Running in the Phoenix Park the other day, I met a cyclist – lycra-clad, as cliché insists – whose smile of recognition forced me first to slow down and then stop. “It’s yourself,” he said, clearly delighted to see me. “How many years has it been?”
Then I realised he was talking about Mountjoy Prison, in the 1990s, and some sort of race he had run while there. Furthermore, he was recalling a photograph of the occasion and wondering if he still could get a copy: “I’m after turning my life around. It’d be nice to have.” Turning this mixed compliment over in my mind, I wondered how long it had been since John Lonergan retired as Mountjoy governor. Ten years, I guessed, and that was after a full career.
Then the night arrived. Another friend, Gary, was bringing someone from the same area and had his father’s car, so we went together. And just as we were arriving at the house, we passed a young woman, walking, who turned and smiled, expecting us. She was only slightly familiar to me, I realised. And there was good reason for that. I’d never met her before.
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