Free Ghosts and Lightning by Trevor Byrne Page B

will.
    —Right. I’ll meet yiz in an hour, yeah?
    Ned and Maggit nod. I take a last look at the strange and gory pictures behind the pro-lifers and hurry along O’Connell Street. Next stop Trinity College. I cross at Bachelor’s Walk, the dyin sun glintin orange off the Liffey as I cross O’Connell Bridge. Town’s still packed so I have to weave in and out o the crowd. Exhaust fumes and the wordless drone o hundreds o voices. Tacky traditional Irish music spills from the open shop front o Carrolls, the Polish workers behind the tills smilin and noddin to American tourists, and a huge black security guard mumblin into his walkie-talkie. There’s fuck all Irish people workin in shops these days. It’s pretty much all foreigners. Polish especially. There’s loads and loads o them. There’s even a Polishsupplement in the
Evening Herald
— the
Polski Herald
. The thing that seems maddest to me, though, is that I’ve never even spoken to a Polish person. Ever. No one’s integrated here. When I was over in Wales that time it wasn’t too bad, yeh got to talk to people from all over. Well, in Cardiff, anyway — the Valleys were backwards as fuck, worse than here. I reckon there’s somethin nasty brewin in Ireland, though; yeh can feel it. People gettin angry, lookin for someone to blame for their woes. Mad bastards like Slaughter stewin over it, formulatin their twisted theories; the worst o them honin their arguments with broken logic and fucked up economics.
    Ah, fuck it anyway. Does me head in thinkin about it; it’s fuckin embarrassin to be honest. Although it’s helped the journey pass at least; I’m nearly at the Bank of Ireland when I clock one o them charity workers in front o me. A short, slightly plump girl with blonde hair and a bright yellow bib. I’ll have to make sure I don’t –
    Bollix. Too late, I’m after makin eye contact. Shite. I don’t have time for this. Or the money. Head down, Denny; look away. Just keep goin, look like yeh have a purpose, somewhere to be. Fuck that, I do have somewhere to be. I have an –
    —Hi, can I talk to you for a minute?
    I’m still a few feet away when she says it. Just keep walkin, Denny.
    —I like your hair.
    Me hair? I look up and make eye contact again and that’s it, game over, I’m fucked. I stop.
    —Thank you, the girl says. She has an accent. One o these hard-to-place European ones. She tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles.
    —Do you have a couple of minutes?
    —Ehh well, I kind o –
    —Just a couple of minutes? Please?
    She tilts her head and smiles. It says BODIL on a tag on her bib.
    —It’ll only take a couple of minutes, I swear. She smiles again and raises her eyebrows. I glance over at Trinity and back at the girl.
    —Are you a student?
    —Me? Ah no, no.
    —Oh, OK. You look like a student.
    Do I? I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing. Bad, I’m inclined to think. Ah well.
    —I’m with Enable Ireland. Do you know anything about Enable Ireland?
    I shake me head. It sounds familiar, but no, I don’t know anythin about Enable Ireland. Course, I’m about to find out, even though I’m late and, worse, when we get to the end of her spiel it’s gonna be embarrassin for both of us cos I don’t have anywhere near enough money to open a direct debit or a standin order or wharrever.
    —Well, we’re a charity that helps with the education of young people in Ireland with difficulties of all kinds, including Down syndrome. We do really good work. Really good. Do you know that Ireland is the richest country in Europe per head of capita?
    —Ehh –
    I kind o shrug me shoulders. I’m not unaware of Ireland’s wealth, I’m just not party to it.
    —Oh it is, it is. There’s a lot of money in this country. And I mean a lot. I’m from Sweden and we have a lot ofmoney floating around in Sweden but nothing to what we’ve got over here.
    I nod. Bodil, if that’s her name, which I assume it is, is beamin. She’s really