Anybody Out There?
Page 122

Then I was passing through the automatic glass doors and I looked beyond the barrier, searching for a blond-haired two-year-old. And there he was, a sturdy little boy, in a gray sweatshirt, blue jeans, and a Red Sox cap, holding hands with the dark-haired woman beside him. I felt, rather than saw, her smile.
Then Jack looked up and saw me, and even though he couldn’t have known who I was, he smiled, too, showing his little white milk teeth.
I recognized him immediately. How could I not? He looked exactly like his daddy.
Epilogue
Mackenzie married some dissipated heir of a hundred-million-dollar canned-goods fortune. He owns seventy-five vintage cars, has a conviction for drunk driving, and is the subject of regular paternity suits. The wedding cost half a million dollars and was in all the society pages. In the photos, despite the fact that she seemed to be holding the groom up, Mackenzie looked very happy.
Jacqui and Joey and Treakil are a modern-day family unit—Joey babysits Treakil when Jacqui goes out with Handsome Karl, the cop. She’s reconsidering her ban on Feathery Strokery men, especially as Handsome Karl—who really is very handsome—is as besotted with Treakil as he is with Jacqui. However, there’s no denying there’s still a vrizzon between herself and Narky Joey, so who knows…
Rachel and Luke are the same as ever; a pair of happy, Feathery Strokery licks.
At work, all is well except that Koo/Aroon and the other EarthSource alcos are on my case again. I went to a charity ball with Angelo—just as friends—in aid of some 12-step recovery center and I bumped into a couple of them at the fizzy-water reception.
“Anna! What are you doing here?”
“I’m Angelo’s date.”
“Angelo! How do you know Angelo?”
“Just…from around.”
Oh yeah, their eyes said. Just from around? You’re one of us, why don’t you just admit it?
Gaz is learning Reiki. I shudder to think.
Shake and Brooke Edison broke up. There is speculation that Mr. Edison paid him off, although Shake denies it. He puts the split down to “pressures of work.” He had the air-guitar finals coming up again, and between the hours of practice and his hair being so work-intensive, they didn’t see each other enough, he says.
Ornesto had a lovely boyfriend, an Australian called Pat. It seemed to be going very well, especially as Pat didn’t hit Ornesto or steal his saucepans, but then Ornesto got his phone bill and it was over a thousand dollars and it turned out that Pat had been making daily phone calls to his ex-boyfriend in Coober Pedy. Ornesto was devastated—again—but found solace in his singing. He now has a regular gig at the Duplex, where he sings “Killing Me Softly” and wears ladies’ clothing.
Eugene from upstairs has met a “special” friend called Irene. She is warm and kind and sometimes they go to hear Ornesto singing.
Helen is working on a new case, it’s all very exciting. Nothing has been heard from Colin and Detta since they left for Marbella. Harry Big, however, was never arrested for trying to shoot Racey O’Grady and Racey didn’t finger him. Apparently, they’re both running their respective empires, just like they’ve always done, and it’s business as usual in Dublin crime.
Almost every Sunday I go to bingo with Mitch. It’s great fun, especially as the new Mitch—or is it the old Mitch?—has turned out to be highly competitive. He dances when he wins and sulks when he doesn’t and it’s very funny, especially the sulking.
Leon and Dana are expecting a baby. Dana complains that every symptom of pregnancy is “had-i-aaaasss,” and Leon is thrilled because he has more things than ever to worry about.
Supply has finally caught up with demand in the Labradoodle market, but all the fashionable people have moved on. The dog of the moment is a cocker spalsatian, a cross between a cocker spaniel and an Alsatian; you can’t get one for love or money.
There was a thing in the paper a few weeks ago about, of all people, Barb! She’d put the painting by Wolfgang, her husband (well, one of them), on the market and it caused a big fuss in the art world. Apparently, the painting was an exemplar of a short-lived but influential movement in the sixties called the “Asshole School.” The reason it was so short-lived was that all the protagonists killed themselves, or fell off balconies, or shot each other in drunken rows over women. Barb had been their muse, and the main reason for the suicides and drunken shootings. She says she had nothing to do with anyone falling off any balconies, however. She is currently being feted by the media and showered with money; interviewers are desperate to know how many people she was sleeping with at any given time, but all Barb wants to talk about is how disgraceful it is that no one can smoke anywhere anymore.
Mum and Dad are well. There has been no recurrence of the dog-poo situation. Dad got very excited when Desperate Housewives started, but quickly lapsed into disappointment. He says that Teri Hatcher is no Kim Cattrall.
Nell’s strange friend got put on different medication and is now not half as strange. In a dim light, she could pass for normal.
I meet Nicholas regularly. I brought him to Treakil’s “welcome to the world, baby girl” party and he worked the room, conversing on subjects as diverse as Fassbinder movies (Nicholas a movie buff? Who knew?) to the rumors that coded messages were being given to Al Qaeda via the shopping channel. Everyone declared that he was “adorable!” and the Real Men seem to have adopted him as a mascot.
The other day I came home after doing Pilates. It was a warm afternoon and I curled up on a corner of the couch, which was in a pool of sunshine. I started to feel sleepy, to drift, and the membrane between being awake and asleep was so barely there that when I passed into a dream I dreamed that I was awake. I dreamed I was on the couch, in my front room, just like I really was.
It was no surprise to suddenly find Aidan there beside me. It was such a great, great comfort to see him and to feel his presence.
He took my hands and I looked into his face, so familiar, so beloved.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Okay, better than I was. I met little Jack.”
“What did you think of him?”
“He’s a cutie, a total sweetheart. That’s what you were going to tell me, isn’t it? The day you died?”
“Yeah. Janie told me a few days before. I was so worried about you, how you were going to feel.”