Page 50 of Love Unlocked

‘Do you want these now, or later?’ Natasha says, holding a half-filled bin liner in her hand.

‘What is that?’

‘Today’s post.’ She smiles. ‘About the Grace Plunkett Bridge. I read a few of them, they’re so romantic, and some of them are desperately sad.’

Stunned, he takes the bag from her, brings it into the office and dumps it in the corner.

Hot off his TV studio stint, Walter returns to the office a little later, wearing TV make-up, to a chorus of cheers, though Natasha snarls and looks away. She looks to Al with a supportive smile before burying herself in her desk work. She’s the kind of person you want on your side, staunchly loyal and protective and a nightmare if you piss her off. Walter is embarrassed but gives his colleagues a kind of self-conscious wave as though trying to appear cool and go along with it. The Walter he knew would have refused to go on the television, point blank, even if it meant losing his job. He was humble and self-effacing. He liked hugging the walls, watching from the sidelines. Al’s rowing buddies had nicknamed him The Shadow because he was always just there. Al had always encouraged Walter to come along with him and get involved, come on let’s talk to this group of girls, let’s ask these lads if we can play football, come on let’s move to Dublin, let’s live together, come work with me, come on, move in with me and Tara. Al had wanted to experience everything with his friend, his personalised version of social media. Has it even happened if Walter isn’t there?

Now that Al analyses it, it may have been perceived as patronising behaviour towards his friend, trying to organise and motivate him as if his life hadn’t been good enough. Because Al did think that Walter was living a shadow life, that he was falling short of his full potential. He did think that it was his role to pull him along with him because that’s what his mum would have wanted and that’s what a friend should do. Walter had gone along with everything.

But he’d certainly stepped out of the shadows now and was making his own decisions. Al might have felt proud of him if it hadn’t involved him sleeping with his fiancée, he could have stood back and admired this transformation if it hadn’t been to the detriment and sabotage of his own joy. Walter’s new glow-up is by virtue of Al’s extinguished light. The thought of Walter and Tara together in a bed now doesn’t revolt Al to the point of vomiting anymore, or fill him with such a red-hot rage. Walter glances in Al’s direction before quickly turning away and stumbling as he bumps into a desk, with his thigh, and has to steady himself on a chair.

Al just feels sad.

He has lost. Walter has won. The fight is over.

At lunchtime he plays Boyz II Men’s ‘End of the Road’. Soulful voices, smooth, grown men singing about heartbreak and crying. They sing about being unable to sleep, unable to let go. It’s everything he needs to sit and stew in his grief. It’s raining as he walks to a café to buy his lunch, and he lets the tears run down his face. It’s the end of the road. It is. The emptiness, the utter feeling of failure and devastation.

He needs a new landscape. He needs to be a new Al. He doesn’t like this version of himself. For some weeks he was dangerously angry, now he is sad. The loss and the loneliness are seeping into the spaces anger was. Tara is not coming back. He thought she would. Walter’s not running scared, and he thought he would. If anything he’s doubling down. He’s growing in strength.

Inside the café, Al takes a seat facing the window and watches people racing by. He instinctively looks out for Melody, hopes to see her. He removes his headphones. It’s not the first time he’s thought of her, he’s had many flashbacks of their night together. Tender awesome moments sprinkled through his sadness. The tiny music notes tattoo on her breasts near her nipples, the sound that came from the back of her throat in pleasure, the way her eyelashes fluttered gently when he touched her.

He has thought of her a few times. But he’s ashamed that it is the first time he thinks of her in regards to Walter sitting on the couch on New Day. Prunella had stolen Melody’s precious story, the very thing she feared.

Holy Saturday 1916

My darling sweetheart

I got your dear letter by luck as I was going out at 9 this morning and have not had a minute to collect my thoughts since (now 2:45pm). I am writing this at above address here is a little gun which should only be used to protect yourself. To fire it push up the small bar under the word “safe” and pull the trigger – but not unless you mean to shoot. Here is some money for you too and all my love forever.

xxxxxxxxxxx Joe xxx

Letter from Joseph Mary Plunkett to Grace Gifford with instructions on how to use a gun he is giving her.

22 April 1916, twelve days before he was executed by firing squad in Kilmainham Gaol.

20

MELODY

Melody is still wearing her pink helmet when she storms into the Trance Productions offices. Prunella is in the canteen, all muted tones and slicked-back hair, nursing a cup of coloured tea, warming her hands around the mug. She looks like an ad for fabric softener, fresh and breezy, as though she’s pegged to a washing line and blowing in the wind.

The door bangs behind her. Prunella and Ed look up in surprise.

Melody lifts the visor. ‘What the hell was that about?’

Prunella arches a perfectly brushed eyebrow in amusement. She looks from Ed to Melody. ‘Did I do something?’

‘Prunella! Today on New Day, you had that environmental guy on from Bridgespan to talk about the love locks on the Grace Plunkett Bridge.’

Ed obviously didn’t know this. He looks at Prunella.

‘He was an ecologist, not your bridge guy.’ Prunella seems shocked. Shocked! As if totally unprepared for Melody’s anger and not anticipating it. ‘Why are you angry?’

Melody pulls off her helmet and can tell her hair is a mess from the way that Prunella is looking at her, but couldn’t possibly care about her appearance right now. She tries to stay calm, though her voice is trembling with rage. ‘The love lock story was my story for the podcast. And that’s why I’m quitting.’

‘What?’ Real shock from Prunella this time. It shows how fake the first time was.