Alan Kiernan looked around at his ultra luxurious home. The heated swimming pool,the top of the range kitchen, the gigantic television, even his garden shed towered over some people’s entire homes. He had lived a very fortunate life. His parents had supported him career wise since a very early age. They gave him the best possible education and gave him the resources to hone his skills. He never had to worry about money. He’d become a successful businessman. He’d seen the world. He’d married three times and was one month away from his fourth. And yet, he felt empty. ‘Business first’. That was the message drilled into him from an early age. He was 21 when his father died and he inherited the meat company . David Kiernan was never a particularly kind man but he was a ruthless and very successful business man. He let poor Martin Ryan go after missing one week straight when his wife of 25 years died. This was before all the ‘bleeding heart socialists brought in those bloody employee protection laws’. He never gave his employees any kind of respect and ruled by fear. At 6ft 3,he was a physically intimidating man and used his size to his advantage when Jimmy McBride reacted angrily to being sacked back in 99 for taking some beef home for his starving family.
Alan had always told himself that he was different-not at all as cruel as his father could be. However, as he stared in disgust at the painting on his kitchen wall, he questioned whether he really was any different to the man who he succeeded. He rarely allowed any of his 57 employees time off beyond what was required by law and had let 10 people go just before Christmas back in 2009 to ‘cut costs’. He thought about the families-the kids who went without Christmas presents that year. Perhaps they may even have had to go without meals because of his decision? Alan only ever lied to his father once that he could remember. This was shortly after the sacking of Martin Ryan. Alan noticed that a large sum had been taken out of the company’s bank account. 500 pounds- a significant amount in those days.Alan knew at once who it was. Martin was the only one with access to that account apart from himself and his father. Alan chose not to tell his father, instead, he told him that he had taken it out himself to repair a broken meat grinder.
His father had engrained in him that your employees are just resources. They were there to serve and nothing else. Had he become the type of person who treats human beings in just a callous manner?Alan looked back at his entire life now and felt ashamed. He was ashamed of who he had become. He was 52 and had done nothing good with his life. He had to get out. He had to go somewhere and do something. He scribbled a note on a scrap piece of paper ‘heading out, back late’ and left it on the front of his fridge. He left his phone on the kitchen counter and left the house. The cool air felt quite pleasent on what was a balmy evening. He did not know when he would return.
He got in his Range Rover- the car he had bought himself as a birthday present just last year. The inside still smelled strongly of leather and the car was hot after sitting in the afternoon sun all day. He did not know where he was going to go. He did not even know which direction to take exiting his driveway. He settled on left as right took him toward the meat factory and he wanted to be as far away from work as possible. He drove without thinking too much about the destination. He paid virtually no attention to road signs, rather he kept on driving for what felt like several hours until he began to feel rather tired and hungry. He would find somewhere to eat and get a room in the closest hotel- he thought. He took the next exit on the motorway he now found himself driving on and headed towards a local village called ‘Bridgetstown’. He had prided himself on town names and found it odd that he had not once encountered this particular one. It was a small country town with the typical amenities. A post office, a pub called the ‘ancient tavern’ and a small grocery shop. He would have to settle for a packet of crisps and a pint. His stomach made a lurch as if in protest of such an idea. He was about to pull into the car park behind the pub when bright neon lights in the distance caught his attention. ‘Burger and chips €8’. For the first time that day, Alan felt a tinge of happiness. As he got closer to the restaurant he could see that the small building was covered in those neon lights advertising a range of different meals. How out of place- he thought as he got out of his car and closed the door behind him. The restaurant looked like it should be nestled in the heart of a bustling city, rather than along a narrow lane way in the middle of nowhere. The hunger was beginning to eat away at him and he walked briskly towards the almost blinding lights. However, as he approached the door, he noticed something funny about the neon lights. Not only were they advertising meal deals, but there were also signs offering. ‘A new life- €25’. and ‘Time travelling- €50’. Alan shrugged. Must be some weird way of getting people’s attention. When he opened the door- he could see that this tactic was not particularly successful as the restaurant was almost completely empty bar one older waiter cleaning glasses behind a counter and two men sitting opposite each other down the back of the room. The inside of the restaurant looked comparatively ordinary compared to the outside. The furniture looked dated and there was a musty smell in the air.
‘How nice of you to join us’
The smiling waiter said as he emerged from behind the counter. He gestured towards the table closest to the door and Alan sat. The waiter handed a him a menu which looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. It was covered in dust and there was mould growing on the edges.
‘Busy tonight, isn’t it?’
Alan looked curiously at the waiter and at the surrounding restaurant. He could not tell whether the waiter was being sarcastic or not. He nodded unsurely.
‘I’ll have the burger and chips please’
‘Certainly sir’
He wisped the mouldy menu from Alan’s hand and returned to his place behind the counter with surprising grace for someone so old. Alan looked around the ancient looking, run down restaurant. There was dust everywhere and the walls were full of old photographs of people. Alan wondered who they were and why the owner of the restaurant insisted on them being hung throughout. You could barely see out of the windows due to a thick covering of dust. The restaurant had old style booths which looked frayed and worn and there was a music player in the the far corner. The two men in the opposite corner were talking in hushed tones. Alan could only make out the top of the closest mans head and could only hear bits of their conversation. He thought he made out the words ‘money’ and ‘family’ but he couldn’t be sure.
Alan looked down at his hands and thought about what he was going to do next. He thought more about the damage he had caused to peoples lives. What had happened to the people he had let go? People called him successful but he now questioned what that really meant . He came to the conclusion that he really was his fathers son. He was no better and no worse. His father had always treated his wife and only child with respect and decency. He was never the most demonstrative man but he was a relatively good father. He thought Alan about business and money management and gave him the tools to thrive financially. For most of his life, Alan aspired to be like his father. As he sat in the dusty, mould ridden resturant, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and regret. He had modelled himself on a deeply immortal man with little regard for other human beings. It was too late to change now. This was who he was.
Alan sat there gloomily until he was disturbed by the sound of a much louder voice down the back of the resturaunt . One of the men who was sitting in the far corner was getting up to leave. He could see him quite clearly now and could make out more of what he was saying. His eyes were red as if he’d been crying and he was shaking the hand of his friend enthusiastically.
‘Thank you so much……..you truly are a good man’
Alan could see that the man standing up was holding a white envelope in his hand. He looked faintly familiar. Perhaps an old neighbour or friend. Alan had always been bad with names or maybe he just never bothered to learn anyone’s. Suddenly, however, it struck him who this man was. It was Martin Ryan. The man whose wife died and was let go from the meat factory all those years ago.Alan remembered his father telling him that he had been sacked. He looked remarkably unchanged compared to the last time he seen him which would have been nearly 30 years ago now. He was a tall, thin man with glasses and neat, combed over hair. Martin thanked his friend again and walked towards the exit. As he walked out the door-Alan could make out a handwritten note on the envelope he was holding. ‘For the children’. Martin Ryan had two children and Alan remembered how his father dismissed him when his son had questioned what would happen to them with their father out of work and their mother dead.
‘That’s his problem, not ours’ he had said with a shrug.
Martin’s friend sat in the booth in the far corner of the restaurant for a while before he too got up to leave. As the man picked up his brief case and put on his jacket, Alan felt a sudden feeling of uneasiness. It couldn’t possibly be him-he’s been dead for over 30 years. No, the hunger was playing tricks on his mind. Where was his burger and chips?, he wondered. He looked around for the waiter but he was nowhere to be seen. Alan tried to reassure himself. He just looks rather similar, that’s all but as the man turned to face him, he realised with a horrible twisting in the pit of his stomach, that this man was most definitely his father. He found himself breathing very fast and thought for a moment that a fate similar to his father may be awaiting him. He stared directly into the eyes of the man who he thought was long dead as he walked towards him. He did not know what to say or how to approach him. He just about managed to say the word ‘Dad’. His father, as if completely unaware of him, walked straight past, without even the slightest acknowledgement. Perhaps, he didn’t see me , Alan thought. He followed him out the door and said his name, this time louder and clearer. However, as he emerged from the restaurant, he could not see his father anywhere. He shouted his name out several times to no avail. A passing dog walker looked at him with apprehension. Perhaps, he went back in to the restaurant through a back entrance?Sweating profusely now, he turned on his heels and went back in through the double doors, expecting to see a run down, dusty old restaurant with an elderly waiter behind the counter. Instead, he was greeted by a smiling young waitress in a busy cafe.
‘Hi there!Table for one?’
There was a smell of freshly baked bread and there was several people sitting down enjoying their breakfast. None of this made any sense, Alan thought. Where was the old restaurant?Where was the elderly waiter and where was his father? He went back out the double doors to call for his father again. This must be a dream, he thought. It couldn’t possibly be real. He pinched himself hard but he remained wide awake and just as bewildered as before. He began to feel tears run down his cheeks and his legs were shaking like jelly. He turned to see that the neon lights were no longer there. It was very bright out now but Alan could have sworn he’d been in the old restaurant for half an hour at most and it was late evening and darkening when he first arrived at its door.
He sat down on a nearby bench and held his head in his hands. Maybe by the time he lifted them, everything would go back to normal. He suddenly felt very tired and could feel himself slidding down the side of the bench. The events of the previous evening were taking their toll on his mind as he drifted into an uneasy sleep. He was awoken by a Garda shaking him by the shoulder.
‘Are you alright there, mister?’
Alan muttered something unintelligible before sitting up straight and rubbing his eyes.
‘Do you need a lift home?’
Alan shook his head and stood up.
‘I’m not drunk’
The Garda was young and unused to dealing with people sleeping rough in the middle of the countryside. He nodded, clearly unconvinced but patted Alan on the shoulder and went on his way.
Alan was alone with his thoughts again. He longed for the previous night to be a dream but somewhere in his mind, he knew it was not. Part of him wanted to stay longer, to think more. Perhaps he could get something to eat in the cafe and go look for his father. He remembered the envelope that Martin Ryan held in his hand as he left the old restaurant. Why did it say ‘for the children’ and what was in it? He thought about the conversation between Martin and his father. The words ‘money’ and ‘family’ and then he realised. The money that went missing from the meat factory’s bank account all those years ago was not stolen by Alan Ryan. The envelope given to Alan by his father contained the 500 pounds he presumed was stolen. Suddenly, everything made sense in Alan’s head. He smiled to himself and drove back home.
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