Funderland

By Eoin O'Donnell

Dublin.
1999- the end of the century.
Four friends are trying to find their way through the dark and dirty corners of the human heart.
Reynard is a writer who doesn't write. Angie is a waitress. Matt works in a bookstore. Jack has gone missing.
Dealing with love, loss, addiction, births and deaths they stumble their way through life - sometimes sad, angry and lonely, sometimes ridiculous and hilarious - hoping to find some elusive happiness, some beauty and some honesty.

If you are fan of Nick Horny, Anne Enright and Michael Chabon then you will love Funderland.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eoin O'Donnell
• Release date: Aug 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393004615

Book preview

Part One

Life is nothing until it is lived, but it is yours to make sense of, and the value of it is nothing else but the sense that you choose.

Jean Paul Sarte, philosopher

JACK

I watch my father as he is lowered into the earth.

My mother, crying, beside me. Marie, my sweet Marie, holds my arm so tight I think it's gone numb. The air is cold. Wrapping itself tighter in the November morning. The sun is out but it's only here in spirit. The priest is saying some words. Catholicism was something I never got. My parents did. So does Marie. I haven't tried it properly. I don't know where to begin. Sometimes I find something though. I think God is with me somehow. I just can't fathom the constant guilt. Maybe because I've been constantly guilty for a long time. The crowd is mumbling a reply or blessing themselves. The grave looks desolate. The stony soil is almost frightening. I'd prefer if he was cremated but this is what he wanted. His death was not a surprise. Cancer has a strange way of making death easier to deal with. Maybe because it's inevitable. Or the imminence of it. He was given six months to live two years ago. Those eighteen months was a bonus. We nursed and took care of him. All even despite his disapproval of it. He wanted to do it himself but eventually he was too weak and he became bedridden. That was a few months ago and now he's dead and in the ground.

It's not as if I made his life any easier. I never made anyone's life any easier. Never tried. I came home more than a year ago. I knew my father needed me and I knew my mother needed me more. She cried a lot then and she cries a lot now. The house I grew up in hadn't changed. It was still empty in some rooms and warm in others. I was followed home. Some problems refuse to die. But I managed to beat my past despite its insistence. Although sometimes they still loom just on the horizon. Watching my move left or my move right. When I came home I was in a bad way. I had had a huge fight with Angie and run away. It wasn't her fault. It was my fault. All of it. Poor Angie. I hope she has someone now. Maybe Reynard married her. I got lost. Maybe. I slept rough for a week. I was missing. High. I lost weight, the bit that I had, and ended up in hospital. When I woke up after a few days there was a ghost at the end of my bed. He told me that I had to go somewhere, anywhere, somewhere where I could get better. This was the first time someone spoke to me without expecting me to make them laugh or letting the conversation drift onto the party the night before. He didn't want to bum a cigarette. I didn't owe him money. He spoke to me about my problem and it opened my eyes. This ghost was right. I had a compulsion towards getting high. He said that to me. He said that it wasn't an addiction that it was something that I could control. It was my life I was wasting was his point. I don't know why he gave me this advice but he obviously had some reason. I wondered whose ghost it was. When my parents came they told me to thank the doctor. I knew he wasn't a doctor. But maybe he was. He suggested I go somewhere safe and asked me where this would be. I told him home and he rang the number for me. My mother and father came and collected me. My father was in the front seat like a ghost. He was in the middle of a bad spell. Later my mother told me that when he heard I was in trouble he insisted on coming to get me. He couldn't let me down. They drove me home and put me into bed and I stayed inside for a month. A month that long can be hell.

I hit the wall pretty bad. I lost more weight and I got very ill. I attended the clinic which was where I met Marie. My beautiful Marie who saved me. She was sent from God. I'm sure of it. My recovery began. I moved fast. I got better and better and Marie said my progress was excellent. Maybe deep down, while I was doing it out of necessity for me to survive, I did it for my parents. Years of not returning their calls and bad behaviour and worse. I was killing myself. I knew that. But I was killing them. It's fitting that I came home in time to see my Dad die. He died in the hospital.

The house is full of people. Packed into the sitting room. Making this old place seem more alive. Well-wishers and various family members. I recognise some people and some people recognise me. There are a lot of handshakes and some laughter usually from someone talking about the old man. Everybody grieves in their own way. My mother has dealt with it well. I wonder if she'll be okay. What about in six months or a year? She's got a sister that lives nearby and a brother as well. I've no brothers or sisters. Dad has one brother. I just hope that everybody comes out of it okay. I have to be strong but I need strong people around me. I've had that for the last while. Some old guy shakes my hand and offers me condolences. I accept gracefully. I don't have anything to add and I don't wait around. I don't want to talk about my old man and I move on. I just can't right now. I drift around the living room quietly tidying a little bit just so I don't have to get stuck talking to anyone. Talking serious was never a strong point of mine.

I've learned to cope with the guilt. There was guilt after I left the guys behind. The guilt of running away from Reynard and everybody. It took me a long time. I was told I had to worry about me. Become selfish in a positive way. But it was all too much just before I left. Amy was gone and Reynard wasn't in a position to help. Matt was suffering too. He was going to ask his girl to marry him. He told me one night. He never got the chance. I feel terrible because I can't remember her name. She was very beautiful though. Angie is the one that I hurt the most. She worked hard for me. She tried to help but I didn't take it. Her aunt wasn't well either and she hadn't much of a family. I didn't make it easy. I very rarely made it easy for anyone.

I've made some big changes. I married Marie six months ago. I'm twenty-nine so it was time I was married. She's is a nurse in the local clinic and we hit it off. It took a while. At first I was just another idiot. I was always an idiot but the last few years I've been a big idiot. Now I was one who needed help or that's the way I saw it. I think she felt sorry for me. I was always impulsive but I've had no regrets with her. She's good for me. I think I'm good for her. She introduced me to all her friends. She's got lovely friends. They took a liking to me. Maybe the jokes, maybe the stories, I don't know.  She helped me get back on my feet. My parents helped me too. I had to seek forgiveness from them but most of all I had to forgive myself. I had to let go of the Jack from old and embrace my future. Bright. Sunshine. Even when things are bad. Marie was the future. I knew I could make it because of her. I thanked God for helping me find her. I thanked God for all that's happened me now. Even the bad. The bad has brought out all the goodness. I can only thank God for that. I have God in me somewhere. I get a dig out sometimes.

We got married in a little church in the centre of town. It was a small wedding. A lot of the people who are at this funeral were at the wedding. Same faces, different expressions. I wish the guys could have been at my wedding. I wish they could see me now and how far I've come. I'd like to see them again. They were my friends for so long. We laughed so much. Big laughs with good times. Carried each other. For a while anyway. I try not to think of the times we had because of the lifestyle that I lived but Marie says it’s okay. I shouldn't be afraid of what I was. I should just know that my life is better now. Which is true. But it's my friends that made my life worthwhile. Marie is the centre now but they are still a part of it. They tried to help but in the end I abandoned them. They didn't abandon me. That's the difference.       

Jack?

Marie finds me alone.

What's wrong, babe, she arrives at my side.

I stand in the kitchen looking out the window. It's dark outside but the moon is bright. She knows what's on my mind.

You're doing all the right things, she says. You've come home. It's all okay. You have to work at it but its okay. She has her arms around me from behind. Her head rests against my back.

Think I need to see the guys, I say.

I can feel her breathe heavier against my neck. "Your old friends?

They'll always be my friends.

She holds me tighter. I know.

I think maybe I should go.

I hear her hold her breath. You should, she says. I turn to face her and I'm expecting a sad face and some disappointment but I get a smile and some tears. The tears are easier to deal with. When she's happy she cries. But why is she happy? Or is it sadness this time?

I want you to go, she tells me.

I have to.

She nods, smiles and kisses me and nothing more needs to be said.

I have to see my friends. It's been too long. Maybe they need me now.

REYNARD

Angie must be up. I can hear her move around. She must be making breakfast. Angie makes great breakfast. I’ve never tasted it, I don’t think, but I know by the smell. She gets a lot of her food for free from the café where she works. Well, when I say it’s free I mean she makes it free. Well, I think she does anyway. I’d probably be disappointed if I thought she bought it. If she does steal the food, it’s probably when he boss or some other asshole has ruined her day. Sometimes she has fruit for breakfast, sometimes just a cup of coffee. I don’t eat breakfast. I gave it up ages ago because it got too boring. It is too boring. I know people, lots of people, who have the same two-course meal every day. What’s the point in eating the same thing every morning? You know, cornflakes followed by tea and toast. Not even anything on the toast. Maybe butter. And you can bet your bottom dollar that it’s the same type of butter too. It’s like having the same dinner every day. I think that’s weird because if you ask someone would they eat the same dinner every day they’d look at you as if you were a fucking mutant but these are the same people that get up out of their single or double beds, use the bathroom, wash, dress, stroll into the kitchen and pull the same thing out of the oppress day after day. Okay, I’ll be honest. Sometimes I have breakfast. I’ll eat toast one day and pancakes the next. If I have the same thing two days in a row I’ll try to have something different on it like jam or maple syrup. Angie eats breakfast because she has all the weird stuff they cook at the café where she works. I don’t think she does it out of enjoyment though. It’s more like it’s out of necessity. Angie’s too cool to eat breakfast. She eats while she dresses. While she dresses she tidies her place and whiles she’s tiding she collects thing to throw out. I’m sure there are those who think I just sit here and stare down at her all day but I don’t. She’s at work most of the time anyway. But you get to know someone. And Angie and I know each other pretty well. That happens when you have a hole in your apartment.

She looks up.  

I look away and she continues on as if nothing happened.

What’s wrong, Reynard?

Same ol’, same ol’, I guess. If nothings ever changed I suppose nothing ever will.

I don’t know. I can’t remember.

Angie smiles up at me. But not one of those oh-you’re-so-cute kind of bullshit smiles, it’s more like a whatever-keeps-you-happy-Reynard kind of smiles. I much prefer the latter.

Well, whatever it is I’m sure you’ll remember in good time. She tips the contexts lying on her tiny coffee table into the black sack she’s carrying. Cigarette ashes, sweet papers, paper cups with dry cold coffee still remaining at the end all get tossed in. She then scratches the remnants of some solid candle wax from the same table and brushes it clean with her hand. She circles the soda, which is a lot like mine but placed nearer the front wall, and picks up some rubbish that is lying behind it. Last week’s newspapers, leaflets that were in her mailbox and some other miscellaneous bits of crap. I can never understand why people always stuff loads of them double glazed window offers or transform your attic pieces in with your mail. I know the kids distributing them want to get rid of them all but why do they put them into the mailboxes of apartments like these? Think about it: if I wanted to transform my attic I would have to get Jem evicted. If Angie wanted to get her attic transformed she would have to get me evicted. This all causes a lot of problems with the occupant of each apartment not to mention the landlord, not to mention the cost. Although if Angie wanted my apartment I’d probably give it to her. It’s not as if I’d miss it.

As Angie circles the sofa she goes out of my view and I strain forward to see her. As I do she looks up again. She caught me looking. She always does. I jerk back into my previous position and sit still as if playing hide and seek. She comes back into view. She’s finished cleaning. She’s looking in her Victorian style mirror that can flip from one side to another like a carnival ride and is now brushing her hair. It’s dark brown. I think its real pretty. I’d call it brunette but that would be too clichéd, right?

You look nice today, Angie, I say, half to myself. I don’t think she heard me.

She’s holding the ends and doing long sweeping brushes from top to bottom. She finishes and drops the brush on the sofa. The brush is a big blue one with a pink handle with dozens of grips on it. I think it’s strange that a brush should have such an exquisite design. She looks at herself for a moment. Thank you, she says.

She turns and looks up. How’s the book?

No comment. 

That bad, yeah? She picks up her bag. Now ready she is filling it full of something. Change, pills, I don’t know. You know, Reynard, I’d love to stay all day and laugh with you but I gotta go and serve some commuters coffee.

I smile at her. Don’t forget to spit in every tenth one.

I won’t, and she’s gone.

I hope Matt calls over. I’m in the mood for him. His way. When he comes over I feel a bit better. I don’t want to ring him because he’ll only try to get me to come out and I don’t really want to. It’s this book. I really want to get going on it and, well, maybe he’d distract me too much or something. I don’t know. Although I do like when he drops by. His advice helps and I think my advice helps him and that makes it okay. I guess a person isn’t your friend if aren’t on level terms with them and I think I’m on level terms with mine. I’ve always tried to make sense of my friends but they don’t. I think it’s better that way, I don’t think I make sense but I believe that my friends prefer that way. I wouldn’t be good ol’ Reynard J. Prufrock if I adopted a completely new manner, would I?   

My problem I really have to get going on this book and well, if Matt comes over than that will delay it for a little while. It will take my mind off it and that suit me fine. But he usually ends up dragging me out and around the town, which isn’t that bad, but every time he comes over we go out and the book suffers a bit. I love writing. It kills me but I love it. I suppose there’s always going to be a lot of hate and despair involved in something you love and vice versa. Angie told me to keep working hard at it and I if persevere I’ll get through it. But I have to work hard. Shit. That’s what people have told me all my life. I know Angie didn’t mean it like the way all those jerks that said it to me before meant it. People like my old teachers who used to say all that crap at the end of my report card and at the parent-teacher meetings and made my mother cry. Maybe I wasn’t happy at school. Maybe I didn’t fit in. Maybe I was just a boy. They didn’t seem to care. They just liked to blame me. They said I was a bad student. But maybe they were the problem. Maybe they were bad teachers.

I could say it doesn’t bother me but it still does. Just like when you get beaten up after school or when the class cool guy starts putting chewing gum down your jumper and pretending he didn’t do it and you know he did it because he was on the defensive before I even said anything. I remember one guy. When no one else was around he’d be so nice to me. Asking how I was getting on and all that. Then when his pals showed up he’d take my bag or pour coke all over my books. He did it on the quiet too. While I wasn’t looking and always played the innocent. What a horrible person. At least have the guts to be a proper bully. And I could never do anything about it. Him and his friends were all sports players and the sports players never got in trouble. I wish I had stood up to them but what I could do? All that crap is bound to affect you in some way. It’s funny because I know it affected me but I don’t know exactly how. Is it good? If it is it’s because I learned how to get on with it and not let bastards like that get me down or not let them know that they’re getting you down. Is it bad? If it is it’s because sometimes I think about them and I can’t help it. Those fuckers treated me so bad and I’ll never forgive them for that.

The door opens. It’s Matt. Thank God. I was just about to go crazy. A few years ago I gave the guys a key for my place. Just in case they needed to let themselves in. It’s for emergencies but Matt doesn’t like waiting downstairs. He looks a little different.

What you think?

It’s a new jacket.

Dangerous, isn’t it? he says.

I have to say it is a great looking jacket. Very nice.

Guess where I got it? he says suddenly real excited.

I shrug.

That’s not a guess.

I shake my head.

He looks at me sideways.

I lie back and throw my hands in the air.

A market?

Close, he tells me.

Tell me quick. I’m going insane with wonder.

A thrift store, he says as if he’s won the lottery.

Where?

Eager Beaver in Temple Bar. Bit of a surprise to find something nice in there.  Cost me forty lids. Not bad. Bet you’re jealous?

I stare back at him. I can’t help but laugh.

Emerald, I say. Matt shoots me a look and gives a mad laugh like a crow on speed. But it is a great jacket. It’s brown leather that goes just below the waist. It suits him because he’s tall and stocky and he’s wearing it open so he does look pretty cool. Like a romantic figure you read about in a fifties novel. And old Matt’s got a great name: Matt Henderson. Simple, but not as simple as it sounds like an alias. I told him that before and he loved that his name sounded fake. Don’t know what the hell he meant. We were drunk at the time. I don’t think anything means anything when you’re drunk.

We sit for a while and I answer his quick questions. He asks where Angie is, what time she’ll be off at, how is she, have I seen anyone else? Sadly all my answers are obvious and negative though not at the same time. We sit silently for a moment.

How’s the book?

I drop my head. Hopefully he’ll accept this as an answer and drop the point. But he then says: You told me I could read it.

When did I say that?

A couple of weeks ago.

Where? 

My place. You, Dave and me. We were drinking Southern Comfort.

That doesn’t count.

Why or why not?

I was drunk. Mad drunk.

So was I.

So?

Well, just because I remember you telling me I could do something does not make the agreement null and void.

I think for a second.

No legal agreements can be made while intoxicated.

Legal? You mean I have to contact your publisher if I want to see your book? Is it even started?

It’s all a work in progress. You can’t read one part without the other.

Matt sits and begins to stare at the floor. He then looks up and smiles.

C’mon. Let’s get out of here.

Told you he’d do that.

ANGIE

If no customers came into this place then it wouldn’t be a bad job at all. Everyone here is okay. It’s called Flanagan’s. Right in the centre of town so we get all sorts of traffic. My boss isn’t the worst either. Actually he’s quite nice. I get days off when I need them and he even gave me a raise a while ago. His name is Jimmy. He’s a big heavy set guy with giant hands and kind eyes. He turned and said to me in his gruff but sweet voice: Angie, I don’t think all those guys would wait so long for their steak if it wasn’t for you. Come see me about a raise. I thought it was really nice of him. Although I don’t know what he was talking about regarding the steak? The others aren’t that bad and we generally go out for drinks on occasions and have a laugh but it’s nothing special. I’d rather hang out with the guys and girls who I’ve always hung out with but, well, let’s just say that everyone seems to be on their own time