January 03, 2005
Null and Void - extract
"Ruby held the letter tightly. It had been three months since she had made the initial application to the Catholic Church for an Annulment. She hadn’t expected an appointment so soon..."
Chapter One
Dublin Regional Marriage Tribunal.
Diocesan Offices,
Archbishops House,
Dublin 9.
Nullity of Marriage; Reece-Blake J.2 254/94
Personal and Confidential. 20th January 1995.
Dear Mrs Blake,
We are pleased to advise you that we are now in a position to arrange an appointment for you regarding your application to this Tribunal.
Please be good enough to call on the Tribunal Offices, Archbishops House, Drumcondra, Dublin 9. On Tuesday 14th February 1995 at 9.30a.m. to meet the Reverend Sean Ebbs.
I would be grateful if you would telephone or write to me, confirming this appointment, immediately. If you wish to confirm your appointment by telephone, please contact me at 607810.
You will appreciate that if we are to cater for all who seek our help at the Tribunal, it is most important that each person should attend the specified appointment. I would urge you therefore, to make every effort possible to keep this appointment.
With every good wish,
Yours sincerely,
Aidan Mason.
Tribunal Secretary.
Ruby held the letter tightly. It had been three months since she had made the initial application to the Catholic Church for an Annulment. She hadn’t expected an appointment so soon. She wondered had Eamann received the same letter. She sat down at the kitchen table and read it again. Her hand wandered across the table as she read, until it found the box of cigarettes. She pulled one out with her teeth. Her nail polish had not yet dried. The Archbishops house was not going to ruin her nails as well as her marriage.
She took a deep drag and perused the words slowly taking each one in. She blew the smoke on her nails, exhaling deeply. It had started too soon. She needed more time to think. Think about what? She wondered. There was nothing more to think about. The marriage was over. It had been over for almost two years now. It seemed only right to set the ball rolling. She had already appointed a solicitor to look after the Divorce end of things. Somehow an annulment seemed more profound. She picked up the phone and dialled Eamann’s number. It rang forever. Didn’t he know that he could set the answering service to pick up after 6 rings? Eventually, a recorded message came on. Ruby listened to Eamann’s voice, soft, confident, strong.
“High, you’ve reached Eamann, I’m not available to take your call right now, you can try me on my mobile at 086/23476, or alternatively, leave a message after the long bleep”.
Ruby listened to the long bleep and the silence that followed. Her voice abandoned her. She hung up.
What am I doing?
She took the receiver in her hand and dialled again.
A deep voice answered the phone.
“ Archbishops House, how can I help you?”
“Thank you, my name is Ruby Blake, I’m phoning to say..”
“Your reference number please,” the voice interrupted.
“Reference number?” Ruby stumbled.
“At the top of the page Madame,” the voice said.
“Oh yes, I see it, J.2. 254/94,” Ruby replied.
“Thank you, I just wanted to say...”
“Putting you through now Madame,” the voice cut in again.
“Fuck you...” Ruby’s words echoed down the empty line...
Posted by damien at 08:42 AM | Comments (0)
January 02, 2005
The House That Jack Built
Chapter One "I lost my virginity on 31/12/1978. I lost my knickers too. I reclaimed them innocently, when I stepped out of the blue Fiat Fiorinni Van, and they hula hooped around my ankles finally to crash land on the ground. (Oh look. there’s my knickers)..."
The whole ordeal had taken exactly three minutes. I had waited fifteen years for this momentous occasion. I had been saving myself for the right man. My accomplice in crime was my brothers friend, as he was one year older than me, I expected him to be fully experienced in the art of love making.
In a hopeless attempt to salvage what remained of his manhood, he savaged my self-esteem on that ill-fated journey home afterwards.
“For fuck sake!” he spat.
“Haven’t you ever heard of foreplay?" 
This remark only served to encourage my own sense of inadequacy, and self blame. Wowed by his use of complicated vocabulary, I searched my mind for a humorous retort.
“Sure, I’ve read all his books,”
It was a lame effort. Already my beau was engaging in the serious business of rolling a joint, large enough to wipe out armies.
The night in question fell two weeks before my sixteenth birthday. It seemed only fitting. After all, it was New Years Eve and Matt (abbreviation for Matthew) had presented me with a pre-birthday gift. A pair of dangly silver earrings sporting multi-coloured feathers, and a bottle of Tramp. The quintessential kit for an upwardly mobile amateur hippie of my description. The evening was off to a good start, despite the fact that Matt had arrived predictably two hours late.
I had borrowed a cheesecloth ankle length dress from my best friend. She had purchased it from an Indian Shop on trendy Grafton Street.
The fact that she was a blubbering 4ft nothing, equally as wide, and looked more like a St. Patrick’s Day float, did not deter her. However, perusing my own slender figure in the mirror, the dress was perfect. It was the ideal seventies sexual aid. Buttoned conveniently right down the front, any would be suitor, would be hard pressed not to manipulate the simple structure to his advantage. A few delicate flickering fingers could have it disrobed in one minute. I knew it took one minute because I did a dummy run twice, and timed it myself. My attire that evening was very important. With a spray of Tramp in all the right places, and my feathered friends jangling from my ears, I felt like a woman. Not at all, the fifteen year old girl that I was inside. I was in love with Matt and tonight was ‘the’ night. There was no doubt about it.
Earlier on in the pub that evening I was feeling queasy. Partly with excitement about what was to come, but more probably because of the six Bacardis and coke I had bravely poured down my throat. Matt & I linked little fingers under the table. I thought it was cute and I felt really happy.
The fact that Matt was mysteriously disappearing in to the toilet every five minutes did not diminish my enthusiasm. “The Sea view”, a dingy pub that boasted hideous 3D maroon coloured wallpaper, had only one saving grace.
It was conveniently situated 100 yards across from the seafront. Glasses clanked noisily, people laughed heartily; bad jokes were standard and vomiting compulsory. Swilling my Bacardi and coke around the glass like an expert wine taster, I watched the curious comings and goings.
Matt had disappeared again.
“What’s wrong with him,” I asked my friend Karen.
“Is he constipated?"
“Yeah, looks like it,” she laughed.
“Hey Mick,” she beckoned to the barman.
“ Do you serve laxatives?"
“Yeah, we serve anyone” came the tarty reply.
Matt returned looking sheepish and glassy eyed. He sat down beside me.
“Where were you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Ah man, the van was giving me trouble,”
Not bad I thought, I had heard worse. (N.B. For those of you unaccustomed to seventies garb, ‘in’ words included man, cool, freaked, wrecked, spaced). The truth was that Matt and his cronies were making their ritual rounds of the local chemists, gathering prescribed bottles of cough medicine, none of them had a cough to speak of, and the prescriptions were forged. It was a cheap and effective drug at the time. Failing that, they were crossing the road to the seafront were most of our hash supply was dealt. The peeling green painted shelters came alive at night. Couples huddled inside them, making use of their over sized duffel coats to camouflage their adolescent groping. Dutch clogs, red and yellow, scraped the pavement in haste, as five and ten spots were discreetly negotiated. Gangs congregated along the Clontarf Road, and all the way down the causeway. This was New Years Eve. You were supposed to be drunk, at the least stoned, but preferably both.
I had had a crush on Matt, since I was 9 and a half. We had enjoyed a turbulent and ever changing relationship. Of course Matt wasn’t aware of the fact that we had been having this fictitious affair. Most of it had been created in my head.
Posted by damien at 08:46 AM | Comments (0)