Erotic Refugees

by Paddy Kelly

  But if this project fell through, and he didn't get another programming job, then what? Did he just want to fall into some other job, find a woman, buy a Volvo, have eerily pretty children who'd make fun of his accent whenever he uttered a word of Swedish, and finally be buried in the ground of a foreign land that couldn't even make a decent cup of tea?

  A big pointy boat went cruising by, dragging deep troughs through the water. Two busty women in swimsuits were leaning out over the rail, and one gave him a wave. Rob gave them a big wave back and shouted, “Should keep yer eyes on the road there!” He grinned as they motored on and then watched as the wake passed under his feet and slapped against the wall in a surge of sparkling water.

  All in all, it wasn't a bad country. The tap water was good, the heating was free, the holidays were long, the coffee packed a wallop and he was in possession of a rare and sexy accent that made girl's knees go soft. It wouldn't be the worst place to end up. The only problem was that Rob wasn't quite ready to “end up” anywhere, or with anybody, just yet.

  When he'd licked the ice-cream stick clean he sidled back onto the pavement, lit a cigarette and sauntered back to his building. Passing from the daylight into the sunless hall made him shiver and he hurried up the stairs and back to his desk.

  The first thing he noticed when he settled down in front of the computer was another mail from Karen. He moved the pointer towards it. Maybe there'd be some kind of timetable for her arrival in this one, as he'd been prodding her about that ever since the strange text message asking him to lie on her behalf. She still hadn't told him what he should have been retroactively lying about, and Rob was itching to find out. Deceiving people was generally easier when you knew the topic.

  Hi bro! Just a couple of colour schemes, based on the ones you liked last time. Not much time to comment, but what you showed me looked good. Think the top bar is better, gives more horizontal room to lay out the calendar, and that's the focus. You sure you want to make it all in Flash though, it's a bit twee. But sure, whatever. And I'll be seeing you soon! In a few weeks probably, so I hope the sofa's ready! And if you talk to the mother, careful what you say, ok? Just don't act surprised. Go along with it. Promise me? Cya soon!

  Rob groaned. More bloody secrets. What was she up to now, the daft girl? He stood up and scratched his head, aware that this would require some serious thinking on his part. In fact, it would probably require a couple of cigarettes. He moved to the living room, opened the balcony door and leaned out, cigarette in hand, as he started to ponder.

  What was going on here? Since when had Karen been a schemer? Family members shouldn't go around changing personality without consulting him, it was just wrong and it caused unnecessary work for him in keeping up. The smoke curled from his nose as he tapped the cigarette on the balcony railing.

  Okay, since she wasn't keen to discuss it by mail or text, he should probably just call her and ask directly what the hell she was up to. He pulled the mobile from his pocket, found her number and waited while the ring tone repeated a dozen times before it slid into meaningless beeps.

  He sighed. So she was avoiding him on her mobile, which meant he'd have to call the house instead. She might not be home, but he had to start somewhere. He scanned through his contacts again, planning what he'd say to her, and was about to press dial when he was interrupted by the doorbell.

  He looked up in exasperation. Milly, and she was early again. He stubbed out the cigarette, shoved the mobile back in his pocket and hurried to the door.

  Milly nodded as she sidestepped her way in. She deposited in the hall a couple of paper bags, containing what appeared to be old clothes and a few huge balls of wool. She pulled the door closed with a foot and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

  “There was a little flea market at the bus stop, I couldn't resist.” She stared suspiciously at Rob. “You're white as a grub, haven't you been outside? You know, the sunlit realms? Don't they ever call to you?”

  “Sure, I was out just a while ago, went and sat in the sun and everything. Got my vitamin D fix for the whole week.”

  She nodded doubtfully as she stepped around him and into the kitchen. She was wearing baggy paint-flecked jeans, a faded orange t-shirt which had seen too many winters, and a green scarf tied in her hair. She looked like something from an old Australian soap opera.

  “You could use a few plants in here. Give you something to talk to.” She positioned herself by the sink, and downed a glass of water. Then she pulled out a chair and sat at her usual place at Rob's messy workstation. She pushed back the scarf, lifting the ropes of red hair off her freckly face, and nodded to Rob.

  “So has any progress been made on this fine day?”

  “Hell yeah,” Rob said, sitting down beside her. “Look here, the calendar's gettin' legs at last.”

  Milly leaned over and studied the screen for a while. “Doesn't look like you're parsing that properly—”

  “Well I would if you haven't suddenly up and changed the XML structure yer sendin' me—”

  “My data's just fine, it's not my fault you don't know how to deal with it. And if my XML is too hard for you, then go find another girl with easier XML, okay? And how has the rest of it been going?”

  Rob took her through his progress, step by step. Milly, he had discovered, was a pleasure to work with. She rarely pushed her own opinion on him, and simply pointed out why she thought a certain function would work or not, leaving it up to him to decide what to do about it. She, in turn, did her own work with blinding speed and kept Rob informed in short, precise mails about what she had changed in the database and why. If she'd been younger, and straighter, and singler, and just a bit more attractive, Rob could have considered marrying her. If he'd wanted to marry anybody, which at the moment he didn't.

  She stood up and slapped him on the shoulder. “Nice work Irish, keep it up. I'll finish this verification tonight and set up an e-mail client. I'll pling you when it's done, okay? Well, that's me, I'm out of here!”

  She made her way to the hall, swept up her carrier bags and then peered around the corner. “And you should take a look at how a user would update their info in your interface. Tell me how you want the data structured. You in tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” Rob said, scratching his stubble.

  “Maybe I'll come by and check up on you.”

  “Ye know, I might be out for a few hours since I have a bit of shopping to do, or something—”

  “No you won't,” she said with a stern look. “You'll be right here, slaving away for me and spinning gold from hay. Just be present between three and five and I'll swing by some time then. See you!”

  She closed the door and Rob listened to her footsteps as she bounded down the steps and then the bang of the exterior door as she left the building. He stared at the space she'd just occupied and gave an exhausted shake of his head. The girl was a whirlwind. She almost inspired him to work as hard as she did. Almost.

  He did, however, work for a full hour after Milly had left, as his head was buzzing with fresh ideas. After that his enthusiasm drained away and he got up to boil some water. With a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth he made some instant coffee and carried it to the other room where he happened to notice the telephone. Oh right, he was going to call home and talk to Karen. It was a bit early though, and if she was out for the day she wouldn't be back yet. Still, it was worth a shot, and it would at least give him time to smoke his cigarette.

  He sat on the bed and dialled the number of the house, one of the few he actually knew by heart these days. He lay back with a groan, crossed his sockless feet on the pillow and fixed his gaze on the ceiling while the good old Irish call tone came through—buup-buuuuup, buup-buuuuup. It rang five times, then six, and Rob was close to hanging up when a breathless voice finally answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Uh, hallo dad. How's tricks?”

  There came a fumbling sound as his father moved the receiver from one
hand to the other. “Oh fine, it's just fine here. And you're well, I suppose. Grand, that's grand. Well, I'll get your mother.”

  The receiver was put down with a clunk and Rob heard “Sally!” echoing around the house. Rob imagined his mother wiping her hands on a tea towel before hurrying to the phone with a look of urgency.

  “Robert, I was hoping to hear from you. Is everything well? Are you getting by?” Rob could tell from her tone that she assumed he wanted money. Which wasn't a wild assumption on her part, because very often he did. Just not now.

  “Yeah, I've fine, no problems over here.”

  “Well that's good, that's good,” his mother said. “But wait till I tell you what happened to the Sheehans. You remember David, that blaggard of a son of theirs?”

  Rob made the appropriate noises and let her talk, waiting for the moment when it felt okay to interrupt her. As soon as a pause appeared in the monologue he jumped in with honed reflexes.

  “Right then,” he said. “Karen, I wonder if—”

  “Oh yes,” his mother said brightly. “Karen, I forget! Tell her she left behind that learning Swedish book I bought her. I had to order it in at Quinn’s specially, you know. She's not there now, is she? I mean, I did talk to her this morning, but if she's there now…”

  “Um,” Rob said and sat up. What did his mother just say? That Karen was with him? He looked around the flat just in case she was, and he hadn't noticed. He quickly confirmed that she wasn't. But then why did his mother think she was? What was his loopy sister playing at now?

  “Robert? I said she's not there, is she…?”

  “Ah, no, not … at the moment. She just … popped out.”

  Suddenly Rob understood what Karen had wanted him to lie about. It was all blindingly clear. He thought she was in Ireland but she wasn't, and his mother thought she was in Sweden but she wasn't. That was a pretty sizeable lie, as lies went, not to mention a pretty nervy thing to do.

  “Alright then,” his mother said. “I'll talk to her later. But she's settling down all right, no problem with the weather, or the language? And she's not being a bother in the flat, is she? I know she told me not to poke my nose in but since I'm already talking to you—”

  “No no, it's fine,” Rob said. “No problems. I'll let her know about the book, alright? I have to dash now, things to do. Just wanted to say hello. Talk to ye later!”

  He dropped the receiver as if it were a bag of scorpions and jumped to his feet. He paced for a while, back and forth and then back some more, feeling everything beginning to come over a bit Twilight Zone.

  What the fuck was Karen playing at? Should he be worried about her? Well no, since she'd mailed him a few hours earlier and everything seemed fine. Unless of course somebody had kidnapped her, stolen her passwords and sent a mail from her account while pretending to be her. But if that were the case, then why weren't they sending him ransom demands instead of website colour schemes?

  Still pacing, he tried to summarise the situation so he had his story straight for the police, or for when the mother tried to rip his head off, whichever came first.

  It seemed his air-headed nineteen-year-old sister Karen had left Ireland on her way to Stockholm. She had failed to arrive. She had told people at both ends that she was at the other end. She had convinced people to lie for her while not telling them what they were lying about. And she had continued to send e-mails and make phone calls as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening.

  That was the situation, and the big question therefore was this:

  Where the crapping hell was she?

  Chapter 20

  It took until Thursday for Eoin's patience to run out, which was a little sooner than expected. Usually it took a good seven days in Ireland for his fuse to properly melt. But this time his family were making a special effort to drive him to distraction.

  First of all there were his sisters, Joan and Maura, and their attempts to fix his “problems” with Jenny by simply talking about them incessantly. The thing was they didn't know Jenny very well, possessed scant information about what had happened, and didn't have any kids of their own. That didn't stop them from being experts, and they were handing out advice as if it were cups of tea. And in Eoin's parents' house there were a great many cups of tea.

  Then there was his mother Liz who, despite Eoin's repeated pleading, stuffed Damien full of whatever had the most chocolate in it or on it. And not to mention the leaky taps, the terrible coffee, the ugly wall-to-wall carpeting, the cars parked on the footpaths, people wearing their shoes indoors, and potatoes for every single dinner.

  Eoin understood that he was becoming Swedish. No, worse than that, he was becoming nothing, a man without a land, a foreigner in two countries and a native of neither. And that didn't feel very fun at all.

  Luckily on Friday afternoon his sanity was rescued by the arrival of his brother Adrian who'd made the trip from Donegal to Dundalk. Eoin greeted his arrival with joy, this traveller bearing precious news that didn't involve tea, or EU grants, or the price of the neighbours' cars and who they thought they were driving around in something like that and looking down their noses at the rest of us, the bloody snobs.

  Adrian parked his shoddy red Merc in the drive and Eoin was halfway down the slope before his brother had even finished locking the doors.

  “Jesus Eoin, you've looked chirpier, I'll tell you that.” Adrian gave him a quick man-hug and stepped back to inspect him more closely. “Hmm, still breathing at least. Good as we could hope for, I suppose”

  Eoin felt calmer already. Adrian's flippancy was exactly what he needed after five solid days of his parents. His brother, he noticed, had new glasses with very minimal frames and they suited his face by drawing attention away from his very bald head and moving it to his brown eyes and big friendly mouth. Slightly more wrinkles than the last time he’d seen him, but still very definitely Adrian.

  He patted Eoin on the shoulder and manoeuvred him up the drive to the house. “No worries, we'll just put in an appearance and then we'll head off in the car. Have some nice”—he nudged him—“countryside to show you.”

  Eoin wasn't quite sure what that meant but it didn't really matter. A short car trip at this stage would be like a week in Thailand. They made for the back of the house, edging around the corner where the rose bushes pressed close to the wall, and went in through the scullery door.

  Adrian exchanged a brief hello with the mother and settled down in his usual spot at the kitchen table. Eoin, as tradition dictated, sat down across from him. He started to nudge the coasters but Adrian immediately reached out to collect them all and stacked them at the opposite end of the table. Eoin glared at him, tapping his fingers, but Adrian just smiled innocently back.

  Liz made herself busy with tea bags, mugs, plates and milk jugs.

  “Mum,” Adrian said. “It's fine, I don't want tea—”

  “Of course you'll have tea Adrian, don't be daft.”

  Adrian made a vague gesture, knowing full well that tea was being prepared and poured, regardless of his opinion on the subject. Liz then produced a metal tin of biscuits and popped the lid. Before they could even inspect the contents Damien dashed in from the living room where he'd been watching the TV and probably torturing the cat at the same time. He yelled “biscuit!” and rushed at the box.

  “Just one Damien,” Eoin said sternly. “Remember what we said.”

  The boy snatched a biscuit, wolfed it down and then stared expectantly at the tin. He glanced at his father for a second and then turned to his grandmother with a longer, much sweeter look. She nodded and Damien grabbed another biscuit and high-tailed it back to the living room before Eoin could even react.

  Eoin stared at Liz in shock. “Mum!”

  She turned back to her tea making. “I see the child once a year, Eoin. A biscuit won't hurt him.”

  “You could always fly over and see him in Sweden,” Eoin muttered. Liz ignored the comment. She placed the mugs and milk on th
e table and began pouring the tea.

  “Oh fine then,” Adrian said in resignation. “Just pour in out there, Liz. And if I don't drink it, it'll at least warm the house up.”

  Once she had fixed her own tea and seated herself at the table, Eoin took a biscuit for himself. He offered the tin to Adrian. “So how are things in Letterkenny?”

  “Oh, not too bad. Not much happening in the way of colosseums or opera houses, so I'll be stuck designing council offices for the near future. It’s shaky work though, very shaky. Not the best time to have anything to do with building.”

  “So no nice ones on the drawing board?”

  Adrian laughed and shook his head. “Nice buildings, here? Well one thing you can't blame the Irish for is having too much taste, that’s for sure. We were landscaping a housing development last year, before the money all evaporated, and I swear you wouldn't see more pillars if you were in ancient Rome. They’re only half-done and they’ll probably collapse before the money is ever found to finish them. Which, to be honest, is probably a good thing.”

  “There's nothing wrong with those new houses,” Liz said. “I don't know why you're always coming down on them, Adrian. They're warm and clean and there's great light in those windows, fantastic for the geraniums. Didn't my cousin Kate build a two-storey over in Carnroe, and it’s lovely.”

  Adrian rolled his eyes at his brother and reached for another biscuit. “So any plans for the day?”

  “Not sure,” Eoin said, turning to his mother. “Weren't Bill and Áine coming by today?”

  “Oh no, that'll be later on, after dinner. When your father gets back.”

  “Ah, okay,” Eoin said. “So we can go for a drive? You can watch Damien?”

  “Oh I doubt he'll even notice you're gone. As long as he has that cat to torment he'll be fine. Just be back by six.”