Winterland Read Online Free PDF Page A

answer. ‘He’s only a few years younger than me. Twenty-five, I think, twenty-six.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘My sister had him when she was very young. It was …’ She trails off here.
    Gina is the youngest in the family – what used to be called an afterthought, or even a mistake. She’s only thirty-two, ten years younger than the next one up.
    All of her siblings are in their forties.
    Growing up, Gina could just about relate to Catherine and Michelle as sisters, but with Yvonne and Noel it was a little different. By the time she was only a year or two old they’d already left home and as a result she didn’t see them that often, so they were really more like an aunt and an uncle to her. She loves them to bits, of course – but it still feels, even today, like they’re from another generation.
    ‘That’s so sad .’ Sophie says as they approach the taxi rank. ‘Were you close to him?’
    Gina is about to respond to this, but she stops. What does she say? The guy is dead.
    She shakes her head.
    She opens the back door of the taxi and leans against it. ‘OK. Here we are.’
    ‘Gina, do you want me to come along with you? As far as the house even?’
    ‘No, you’re grand, Soph. Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
    As Gina gets into the taxi, she waves back at Sophie.
    ‘Dolanstown,’ she says to the driver, and then gives him the full address.
    The car pulls away from the rank, swings around and heads back up Dame Street. In order to avoid conversation with the driver, not that this is likely to work, Gina takes out her mobile and starts texting. She quickly rain-checks lunch with Beth, acknowledges P.J.’ s message and then wonders – thumb poised, still staring at the display – if she should call Yvonne or just show up at Catherine’s.
    She looks out the window.
     
    But what’s Yvonne going to tell her on the phone that she didn’t say in the message?
    ‘Miserable night.’
    See?
    Gina turns, glances into the rearview mirror and meets the taxi driver’s eyes.
    ‘Yeah,’ she says, and looks away.
    That’s all he’s getting.
    ‘You were out for a few jars yourself tonight, yeah?’
    Oh God .
    ‘Hhnn.’
    She gets this a lot with taxi drivers, especially going home at night, but really, what do they expect her to say? Yeah, bud, I’m well locked, me, no self-control at all, so pull in anywhere that’s convenient for you there and off we go?
    ‘Town’s fairly busy.’
    ‘Hhnn.’
    The taxi driver pauses, regrouping, and then, ‘I see on the news there the Taoiseach’s after putting his foot in it again.’
    OK, OK, maybe she’s wrong. Maybe it’s not the erotic charge of her being a young woman on her own, in a short skirt, with drink taken, in his cab. Maybe he’s just bored and trying to make conversation.
    Whatever. But not tonight.
    ‘If you don’t mind,’ she says, ‘I’d prefer not to talk.’
    ‘ Oh ,’ he says.
    Was that a little huffy? She stares at the back of his head. ‘Thanks.’
    ‘No, no,’ he says, ‘you’re fine, you’re fine.’ But of course that won’t do. After a moment, he has to add, ‘No problem there, miss. None at all. And no offence taken either. Whatever the customer wants. That’s what I always say, always have, and I’m twenty years in this game.’
    In order to shut himself up, he reaches down and flicks on his radio. There are speakers behind Gina and the music is quite loud. What’s playing is some awful eighties thing she vaguely recognises – it’s soft rock, FM, irredeemably lite.
    What did the Taoiseach say? Suddenly she’s curious.
    But in the next moment she’s back with the immediate reality of what’s happened – her nephew, her sister.
    For as long as she can remember, Gina’s been hearing stories about young Noel, about how he was always getting into trouble and breaking his mother’s heart. Catherine raised him on her own (with financial help from their brother), and she did her best in difficult circumstances, but the kid