. Apart from a little smudged mascara in the cracks beneath her sleepy eyes, she’s make-up free and perfect. Apple faced, high cheekbones, plump juicy lips. Seemingly no conscience. She sips her coffee.