This is a true story. However, for obvious reasons, people’s and place names have been changed. Any similarities are, therefore, a coincidence, and were not intended. It is drawn from my own experience.
It was about eight o’clock when she rang and hung up. She did that when she wanted to talk, but didn’t have credit on her phone. I rang her back.
“Hi, Dave? Sorry, I’ve no credit. Can you call over?”
“Sure, Niamh, no problem, I’m on my way.”
I grabbed my coat, it had been raining hard all day, and the wind was starting to pick up. It was mid-term, and most people had gone home to see their families, and, more importantly, “borrow” food and money. I knew what this was about. I’d been friends with Niamh since the first day of college just over a year ago. We met going into our first lecture, through a mutual friend. Since then, we’ve grown really close, and I count her as my best friend. Niamh hates being alone on a night like this. She was staying in her house, her house-mates having gone home for the week. I had decided to stay up as well; a few of my friends had decided the same, so it would be a good laugh. She never feels safe, so many’s the time when I’ve been rung at one in the morning to walk her home from a pub. I walked out of the row of houses, and into her estate, the two being connected. Inside two minutes, I was at her house. She answered the door with usual energy.
“Hi Dave!” she yelled as she hugged me. “Thanks for calling over! So, how are you?”
“I’m grand, Niamh. Not a bother.”
“Is the weather really bad?”
“No such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes.” She looked at me sarcastically. “But it is getting very wet and windy, if you can’t tell.” My coat was drenched. She took it, hanging it next to a heater. “And I think the drainage streams are rising. My house could be flooded.” Maynooth was notorious for flooding at this time of year. Every year for the last five, and still, the council refused to do anything about it.
“Again? Jesus, Dave, that’s, what, four, five years running now?” This was the kind of shit-chat that passed between us. We would talk for hours, about home, college, friends, and of course, love-lives. Hers was always the far busier, she could have men queuing up at her door, yet she always seemed to pick the biggest wanker of them all. One, who only lasted two weeks, is fair game for a dig at any opportunity. Rumours abounded of his questionable sexuality.
We were talking about one of her house-mates, who was as easy as the Daily Star crossword, when, at about half past ten, the lights and radio suddenly died. The power was gone, a black-out. We managed to dig out a candle. It wasn’t very big, and probably would last no more than an hour. I knew that my estate was on a different circuit, so I rang Pete. He said the power was gone there, but they’d enough candles and beer (hey, we are students after all!!) to get them through the night. I knew Barry was gone home for the week, so there would be a spare bed in my room. I offered it to Niamh, knowing she would like, but wouldn’t need, someone around.
“Could I? If you don’t mind, like. Would it be okay with the others?”
“Hey, you’re my best friend, I’m not going to leave you alone tonight, knowing the way you are” I assured her. “And anyways, that’s my beer they’re drinking! Come on, get your coat.” She grabbed a hat, coat and scarf. Then she went to put up the umbrella. I opened the door. The rain was so heavy; we couldn’t see the end of the driveway. The wind must have been gusting at close to 90mph. We just stared out the door. I turned to her and said “Right, come on. We’re not getting there by looking at it.” I turned to go, but just as I did a flash of lightning split the sky in front of us. The thunder sounded instantly. We were right in the middle of the storm. Even I was having second thoughts about continuing.
“You know what, Dave? We’re staying here.” I heard her say.
