Declan had never been passionate about actuarial science. At his half-yearly performance review, one of the key development points he'd been given was to be more engaged and show more enthusiasm for his work. He'd tried to demonstrate these attributes during an interminable team meeting earlier that afternoon. His colleagues had spent two hours exchanging robust and well-reasoned views about whether the new discount rate should be 4.1% or 4.25%, and when Declan had decided to pick one of these numbers (he could no longer remember which) and argue its case, the others had sniffed out his lack of conviction instantly. They looked around at him as if he was a talking gnu, and there were a few seconds of silence before the debate picked up once again and surged on without him. He doodled in his notepad for the rest of the meeting. His ears reddened when he thought back on the flimsiness of his brief argument and the obvious holes and contradictions that it contained. The Practice Head, Richard, brought the meeting to a close at 5.30 by pronouncing that the new discount rate should be neither of the two numbers they'd been discussing. Chairs scraped as they gathered their papers together and prepared to head out for drinks. Declan would have preferred to start the weekend by going directly home, throwing a pizza in the oven and finishing his Mad Men box set, but to have avoided the pub would only reinforce Richard's developing view of him as a reluctant team player.
The bar was sleek and modern. Its mirrors and stainless steel and expensive teak were designed to appeal to the young professionals who worked nearby. They continued to stream in, eager to release the tensions of the week and excited about the weekend to come. The strident voice of a female pop diva pulsated through the speakers. Declan had finished his first two pints of Carlsberg within a half hour, and he felt pleasantly light-headed. Tie loosened and top button undone, he stood near a table talking with two colleagues.
“Did you hear what this fella said to Richard?” Tom asked John, gesturing towards Declan with his thumb. They were talking about the team drinks session earlier in the year when, just before midnight, a Michael Jackson song had come on and Richard had raised his hands to request everyone's attention before moonwalking across the floor in front of them.
“He only fuckin' went and told him that he looked like David Brent from The Office!” said Tom. Both he and John tilted their heads back and laughed like hyenas. Declan grinned. He disliked Richard, and had no regrets about imparting this David Brent observation to him.
“How did he take it?” John asked.
“He laughed through his teeth,” Declan said. “Another pint?”
He saw her as he was threading his way through to the bar. She was waiting to order a drink. His heart hesitated and swelled for a few seconds before releasing itself with two hollow jolts against his sternum. He had spent months staring at her surreptitiously across the office, and their few conversations had been superficial and halting. There was a space next to her, and he walked up to it and placed his hands flat on the bar counter. The barman arrived to take her order, and Declan turned his head to look at her. A faint blood vessel rose on the side of her neck as she strained forward to make her voice heard above the noise. He noticed a fine down on her bare shoulder. He wanted to inhale her. He waited for the barman to leave and, without moving his hands from the counter, leaned towards her slightly and said: “Hi, Mairead.”
“Oh hi, how's it going?” She turned to face him and smiled.
“Yeah, good thanks. Pleased it's Friday. What's up for the weekend?” He tried to sound casual, but was mentally flagellating himself for not thinking of something more interesting to say.
“Heading up to Johnny Fox's tomorrow night, and might go for a cycle on Sunday morning. If I'm still alive,” she said. “What about you?”
“Staying put in Dublin. Some reading and a few DVDs maybe,” he said.
“Oh cool” she smiled, “nothing more relaxing than a weekend-in doing that.”
He picked up a beer coaster with one hand and began pressing its ends into the counter. The barman would return soon. The thought of another few months in the office trying to make pathetic and stilted conversation with her whenever he got the chance was excruciating. A series of loud and primitive drum beats started up over the speakers. He felt his mouth begin to dry up.
“Listen, Mairead, what if I was to invite you out for dinner some time?”
“What?” she said, leaning in closer. Before he could respond, the barman returned with her order. Mairead rummaged in her purse for some money. Declan discarded the broken bits of beer coaster in his hand and picked up a new one. The barman reached out for her money and turned back to the till. Mairead looked at Declan again, her eyebrows arched enquiringly.
“I was wondering whether you'd like to go out to dinner with me some time.” He could hardly believe he'd had the courage to ask her the first time, and yet here was his voice again, this time as clear and as tremulous as a lone flute on a moor. Her eyes widened in surprise. The barman returned and handed her the change before asking Declan for his order. He gave this, and waited while she put the money back into her purse. She closed her bag with a snap and looked up at him again.
“I'm very flattered, Declan,” she said. She picked up her drink and hooked her hair behind her ear. Declan nodded. He looked down at the wet circle her glass had left on the bar counter and dragged the edge of his beer coaster through it a few times. “I'm really flattered,” she said again, before adding: “We're very different people.” Declan nodded. He noticed her whippet-thin friend, Anne, standing out of earshot a few meters away and staring at them with gimlet eyes as she waited for Mairead to return. Anne was plainly trying to work out what was being said. “I'm not really sure it would work in the office...” Mairead said, before tailing off.
“I thought I'd ask,” said Declan.
“Sure, sure,” Mairead said quickly, her eyes big and solicitous, “I really admire you for asking.” Declan nodded. Mairead walked back to her friend. Declan waited for his change and then circled the three pints carefully with both hands before lifting them. As he walked towards John and Tom, he thought of coming into work on Monday morning and sitting down at his desk.
