So, so very slowly, put it all back together. That's the way. I tip toe around the issues. That’s the way. I am a beacon of normality, which in it’s own is is deeply weird. Cian and Noleen come around, with Rachel, who’s single again, and Matty Vein from Syros, who’s briefly back in the country, Gert, Evelyn O’Brien. I’m throwing a party, a rehouse warming. No reason but nothing else to do. I cork bottles and I make a dinner of rack of summer lamb with lambs liver, sweetbreads and garlic cream. It’s soothing, in it’s way. It’s regimented, yet improvisational. The guests arrive, and I’m feeling the effects of a few Stolichnaya’s on top of the Amarone. I’m very Amarone these days, tho I got some Chablis in for the ladies. Gert is all smiles, he palms me the stash I asked him for as we stand in my kitchen. The kitchen is alive with steam, and the tang of thyme. It’s warm and I have the back door open, although rain patters off the awning and pools on the seats of my cheap patio furniture. The garden is in, eh, disrepair. Now that I’m awash with time, shouldn’t I be fixing this. I stand there looking out, thinking, Gert sips wine.

The guests arrive, we sit to eat. I make uneasy conversation with Noleen, while Cian bombasts with his tales of recent travails. He keeps punching me in the arm, in that familiar way of his. After a few glasses he’s draped over my shoulder, regaling me, direct to lughole, about some jape or other we two were apparently involved in. Even for him, he’s hyper, and the coke is in my pocket, I haven’t even offered it too hi,

Plates pile up. Gert is homing in on Rachel. Matty and I talk shop in the kitchen, Cian rolls a joint. Shorty thereafter Matty leaves the party. There’s another, far more glamorous do in the morrison, courtesy of parlphone or some such. He’s stick us on the lsit, if we think of making it later. For some reason, this doesn’t appeal to me. I sip Stolichnaya, straight form the freezer. It’s cold and thick and coils down my throat. Cian hands me the joint.
“not interested in the party, eh?”
“oddly, I’ve gone off parties.”
“gone hermetic?”
“working on the scrip”
“how’s that going, do you still have that guy?”
“the guy in California?”
“yeah that guy”
“yeah, there’s guys interested. You know”
“this is good grass”
“it’s okay, “ I exhale. “woody”
“you’re right. It’s shit”
“it’s not shit”
“you’re right. It’s okay”
“it’s got notes of summer, a hint o..”
“she’s pregnant”
“what the fuck?”
“noleen.”
“that’s great.”
“is it?”
“isn’t it?”
“is it?”
“uh. Yes?”
“ok.”
“yeah, it’s great.”
“yeah, I can afford an aupere, right?”
“sure.”
.........
“uh..how long”
“oh, it’s not yours man”
“uh..what?”
“hey, it’s cool, we’ve been buddies, what now?”
“twenty something”
“thirty years”
“twentyfour or something”
“you’ll babysit?”
“I’d probably kill it.”
“ha ha ha. This is good shit.”
“it’s reasonable. That’s why noleen wasn’t drinkin,” I say, scratching my chin like holmes. “I should have noticed.”
“she’s drunk most of that Chablis.”
“oh. She has”
“fuck it. Drunk baby. So what”
“I thought, you know she couldn’t......um”
“whaddya know? Any coke.”
“sure”

I clear some plates, Gert is sitting on the couch, under the soft light from the dimmed bulb. I can see shimmers on saliva on his face. Grrrrrrrrrreat party, says Noleen, and sidles up to me, trailing his fingertips off my thigh.

Cian’s back, with mad eyes. “Lets play a fucking game”
“what game?”
“a fucking game”
Oh bollocks.