He's Got to Go

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  She’d had a good time with Michael tonight. Their first date, the session at the Point Theatre, had been OK although they’d met up with a gang of Michael’s friends and suddenly it wasn’t really a date between them but a kind of group thing where everyone knew everyone else and they ended up going for drinks together. Bree had felt a little out of things as they’d joked about their college days and the fun they’d had and what a pain it was to be in the real world and having to earn a living. She’d felt out of things, too, when she realized that for them earning a living meant being involved in high-profile careers in law or media or design, not slogging it out in a garage. She’d never been ashamed of working in a garage before—she still wasn’t ashamed of it—but the girls, in particular, had made her feel totally inadequate.

  Afterward one of the guys had given her and Michael a lift back to Donnybrook but that had meant her getting out of the car first and simply giving Michael a peck on the cheek and telling him she’d had a good time. He’d call, he said, and she really wasn’t sure whether or not she believed him. So she’d been relieved when the phone had rung and he’d invited her out again.

  Their second date had been better. They’d gone to the movies, a horror one that he’d chosen, especially, he said, to have her shrieking and cowering beside him. In fact, horror movies always made her laugh and she did hardly any shrieking and cowering which disappointed him. Afterward they’d had coffee and Michael had told her—as so many men did—that she really was quite unique and that he’d never met anyone like her before. He’d asked, again, about her motorbike and about her love of cars and all things mechanical and he’d wondered, aloud, whether or not she’d let him ride the bike.

  “Are you mad?” She’d grinned at him. “I know how you drive a car.” But she’d suggested that the next time they went out together he could call to her flat and she’d bring him for a spin on the bike. He’d shared a taxi home with her and once again dropped her at the flat before continuing on to his own house. Bree had always thought that twenty-one-year-old men were a seething mass of hormones only waiting to pounce so she was torn between frustration and hurt that he didn’t seem to want to jump on her and tear the clothes from her body. She’d fondly imagined that she’d spend her time with Michael Morrissey fending him off and it was disconcerting to think that he could so easily allow her to kiss him on the cheek again and say goodbye.

  So for their next date she brought him along the coast road out as far as Howth on the back of her bike and up to the summit of the hill where they’d sat and watched the sun going down while he told her about the new job that he was starting in September in the sales and marketing department of a large retail company. Great prospects, he’d said, and a brilliant step-up from his current temporary job simply answering phones in a market research organization. She’d listened and nodded but had remembered, quite suddenly, that it was Howth summit where Adam had romantically proposed to Nessa. Yet despite watching the sunset with Michael (which should have been laden with romance, she thought) the atmosphere between them was simply friendly. He was fun to be with, she enjoyed his company and he was very, very attractive, but she wasn’t sure that there was a spark between them. Not the kind of spark that she’d hoped might be there—that she supposed would be there if he was the one that suddenly turned her into decent girlfriend material. She didn’t want to push it but she rather felt as though he saw her in the role of an older sister rather than a potential bedmate. She wondered if it really was because he was a bloke four years younger than her but she tried to dismiss that idea. If she were to think like that she’d be no better than the people who tried to stereotype her and say that it was odd for a woman to be a mechanic and to ride fast bikes. Just because Michael was twenty-one didn’t mean that he couldn’t be as mature as any of the other blokes she’d gone out with in the past. More mature than half of them and, at the very least, not a weirdo!

  She eased back on the throttle as she turned onto the road where he lived. Then she glided to a halt outside the house.

  “That was brilliant!” He took off the helmet and, in the light of the streetlamp she could see that his eyes were shining. “You are the coolest girl I’ve ever known. The way you weaved in and out of traffic. The way you took corners. Fan-bloody-tastic.”

  She grinned and took off her own helmet. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

  “I would’ve liked it if we could’ve gone even faster,” he told her. “There’s something about speed on a bike…”

  “You shouldn’t get excited about speed,” she said. “If you do, you let it conquer you instead of you conquering it. Speed is just something to keep control of.”

  “Oh, but belting along faster than anyone else is magic,” said Michael. “Knowing you can piss all over people at the lights…”

  She laughed. “I try not to think of you as a bloke like any other bloke,” she told him. “I try not to think of you as someone who’s turned on by engine revs and driving fast. But you are, aren’t you?”

  “Not always.”

  They hadn’t kissed before. Not properly. But now he leaned toward her and she knew that he was going to put his arms around her and kiss her here, outside his house, and kiss her in the way she needed to be kissed.

  A car pulled up and caught them in its headlights. Michael loosened his hold on her and turned around. Declan Morrissey got out of the car and waved at them.

  “How are you?” he asked Bree.

  “Fine thanks.” She was flustered. She knew that he must be aware that she was dating his son but she hadn’t expected to see him like this, her face flushed with the anticipation of Michael’s kiss.

  “Do you want to come in for a coffee?” he asked.

  She glanced at Michael who nodded.

  “Nice outfit,” said Declan as she stood in the kitchen and unzipped her black leather biker’s jacket.

  “Thanks.” She wished she didn’t feel so uncomfortable in front of him. It was as though he was looking at her, assessing her and, somehow, finding her lacking. Maybe it was because of the leathers. Maybe he didn’t think that a girl who worked in a garage and wore leathers was exactly the kind of girl he wanted for his attractive son.

  “We went to Howth.” Michael sat down at the table while Declan spooned coffee into a cafetiere. “Bree is the most brilliant girl on a bike I’ve ever met.”

  “You’ve never met a girl on a bike before,” Declan pointed out.

  “Yeah, well.” Michael grinned. “She’s still something.”

  “I wish she could teach you to drive better,” said Declan.

  “I don’t teach anything,” said Bree hastily.

  Declan smiled. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “Will you be hurt if I say no?”

  Michael laughed. “She remembers things too.”

  “I said I wouldn’t be hurt if you didn’t have anything to eat the last time you were here and I won’t be hurt this time either. But, knowing my son, if you’ve been on a date with him you haven’t had anything to eat. He’s not known for wining and dining his girlfriends in style.”

  Girlfriends. Bree wondered how many girlfriends Michael might have had. He was so gorgeous and attractive to look at, she supposed he’d never be short of someone wanting to throw herself at him. And, of course, all those girls in college would have looked at his lean, tanned face and soulful brown eyes and melted at the knees. As she had.

  “Have a slice of apple pie.” Declan took a half-finished pie out of the fridge and put it on the table with the coffee.

  “Thanks.” Bree was ravenously hungry. Declan was right, after they’d watched the sun go down they’d gone for a few drinks. She’d stuck to mineral water and Michael hadn’t drunk that much either but the only food they’d had was a packet of Bacon Fries each.

  “Next time we go out I’ll bring you for a meal,” promised Michael. “And you won’t have to come back here and stuff yourself on Dad’s apple pie.” He looked at her empt
y plate. “Were you hungry?”

  “Not really,” she lied. “But it was a nice pie.”

  Declan laughed and refilled her cup. “Make him bring you somewhere nice,” he warned Bree. “Otherwise you’ll end up at Pizza Hut.”

  “What’s wrong with Pizza Hut?” demanded Michael.

  “I like pizzas,” Bree assured him. “Especially with extra chilli topping.”

  “I told you she was something else,” said Michael admiringly. “None of my other girlfriends liked extra chilli topping.”

  It was an hour later when she arrived back at the flat. Declan had gone to bed and Michael had walked outside with her. But he hadn’t tried to kiss her again and she couldn’t figure out whether it was because he felt uncomfortable knowing that Declan was so near or whether it was because he just didn’t fancy her enough. He enjoyed being with her, that much was clear, but was this relationship, like so many others, a “just good friends” kind of thing? Did he see her as a mate who happened to have a size 34B chest? Was she, as Nessa had once scornfully told her, totally lacking in feminine charms?

  She peeled off her leathers and got into her unmade bed. She sat in it and looked around her. She was certainly lacking in feminine touches. The flat was, as always, a mess. Maybe I should make more of an effort, she thought. Tidy things up a bit. Shove some flowers into a vase. Let people know that I am, actually, a woman.

  She shuddered. She hated being thought of as a woman. Hated being categorized as someone who ultimately would get married and settle down and have children. And she wondered how many women had hated the idea too until, one day, they’d met someone who’d changed their minds about it all.

  It would be funny, she thought, if the man who changed her mind about it all turned out to be a twenty-one-year-old speed freak from down the road.

  12

  Sun in 3rd House

  An active mind and a good communicator.

  It was chaotically busy. Cate sat at her desk and wondered how she was going to hold three meetings, attend a lunch seminar at the Sports Council, interview a potential new accounts clerk and have a set of figures ready for Ian Hewitt for five o’clock. It wasn’t possible. She knew it wasn’t possible even if she’d had a full compliment of staff today—which she didn’t because apparently four people were down with some kind of stomach virus and had phoned in sick that morning. The only thing about being so frantically busy was that it didn’t give her time to worry about her own life and how terrible everything was and what on earth she was going to do about the baby. The baby that she didn’t want to know existed. The baby that nobody else knew about yet because she still hadn’t said a word to Finn. She wasn’t going to say anything to him either. Not until she knew what she wanted to do.

  He’d taken her out to Wong’s on Saturday night and for a couple of hours she’d been able to pretend that everything was fine. She’d pushed the whole baby issue to the back of her mind as she chatted to him about his listener figures for the radio show (up by three percent last month) and the agenda he now had for the first few TV shows—some good guests with interesting stories as well as some celebs to reel in the viewers. She’d managed to pretend that she wasn’t pregnant at all, that the whole thing was a figment of her imagination, and somehow the evening had been better than any they’d spent together since she’d asked him to marry her. But later that night, before they’d made love and while Finn was trailing his fingers from her throat to the top of her legs as he always did, she wondered frantically whether or not he’d realize that she was fatter and whether he’d suddenly put two and two together and ask her straight out about being pregnant.

  Only he hadn’t, of course. He’d kissed her and touched her and then entered her just as he always did and nothing, absolutely nothing was any different.

  “Hey, Cate, your taxi’s here!” Ruth Pearson stuck her head around the door. “Lucky you, managing to skive off to the Sports Council for a few hours. Wish I could get out of this madhouse.”

  “Wish I could stay,” said Cate ruefully. “I’ve a ton of work to do.” She opened her bag and took out her makeup. “What time is that girl coming in for her interview?”

  “Half-two.” Ruth watched as Cate expertly refreshed her look and reapplied her creamy red lipstick.

  “If I’m late back, stick her in my office and give her a couple of newspapers.”

  “Sure.”

  “If Ian comes back, tell him that I’ll have the figures for him by this evening.”

  “OK.”

  “And if Finn rings—” Cate broke off. He might ring, they were supposed to be going out again that evening even though she dreaded it. She snapped her compact shut again. “Oh, if Finn rings just tell him I’ll see him back home.”

  “Right you are.” Ruth was still nodding as Cate grabbed her bag and hurried down the stairs.

  Nessa was weeding the front garden when she saw Mitchell Ward walk by. She straightened up and waved at him.

  “Hi, Mrs. Riley.” He smiled at her. The Wards had lived next door since Mitchell was fourteen. He’d never dream of calling her by her Christian name.

  “Hi, Mitchell.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Quick question for you.” Her heart was beating very fast.

  “Yes?”

  “Remember the girl you had staying with you earlier in the summer?”

  Mitchell’s face flamed red. What the hell did Mrs. Riley want to know about his girlfriends? Was she planning on telling his mother something? He’d always thought that Mrs. Riley was an OK sort of woman but you could never be sure about parents.

  “Portia? What about her?” He tried to keep the worry out of his voice.

  “I was wondering if you had a phone number for her,” said Nessa.

  He looked at her in surprise.

  “She had tea with me the morning Adam bumped into her car,” Nessa said. “And we were chatting about something—I just wanted to give her a call.”

  “I haven’t seen her in ages,” said Mitchell. “I’m sort of going out with someone else.”

  And she’s heartbroken only you don’t know that, thought Nessa. Probably even if you did you wouldn’t care because you’re a bloke and why the hell should you.

  “I only want her phone number,” she told him. “Not to talk to her about you.”

  He grinned suddenly and Nessa could see why Portia had fallen for him. Although he wasn’t conventionally attractive—he had a bump on his nose and probably sported too many freckles for most women—his smile was arresting and lit up his face.

  “She wasn’t awfully happy about us splitting up,” he confided. “But, to be honest with you, she was getting far too clingy, Mrs. Riley. She wanted to know where I was all the time and what I was doing and why I couldn’t be doing it with her. You know? I’m only twenty-two. It’s not like I’m ready for the whole commitment thing.”

  “I understand,” said Nessa dryly.

  Mitchell took his mobile from the pocket of his cargo pants. “I still have her number in this. Hadn’t got around to erasing her yet.” He read it off to Nessa who memorized it.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “No problem.” He pressed a few buttons on the phone. “She’s consigned to the trash can now anyway. Frees up another place in the Mitchell Ward directory of available women!”

  “I suppose that’s a good thing?” Nessa tried hard to smile at him.

  “Absolutely,” he assured her.

  Bree had four services to do, plus an investigation into a strange noise from the engine of a navy blue Alfa Spider. She wanted to get on with the job on the Spider but she had to do the services first.

  “Hey, Bree!” Rick Cahill waved at her. “Any chance you could try and loosen this nut for me? It’s tight to the block and I can’t quite get at it.”

  “Sure.” She wiped her hand on a cloth and peered into the engine. “Give me the wrench.”

  “What it is to have dainty little hands,” said Rick when she
’d done the job and handed the tool back to him.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “You’ll make someone a wonderful husband one day,” he told her.

  She looked at him. “Will I?”

  “Absolutely. Handy around the home, handy in the garage—what more could a man ask for?”

  “Someone who wears sexy dresses and high heels maybe?” she suggested.

  “Do I detect a slight bitterness in your tone?” he asked lightly. “Isn’t the course of true love running smooth for you, young Bree?”

  She sighed. She rarely talked about her personal life in the garage. Working with a bunch of men didn’t really present many opportunities for intimate conversations and she wasn’t the sort of person who liked having them anyway. But she was feeling dispirited about Michael Morrissey’s apparent lack of interest in her other than as someone who could ride a motorbike very fast. It might have been different if his father hadn’t shown up, he might have given her the passionate kiss that would have changed everything, but by now she doubted it.

  “The course of true love never runs smooth,” she told Rick equally lightly.

  “You’re going out with Declan Morrissey’s son, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “How the hell did you know that!” She stared at him in astonishment.

  “I heard Christy talking about it,” he said.

  “Christy!”

  “He knows Declan socially,” Rick told her.

  “I didn’t know that.” Bree glanced toward the tiny office where Christy was talking on the phone. “He didn’t say. He told me that Declan was just a good customer.”

  “Oh, they’re not friends,” said Rick. “As such. Declan’s in the same golf club as him.”

  “Fuck.” Bree wrinkled up her nose. “I don’t really want them talking about me over their gin and tonics.”

  Rick grinned. “Doubt that they do.”