I’ll See by Gerard Ryan

He drives in through the estate. He puts his sunglasses on. The wheelie bin is in the neighbour’s drive. There is moss on the driveway. 

The postman beckons him over. Hands over letters and a parcel.  

“Thanks,” he says.  

When he rings the doorbell the dog comes first. He lets the dog jump up at him.  He crouches down and rubs the dog’s ears.  He’s seen dogs in the apartment block.  He’s never brought the dog there.  He remembers renting the three-bed apartment so they’d have room to stay. He bought a PlayStation too. He used it a couple of times himself to play FIFA and then never again.

The younger one takes the back seat. He always takes it now.  Even when alone. 

The older one, Ciarán, gets in the front.  He works his long legs around the bag and leaves his phone on the dash. He says nothing. Ciarán takes the phone down. He puts the address into Waze and it confirms twenty-five minutes to school.

He drove out of this estate every morning for nine years and then not at all and now he drives in twice a week to leave again. It looks the same.  

They pass the green where they used to kick football. He pulls into the slow line of traffic. Cars nudge forward at the lights. He’s forgotten the parcel. He’ll get it on Friday.

“Not that cold today,” he says.

“No,” says Ciarán.

He resists the urge to cough.  The tablets help but make him nauseous. He’ll mention that this morning.  

He asks Ciarán about his football manager. He asks about the match at the weekend, about their next opponents, Carraroe.  Ciarán says he’ll probably be midfield. He asks the right questions and listens the way he does across boardroom tables.  

In the mirror Ronan watches the houses go by through the window. His breath makes a cloud on the glass and the cloud disappears.

“Well,” he says, “big man. How’s the geography project? Did you do it on volcanoes?”

“Yeah,” says Ronan.

“Did you do much at the weekend?” he says.

“Stayed in,” says Ronan.

They pass the Centra and the tyre place with the broken sign. He swallows and can taste the metallic nasal spray.  A woman in the car ahead uses her mirror to dust make-up onto her chin.  

He waits. Ronan does not say anything.  He remembers carrying him asleep up the stairs, his own legs nearly buckled one of the last times. He’s taller than him now.

“Saturday,” he says. He says it toward the mirror.

“Will we do something. The cinema, maybe.” 

Ronan does not look away from the window.

“I’ll see,” Ronan says.

“Grand.”

He is sitting in traffic on the Taylor’s Hill Road at ten past eight on a Tuesday in October. Mid-term next week.  A week without the Tuesday and the Friday. The loss of routine.  Of the ordinary contact.

Two girls, primary school age, are on the footpath, their bikes stopped.  They remain frozen while a lorry reverses up the side road. 

At the roundabout he flicks through Spotify.  He glances at the back seat.  

A song about a break-up comes on and he skips it.  Puts on Fontaines DC. He remembers the lads used to hate them. Now they love them.

“I was too young,” says Ciarán.

He has seen them twice. Once on his own and once standing beside Ciarán, watching the boy watch them.  On the drive home Ciarán said it was his favourite gig ever.   He stayed awake that night.  

They are going again in December. All three of them for the first time. A night away. He counts the days to any event together now. The way, as a boy, he counted down to Christmas and birthdays.  

A Hero’s Death comes on.  He watches Ronan in the mirror. The boy’s face has changed this year. Sharper at the jaw.   His eyes avoid him in the mirror.  The small boy who cried for five minutes when he killed a bee against the kitchen window. The boy who paused their game of hide and seek to go to the toilet.   He needs a haircut he thinks.  He doesn’t mention it.  

He thinks of the kitchen before. The boys at the table. The Tuesday morning small talk over cereal bowls, lunches made on the counter. A horn behind him. He closes the gap to the next car.

A man carries a dog into a vet.  The dog looks happy but old. He lets a woman reverse into the road.  She gives him a wave.  He has a meeting in the office he wants to prepare for.   The consultant appointment is at 9.30.  He checks the time.  Should be there okay.  

Ciarán’s lips move as he mouths the words. His hand lightly taps on his thigh. 

Ronan has stopped watching the window. In the mirror his father can see his head bob almost imperceptibly. He stops when he sees he is being watched.

He looks back at the road.

“Good song,” he says.

“Yeah,” Ronan says to the back of the front seat.

He thinks about the photo he saw this morning online and Ciarán was smiling and that it was nice to see.  He prints photos now more than he did.

The school appears too soon.  The usual chaos around it.  He pulls in off the main road beside the row of shops so there’s no rush to get out. He turns the music off before the car stops. Since they were small they insisted.  He takes his sunglasses off. He puts his hands back on the wheel. Glances at his phone. A car pulls in behind them and waits.

Ciarán is half out.

“Love you. Thanks for the lift.”

“Love you,” he says. “Have you all your bits? Have a good day in school. Do your best.”

Ronan gathers his bag slowly. At the door he stops.

“See ya.”

“Take your time. Love you. Enjoy school.”

“Thanks Paul,” says Ronan.

He watches him walking away. The jacket too light for October. The bag over one shoulder. He notices they are walking together now. Not too long ago the older one went ahead. He’ll be in college next year. Just Ronan for the school run. He watches them through the gates. He watches the gates a moment after.

He turns the music back on. Turns up the volume. Then he puts the hospital address into Waze, though he knows the way now, gives him an arrival time of 9.15 which will make parking easier.  His weekly appointment on the second floor.  He pulls out into the traffic.  

He skips back to the Spotify recent songs. He chooses When We Were Young by Whipping Boy. He thinks about the months ahead and says to himself it’ll be alright, you’ll be alright. On Friday morning he’ll ask about the cinema again and get it confirmed. See what’s on and maybe they can go for food first.

The low sun is in his eyes. He turns onto the Newcastle Road.