—That’s not what I asked you Kieron!

                 —You mean it’s not the answer you wanted.

                  —But it’s the answer you are getting.

—Oh you think you are on mastermind now?

                   —What’s got you in this mood Bonnie?

 

She threw him a look that wilted the clumps of dandelions adorning the banks of the shuck, their yellow heads bowed in submission like penitent monks. He felt his body retreat, as if he just encountered a rabid dog. He couldn’t determine if it was anger, shame, rejection or a compound of all three. This ominous conversation, if it was a conversation— more a broadcast from her, was taking place on the Carin lane. The same lane at the edge of the small border town where he had walked with her for the first time, three years before.

Little had changed in the lane. To their right the almond floral warmth of the cherry blossoms was at odds with the excrement of the interminable herd of friesian heifers. On the opposite side, in a field spotted with black marshmallows, a John Deere forage harvester vomited silage into a chaser bin. Straight ahead at the corner bend, the eccentric bachelor Barney Mohan’s cottage was circulated with dead rodents or roadkill strung up to thwart demons or perhaps unwelcome visitors. The only notable change within that triennium was that she didn’t want to be with him anymore. When they met for the first time her shyness was a handicap, assuaged by his energy, bonhomie and bombast.

 

Back then she needed someone like him.

    To assist her blend into company.

        To walk a room.

            Today she was more self assured.

               Confident. 

                   He felt she had a distaste for him now.

                       No.

                           Not distaste.

                              Contempt.

                          ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They met at a time when disco music had captured the zeitgeist of the nation. Kieron could dance well, talk, entertain, was teetotal and didn’t smoke. Bonnie was an alluring artist with a striking resemblance to Prince Charles’ girlfriend Diana Spencer, she was attracted to Kieron like a wasp to a picnic. It helped that her mother warmed to him, engaging in many dissertations and debates on Irish history in particular the assassination of Kevin O’Higgins. Kieron’s mother was the opposite with Bonnie, despising the sight of her from their first encounter, after which she reminded him.

 

—She’s from Killyclog.

—Only thieves and whores live in Killyclog.

—She should be on the front of a box of chocolates son.

                    —Why ma?

                     —Because she’s so pretty?

—No, because she’s dumb son.

—Can’t open her mouth.

 

After that acerbic encounter Kieron seldom brought her anywhere near the vicinity of his house. The most memorable exception being when Bonnie’s father’s car broke down  forcing her to sleep with Kieron’s mother. The next morning on a trip to the lake Bonnie started crying

 

—Your mother is the devil incarnate.

—She wouldn’t let me out of the bed.

—I was feeling ill.

—She wrapped her legs around me like a serpent telling me I was imagining it.

—I vomited on the pillow and she blamed me.

—She’s evil Kieron.

—Evil.

—What has she against Killyclog anyway?

—Does she think she lives in a metropolis?

—Youse live in a rented two up two down in a terrace.

 

                Kieron never spoke a single word.

                   He didn’t want to believe any of that.

                       Not one word of it.

                              His mother was eccentric yes.

                                  Protective yes.

                                      Suspicious yes.

                                          But she would never do that.

                                              Would she?

 

When they returned to the house Bonnie’s handbag was open on the kitchen table. Beside it, gaping at the world, was a pack of oral contraceptive pills. Ovranette brand to be precise. Energised, Kieron’s mother waved the pink and white rectangle at The Chocolate Box Girl like a ripple ice cream slider, but more accusatory than as a tease.

 

—You are on the pill.

—The pill.

—I knew you were a harlot.

—A harlot from Killyclog.

—You won’t corrupt my son.

 

Shocked to her marrow, Bonnie left grabbing her handbag on the way out, as her bête noire threw the contraceptives at her as if the pack had a live electric current. Kieron ran after her like a starved greyhound. By the time she reached the bus stop she had settled somewhat but vowed never to speak to his mother again.

At the end of that summer Bonnie went to university in Belfast. Kieron secured a managerial post in Dublin. He figured that separation would put the kibosh on their relationship but it seemed to strengthen while his mother was kept at a distance. He remained loyal to Bonnie despite the opportunities he was presented with as most of the girls in his workplace were available, as were the attendees at the concomitant house parties. On occasion Bonnie would travel to Dublin to stay over but he was never invited to Belfast.

 

Was this the harbinger that he overlooked?

       Why did he not question that?

 

Her 20th birthday coincided with one of these trips. They spent the day in Dublin City. St Stephen’s Green feeding ducks, a new watch from McDowells The Happy Ring House, Savoy cinema matinee watching Coppola’s Rumblefish, a meal in Flanagans Steak House. A  fashion designer John Rocha had captured the city’s imagination with his Chinatown brand at A-Wear stores. She fell in love with his new tweed coat design—body hugging, full length but expensive. Kieron knew she wanted it but he couldn’t afford it. Not this month.

When his salary arrived a  fortnight later, he took the 49A bus to the city centre, to buy the coat. The last one in her size which they gift wrapped after some persuasion. Soon he was aboard the express bus to the border. To surprise his Bonnie. On arrival Kieron didn’t know if her startled expression was for the spontaneous gift or that she just wasn’t expecting him. Or was it that she didn’t want to see him? He perceived she was just going through the motions embracing the coat rendering him an imposter. A lift back to Dublin with one of her brothers was a welcome opportunity to gather himself, to reassess where their relationship was going. She waved as he departed not even pretending to be melancholic or a little dolorous. At that moment he felt he had grabbed the electric fence on the Carin lane.

The very fence that they were now walking alongside after Mohan’s cottage. She didn’t speak for a period of time that seemed to Kieron, perpetual. He broke the stalemate.

 

—Are you looking forward to Christy’s wedding?

—I’ve bought them a hotel voucher from us.

                —Yes, it will be good fun Kieron.

 

 He knew she was lying but remained silent. Instead his thoughts wandered to the time they both left home. Phil Collins was No1 with his debut solo album Face Value. That period when they wrote to each other every single week. Her letters, written in calligraphy on watermarked pink Basildon Bond paper with envelopes sprayed with the Anaïs Anaïs perfume he gave her for Christmas. Letters he retained under his mattress in his threadbare bedroom tied with thin baler twine stolen from one of his bog-men housemates. Letters he read often. And smelled. And read again.

They stopped off at Gilpen’s pub. They didn’t have his favourite Club orange so he made do with Fanta. Bonnie had her customary gin and tonic. Soon Kieron was regaling the regulars with his Dublin stories, mimicking the local characters, telling yarns, general craic. Behaviour that seemed to grate Bonnie forcing her to pull him into the pub’s snug, closing the door, slapping him on the chin.

—Catch yourself on you juvenile!

 

She left the pub like a startled rodent.

 

                                           That’s when he realised it was all over. Christy’s wedding a week later was the tipping point for her. The sight of Kieron on the stage with the resident band, wearing a black Kiss Me Quick hat singing The Wild Rover in the air of Ghost Riders in the Sky, was the catalyst that coerced her toward the exit. As he belted out to an attentive audience

No nay never, 

No nay never no more

Will I play the wild rover

 No never no more

 

he witnessed his putative Princess Diana escape through the swinging doors of the dining hall like a Mexican bandit evading Clint Eastwood in a saloon. Away from that idiot on the stage. Away from that puerile clown she wasted three years with.

It was a catharsis for Kieron though. As he left the stage his only concern was not why she left but how was he going to get back to his digs. Bonnie had arranged the transport to the wedding. Far from feeling heartbroken, he felt a release. Emboldened, he spent the rest of that year, his final year in Dublin, in the disco bars with girls who devoured his craic and his stories. With girls who could talk. Girls who could dance. Who respected him.

 

Promoted to his new job in Belfast Kieron was at the latter stages of training for the impending marathon on the May bank holiday. On the twentieth mile as he circulated Ormeau Park the visage before him deflected the severe pain in his calf muscles. His erstwhile Princess Diana, walking alone, draped in the same John Rocha coat that cost him a weeks wages. Not stopping, he tapped her on the shoulder

 

—Nice coat Bonnie.

—It suits you.

 

He didn’t wait for a reply.

                 Maybe he was afraid of a slap on the chin.