The Storm

by R. J. Prescott

  “Take it easy, fella,” Con said, giving me a back slap while the girls said goodbye. When Con leant in to kiss Irish’s cheek, Em hugged me hard.

  “Don’t fuck this up. I really like this girl,” she whispered in my ear.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs O, I’ll be on my best behaviour,” I said. “I’m keeping this one,” I added.

  “Just be patient with her. I have a feeling she’s worth waiting for,” she replied.

  We waved them goodbye, and I led Irish towards the bike. I could sense her nervousness, but her tight grip on my hand gave me hope. The temperature had dropped and she shivered as we walked.

  “Here, you’ll need this,” I said, wrapping the heavy leather jacket around her shoulders and zipping it up. It swamped her, but it would do its job. I handed her the helmet to put on, but brushed her hands away as she fiddled with the strap.

  “Tell me why,” I asked suddenly.

  “Why what?” she said, looking confused.

  “Why you aren’t ready for me. Why you don’t want to date,” I answered.

  She sighed, and I regretted that the glow from our kiss was gone under the weight of her thoughts. “You won’t like it,” she answered sadly.

  “Maybe not,” I said, straddling the bike, then helping her to climb on behind me. “But you’re going to tell me why you don’t think we can work. Then I’m going to show you exactly how we can.”

  Chapter Six

  Marie

  “Focus, Kieran,” I said.

  “If you wanted me to focus, you probably shouldn’t have opened your shirt, darlin’,” he replied.

  He lifted his hand slowly, as though to cup my breast, before I rolled my eyes and slapped it away.

  “Okay, hot stuff, eyes up,” I told him.

  “Um… if you want me to look at your face, can you close your shirt? I think your tits have me hypnotised,” he said. Despite the gravity of what I was trying to tell him, I couldn’t help but giggle. He really was loveably charming.

  “Kier, I’m wearing a tank. It’s not like I’m topless,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. Still mesmerised by your boobs,” he replied.

  “Okay, look about an inch above my breasts,” I said.

  “Holy shit, that must have been some knife fight, Irish,” he said, as he saw the faint two-inch scar on the left side of my chest.

  The whole evening with Kieran was magical. I’d floated through it in a bubble, imagining for one night that I was normal, that it was a real date where he and I could go home together and wake up tomorrow and do it all again. But I wasn’t normal. There could be no happy ever after for the both of us. So I took a deep, steadying breath before bursting the bubble for good.

  “It is from a knife, but not how you’re thinking. It’s a surgical scar,” I explained.

  His jaw dropped open as he stared back and forth between my face and the scar.

  “How? Why?” he said. I could see the confusion and a glimpse of horror on his face.

  “I was born with a congenital heart defect, Kier. I’ve been in and out of hospitals nearly my whole life. When I was fifteen, my heart finally gave out. I had several valve repair surgeries, but at some point I’ll either need a replacement valve or a transplant,” I explained.

  He ran his finger gently along the scar, making me shiver.

  “But you’re okay now though, right?” he asked.

  “I have a ton of medication to take every morning to keep things on an even keel, and I can’t do anything other than light exercise so that I don’t overexert myself, but at the moment, I’m healthier than I’ve been for a long time,” I explained.

  “So we’ll go slow, and I’ll be extra careful not to make your heart pound too hard,” he said jokingly.

  “It won’t work, Kier. I can’t have a fling. Not with you. I like you too much already. It would be too easy to fall for you,” I said.

  “Who says it has to be a fling? I don’t have a lot of experience with relationships, but it’s what I want with you,” he said.

  Tears swam in my eyes as the tiny fissures in my heart began to crack. I wanted Kieran to be mine so badly, I could taste it. Never had I felt so alive as I had on the back of his bike, my arms wrapped around his rock-hard abs, my face nestled against the warmth of his body. Just once, I wanted this fragile heart to beat for someone else. I wanted it to beat for him.

  “I want that too, so very badly, but I can’t do that to you. I won’t. There are so many things that I’d be robbing you of. There’d be endless hospital appointments. We’d never be able to have children, because the strain would almost certainly be too much for my body. And even if you could handle all that and I didn’t get sick again, this heart has a shelf life. Whenever I get sick and admitted to hospital, I never know whether I’m going to make it back out again.”

  He swallowed hard, looking absolutely devastated. He opened and closed his mouth. The Irish charmer with the gift of the gab was rendered speechless. Knowing what had to be done, I closed my shirt and wrapped my arms protectively around myself.

  “It’s all right, Kieran. You don’t need to say anything. Em told me what happened to your dad, and it’s not something I would put you through again. It’s why I’ve been so standoffish. I was hoping to avoid this conversation. But I need you to know that it isn’t you. If I had a chance of something real with anyone, I’d want it to be with you.”

  Leaning forward, I kissed him gently on the cheek, inhaling the delicious scent of his aftershave one last time.

  “Bye, Kier. I’ll see you around,” I said.

  That was probably the hardest part of this conversation. I was friends with his best friend’s wife, so seeing him around was inevitable. But he’d never be mine, and there was always the possibility of seeing him one day with a girl that he’d call his for good. It would be a pain there was no medication for.

  Leaving him straddling his bike, I turned around and walked stealthily towards the door of my building I didn’t turn around, not once. The tears were streaming down my face, and I didn’t want him to see that. When I was safely inside my apartment, I locked the door and collapsed on to the bed, pulling the fluffy comforter over the top of me.

  It’s for the best, I told myself. But it didn’t help. Instead, I broke down and sobbed myself to sleep.

  ***

  I woke up feeling tired and sluggish. My puffy eyes were still red from crying, but the sun was shining and things didn’t seem as bad as they did last night. Everything always looked better in the morning. No matter how hard the previous day had been, I always tried to look for the positives when I woke. I was alive. My heart was still going strong. Today, I’d be a part of someone’s dream coming true. I never felt sorry that I was helping people chose a dress that I would never get to wear. Being a part of someone’s big day was a privilege that I would never take for granted.

  Waiting for the water to boil for my tea, I looked out the window at the morning and allowed myself a brief minute to wonder how Kieran was. I had no doubt that the truth had hurt him, but it was for the best. Kieran had said goodbye to his Dad after a terminal illness. I wouldn’t let him fall in love with me, only to have to do the same thing again. The whistle of the kettle shook me out of my own head. One quick cup of tea and a shower later, and I was out the door, ready to start another day.

  ***

  “Oh, my dear, you look sooo beautiful. This gorgeous dress suits you so well!” the crazy Maltese lady said.

  Stella Kelly was a bubbly, fiery, powerhouse of a woman, who swept into my shop a few times a week and filled the place with her personality. She drove me nuts constantly, but I absolutely couldn’t do without her. She was always butting into my business and second-guessing every decision I made. But when I was sick, she kept my shop going for me. When I was well, she made every bride feel like a princess and sold more dresses in a day than I could ever hope to. Luckily for me, she was my mother.

  “You’re absolutely right. I th
ink this is the one,” the bride said, smoothing her hands down one of my early designs.

  “It’s a fabulous choice. Feel free to keep it on for as long as you like. But when you’re ready, make your way out front and we’ll sit down and put the order through. In the meantime, can I get you a glass of anything to celebrate the occasion?” I asked.

  “Oh, a glass of wine would be wonderful if you have it,” she replied, clapping her hands together excitedly. I left her cooing over the dress with her mother and sisters and made my way out to the front of the shop. Pulling a bottle of white out of the fridge, I was lining up glasses for the wedding party when my mum slapped her hands down on the counter in front of me.

  “What’s up with you today? You look like someone ran over your horse,” she said.

  “Mum, I don’t have a horse,” I replied.

  “I know you don’t have a horse. It’s an expression. It means you look miserable. You also look tired and too skinny, but I couldn’t think of any expressions for that.”

  A little over thirty-five years ago, Michael Kelly ate one mouthful of Stella Bellizzi’s pasta, fell madly in love, and swept her off her feet. At least that’s the way Mum told the story. He left for Malta on a temporary posting with his engineering company and returned home with a wife. In the early years of their marriage, Dad kept her busy with baby after baby. I was the eldest. A quiet, shy kid, always hiding behind Mum’s skirts. A year later, she gave birth to a son, and practically five minutes after that, twin boys. All three healthy, strapping, good-looking Maltese lads. Although Dad was English, he was dark haired and olive skinned like his mother. Thanks to a genetic throwback from three generations before, I inherited the pale skin and red hair of Dublin-born Niall Kelly. Someone made the mistake once of asking Mum if I was adopted. She answered in Maltese. Very loudly. I did inherit one thing from my Dad though, his weak heart. He died suddenly of cardiac arrest when I was five, leaving Mum in a strange country to raise four children alone. But she did it, and since I was already receiving medical treatment, she decided to stick it out in London.

  “I’m pretty sure the expression is something like ‘you look like someone ran over your dog,’ and I don’t have one of those either.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Mine is much better. You’d form much more of an attachment to a horse than a dog,” she said.

  “How would it even be possible to run over a horse?” I asked.

  “Of course it’s possible. You don’t think a car would hurt a horse?” she answered.

  “You do realise how ridiculous this whole conversation is, don’t you? I can’t even remember what we were talking about,” I said, smiling at her as I poured the wine.

  “That’s better. I don’t like it when you’re sad. Now eat something and sleep more, and I will be really happy,” she said, squeezing my cheeks like I was a kid. Even after all the years she’d spent in England, Mum’s accent still carried a distinct Maltese lilt.

  As it turned out, a day in the shop was just what I needed. Everything, from the beautiful fairy tale décor in creams and oaks to the subtle scent of apples from discreetly hidden Yankee candles, relaxed me. Coming here didn’t seem like work. It was more a haven. Maybe that’s why it pissed me off when I looked up to see Alastair Baxter-Hall striding confidently across the road towards the boutique.

  “Hello, Alastair,” I said politely, barely resisting the temptation to grit my teeth. “This is a nice surprise.”

  “I hoped you’d think so. You look a little pale today. Should you really be working?” he asked.

  I sighed, knowing that I didn’t have the energy for another confrontation with him today. “I’m perfectly well, thank you. If I’m pale, it’s probably because I haven’t eaten yet,” I replied. I could have kicked myself as I said it, knowing what was coming next.

  “Well, let’s rectify that now. Shut up this place and I’ll take you to dinner,” he said. The way he’d waved his hand dismissively around my shop as he’d said “this place,” had my hackles rising. Soon after our first meeting, he made it clear that he wanted to date. I told him that I just wanted to be friends in order to let him down gently, but I quickly realised my mistake. Alastair wasn’t looking for a friend; he wanted a trophy wife, someone to attend charity lunches and hang on his arm and every word. The fact that I clearly wasn’t that woman did nothing to deter him. To him, my livelihood was a hobby, a means of passing the time until I married. Not even my attempts to end our association had fazed him. He’d simply announced that he’d wait until I saw sense and was ready to settle down and suggested that I didn’t wait too long. That was six months ago, and not a week went by without him dropping by the boutique or other places I hung out. What started out as annoying was now becoming wearisome, and more than a little creepy.

  “I can’t just ‘shut up’ shop, Alastair. This is my busy season. I have two more fittings before I’m done for the day,” I explained.

  “You see! This is what I’ve been talking about. How can you expect to run a business in your condition? You can’t even afford to take a break when you get tired. How is this kind of strain good for your heart?” he asked.

  A month ago, I ran into Alastair on the way to my mum’s for dinner and had tripped while attempting to make a hasty escape.. When my handbag spilled out all over the pavement, my pills had rolled to his feet. He’d read the label and stormed into the shop the next day, obviously having investigated what the drugs were for, and demanded an explanation. I didn’t owe him one, but I gave it anyway, hoping it would end his infatuation. Unfortunately for me, it did the opposite. My weak heart only gave him more ammunition to wear me down.

  “I’m completely healthy at the moment, but even if I were sick, I’m perfectly capable about making decisions about my own health. I’ve been doing it for a long time,” I said.

  He looked wounded, and instantly I felt guilty. I hated confrontation of any kind, and after saying goodbye to Kieran last night, I really didn’t need this.

  “It’s only your welfare I’m thinking of, darling,” he said. “We’re still friends, aren’t we? I’d like to think you’d look out for me if I were sick.”

  “But I’m not sick. Working here gives me purpose,” I said, trying to explain.

  “All right, I see I’m not going to get my way today. But just remember, being my wife would give you purpose too. And it’s a job that won’t leave you with calloused fingers,” he said with a wink. I clenched my fist to hide the callouses he spoke of, then unclenched them. I was proud of those marks, not ashamed. They came from hours of hand sewing, of creating something beautiful by my own hand.

  “What happens if you get married one day and your wife wants to work?” I asked him. I had no intention of ever being that woman, but until he abandoned his archaic notion that a woman had to give up her career when she heard wedding bells, the chances of him turning anyone else’s head were slim.

  “With the life I could provide for her, what woman would want to work?” he asked.

  “It isn’t just about making a living. This place is my world,” I said, trying to explain. I needn’t have bothered.

  “I would be your whole world if you’d let me. Now, if I can’t talk you into dinner, I might as well catch up with Geoffrey for drinks at the club. I’ll see you soon, Marie. Goodbye, Mrs Kelly, you’re looking as lovely as ever I see,” he said.

  Mum giggled as she walked up to the counter with the tiara that my bride had chosen.

  “I have no idea why you fall for Alastair’s charm,” I said to her, feeling flat after his visit.

  “He’s not such a bad catch, little one. He’s besotted with you and he’s rich too. He could take care of you,” she reasoned.

  “Mum, I don’t care about money. You know that.”

  “But if you get sick again when I’m old, who will take care of you?” she asked. I knew this worried her, and my heart broke as I looked into her watery eyes. In all likelihood, I would die before her, and no
parent should have to outlive their child.

  “I won’t marry a man I don’t love, Mum, not just to have someone to take care of me.”

  “Yes, but, dear girl, you won’t marry a man you do love either, will you?” She squeezed my cold hand.

  “I can’t do that to someone, Mum. I saw how much pain you were in when Dad died. It wouldn’t be fair of me to knowingly do that.”

  She patted my hand sympathetically and shook her head. “For someone so smart, you know so little. To lose the other half of you is a pain like nothing else. But it’s not his loss I remember. It’s his love. It was a gift I would not trade in a million years. If you are lucky enough to find a gift like that, you’d be a fool not to take it.”

  With one last pat, she left the tiara on the counter and walked back to the bridal party. I heard her happy voice cooing with the bride’s mother about her daughter’s fabulous choice. On top of Alastair’s untimely appearance, Mum now had me dwelling on Kieran and the chance of something with him that I’d thrown into the wind. In a show that would be completely unprofessional if anyone were watching, I leant forward and rested my weary head against the cool counter. There were some days that were just made to be written off with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s in bed and a Nicholas Sparks movie.

  Chapter Seven

  Kieran

  Stunned.

  More specifically, absolutely shaken to the fucking core.

  That’s how I’d felt when Irish had shared her little revelation. Of all the reasons I’d thought up for the way she avoided having a relationship with me, her being sick was never one of them. Over the years, I could’ve had my pick of thousands of women. Wasn’t it just a cosmic fucking joke that the one girl I wanted was the prime example of why I avoided commitment in the first place. Thinking back to my last memories of Da, and the months after his death where Ma struggled to go on, had my stomach tied up in knots.