‘OMG have you seen the moon?’ a friend of marque 2’s asks via a message. We look out the window, front and back, no sign. He shows me the picture she has sent – a massive blood orange ball in a dark sky, low and glowing spectacularly over the sea. We look out again. It’s not dark. Cloudy, sure, but not dark.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
‘Oh, yeah, she’s not here, she’s in Spain, so they’re ahead. It’s a supermoon, rising here at, hang on, 22.46. We need to get out and see it around then. Get some pictures. You know?’
I’m super tired on the night of the supermoon. Something that happens for the few days after someone’s been home from Dubai and it’s been great and then he’s gone again. The same pattern where I keep dozing off and after wonder out loud if my iron is low, if a good old course of Pharmaton is called for. Then I remember that it happens every time and don’t bother. Disorientation. Fatigue. The natural fall out of a long distance marriage.
‘Sure. I’ll just have a little rest first’, I say and conk out instantly, diving deep into hallucinatory dribbling dreams.
I wake with a thud. It’s 22.47. I’ve let him down. If his father was here and not in Dubai, he’d be doing it. I gaze out the window, in wilful hope that this will be made easy for us. No sign. I shove my flip flops and glasses on and go to get him.
‘Let’s go’, I say, grabbing the car keys.
‘Where?’
‘To find the moon’, I say, as if it’s perfectly normal to rise from a deep sleep, looking spectral, to search for the moon.
‘We need to get some pictures, remember?’ Or have I dreamt the whole thing up? Marque 1 arrives home. Sees we’re on the move.
‘I’ll drive’, he announces, beaming. Oh god.
‘It’s not that sort of a drive, it’s not a lesson, we’re going exploring’, I say, as if that should be an end to it. He looks a little deflated. Maybe a little worried too. What is his mother doing going exploring late at night? Why is she dragging her second child with her? What would his father make of this?
‘And it’s night time, dark you know? You haven’t driven in the dark yet’.
‘But I need to practice in the dark, that’s one of the things’, he says.
‘What’s wrong with me driving?’
There’s a fine old balance to be struck. Not to crush the enthusiasm while trying to stay semi-sane. Which when you’re worn out and dreaming of iron and husbands in the same country but also need to go hunting for the moon isn’t as easy as it might seem. Things rattle through my head. Things like, please, I just want to take it easy and find the moon, and not have my adrenaline pumping sky high to keep us all alive during a very FIRST night time lesson.
‘Okay then. You drive’, I say, thrusting the keys at him and pouting like a sullen teenager reluctantly handing over cigarettes to a parent.
We snake to the top of the road in first gear while I pray that it will just appear, the moon, loom large and red shining down on us and we can take a picture and all turn around safely and go back to bed.
‘Which way?’ he says as we approach the junction.
Silence.
‘Left or right?’
‘We don’t know because we’re exploring’, I say, dragging the last word out. Proving my point. I should be driving.
‘But we have to go one way or the other so can you tell me, quickly, please’, he says as we roll backwards and up goes the adrenaline another notch.
‘Bloody left then’, I say and notice the windows are fogging up. It’s a new car. Well, an old new car. For learning to drive. And because the other car is kaputt. The other lovely large automatic family car. Which he couldn’t learn on. We’re in a tiny sky blue stick shift Volkswagen UP, with an out of date tax disc and no insurance displayed seeing as we only just got it, driving at night for the first time, looking for the moon. Oh and with enormous L plates taking up a lot of the window.
‘Where’s the de-mister button?’ I ask him, as if he should’ve considered this very thing before we set out. As if I can wash my hands of it. He’s the driver, after all. He should know.
We press a few things to no avail while he’s careering blindly down a hill.
‘We’ll have to pull over and find it’, I say, taking reasonable command for the first time. He starts to indicate left.
‘Here?’
‘That’s a bloody double yellow’, I say, thinking of yet another thing a potential policeman could add on to our list. We’ll need to brave it out.
‘Let’s just get to the harbour, we’re close enough, and find it there’, I say, wiping a hole for him to peer through.
‘And try not to drive us into the sea’, I say, only half joking.
I was so much better at this when it was day time. When I wasn’t tired, reluctant, grumpy as hell. Aware as I am that the confidence is easily bruised with something like this. I’ve summoned a calm, trusting voice for the day time lessons. I’m trying to be like my father was with me in this situation which was really special and we’ve been doing great so far. All praise and reassurance and smooth moves and not too many bunny hops. He’s been super and is a lovely driver, only a few lessons in. Much better than I was. Yet here I am at night. Unravelling all the good stuff. And knowing it.
We pull into a massive car park devoid of cars.
‘Where will I park?’
Jesus.
‘Anywhere’. It’s never going to get easier than this pal.
‘Will I park here then?’ he says aiming at a row of empty spaces.
‘Yes, yes anywhere at all’, I say, voice rising, gesticulating at the wide open expanse. I hear marque 2 chuckling behind me.
‘Can you stop laughing, I’m trying to drive’, marque 1 says.
‘This is all so funny though’, marque 2 says, laughing louder and getting out to scout for the moon. No sign, of course. The lights shining on the water can’t fool us. Marque 1’s phone is ringing. It’s marque 5.
‘Hi, yeah. Can you pick me up from the DART in a few minutes. I’m three stations away’.
Marque 1 smiles broadly. This is the stuff of dreams, his youngest brother ringing him for a lift. He’s always said ‘but wouldn’t it be great if I could help you out, pick people up. Drop them off. Do the shopping?’ And I’ve always said, yeah but, no but. We couldn’t afford it. Until we had to, just last week. Now I get it. Finally. Marque 5 is missing a link in the chain though. For marque 1 to pick him up, I have to go along too. We’re about a year away from the old solo drive, courtesy of the driving test wait.
‘Tell him yes. We’ll be there in a minute’, I say, followed by ‘and I’ll drive’, but his face falls and once again I say it.
‘Okay then, you drive’.
The DART station is dark and empty.
‘Let’s get out and look’, I say to marque 2, pointing to the steps that go up and over the train track.
‘Bound to catch it from up there’. We set off, but then I see an enormous dog running down the steps towards us. One of those types that should be on a leash and muzzled.
‘Quick, back in the car, that’s a bloody Rottweiler’, I say having no idea what it is but we’ve been stung in the past.
We jump back in and slam the doors. Another huge dog runs down the steps now and over to our car. Followed by a man, grinning at us, with what looks like chains around him. A jailer. He’s approaching the car. Talking to us from behind it but we can’t hear what he’s saying. Marque 1 has his music on. The man comes around to the side of the car. Grinning. Talking. We’re lip reading. This is it. We’re all going to die. When we just wanted to see the bloody supermoon. I knew it. Marque 1 opens his door to hear what the guy is saying. He’s so kind. So trusting. Clearly on a different page from me as I fumble for the locks.
‘Wouldn’t you know it’s the one with the three legs’, the guy says, bending himself over to talk to us, dipping his grinning face far too close to the open door. God. Lunatic. Of the moon; moonstruck. Of course. They’ll all be out tonight. Close the bloody door marque 1. NOW.
‘Standing right behind you there’, he goes on, ‘just asking for it to happen’.
‘This is like something out of Black Mirror’, marque 2 mutters from behind as we grin like lunatics ourselves back at our would-be murderer. Then we see the second dog loping off to join the first. The large three legged second dog. We piece it slowly together.
‘So thanks for that’, he says, ‘you know, thanks for waiting, for not driving off’. His eyes twinkle in at us with gratitude and then he’s gone. Off to murder someone else, I try not to say out loud. There were too many of us. Clearly. A nice little nod for marque 1 though. Not killing the dog.
Marque 5 jumps in the back and marque 1 drives us ever so carefully home, as I mutter in my head the instructions that would come out all wrong if I opened my mouth. Tomorrow. I’ll be better at this by tomorrow.
Still no supermoon tonight though and so much effort so far.
‘Can you heat up some of the sausages and mash for marque 5 and yourself there and I’ll keep going with marque 2 to find the moon?’ I say to marque 1 who seems pretty relieved himself now to be home, and looks a small bit concerned about us soldiering on.
We drive. Marque 2 googles how we might best find the moon (he’s a geographer) and directs me all the way to Killiney village. We screech into the empty parking spaces at the front of the closed pub on the hill. No one is about. Everyone’s fast asleep. Apart from the lunatics. We walk around searching. Then I see a man leaving the pub. He looks over at us for a long moment. Jingles keys to the door. Turns his back on us for a second and locks up. He approaches me with caution.
‘Can I help you with anything? Are you looking for something?’
‘Yes. We’re looking for the moon’, I say and I notice that he’s nodding his head but averting his gaze most diligently. Considering seriously what he has now here before him. A teenage looking boy and a spectral bespectacled woman in flip flops roaming around the deserted street at midnight ‘looking for the moon’.
‘It’s not just any old moon’, I add, to help him out a bit.
‘It’s a supermoon! We should be able to see it from right about here, according to our directions’, I say beaming at him much like the dog owner had beamed at us earlier, pulsating a deep fear right through us.
‘There was a lovely moon just a few nights ago, right there’, he says pointing into a massive black bank of cloud, exactly where we’ve pinpointed our supermoon to be.
‘Yes, people often come up here to see the moon’, he says, getting into a comfortable stride now, almost daring himself to look my way.
‘Next time then’, I say cheerfully to deflect from our disappointment and let this poor man go home to his bed while we continue our hunt.
‘Like another episode of Black Mirror’, marque 2 adds with a laugh.
I stare at the black bank of cloud and see it. The tiniest hint of a red lining.
‘Look, it’s right there where it should be, behind the bank of cloud’, I announce and we stare together wondering if we are now actually hallucinating to let us off the hook.
‘That’s not going to shift anytime soon. Let’s go and sure there’s always tomorrow night, we can try again, it’s a two day thing, you know?’
‘Is it?’ he asks, looking dubious.
Hell, I hope not. For everybody’s sake.