His father looked into his pint, his head jerking with embarrassment, and delivered his sharp laugh. “At this rate, he’ll be jumping out of airplanes next.”
Nancy cackled. “Oh, that’s a good one.” Billy put his pint of ale to his lips and drank it down in three swallows, his eyes turned to the ceiling and its yellowed, peeling paint. He drifted up there, while his mammoth body remained in place.
“Have you donated yet?” Tricia asked sharply, pulling Billy back into his body.
“I have, of course,” Nancy said, chastened. She slinked back to her table and the company of her sisters, the identical twins Margaret and Martha. The three leaned in close, whispering together, their mouths going like seagulls’ beaks plucking at something rotten.
Billy tried to catch Tricia’s eye, to indicate his thanks, but she was downing the last of her cider. She had tied her hair into a rare messy bun and it made her face look less severe. Made her eyes brighter, bluer. Desire flooded his crotch, so strong it was almost pain. It had been years since they’d had sex—ever since his size had put him outside the realm of such things. He called to Kennedy for another round.
The second wave of drinks gone, his father offered to buy more. Lisa refused. “I need to head off. I have an early start in the morning.” She asked Billy to walk her out. He hesitated, thinking he’d taken enough abuse for one day.
They reached her BMW and she turned to face him, the sunshine bringing out the hazel in her brown eyes. “I wanted to tell you how impressed I am. I can see how determined you are, how much all this means. Michael would be so proud.”
His eyes welled and he looked down, seeing the impression his shoes made in the gravel, as though he were sinking beneath the stones.
“I’m worried about you, though, we all are,” she said.
He shifted his feet on the gravel, trying to get away from the sinking feeling. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to be.”
“I don’t want you to get any more hurt than you already are.”
“I’ll be all right, don’t you worry.” He looked to the green hills, his tongue poking his cheek.
“I know you mean well with all this, but—”
He pointed with his thumb to the pub. “I should get back.”
She looked wounded and rushed on her sunglasses, got into her car. He rapped his knuckles on the driver’s window. She lowered the glass and he tried to make light. “So how much are you going to sponsor me for?”
She pressed her head against the driver’s seat, giving a small laugh. “Tell you what, if you do this, if you really lose half of yourself, I’ll donate a thousand euro.”
He tried to mask his shock, in case she changed her mind. “Seriously?”
“I’ve no children, no pets, and it’s a great cause … and you’re my one and only sibling.” She opened the glove compartment and removed her checkbook.
“Fair play to you, sister.” He wanted to say more, but couldn’t get the words out.
“Don’t call me that, makes me feel like a nun.” She ripped out the unsigned check and handed it to him. “I look forward to putting my autograph to that.”
“Trust me, I look forward to that, too.”
“Of course, maybe on principle you don’t want a banker’s money?”
“Money’s money,” he said, deciding not to push his advantage. Besides, it hadn’t felt nearly as good as he’d expected, to have something over her at last.
“I miss him,” she said.
“I know you do.”
“I still can’t believe it.”
“I know.” He slapped the roof of her car. “Lookit, go on, drive safe.”
Alone on the road, he glanced up. The sky looked white and blank, like nothing was ever there.
Eleven
Billy hurried across the landing in his underwear, and into the bathroom. He weighed himself first thing every morning now, and last thing every night—and sometimes several times throughout the day. Three hundred and eighty-eight pounds. Thirteen pounds off, despite his pig-out. Two pig-outs, he realized with a guilty start. The night at the chipper, and that first day back at work when he’d gone to Seanseppe’s. Thirteen pounds, though. And in little more than three weeks. The shakes, rabbit food, and walking might be hellish, but they were working. He stepped off the scale and back on, did a little dance with his arms and hips.
He moved to the oval mirror above the sink, and turned his head left and right. He maybe looked a little less puffy in the face, and perhaps his jowl wasn’t quite such a wattle. He pinched the fleshy wad. Definitely less chops. He turned his body to the left, and to the right, trying to check more of himself in the small mirror. He’d have returned to his bedroom and the full-length wardrobe mirror, but didn’t want to inspect himself in front of Tricia. Some of his elation fizzled. He’d thought she would support him more, that she’d be cheering him on. He pushed back his shoulders and forced a smile in the glass. Thirteen pounds, and soon fifteen, and twenty, and thirty. From here on out, he wouldn’t be stopped.