Smile

Roddy Doyle was born in Dublin in 1958. He is the author of ten acclaimed novels, including The Commitments, The Van (a finalist for the Booker Prize), Paddy Clark Ha Ha Ha (winner of the Booker Prize), The Woman Who Walked Into Doors, A Star Called Henry, and, most recently, The Guts. Doyle has also written two collections of stories, and several works for children and young adults. He lives in Dublin.

—Victor?
    I looked up when I heard when I heard my name but I couldn’t see a thing. I was sitting near the open door and the light coming through was a solid sheet between me and whoever had spoken. My eyes were watering a bit – they did that. I often felt that they were melting slowly in my head.
    —Am I right?
    It was a man. My own age, judging by the shape, the black block he was making in front of me now, and the slight rattle of middle age in his voice.
    I put the cover over the screen of my iPad. I’d been looking at my wife’s Facebook page.
    I could see him now. There were two men on the path outside, smoking, and they’d stood together in the way of the sun.
    I didn’t know him.
    —Yes, I said.
    —I thought so, he said.—Jesus. For fuck sake.
    I didn’t know what to do.
    —It must be – fuckin’ – forty years, he said.—Thirty-seven or -eight, anyway. You haven’t changed enough, Victor. It’s not fair, so it isn’t. Mind if I join you? I don’t want to interrupt anything.
    He sat on a stool in front of me.
    —Just say and I’ll fuck off.
    Our knees almost touched. He was wearing shorts, the ones with the pockets on the sides for shotgun shells and dead rabbits.
    —Victor Foreman, he said.
    —Forde.
    —That’s right, he said.—Forde.
    I had no idea who he was. Thirty-eight years, he’d said; we’d have known each other in secondary school. But I couldn’t see a younger version of this man. I didn’t like him. I knew that, immediately.