Published: 18 Aug 2025.
by Gerry Gaffney
This story contains swearing.
"It's so hot!"
"It's supposed to be hot, Jimmy. It's a sauna," said Christopher.
"And this is supposed to be good for you? It can't be good for you."
Christopher ignored him.
"It's so hot," said Jimmy again. He was about to continue but the door opened and a young woman stepped in briskly, closed the door behind her and took a seat.
She sighed with apparent pleasure.
"It's lovely and warm in here," she said, nodding a greeting to the two men.
"Lovely," said Jimmy.
Christopher raised an eyebrow at Jimmy's change of heart.
"Time for the cold dip," he said to Jimmy. "Come on."
He turned to the young woman.
"See you shortly."
They left the sauna quickly and closed the door. Steam rose from them in the chill air. It was raining.
"Fuck, it's raining," said Jimmy.
"Come on," said Christopher, trotting down the boat ramp. "Into the ocean."
"I'm not going in there."
Jimmy grabbed him by the arm and man-handled him down the ramp. At the end, he pushed Jimmy over into the cold water. Jimmy screamed.
"Fuck, it's freezing."
Christopher laughed and ran in after him.
"Invigorating is what it is," he said, breathlessly. "Refreshing. The wild Atlantic Ocean."
"Bollocks. I'm going back into the sauna," said Jimmy.
"I thought it was too hot in there."
"It is. But at least it's not fucking freezing."
Back in the sauna the young woman looked at Jimmy.
"Was that you screaming like a little girl?"
He blushed invisibly in the heat.
"I was just invigorated," he said.
"Is that right?"
She looked him up and down.
"You're not from around here. Down in Oranmore the weekend just?"
"Yes," said Jimmy. He tried to think of something else to say but as usual when alone with a woman he was at a loss for words.
"You're the strong silent type, I see."
"Yeah."
Another silence.
Jimmy was desperately searching for something to say when the door opened and Christopher came back in, shivering.
"Ah, your spokesman is back," said the young woman.
She repeated the question about where they were from. Somehow with Christopher present Jimmy regained his ability to speak.
Fiona told them she swam all year.
"You must be pretty tough," said Jimmy.
"Indeed I am."
"Do you come here often?" he asked.
She laughed. "That's a very original question. But yes, I do, as it happens. Every Saturday after the Parkrun and usually once mid-week as well. What do youse do for entertainment? Drink pints?" She cast a glance at Jimmy's midriff.
"That's a bit harsh. I'm just a little bit out of shape because I couldn't train over the winter."
"Because of the rain, was it? Or the cold?"
"No, not enough snow for the bobsled."
She laughed again.
Christopher sat back and relaxed. Jimmy and Fiona were obviously getting on well. Jimmy was certainly overdue for some luck of the female kind, he thought.
"What's the tattoo?" Fiona asked.
Jimmy had been trying to keep his left arm out of view.
Fiona shifted to one side to get a better view.
"Ruth," she said. "Is that your girlfriend?"
"No."
"Wife?"
"No."
"So you just got a random name tattooed on your arm? Was it for a bet? Were you drunk?"
Christopher had spoken to Jimmy about his tattoo on more than one occasion, initially to point out the stupidity of considering having a girlfriend's name tattooed on his body and the inevitability of regretting such a decision. Particularly when the girlfriend in question was Ruth. But Jimmy at the time was not to be dissuaded. Later, when he'd been proved correct, he'd also given Jimmy advice on how to deal with precisely the current situation.
"Just don't make a big deal of it," he'd said. "In the unlikely event you ever get another girlfriend, if it bothers her you can have it inked over or removed or whatever."
In the moment, unfortunately, Jimmy forgot Christopher's good advice. Two answers popped into his mind and raced towards his speech centre where they vied for supremacy. Neither was the truth.
One answer was to say Ruth was his baby sister, sadly deceased at an early age but memorialised on Jimmy's arm. This would no doubt earn a sympathetic response from Fiona, he imagined. But if he ever had a relationship with her, it could become difficult. He imagined Fiona meeting his mother at their gaff in Dublin, looking around the various photographs and not seeing one of a little girl. Why was Ruth not represented in the family photographic record? Worse still, she might make some remark about how hard it must have been to lose a daughter, causing his mother great confusion and leading to consternation and acrimony all round.
Another answer was to say the tattoo was his mother's name. This was less emotionally loaded than a dead sister, he felt. A much safer option. He didn't give much thought to the fact that Ruth was not, in fact, his mother's name. After all, hardly anybody called his mother by her name. She was Mum within the family. Christopher called her Mrs Byrne. In fact now that he thought about it it took Jimmy a moment to recall what his mother's name actually was.
As the "mother" answer was gaining ground, Jimmy noticed that both Christopher and Fiona were staring at him. Fiona was waiting for an answer and Christopher was giving him a look that was apparently intended to convey some meaning, probably a warning, but was failing to do so.
"Ruth's my mother's name," he said, looking directly at Fiona.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Christopher bury his face in his hands. Perhaps, Jimmy thought, he shouldn't have made up the lie. He should have just told her the truth, that it was the name of his ex-girlfriend, as Christopher had counselled. But too late, he was committed now. And one thing he knew about lying, once you commit, you have to stay committed.
"Ah, I see. I thought you were a mama's boy alright from the way you were squealing when you hit the water. Well that's nice, I suppose. A bit plain, though, you could have got a heart or something to brighten it up a bit. Did your mum make you have it done? Like a family brand? Do you have brothers and sisters and do they have it as well? Is it like, what-do-you-call-it, Yellowstone? What about your old man? Did he have to get branded to gain entry to the family?" Fiona was laughing at her own conjecture. "Does your mum like the tattoo?
Before Jimmy could answer, Christopher, a quicker thinker and one less inclined to screwing things up, said, "His mother's never even seen it." He laughed. "She hates tattoos."
This answer baffled Jimmy for a moment. He'd been on the verge of answering that of course his mother liked it, was pleased at the tribute from her eldest child. But then he realised that it was in fact a clever answer. Now, in the still highly unlikely event that Fiona ever met his mother, she would know not to mention the tattoo. It would never be a topic of conversation at all. Jimmy smiled in relief. He was lucky to have a friend like Christopher.
A little weak after this lucky escape, Jimmy felt a need to get away from Fiona to recover his equilibrium.
"Come on," he said to Christopher, "back in the water."
As they flailed about in the cold ocean water, Christopher looked at Jimmy.
"What the hell was that story about? Your mother?" He spoke quietly so that his voice wouldn't carry back to the sauna.
"I don't know. I panicked."
"All you had to do was tell the truth, like I told you. You know, ex-girlfriend, stupid mistake, drunk or stoned, end of story. Your mother's name? That's the most stupid answer I can think of."
Jimmy didn't tell him that it wasn't the most stupid answer he could think of, and that he had contemplated giving an even stupider one. Better not mention the dead sister option.
"Anyway," said Jimmy, "it's not like anything is going to happen with her, or that I'll ever see her again."
"Based on past performance, I guess that's true," said Christopher.
Shortly afterwards they finished their sauna and said goodbye to Fiona. Jimmy hadn't worked up the courage, or the mechanism, to get her contact details or arrange a date.
"Probably for the best," said Christopher, patting him on the back. "You don't want to start a relationship by lying. It would be a bad omen."
"I suppose."
The following day Jimmy and Christopher took a train back to Dublin.
As they chatted about the weekend, Jimmy offered up a thought.
"You know, I wouldn't mind doing that again."
Christopher looked at him. Jimmy was so transparent.
Nine months later, and after much traipsing over and back between Dublin and the West, Jimmy and Fiona were officially an item.
Fiona got on well with Jimmy's family and often spent the weekend.
She and Mrs Byrne had an easy connection with a shared sense of humour, a useful attribute for dealing with the entertaining but flaky and occasionally infuriating Jimmy.
Jimmy and his siblings referred to Mrs Byrne as "Mum." When their father was alive he'd invariably called her "Missus" or "Dear" or "Darling," depending on the required measure of formality and the desired outcome. But eventually the name was bound to surface.
It happened one Saturday evening when Fiona and Mrs Byrne were sharing a bottle of wine. Jimmy's mother was telling stories about Jimmy's various scrapes and escapades.
Fiona, unused to alcohol, was feeling effusive.
"You're a great story-teller, Ruth," she said.
"Ruth?"
"Yeah, isn't that your name?"
"No, it's Imelda." Mrs Byrne looked puzzled.
"Oh, Jimmy told me it was Ruth, you know, because I asked him about the tattoo."
"Tattoo?" said Mrs Byrne.
At that moment Jimmy walked into the room.
The two women turned to stare at him.
"What?" said Jimmy.
Copyright © Gerry Gaffney 2025