Gurriers (90 page)

Then the couriers started arriving. Within minutes my bike was picked up, with my signature book used to stop the side stand sinking in the mud, my helmet was placed in the top box, all of my work and Vinno’s work was taken by volunteers who vowed that it would be highly prioritised and that our base would be phoned with signatures as soon as the jobs were dropped, I was supplied with a cup of sweet tea fetched from
the nearest petrol station and handed a lit cigarette. Everything that could be done for me was done for me, with me blubbering uncontrollably all the while.

Next on the scene were the Gardaí. Jim from Documents Direct, who knew who we were, explained what had happened, what had caused it and assured them that I was uninjured but inconsolable. He got more wound up than a courier should when dealing with the police about the cause of Vinno’s death. At one stage he kicked the sign – hard.

The physical impact of the kick combined with the potential for trouble snapped me out of my sobbing. Besides, I was actually exhausted, my eyes were stinging me, my throat was sore and my nose felt badly grazed from all of the rubbing. My body needed a break from the convulsions as much as my spirit needed a break from the grief.

The guard that Jim had been venting his rage towards was very professional and understanding about the emotional outburst that had been directed at him and did a good job of placating the angry courier while his companion took names and addresses of the witnesses to get them moving. With his fury spent, Jim bade me an emotional farewell before returning to work, leaving me physically and emotionally numb in the presence of three couriers and two guards.

Then the ambulance arrived. Two of the couriers were quick to return to their jobs, having made sure that there was nothing else they could do for me, leaving a young courier called Mick from Cheetah alone with me in awkward silence; the two gards having assigned themselves to briefing the two ambulance men, as they followed their procedures around Vinno’s body.

Mick lit up two cigarettes and sheepishly handed me one. I managed to croak a “cheers” to him, accepting it without averting my 1,000 yard stare from some point towards Templeogue.

I have no recollection of turning my radio off, or of having it turned off for me (or, for that matter, of anybody turning Vinno’s radio off), but somebody must have, because the first signal of Charlie’s arrival was the sound of Aidan’s voice over his radio coming closer as he approached me.

Had it been any of my other colleagues I would have been blubbering immediately, but because it was Charlie I gritted my teeth and managed to answer his questioning stare as his look went from ambulance men to me.

“He’s gone, Charlie.”

“Fuck.”

After a few seconds of silence, I was ready to get another sentence out – just about. “Some…some couriers took all the work. They…they said they’d ring the base.”

“Fuck the work!” he shouted while being on the verge of breaking down. Just because I had never seen it didn’t mean that the man didn’t have a softer side.

“Did you...did you see what happened?” He had to fight to get the words out. The first tear escaped as soon as he had. That got me going as well, but I managed to blurt out, “I was right behind him” before bawling once more.

In all the time that I knew Charlie, he had surprised me plenty of times with the things he had done and said, but none more than what he did on that roundabout for all the world to see. He hugged me. I could feel him bawling also as I hugged him back.

Cheered me up is the wrong expression but sharing the loss with another of Vinno’s comrades was hugely beneficial. I had just about regained my composure when, a couple of seconds later, Aidan ended our tearful embrace.

“Two Charlie, two,” he said tentatively.

Charlie gulped two big handfuls of air, leaving tears unattended, rolling down both sides of his face while finding his voice to answer. “Yeah…I’m here now.”

Mick made the most of the pause in our base controller’s response, waving goodbye to me as I strained to listen to Charlie’s radio for the response – oblivious to the fact that I could have just turned my own on.

“What’s the story there, Charlie?” Aidan asked in a voice that was obviously dreading the reply.

“Vinno’s gone. Shy Boy’s badly shaken up. Both of their work has been looked after.”

“Oh no. Everybody stand by con…controller steppin’ out.
Yes, Gizzard, it’s the worst.”

Charlie turned off his radio and we watched the ambulance men load Vinno’s body into the ambulance in morbid silence. The gards were both concentrating on getting the traffic moving around the stationary vehicles.

I was a bit surprised to be approached by one of the ambulance men after they had the trolley loaded. “The gards tell me that you were with him when he crashed.”

“I was behind him.”

“I’d like to take you with us to treat you for shock.”

“I’m not in shock.”

“Everybody who’s in shock says that.”

“I’ve been a courier for two years, I’ve had plenty of crashes, I know what shock feels like and I’m not in shock.”

“Nonetheless, I’d like to bring you with us.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere with you.”

“Look, there can be side effect-”

“He said he’s noh goin’ with yiz an’ that’s fuckin’ that, rie?” Charlie’s grief turned to aggression worryingly fast, considering it was aimed at a member of the emergency services with the gards just out of earshot. It was a genuine relief when the ambulance man backed down and returned to the ambulance.

“Are you sure you’re Okay to drive”

“It’s what I do, Charlie.”

“You goin’ for pints or an’in?”

“No. Just…home, I suppose.”

“Listen…er…don’t worry about the Blade, I’ll geh tha’ taken care of. The gards’ll tell his ex an’ all. You jus’ look after yourself, yeah?”

“Thanks Charlie. One thing though, could you tell the lads that I’d…I’d appreciate all the visits I’d get off them?”

“Don’t you worry, brother, you’ll be gettin’ loads a’ them!”

I did manage to drive my bike home without incident, though torn to pieces thinking about the loss that so many people would feel with Vinno’s passing. Little Aoife was foremost in my mind, as I cursed those that I deemed responsible for the death of her daddy. I thought of Natalie, as I cursed those responsible for
the death of her boyfriend. I thought of his parents, as I cursed those responsible for the loss of their son. I thought of all of his workmates, past and present, as I cursed those that I deemed responsible for the loss of their comrade.

I thought of them all as I cursed the skip company and the skip driver for the slop on the road.

I thought of them all as I cursed everybody responsible for the sign on the roundabout.

I thought of them all as I cursed myself for nailing it as fast as I could after Vinno.

When I first awoke I was just about aware, in my hangover-dulled, alcohol-ridden senses, that this was a day of significant occasion. My first instinct was to get up and knock on Vinno’s door, as I had done on every day of significant occasion in the year and a half that I had been living here. Then it hit me, with gut wrenching clarity, that the occasion was my best friend’s funeral.

My first reaction was an attempt to delve back into the protective depths of sleep, but it was too late for that. The full impact of the greatest loss that I have ever experienced was upon me and there was no escaping it. All I could do was to curl up into a foetal position and bawl my eyes out.

I thought I had experienced the ultimate loss when the love of my life ended our relationship. I always knew that it would have been worse had she died, but I always believed my suffering to be similar to that which I would go through had she died. I now know that to be bullshit.

No matter how badly the end of a relationship hits a person there will always be a bed of hope to ease the suffering; from the immediate hope instilled by writing a begging letter
and huge amount of comfort thus derived to the faint hope that someday in the distant future your paths might cross again and your feelings will be rekindled with a successful outcome and a happy ending, which dwells unnoticed in the subconscious to be drawn upon in darker hours. No such hope exists in the case of death.

Death deals a definitive devastating disaster. There is no comfort, no respite.

I would compare the two losses to jumping out of a window to escape a fire. With a break up you land on a mattress; with death you land on concrete.

When the alarm went off I managed to drag myself, still sobbing, out of bed to face the trials of the day. After getting dressed, I managed to get some nourishment into me: a banana, a half bowl of flakes (as Vinno used to call all breakfast cereal) and most of one slice of toast with a cup of tea, before allowing myself what I craved the most that morning – a very strong joint made up of a mind numbing cocktail of grass, pollen and soap bar cannabis.

I was almost halfway through this emotional anaesthetic when the doorbell rang. I had wobbled my way down to the hallway before recalling the arrangement a few of the lads had made in the pub the previous night to rendezvous here and set off to the church in Ballybrack together for our dear friend’s final farewell.

Ray’s cherubic face looked more haggard than I had ever seen it as I opened the door, with a pale and gaunt Naoise on one shoulder and solemn Shay on the other.

The presence of my comrades sparked a surge of emotion and I lunged forward ambiguously with my arms stretched wide and my eyes welling up.

I managed to encompass all three as I wept, though it was only super quick reactions that prevented Shay’s ear from being burnt by the lighting joint in my left hand. Their hands patted my back consolately and I could feel Ray sobbing as the four of us made our way through the front door as one grief stricken
unit, hampered only by the necessary repositioning of helmets.

Shay peeled off first, still aware of the proximity of the burning ember, then Naoise and finally Ray – wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. They moved past my bike in single file as I closed the door and trudged mournfully up the stairs after them. We filed into the kitchen after Shay, who was the first to speak, but not until he had filled the kettle and put it on.

“This is not going to be an easy day for us, lads.”

“Never thought I’d ever live to see this day.”

A tearful Ray had busied himself with skins at the kitchen table. Naoise, sitting in silence beside him, just stared absent-mindedly out the kitchen window.

“Here, Ray, have a drag o’ this.”

“Cheers, Sean.”

For the next few minutes the only sound was the assorted clattering of Shay preparing four cups for the tea.

When Naoise spoke his first words of the day it was a little bit startling, as so often is when such a slight man spoke with such a booming voice, but this time it was more down to context rather than volume. “It’s not the same within these walls now that Numero Uno is gone.”

“Never will be again,” murmured Ray.

This time the silence was broken by the agitated boiling of the water in the kettle reaching its zenith before being appeased by the familiar click. Shay seemed glad of the distraction.

“Okay, two sugars for Shy Boy, two and lots of milk for Ray, none with little milk for Naoise.”

“Cheers Shay.”

“Nice one.”

“Thanks.”

We had finished my joint and smoked about half of Ray’s when the doorbell rang again.

The sight of two more ashen faced comrades greeted me, as I swung open the door - Gerry and the Gizzard. These two didn’t have to endure the emotional breakdown that the others had and returned my solemn nod of greeting as they brushed past me. The two bags of beer they each brandished was a welcome
sight. It might only have been ten in the morning on a day when we all had plenty of driving to do, but I genuinely felt that the sooner alcohol was introduced into the equation, the better.

By eleven o’clock we had had two cans of beer each and the smokers had had several more joints. We were loosening up, morphing into what the session would have us be, approaching our comfort zone where we would be best equipped to endure what we had to endure that day.

We had to be careful though. It was going to be a long day and we would be drinking for most of it (not to mention driving). Getting too drunk too early would bring extra negative parameters into a situation that was already very tough.

“One more can an’ we’ll get crackin’, boys.”

“Wha’ time is it?”

“Ten past eleven.”

“Sure we’ve loadsa time.”

“An’ loadsa beer drunk.”

“Jus’ a few cans.”

“That’s loads for this hour, sure we’ll all be locked later!”

“’Member how locked Vinno was a’ Gary’s funeral?”

“Yeah, an’ he still clicked a bird!”

“Good ole Number One. To Vinno!”

“Vinno!”

Once all the cans had been clinked together everybody took an extra long swig to salute our departed buddy. Then Shay took control of the proceedings.