The Party: Part Six. Everybody's Evening.

Jeremy sat up from the dust and debris strewn floor. All he had to show from his idiotic suicide attempt was a coating of white powdered plaster from the now collapsed ceiling and a handful of cobwebs in his hair.
Paul would murder him if he ever found out. He decided to vacate the room as fast as possible and act innocent. He ran across the hall to the main bathroom and began to clean the dirt off with a clothes brush. As he worked, he heard Paul pound up the stairs to find the source of the crashing noise that the falling ceiling had caused.

Paul entered his parent's bedroom and practically screamed the house down when he saw the destruction. Once Jeremy had removed every speck of dirt he joined his friend in the demolished room.
"Paul! what as that?" said Jeremy, feigning concern and ignorance.
"The roof collapsed!" exclaimed Paul, pointing to the ruined bedroom. "My parents are going to kill me."
"You didn't do anything, it just collapsed."
"They'll never believe that. They'll send me off into exile."
"We'll think of something, mate." said Jeremy, trying to re-assure his friend.
Brian came up the stairs and joined the other two.
"Hey fellas, I heard a noise, what happened?"
Paul looked at the new arrival coldly: "Who let you in?"
"Lisa."
"Well, you weren't invited."
"We brought beer."
"You can stay, I guess."
"So what happened? Spontaneous roof collapse?"
"Yeah." said Jeremy. "It looks like that."
"Insurance will cover it. Just tell your parents the truth, none of us caused it. Ring them in an hour or two, tell them you were at the cinema and came home and it was like this."
"My Dad's a solicitor, he'll know I'm lying. Besides, I was forbidden from having a party, if they know anyone was here I can say goodbye to ever being allowed outside again."
"Well then, my friend...you are screwed. Dutch Gold?" said Brian, offering his half empty can to Paul.
Paul took the can and knocked it back. It might be the last alcoholic beverage to pass his lips for some time.

"I see all the colours." said Maura. "So pretty!"
She rolled around on the carpet, trying to touch every fibre.
"You idiot. Look what you did? Since when are ecstasy tablets a treatment for headaches." said Lisa.
"I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry." lied Sean.
"You're going to have to look after her. How long will those last?"
"I don't know. A few hours?"
"Christ. Could this evening get any worse?"
The doorbell rang.
"I'll get it, It's probably the GAA lads."
Lisa left the room. Maura stayed on the ground, giggling as the paracetemol went through her system. Sean wondered how it could have this effect. it must be that placebo thing he'd heard about, like when you gave someone water and told them it was vodka and they got really drunk on nothing.
The sound of a herd of elephants rampaging through the hall probably meant that the local football team had arrived in the house.
The door swung open and about half the team entered. All of them were carrying enough alcohol to destroy the hardiest of livers. They started talking about their favourite topics: themselves. Sean had never met a GAA player who didn't love himself deeply. After a minute of hearing them blather on, Sean decided that he needed another beer and left the room to go to the kitchen. Maura would be OK for a few minutes.
Sean grabbed two beers from the fully stocked fridge and returned to the living room. Maura was nowhere to be found.
Sean ran from the room and began to search the house. She must have wandered off in some faux-drug addled daze. Then Sean noticed that the front door had been left open. He dashed out into the garden.
"Maura! Where are you?" he cried.
"I'm up here!" she responded from the edge of the roof, two stories above.
"How did you get up there?"
"I floated. Whooooo!" She laughed.
"I'm going to get a ladder, don't do anything!"
"It's Ok." She said. "I can fly!"
She jumped off the roof and landed in a patch of shrubs. Sean ran over and pulled her out of the foliage. She was unharmed.
"I'm amazing! I'm the queen." Maura shouted at the sky.
"You're a fricken moron. Those were headache tablets!"
"Bullshit. I can see through time. Anadin doesn't do that to you." said Maura as she got to her feet, kicked off her shoes and ran barefoot across the grass.
Sean sighed. He was beginning to regret every wanting to stick his tongue down the throat of a woman who was so dumb.
Maura danced across the lawn for a few minutes but then lost interest and started staring at the gravel on the drive-way as if it contained the secrets of the universe. Sean grabbed her by the arm and gently pulled her back towards the house.

The footballers were getting loud and boisterous as they shouted above each other in an attempt to be heard over each other's bragging. Within seconds it had degenerated into a full on brawl. People were punched and headbutted, objects were thrown and the living room window was smashed.
Paul, Brian and Jeremy rushed downstairs as they heard the fight start. It was war. Furniture was smashed to kindling as the footballers wrestled and tried to strangle each other.
Paul waded in to the melee and tried to calm things down. He was punched in the head for his troubles and crawled back out of the chaos into the hall, clutching his face. Blood gushed out of his nose.
"What is going on in there?" asked Brian.
"Someone sold the footballers alcohol." said Paul.
"Bad call."
"We need to break that up before they destroy the house." said Jeremy. He ran off to the kitchen and grabbed the fire extinguisher that was kept in a corner near the back door.
He returned to the living room and sprayed the fighters with the foam from the extinguisher. They stopped combatting each other as they slipped and slid around the slick, foamy carpet.
"Get out of my house." said Paul.
The footballers got to their feet and sheepishly exited the building.
Paul surveyed his destroyed living room as Lisa, Maura and Sean rejoined the group. He sat down and wept in terror.  
"Paul, no offence..." said Brian. "But this party sucked."

The Party: Part Five. Maura's Bad Trip.

Sean leaned against the doorbell on Paul's house. The bell buzzed. Sean kept up the pressure until Brian was sure that the house was going to shake down to the foundations. Suddenly, Lisa opened the door!
"Lisa, baby!" said Sean, looking the girl up and down. "Nice knees! They new?"
"What are you two doing here?"
"We're here for the party! we brought gifts!" replied Sean, offering Lisa the choice of a six pack of Dutch Gold or a sharing bag of "Doritos".
"Do you seriously think we're going to let you in just because you brought cheap beer and salty snacks?"
"Of course not! I have something else inside my coat pocket. Want to see them?" Sean replied.
He handed the beer and crisps to Brian and pulled out a plastic sandwich bag from his pocket, inside were a dozen yellow pills.
"Are those...you know?"
"Sure!"
"Well, I suppose you can come in then!"
Lisa stepped back and allowed the boys to enter.
"The kitchen is down at the end of the hall. You can put your beer in the fridge."
"Cool! thanks!" said Brian.
Sean and Brian went to the kitchen.
"Dude! You have drugs?"
"Kind of. Pharmaceuticals anyway."
"Where did you get them?"
"The supermarket. They're not actually what Lisa seems to think they are. They're just paracetemol tablets dyed yellow with food dye."
"You told her..."
"No I didn't. She asked: "Are those...you know?" and I, naturally assuming she meant "paracetemol tablets dyed yellow" said "Sure!".
"You're the devil."
"Nah, just motivated to be at this party by any means. Purveying illegal highs, even fabricated ones, gets you into places. Ask Dennis Hopper."
"Who?" asked Brian.
"You need to spend your first term of college watching movies, your lack of pop cultural knowledge dismays me."

Paul surveyed his wardrobe and plotted his outfit for the evening. He had a near infinite number of rugby jerseys and t-shirts but he felt that this evening he needed to be classy! Time to break out one of his proper shirts!
He got dressed in black jeans and a red shirt. Then he slipped on a pair of black trainers.
He walked out of his room and entered his parent's bedroom across the hall. He just needed one more thing to complete his ensemble. His dad's Rolex. It was locked in a drawer on the dressing table beside the bed but Paul knew that the key was sellotaped to the headboard of the bed. Paul reached around the back of the headboard and pulled it free. He used the key on the dresser and reverentially extracted the watch. He opened the case that contained the watch and slipped it on his wrist. Paul left the room and went downstairs, practically stepping on Jeremy as he did so. Paul didn't even notice his friend, who was occupied with silently crying his broken heart out in the gloom of the unlighted hallway..

Jeremy wiped the tears from his eyes and scrambled to his feet. He'd never felt worse. Lisa had torn his soul out with her dismissive treatment of him. Well he was going to show her! He paced down the hallway to the bedrooms and entered the master bedroom. Paul's Dad would have exactly what he needed. Jeremy searched the wardrobes and doors until he found a selection of neck-ties. He took one out and wrapped it around his neck. Then he dragged an armchair which was position beside the window into the centre of the room and climbed on top of it. He tied the other end of the neck-tie to the light fixture in the ceiling and took a deep breath and jumped. It didn't work as intended. Jeremy pulled down the entire ceiling with his as he fell, clumps of plaster and wood showered the room.

Sean walked in on Maura as she lay on the couch of the living room.
"Hey Maura! How are you?"
"Heads killing me! Got into a fight."
"Oh yeah? Here..." said Sean as he took the bag of pills from his pocket. "...have one of these! They'll help."
Maura took two tablets from the bag and put them in her mouth. Sean passed her a can of Dutch Gold. She drank a mouthful and washed the pills down.
"Thanks!" she said gratefully.
"No problem." said Sean as he sat down on the couch beside her, hoping to play the white knight angle to his advantage.
Lisa entered the room and interupted his plans.
"Maura." Lisa said. "Feeling better?"
"Sean gave me some tablets to help with the headache."
"HE GAVE YOU WHAT?" shouted Lisa. "DID YOU GIVE HER SOME OF THE TABLETS FROM THE BAG?!" she roared at Sean.
"Yes...but..." Sean stopped speaking, he didn't want to tell Lisa he'd only brought in paracetemol and whatever she had told herself he had.
"Maura those were yokes!" said Lisa.
"What?
"He just gave you drugs."
Maura sat back on the couch as her mind took in the knowledge that she had ingested an illegal substance.
"I can feel something!" said Maura as she looked at her hand in awe. "My hands are massive and so colourful!" She stood up on the cushion of the couch. "I'm feckin' INVINCIBLE!!!!!!"
She rushed out of the room and battered through the doorway to escape the house.

The Party: Part Four. Lisa and Jeremy's Evening.

"Quit dabbing at the cut over your eye." said Lisa
"It needs stitches." complained Maura.
"It doesn't need stitches; it needs you to stop touching it."
Maura stopped poking ineffectively at the deep scratch on her forehead with the inundated piece of tissue paper. Laura had dug her fingernails right into her face during their brief brawl and now it was peppered with crescent shaped cuts.
The girls approached Paul's house on unsteady feet caused by a combination of too much wine and high heels.
Lisa supported Maura as they walked up the gravel driveway and reached the front door of Paul's house.
Lisa pressed the bell and it sounded. After a few seconds the door opened inwards. Jeremy was standing on the other side.
"Enter! If you dare...mwah ha ha.." Jeremy stopped suddenly, not wanting to look foolish in front of Lisa.
"Help me carry her in." Lisa said by way of greeting.
"Sure." said Jeremy, rushing to help. "What happened? Dog attack?"
"Something like that." hiccupped Maura.
"Is there a couch we can put her on?"
"Through here." said Jeremy.
He led the way through a never ending hallway to a well furnished living room that was bigger than most people's houses.
"Paul's parents own this?" asked Maura.
"No. They're squatters." answered Jeremy.
"Really?" said Maura.
"No. Paul's dad is some kind of Solicitor."
They sat Maura down on the couch.
"Can you get some first aid supplies? We need to do something about those scratches." said Lisa.
"I'll go ask Paul where that stuff is." said Jeremy as he ran out of the room.

Paul was upstairs in his bathroom, carefully shaving what little facial fluff he had. Jeremy knocked on the door.
"What's up?" said Paul.
"Dude! Lisa and Maura are here. I need first aid supplies."
"What did you do to them?"
"Nothing! Maura was attacked by a dog. I think. I need plasters and disinfectant."
Paul put down his razor and fished underneath the sink for the first aid kit. He pulled out the green plastic box and opened the bathroom door. He handed the box to Jeremy and closed the door again.
"Hey! wait!" said Jeremy. "Are you nearly finished. I can't be left alone with Lisa. I might say something stupid!"
"Two minutes and I'll be ready."
"Ok. But no more."
"Fine. Don't panic."
"I'm not panicking!" said Jeremy.
"Sure you're not."
Jeremy ran downstairs with the first aid kit.
Paul turned to his reflection in the mirror and wiped off the remaining shaving foam from his face. He put on some aftershave and sprayed deodorant across his torso and down the front of his trousers. You never knew when it may come in handy.

"I like Jeremy." said an intoxicated Maura. "He's like a puppy. So willing to please."
"I know." said Lisa.
"He's only like that with you. You know that right?"
"I noticed."
"You're not interested?"
"Of course not. God, have you seen him? If he loses a stone and takes up Rugby, I might be interested."
"So superficial."
"At least I'm not hung up on the loser who couldn't dump me fast enough."
"You shut up about my Tommy."
"He's not your Tommy anymore. He's into college girls now."
"You shut your..."
Jeremy re-entered the room at precisely that moment.
"I have the first aid box."
"Great. Patch me up." said Maura.
Jeremy knelt down on the floor and opened the kit. He quickly took a half dozen plasters from a smaller box inside and some anti-bacterial wipes. He cleaned Maura's face with the wipes and applied the plasters.
"Thanks Jeremy." Maura said when he had finished. "Leave me here to sleep a while. The others won't be here for ages yet."
"Sure thing. Do you want to go get a drink Lisa? I got some stuff in the off licence earlier."
"I suppose."
They left Maura to take a nap and headed for the Kitchen. Jeremy went straight for the fridge and took out some bottles. He handed a wine cooler to Lisa and kept a beer for his own consumption.
They opened their bottles and sipped on the drinks.
"I need to say something." said Lisa.
"What?"
"I know...I mean. There's a rumour going around that you...fancy me."
"Oh." was all Jeremy could manage to say.
"Is it true?"
Jeremy spoke slowly and cautiously: "Yeah?"
Lisa didn't speak for a second but then replied: "I'm not...I don't like you in that way."
"Huh. Why not? I'm a good guy."
"I'm sure you are but I need someone...stronger and more...full of life."
"I see...and I'm weak and basically dead?"
"No. You're just not...good...enough...for me."
Jeremy felt as if he had been punched in the stomach and face simultaneously.
"Fine." he said as he turned and exited the Kitchen.
Lisa sat down at the kitchen table and continued to drink as she thought.
There. The hard part is over at least. I think I handled that well. No drama at least.

The front door bell rang. Lisa got up and went to answer it. Sean and Brian stood outside.
Oh Great. What do these fools want?

The Party, Part Three. Lisa and Maura's afternoon.

"I have horrible hair" stated Lisa as she dragged a brush through the hay like substance that grew on the top and sides of her head.
"Shut up. It looks gorgeous!" replied Maura as she applied enough foundation to construct a garden shed.
"It's not as bad as my eyebrows, I'll admit that. I still hate it though. My eyebrows look like two slugs mating. If I could shave them off I would."
"So do it! At least you can do something about it. I have to wear trousers all the time because of my knobbly knees. I can't be seen dead in a short skirt. People would laugh."
"Pass us the bottle, will you?"
Maura did as she was told and handed over the half empty bottle of wine, stolen from her parent's stash mere hours before. Lisa took a swig. They were drinking straight from the bottle so as not to arouse suspicion when dirty glasses were found under the bed or in the sink. They'd sneak the empty bottle out later, hidden under one of their jackets.
"Who's going to Paul's this evening?" Maura asked.
"You, me, Paul, Jeremy, some of the lads from the football team."
"Sounds like a sausage festival."
"Mona and Jean are going as well."
"You mean the one who laughs like a foghorn: MO-NA, MO-NA."
"You've met her then."
"Who else?"
"Laura."
Maura spat out her drink: "That one? You know what she did to me last year?"
Lisa remembered the months of hardship that fhad ollowed the previous May: "Stole Tommy from you."
"Right. She stole my Tommy from me. She's getting her face kicked off her tonight."
"Tommy broke it off with her too, you know. As soon as he left for College he never texted her again."
"Doesn't matter. I have my pride. She's going home with a black eye."
Lisa sighed. Maura had a bit of a temper on her since her Dad left them a few years back. Being abandoned by two separate men had affected her deeply.
Maura took a gulp of wine and moved on to placing eye-shadow in its appropriate position.

An hour later, they were in an appropriate state of readiness to be seen by outsiders.Maura teetered on the brink of falling over due to her oversized stiletto heels.
"I don't know why you're wearing those." said Lisa.
"They emphasise parts of my legs that are not my knees, drawing the eye up all the way."
"That's great. Listen; leave this thing with Laura to one side. It was twelve months ago, that's like...a year ago."
Maura's voice was suddenly shrill: "So what? If she gets away with stealing my man then I’ll look weak. People will laugh."
"No one cares Maura, it's ancient history."
"I care." said Maura and left it at that.

They cut through the park to get to Paul's house. As they walked they spotted Laura and Mona sitting on the grass in the distance. They were sipping from naggins of vodka in the late evening sun. Maura shook off her high heels and scampered across the grass barefoot before Lisa could stop her. Lisa chased her but rage and alcohol had fuelled Maura's hate and legs, despite the knobbly knees.
"Laura Breslin!" Maura roared. "I'm gonna pluck every hair from your head, you'll look like an over ready chicken by the time I get ya!"
Laura heard her coming and scrambled to her feet in a decidedly unladylike fashion. She picked up an empty vodka bottle from the grass and pitched it at Maura. It flew through the air, end over end. Maura ducked and the bottle sailed over her head, nearly hitting Lisa.
Maura accelerated and dived straight at Laura, slamming into her and sending both of them flailing through the air. Maura landed on top of the heap and attempted to strangle her victim. They grappled uselessly on the ground until Mona and Lisa were able to separate them, dragging them off each other.
The two fighters struggled to escape the respective grasps of their friends, all the while screaming unintelligible hatred at each other.
Lisa tugged her friend away from the brawl towards Paul's house. It hadn't started and already this was the worst party ever.

The Party: Brian & Sean's Day

"Meet me at Enrico's in fifteen." read the text message that popped up on Brian's screen.
Brian sighed and slid off his beanbag; his legs had gone to sleep sometime during his fifth consecutive hour of Call of Duty so he just crawled across the floor to find some shoes.
As he pulled on his shoes and waited for the feeling to return to his feet he gazed around the room to find a clean t-shirt. He spotted one underneath a stack of science fiction novels and scooted along the wooden floorboards to it. He pulled it free from underneath the pile and sniffed it delicately. It smelled slightly of lynx body spray but mostly of teenager. After a second of thought Brian decided that it was acceptable for a trip to Athlone's second finest Mexican dining experience.
Brian put on the t-shirt and grabbed a bedpost for support as he stood upright. Pins and needles shot through his legs as sensation returned to his extremities.
He grabbed a jacket from its place on the chair and threw it on. A quick glance at the mirror confirmed what he already knew: He was too skinny and had bad skin. But for all that he looked passable, at least by the low, low standards set by Athlone males.

He left the house through the front door and walked around the side to fetch his bike. He pedalled through the dull but pleasant June weather towards "Enrico's Bona Fide Mexican Food".
The restaurant's name occasionally caused him some mild worry. Why would a restaurant want to proclaim it was "Bona Fide"? Was it some sort of trick? Was the food there not really Mexican at all? Did the proprietors really assume that the inhabitants of Athlone were too inbred to have never travelled to Mexico or the southern United States? Mexican menus didn't normally include Irish stew and a half dozen ways of preparing potatoes.
Brian arrived at Enrico's and chained his bike to a pole outside the main entrance. Sean, the sender of the text message, sat inside at a window booth nursing a glass of lemonade. He nodded in greeting to his friend.
Brian entered and made his way over to the booth. Sean was studying the menu like it was the secret to everlasting life.
"What are chimichangas?" asked Sean.
"If they're anything like approximately ninety percent of the menu in this place. I'm going to guess they're some mysterious mixture of meat and veggies wrapped in a tortilla. Possibly featuring cheese."
"Right. Sounds good." said Sean, satisfied with his decision.
"Why are we here? Other than to eat sufficient quantities of meat to get us through Good Friday?" responded Brian.
"Paul's having a party at his place."
"And I care, why?"
"There'll be girls there."
"True, but you know Irish girls." said Brian dismissively. "Haven't I made my feelings about them known across the land?"
"You hook up with one foreign exchange student and suddenly you're Don Juan."
"The foreign ladies are lower maintenance. They have real tans rather than plastering themselves with that bronzing muck."
"Well, can't you lower your standards for one night? I need an accomplished wingman."
"I suppose. What makes you think we'll be able to get in to the party? Paul isn't one of our friends. He thinks we're nerds."
"Jeremy is out buying drinks. I saw him up in the off licence that never checks ID. I confidently predict that they'll be passed out by nine o'clock. Leaving the field open for us to swoop in and claim our prizes."
"And if they're not passed out?"
Sean picked up his messenger bag and opened it. A hard bound book took up most of the space inside: "I guess I'll have to introduce them to the collected works of Arthur C Clarke then, won't I? A couple of slaps to the head with this and those GAA playing runts will be unconscious."
"That's your solution to everything."
"Only because it always works."
"And how exactly will you charm the girls. Arthur C Clarke won't help you there?"
"Prey on their inadequacies. Lisa Reynolds hates her eyebrows; Maura Wright thinks her knees are hideous. I tell them that I love their eyebrows and knees and I'm in.”

"You're like an evil seduction genius. What makes you think that'll work?"
"Maura has unresolved issues regarding Tommy Brennan. She's basically an emotional wreck. One small push and she'll tip over. Do you remember Tommy?"
"I remember him punching me in the face one Christmas when we were twelve or thirteen."
"Oh Yeah, Why was that?" asked Sean.
"I told him Santa didn't exist."
"He was fourteen. He should have known."
"He didn't. Aren't you worried that your single-minded pursuit of any conscious female at this party will blow back on you? We still have to live here after tonight."
"Not for long. We're both off to college in the UK and then we'll probably have to emigrate. What are the chances we'll ever have to deal with these people again?"
"Slim enough, but still..."
"There's nothing keeping me in this hole. I'll be glad to see the back of it." said Sean.
"Athlone's not that bad..." began Brian.
"This place..." interrupted Sean. "This place...I hope it fragging burns down as soon as I leave it. It's a city sized tumour. A scar on this buttock of a nation."
Brian closed his eyes, at this stage in their friendship he was used to Sean's megalomaniacal rants.
The waitress arrived and took their order. Sean got chimichangas and a diet coke. Brian ordered fajitas.
"Anyway. Are you going to be my wingman or not." said Sean, after they had asked for their food.
Brian thought for a moment. Sean would be a complete disaster if he went on his own. Someone would probably try to kill him.
"Yeah. I'll go with you." said Brian, not realising that it would be the biggest mistake he'd ever make.

The Party: Jeremy's Day.

Jeremy fondled the crisp fifty euro notes in his left pocket as he stood across the street from the off licence. Sweat poured from his brow and he reached up with his right hand to wipe the coalescing moisture away. He breathed in deeply in an effort to chase the butterflies in his stomach off. It worked, more or less. Now he was merely anxious instead of terrified. He'd been handed the fifty euro notes by his mate Paul thirty minutes earlier. Paul's parents were away so he had the run of the house for the weekend. Being sixteen, they had immediately decided to throw a rager in the free house. The money was to be their beer fund. All Jeremy had to do was work up the courage to cross the road and load up on Dutch Gold, cheap cider, vodka and a six pack of wine coolers for Lisa.

Lisa's pending attendance was the only reason he'd been talked into getting the drinks. If he could show he was cool then she'd definitely go out with him. Maybe.

Paul had been picked for the errand as he had his dead brother's ID card. Mark had died in a car accident a year ago, aged nineteen, but his ID card was still valid. Jeremy looked slightly like Mark had; they shared the same hair colour and gaunt face. Despite this, Jeremy hoped that the cashier wouldn't be too observant.

Traffic was light as Jeremy ran over the road to the shop and entered. He gazed around the Off Licence in wonderment at the range of products on display. He'd never known that there were so many enjoyable ways of killing brain cells! There were Beers and Wines from all over the world. He almost drooled in anticipation. The upper end of the alcohol market didn't interest Jeremy. Fine wines and spirits weren't what he and his friends needed. They required the refreshment equivalent of rocket fuel.

He picked up a basket and wandered over to the cider section. He decided that the best way to make his budget stretch was to avoid the top name brands and anything that advertised on television. Jeremy stuffed a couple of two litre bottles of hard cider into the basket and moved on. Beer was tougher. There were just so many brands! He saw something called "French Beer" on the lowest shelf. It was too cheap to even have a name! That was awesome. He picked up twenty four bottles of it for €18. He also grabbed a few bottles of an actual beer he'd heard of. They were for him; he'd be classy and impress Lisa with his knowledge of world beers.
"I much prefer IPA's to Dunkels or white beers!" he'd inform her.
Girls loved sophisticated men: James Bond films wouldn't just lie about that.
Next Jeremy placed a six pack of wine coolers in the basket for Lisa, along with a dozen of those vodka and lemonade drinks for the other girls who would be attending.

Now was the moment of truth: he had to go up to the cash register and get some bottles of spirits as well as actually pay for the stuff.
The register was manned by a middle aged woman of impressive girth. There was a long queue. Jeremy had been worried that the scale of his purchases would mark him out for suspicion. He needn't have worried: tomorrow was Good Friday. The Bars and Off Licences throughout Ireland would be closed so normally responsible adults were panic buying as if the apocalypse was looming. A woman in front of him had fifteen bottles of wine in her trolley.

Jeremy waited as the others paid for their purchases. His anxiety returned as he moved up the queue. Suddenly, it was his turn.
"D'ya have ID?" asked the whale behind the counter.
Jeremy fumbled in his pocket and produced his deceased brother's ID card. Shamu the Orca studied the card forensically. Jeremy tried his best to look nonchalant. The woman handed the card back.
"Fine. Anything else?"
"Yeah. Could I get two bottles of vodka and one of rum please?"
The shop assistant turned around like an ocean liner and picked the bottles Jeremy had requested off the shelf.
She scanned the pile of bottles and cans and Jeremy began bagging his haul. He paid the denizen of the deep the requested amount and left the shop as quickly as he could. As he exited he noticed a Guard car roll to a stop at the kerb.
No! Thought Jeremy. I was so close!
What would he do? The guards would bring him home and confiscate the booze. He'd be mortified. He'd never get to insert his tongue into Lisa's throat now!
Just as Jeremy was on the verge of breaking down into sobs, the Guards got out of their car and walked into the Off Licence, ignoring him completely.
Jeremy took this as a gift from the gods and ran to Paul's house. This was going to be the greatest party ever.

Convention report: Children’s Books Ireland Conference 2013. May 18th.

In a break from my trawl through the seedy underbelly of Comic conventioneering, (that’s not a real word, don’t use it), I attended the first day of the CBI Children’s Books conference in the Lighthouse Cinema.

If you live in Dublin and haven’t been to the Lighthouse then I recommend it. The Cinema was built underground over three levels. It’s spacious and well kept. It regularly hosts special screenings of classic movies as well as your usual fare.  Just don’t go there when the horse sales are held outside twice a year.  As a conference location it’s actually pretty good with good transport links and a couple of decent places to eat and drink nearby. It’s actually be a really good place to organise a comic or science fiction themed convention due to the large amounts of free space and the screens which could be used for panels.

As you can probably guess, the conference dealt with the growing area of Children’s books in Ireland. Ireland appears to punch above its weight in this field. Possibly because there’s nothing else to do in this rainy nation other than make up stuff to keep the children from tearing the curtains from the windows because they can’t go outside.  Bray is full of writers for similar reasons: basically you have to create your own entertainment out here.

Guests at the conference on Saturday included Sarah Ardizzone, (Translator) Hervé Tullet, (Illustrator) John Boyne (bestselling author) and  Sarah McIntyre, Alan Nolan and Rory McConville (comic book writers and Artists).

The panels were pretty good, particularly those with Sarah Ardizonne as she discussed the challenges of translating slang, which a lot of kid’s books make use of and the interview with John Boyne (Dublin native and writer of “The boy in the striped pajamas.”)

The guests were all willing to answer questions and were engaging. I don’t think the conference would be for everybody as it is most suited to those who are actively working in the field or want to break in, such as myself. I can’t imagine it would be of much interest to the general public and it’s also pretty pricey at €100 for a weekend pass.

So, in a nutshell, it was enjoyable and informative but very specific to that small group of people who want to entertain the young with words and pictures, which is fine. Dublin has plenty of opportunities for you to meet and talk to writers such as the upcoming writers’ week.

Back to the short stories next week.