Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [174]
‘Oh, don’t worry about us, it was great fun, I haven’t done anything like that in ages. So have the brownies helped with the pukiness?’
‘I’ve only just scoffed them. But I hope to Christ they do the trick. It’s so boring constantly feeling like throwing up.’
‘Fingers crossed! So what’ll we do tonight?’ Tara asked. ‘It’d be so tempting to get stoned out of our minds, then stagger up to the twenty-four-hour garage and try to buy their entire stock of Maltesers –’
‘– but not be able to speak because we’re in hysterics at nothing.’
‘Of course we must remember the gear is purely medicinal, we mustn’t abuse it. It’d be nice to get a little bit stoned, though. It’s been years.’
‘Only problem is,’ Fintan said, ‘I’m going out.’
‘Going out? Where?’
‘Sandro’s Christmas party.’
‘Already? On the first of December?’
‘The only night they could get a table at Nobu. Would you believe it’s fully booked until the fourth of January?’
‘But are you strong enough to go?’
‘Where there’s a willy there’s a way.’ He laughed. ‘I want to have fun. Eat, drink and be merry.’
‘Are you sure? After all, you’re not well…’
‘Oh, there’s the bell, my taxi must be here.’ Fintan began to gather himself up, and Tara noticed something that tightened her throat.
‘Is it a fancy-dress Christmas party?’
‘No.’
‘So why have you a walking stick?’
‘Oh, that. In all the excitement over the drugs and the sick stomach, I forgot to tell you.’
‘Forgot to tell me what?’
‘The last lot of chemo played havoc with the nerve endings in my feet.’
‘What kind of havoc?’ she asked, fear yawning inside her. This got worse and worse.
‘They feel kind of tingly and it hurts to put too much weight on them, so a stick helps.’ He laughed at her face. ‘Oh, don’t look so upset, it’s only temporary, Tara. When I’m finished the chemo, it’ll eventually get better. Now, is my wig on straight?’
She watched him, a skinny creature in a Tina Turner wig doing a knock-kneed hobble to the door and thought, He’s only a year older than me. ‘Will I visit tomorrow night?’ she asked, following in his wake as he switched off the lights.
‘No. I’m going clubbing with twenty-seven of my closest friends, but you’re welcome to join us.’
‘You’re going clubbing?’
‘That’s right, Tara. Clubbing,’ Fintan’s voice had a tight little edge. ‘Rage, rage against the dying of the light, and all that. So I’m doing like the man said and I’m raging.’
Tara’s heart thumped into the back of her throat as she realized that Fintan wasn’t quite as Zen as she’d thought. ‘You’re angry?’
‘Not exactly angry. At least, not at this precise moment. But if I’m stuck in the Last Chance Saloon I’m going to make the most of it.’
She couldn’t say anything, muzzled by an odd mixture of shame and admiration.
‘I’ll go out fighting,’ he promised. ‘Or at least dancing. While there’s breath in my body and Sister Sledge on the turntable, life goes on.’
66
‘Work.’ Tara sighed, as she staggered in, reeking of smoke and alcohol. ‘I’m wrecked from it.’
‘Busy time of year?’ Katherine asked, sympathetically.
‘Don’t talk to me!’ Tara declared. ‘We had the project dinner last night, the team lunch yesterday, the office lunch the day before, our floor’s drinks today, the department lunch tomorrow, Marketing’s mulled wine do tomorrow afternoon and then the entire company party the night after. Bloody Christmas, I’m destroyed from it! My liver is begging for mercy.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Katherine agreed.
However, in Breen Helmsford, the difference between the crazed partying of the festive season and the crazed partying of the rest of the year was hardly visible to the naked eye.
The Christmas-party season couldn’t have come at a better time for Tara. All the alcohol and high spirits kept her one step ahead of her demons. ‘Though I have to admit I’m a human Third World country from it all,’ Tara said. ‘I’m skint!’
‘You’re always skint,’ Katherine reminded her.
‘I’m worse than usual. Drink and taxis and… drink and taxis. And clothes, of course. I might have to cut my credit cards up again.’ Tara couldn’t