fifty euro out of her handbag and handed it to him.
“Cheers, Gran!”
She waved him away. He left the basement flat and she watched him through her window as he turned on his iPod, searched for some noise, pressed play and walked down the street, probably deafening himself. Kids are mad , she thought. Then she picked up the open bottle of red wine that was resting against her chair. She drained her cup of tea and poured in the wine. She took a sip and smiled to herself. Happy New Year, Rose .
Chapter 4
So Far Gone
I’m so far gone that it seems like home to me .
I’m so far gone, have I lost my way or am I free?
Jack L, Universe
It was just after eight thirty on New Year’s Eve when Leslie got off the train, returning from the bungalow she owned in the country. Her apartment was located conveniently beside the railway station so she wheeled her suitcase past all those queuing for a taxi, turned the corner, tapped her number into the keypad on the apartment-building gate and she was home.
In the lift, she could hear crashing and banging, and the closer she got to her floor, the louder the noise became. She exited and walked towards a bunch of five people she recognized as neighbours. They were blocking the way so she mumbled, “Excuse me.” They didn’t notice as they were wrapped up in what was going on around the corner. It was then Leslie noticed a fireman. He was standing in front of the group as though he was there to hold them back. Leslie couldn’t smell any smoke. She said, “Excuse me,” again, but this time the banging was louder.
One of the girls she recognized but didn’t know turned and looked her up and down. “Oh, shit!” she said. “She’s here!”
Leslie wasn’t one for pleasantries but the girl’s response to her arrival was slightly shocking. The others gaped at her. The fireman called to his buddies, “Lads, it’s a false alarm!”
The gaping neighbours parted and she was allowed to walk through them with her case rolling behind her. She rounded the corner to be met by two firemen standing in the space where she used to have a front door. “What the hell?” she asked.
“It’s my fault,” the girl who had uttered “Oh, shit” said. “I haven’t heard your music in a few days and there was a smell.”
A fireman walked through the doorway. “Well, the good news is we have no dead body. The bad news is the cat has shat all over the place.”
“I was down the country,” Leslie said, a little shocked at the scene.
“I’m really sorry,” the girl said, to the fireman rather than to Leslie. “She rarely leaves the apartment,” her tone slid from apologetic to accusatory, “and for the past few days no music and then that awful smell.”
“You smelt cat-shit and thought I was dead?” Leslie said, in a voice laced with contempt and disbelief.
The girl turned to her, hands raised in the air. “Look, I was just being a good neighbour – you hear all the time about people left to rot and, to be fair, I don’t know what death smells like.”
“Well, it doesn’t smell like cat-shit – and what do you mean ‘these people’?”
“Well,” said the girl, becoming a little uncomfortable, “loners.”
Leslie stood dumbfounded.
“She thought you’d killed yourself,” a random man said.
The girl nudged him and mouthed the words “shut” and “up”.
“Well,” he said, directing his speech to the firemen, “everyone knows that New Year’s Eve is a big night for suicides.”
“Am I going to get charged for this call-out?” the girl asked.
“Don’t give them your name, Deborah!” the man said.
“Brilliant, Damien,” she said, walking away and shaking her head. “Thanks for that.”
The firemen gathered their gear; the five people disappeared.
Leslie entered her doorless apartment and sat on the sofa. Her cat, which had apparently recovered from its gastrointestinal malady, jumped on her lap and together they surveyed the pile of cat-shit
“Cheers, Gran!”
She waved him away. He left the basement flat and she watched him through her window as he turned on his iPod, searched for some noise, pressed play and walked down the street, probably deafening himself. Kids are mad , she thought. Then she picked up the open bottle of red wine that was resting against her chair. She drained her cup of tea and poured in the wine. She took a sip and smiled to herself. Happy New Year, Rose .
Chapter 4
So Far Gone
I’m so far gone that it seems like home to me .
I’m so far gone, have I lost my way or am I free?
Jack L, Universe
It was just after eight thirty on New Year’s Eve when Leslie got off the train, returning from the bungalow she owned in the country. Her apartment was located conveniently beside the railway station so she wheeled her suitcase past all those queuing for a taxi, turned the corner, tapped her number into the keypad on the apartment-building gate and she was home.
In the lift, she could hear crashing and banging, and the closer she got to her floor, the louder the noise became. She exited and walked towards a bunch of five people she recognized as neighbours. They were blocking the way so she mumbled, “Excuse me.” They didn’t notice as they were wrapped up in what was going on around the corner. It was then Leslie noticed a fireman. He was standing in front of the group as though he was there to hold them back. Leslie couldn’t smell any smoke. She said, “Excuse me,” again, but this time the banging was louder.
One of the girls she recognized but didn’t know turned and looked her up and down. “Oh, shit!” she said. “She’s here!”
Leslie wasn’t one for pleasantries but the girl’s response to her arrival was slightly shocking. The others gaped at her. The fireman called to his buddies, “Lads, it’s a false alarm!”
The gaping neighbours parted and she was allowed to walk through them with her case rolling behind her. She rounded the corner to be met by two firemen standing in the space where she used to have a front door. “What the hell?” she asked.
“It’s my fault,” the girl who had uttered “Oh, shit” said. “I haven’t heard your music in a few days and there was a smell.”
A fireman walked through the doorway. “Well, the good news is we have no dead body. The bad news is the cat has shat all over the place.”
“I was down the country,” Leslie said, a little shocked at the scene.
“I’m really sorry,” the girl said, to the fireman rather than to Leslie. “She rarely leaves the apartment,” her tone slid from apologetic to accusatory, “and for the past few days no music and then that awful smell.”
“You smelt cat-shit and thought I was dead?” Leslie said, in a voice laced with contempt and disbelief.
The girl turned to her, hands raised in the air. “Look, I was just being a good neighbour – you hear all the time about people left to rot and, to be fair, I don’t know what death smells like.”
“Well, it doesn’t smell like cat-shit – and what do you mean ‘these people’?”
“Well,” said the girl, becoming a little uncomfortable, “loners.”
Leslie stood dumbfounded.
“She thought you’d killed yourself,” a random man said.
The girl nudged him and mouthed the words “shut” and “up”.
“Well,” he said, directing his speech to the firemen, “everyone knows that New Year’s Eve is a big night for suicides.”
“Am I going to get charged for this call-out?” the girl asked.
“Don’t give them your name, Deborah!” the man said.
“Brilliant, Damien,” she said, walking away and shaking her head. “Thanks for that.”
The firemen gathered their gear; the five people disappeared.
Leslie entered her doorless apartment and sat on the sofa. Her cat, which had apparently recovered from its gastrointestinal malady, jumped on her lap and together they surveyed the pile of cat-shit
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