Page 47 of Love Unlocked

‘The podcast is outside of my comfort zone. What I’d really like is a music podcast but maybe this is a stepping stone. That’s why the love locks gaining traction is a big deal for me. I’m kind of searching for validity that it’s for me.’

He nods, getting it. ‘Your love lock story is about a song.’ He digs into the blueberry island, attacks it from all sides. He thinks about everything. Comes at things from all angles, even his porridge.

She frowns.

‘One of the most famous love songs in the history of Irish music. “Grace”.’

Her eyes widen. Yes. ‘Grace’, a famous Irish love song sang at many a sing-song, was written by brothers Frank and Seán O’Meara, about Grace and Joseph Plunkett’s marriage in Kilmainham Gaol. She hadn’t connected the story with the song but her adrenaline starts pumping.

‘Technically you’d be sharing the story behind the song,’ Al says, rinsing out the cereal bowl and then placing it in the dishwasher. He really couldn’t be any more perfect.

‘Al, you’re a genius.’ Her head races as she now has new angles to approach this story for the podcast. Maybe she can turn it into what she has always wanted it to be. A podcast with music at its core. Maybe this isn’t just about love locks, it’s about Grace and Joseph, it’s about their love story. Maybe it’s their everlasting love, and not just the padlocks, that was the glue that held everyone together. People tethered themselves and their love to their memory, and when it was clipped, so too was their love. Love on the edge of loss. Love, loyalty and sacrifice.

Melody rushes to hug him. His back is to her, and she wraps her arms around him, her hands unable to meet at his chest, cheek to his back. He rubs his thumb against her hand.

‘Thank you,’ she says.

‘No problem. Thank you,’ he says softly, which makes her want to squeeze him tighter.

He turns around to face her, her arms still around his waist. They lock eyes and stare at each other for a comfortably long time.

‘I think you still have the locks,’ she says.

‘Do you now? Well I think you looked just about everywhere last night and couldn’t find them.’

She runs her hands over his body as though she’s frisking him.

A sneaky smile breaks out on his face. ‘I don’t have the locks but if I think of anything I can do to help you, I’ll let you know.’

‘But I slept with you and everything,’ she moans.

He laughs. ‘Three times. And you can keep trying if you like, it might eventually work.’ He kisses her. Luscious lips, even if he tastes of porridge.

He walks down the stairs with her, and doesn’t complain once. They talk all the way, and when they get to the ground floor, Melody wishes there were more levels to go. When they get outside, the two pizza boxes are outside the door on the pavement. Melody laughs at the sight of them. She had been ravenous last night but it was worth not answering the door.

Al tuts and picks them up, as a neighbour exits the building at the same time.

‘Terrible. People leaving these lying around. Does anybody have any respect? Wasteful, throwaway society,’ he grumbles, while Melody laughs, and Al stuffs them into a nearby bin.

He forgoes the Luas and they walk to his work together. Melody wishes there were more blocks added to the journey. They say their goodbyes. No kisses, not in front of his office, and no promises to see each other again. She’s nervous about that part. Though he does have her number.

In fact he says, ‘Have a nice life,’ and brushes her chin gently with his thumb, before entering the revolving door which is still taped up from the previous morning. She laughs as she walks away, having to fix her silly grin when people catch her.

She has spent so much time with Al, walking by his side for hours yesterday evening and this morning, that when he is gone she feels an emptiness beside her. She really does need to snap out of it. But she can’t, she’s kind of floating, her skin humming with the memory of his touches and kisses.

After snoozing for a few hours, she turns on Prunella’s TV show New Day at noon.

A familiar man is sitting on the moss-green couch, looking awkward in a pin-striped suit. His head is a mess of curls, which is not the familiar part because that was covered by a woollen hat when he cycled by her yesterday evening and proceeded to wear the face off Al’s ex-fiancée. It’s Walter.

‘Walter Whelan is an ecologist at Bridgespan, the bridge management company that has been in the media this week for controversially, some would say, removing the love locks from the Grace Plunkett Bridge. Walter, you’re very welcome here with us on New Day.’

‘Thanks for having me, Prunella.’

He’s very softly spoken.

Melody stares at the TV in shock. ‘What. The …’

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