by Mary Carter
“I’ve been waiting for you for fifteen years, Ronan McBride,” Sally said.
“Tell her,” Katie said. “Or I will.”
“Tell me what?” Sally shrieked.
“Can we go somewhere private?” Ronan said. Sally took the wedding dress in both hands and pulled. It started to tear.
“Tell me,” she said. “Or I rip it to shreds.”
“I’m sorry,” Ronan said. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? Kissing that whore? Cheating on me while we’re engaged? Or dragging out the engagement for fifteen fucking years?”
“All of it,” Ronan said.
“I was going to help you,” Sally said. “With your problems.”
“I know.”
“What problems?” Siobhan said.
“You should really say ‘which problems,’ ” Katie said. “If she lists them all, we’ll be here all night.”
“Sally, can we please not do this here?” Ronan said. Carlene wanted to save him from this humiliation, but she didn’t know what she should do. She looked to Declan, but he was suddenly fascinated with a jar of paper clips on the back bar.
“Why are they looking at the note like that?” Sally said.
“It’s not Ronan’s handwriting,” Katie said.
“What?” Sally said. “Yes, it is. I was there. Do ye think I don’t know when I’m being proposed to? Tell them.”
“I didn’t write the note,” Ronan said. “Either of them.”
“ ‘Be Mine’?” Sally said.
“It wasn’t a love note at all,” Ronan said. “It was a tip on a horse.”
“What?” Sally said. Carlene didn’t think Sally could screech any louder or higher, but she was mistaken.
“A friend was leaving me a tip for a winning horse in the abbey. You found the note first.”
“Why was he leaving you the note there?”
“Because fifteen-year-olds aren’t supposed to be seen with bookies, and we didn’t have text messaging back then.”
“But you said—”
“I know, I know what I said. I was fifteen, Sally. You were all bubbly about it and I lied and told you it was a love note for ye, okay? The horse didn’t even fecking win, if that makes you happy.”
“And ‘Marry Me’?” Sally said. Ronan pulled the folded newspaper out of his pocket. Carlene looked away. Obviously, he’d been carrying it around for the past week, unable to bring himself to show it to her. But now he handed it over, like an accused man handing over the murder weapon.
“Number eight,” Ronan said.
“You’re gambling again,” Siobhan said. “I don’t fucking believe you.”
“I don’t get it,” Sally said. “We have fecking text messaging now, Ronan McBride. Why is someone still leaving you notes? What are you, a child?”
“It was just someone messing,” Ronan said. “Racehorse Robbie bet me I couldn’t quit gambling—”
“Another bet you’re sure to lose,” Siobhan said.
“He’s had a couple of wankers following me around twenty-four /seven. Then outta the blue some fella rang and said he left a tip on a winning horse for me at the abbey. I told myself no matter what I wasn’t going to bet—but I had to have a look and see what he was on about.”
“But you texted me,” Sally said. “You told me to meet you there.”
“I was working at Mickey John’s,” Ronan said. “My phone was on the bar. I didn’t text you, Sally. We were both set up.”
“It’s all been a lie,” Sally said. She slumped on the stairs. Carlene felt a rush of concern for her. She suddenly seemed more like a child than a woman. She’d spent fifteen years concocting this fantasy around Ronan based on secret love notes and ruined abbeys. Carlene looked for the woman from the Ballybeog Museum, and once again she found her staring at her. It was extremely disconcerting. And things were way too tense at the moment to stop and ask someone who she was.
“How much did you lose this time, Ronan?” Siobhan said.
“My pride,” Ronan said. He glanced at Carlene. “I’m really sorry, Sally,” he said.
Sally pointed at Carlene. “You,” she said. She threw the dress on the stairs, stomped down the rest of the way, faced Carlene, and squared off with her.
“Shit,” Carlene said. Declan grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear.
“I don’t think she’s gonna hit ye,” he said. “But ye might want to think about ducking just in case.”
“Thanks, Declan,” Carlene said.
“No bother, pet,” Declan said.
“You never said a word,” Sally said.
“This isn’t her fault,” Ronan said.
“Shut yer gob,” Sally said.
“I’m sorry,” Carlene said. It was a little too late, but she really was sorry. She didn’t come here to steal the loves of other people’s lives.
“I quit my job, I followed you here, I helped you get this place up and running, I helped paint yer fucking wall!” Sally said.
“I know. I know, I’m sorry,” Carlene said.
“I blathered on and on about Ronan being the love of my life and you never said a fucking word.”
“I should have,” Carlene admitted. She wasn’t going to apologize any more. Sally wasn’t really listening anyway.
“How long have you been shagging him?” She turned to Ronan. “Did she win this pub fair and square?” Joe, who up until now had been standing in the doorway listening, stepped farther into the room.
“Of course she did,” Katie said. “I drew the name m’self.”
“Maybe this could use some lookin’ into,” Joe said. The three McBride girls turned and glared at him.
“There’s nothing to look into,” Siobhan said. “Sally’s upset is all.”
“But how do we know that Ronan and this girl weren’t lovers before she came here? Everyone is hooking up on the Internet these days. This whole raffle could have been a right trick!” Joe said.
“You got your money, Uncle Joe,” Clare said.
“I’ll give it back to you,” Joe said. “Plus interest. It’s the pub I want.”
“You can’t have it,” Carlene said. “It’s legally mine.”
“We can get a judge to review this,” Joe said. “This could have been a scam.”
“Ronan and I met at the Galway Races,” Carlene said. “After I won the pub.” She looked at Ronan, who now had his face buried in his hands. “Tell them,” Carlene said. As if physically linked together, all three McBride women stood.
“You were at the horse races?” Siobhan said. “After losing the pub?”
“Jaysus,” Clare said. “He’s still at it. He goes and loses Father’s pub and he’s still gambling his life away.”
“You promised,” Katie said. She had tears in her eyes. “You promised over Da’s grave!”
Ronan didn’t lift his head from the bar.
“This needs to be looked into,” Joe said. “Investigated.”
“Why on earth do you still want this place?” Siobhan said. “You’ve more than enough money to set your tanning beds up somewhere else.”
“It’s just convenient here is all,” Joe said. “I can keep an eye out from next door.” Carlene was so engrossed in the conversation that she didn’t see the woman from the Ballybeog Museum until she was standing only a few feet away from her. She held out a book.
“Here’s the book ye wanted,” she said. Carlene couldn’t believe she chose this moment to hand it to her, as if nothing else were going on. “The Souterrains of Ireland,” the woman said.
“Thanks,” Carlene said. She took the book and quickly stuffed it beside the cash register. “What’s your name?” Carlene said. But she was too late, the woman was already out the door. “Declan,” Carlene said. “Did you see the woman who gave me the book?”
“Sorry, pet,” Declan said. “I had me back to her.”
“Is anyone still working?” Riley said. “I wouldn’t mind a fresh pint.”
“The party is mo
ving to Finnegan’s,” Sally said. She swiped Riley’s pint glass off the bar, then worked her way down, removing everyone’s drink and dumping what was left in their glasses down the drain.
“Sally,” Carlene said.
“They’re my lads and they’ll go where I say,” Sally said. “Right now, the pub is closed,” she announced. “Everybody out.” One by one the lads slowly stood, removed crumpled bills from their pockets, and set them on the bar. Sally pushed the money back. “It’s on her,” she said. Even the McBride girls got up to leave. Carlene was surprised to look up and see the band, as well as the Americans, pack up as well. One by one, the pub started to empty. Ronan and Collin remained at the bar. Sally stood in the doorway watching Ronan until Jane took her by the arm and led her away. Collin came up and whispered in Carlene’s ear.
“How was that for a bad boy?” Collin said.
“What?” Carlene said.
“Who do you think the fella was that called Ronan and texted Sally?” Stunned, Carlene stared at Collin. He grinned.
“Thanks for the advice,” he said out loud. He strolled out the door.
“What was that all about?” Ronan said.
“I think you should go too,” Carlene said. “I’m tired and I have a lot of cleaning up to do.”
“I’ll help,” he said. She didn’t protest. They worked in silence, washing glasses, wiping down tables, upending the chairs.
“I’ll get the jacks,” Ronan said. He headed off to clean the bathrooms. Together, they finished in two hours. The place was spotless. It made Carlene sad. She liked the noise and mess of a pub.
“Thank you,” Carlene said. “But you should go.” She wanted him to argue. She wanted him to stay. He nodded.
“Are you still browned off at me too, Miss America?” Ronan said.
“You and me,” Carlene said. “We mean well. But we keep making a mess of everything.”
“Aren’t you being a little dramatic?” Ronan said.
“Am I?” Carlene said. “You didn’t even tell her. I don’t even know if you ever were going to tell her.” Ronan nodded.
“Fair enough,” he said. His voice was stiff, defensive. He walked to the door, turned, and spoke softly. “Bye awhile,” he said. Carlene waited until he walked out and closed the door.
“Good-bye,” she said.
CHAPTER 36
Pulling Out the Punches
The day following the Americans from Hell incident, Carlene wasn’t sure what to expect. Would she have any customers? She’d been awake all night, throwing covers on and off, turning this way and that, looking out the window and realizing she’d never been somewhere so dark—at home there were always streetlights even at night, but here the sky was cloaked in a deep cushion of black. Had she been in a better mood it would have been comforting; as it stood, it made her feel isolated and so alone. She obsessively replayed the events of the evening. Sally’s torn wedding dress hung in her closet like a ghostly reprimand.
Carlene tried not to think about Ronan, but her thoughts kept returning to him anyway, like a homing pigeon returning to his perch long after his coop had been torn down. Ronan was so beautiful, and aggravating, and immature, yet caring, and funny, and every time he messed up he was too easy to forgive because you could tell he meant well. There was a softness to him, a vulnerability that Carlene wanted to leap in and fix, yet there was also a wall, which he would run and hide behind the second he felt she was getting too close. How much was he still gambling? Did any of them believe that he had really quit?
Carlene woke early the next morning and picked up the book on souterrains, just to get her mind on something else. She had just fixed herself a cup of instant coffee and opened the book when Ciaran’s wife, Jane, burst in the door, followed by Ciaran himself, eyes firmly planted on his feet, like an infant discovering them for the first time. Jane looked as pretty and perky as ever, except for the large white bandage on her neck. Ciaran glanced up, mouthed “Sorry,” and returned his gaze to his fascinating feet. Jane barged up to the bar. Despite her petite frame, she looked perfectly capable of kicking Carlene’s ass.
“Where the feck do you get off?” Jane said.
“Pardon?” Carlene said. Jane ripped the bandage off her neck. There, Carlene could clearly make out teeth marks.
“Ciaran,” Carlene said. “I didn’t tell you to bite her neck.”
“You said follow her passions,” Ciaran said. “Her passions are fucking vampires. I thought she’d fancy a nip.” Jane put her bandage back on and shook her finger at Carlene.
“First Sally, and now this? I wish Joe McBride would have turned this place into a spa. At least then I’d be getting my nails done instead of slapping some sense into my husband. You won’t be entertaining Ciaran anymore here. That’s a promise.”
“I’m sorry,” Carlene said.
“Mind yer own business or I’ll come back and mind it for ye,” Jane said. Then she stormed out. Ciaran stood in her wake.
“Ciaran,” Carlene said.
“I know, I know,” Ciaran said. He remained standing.
“I think you’d better go with her,” Carlene said.
“Right, right,” Ciaran said. “Listen. Can I just get a wee drink to take away?”
Carlene couldn’t sleep that night either, so a little after one in the morning, she called her father. Maybe, for once in his life, he would comfort her. Maybe he had some great advice that would save her from all of this.
“What time is it?” he asked straightaway.
“It’s one twelve here,” she said.
“You should be in bed.” Carlene heard water running in the background. It continued throughout the call.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m not well,” her father said. Carlene settled in and listened to his complaints. His joints were bothering him, his back ached, his hands were chapped, they were discontinuing one of his favorite cleaning products, and he was going to sell the gym. Carlene, who had been lying down, sat straight up in bed.
“Why?” she said.
“Because you were supposed to be here to run it,” her father said. “You were going to take over for me.”
“Since when?”
“I thought it was obvious. I was slowly giving you more and more responsibility. You had your own office.”
“It was a janitor’s closet, Dad.”
“It was spotless, and that desk fit in there,” her father said.
“I don’t know what to say. Sell if you want to sell.”
“Why don’t you just come home?” Without waiting for her reply, he started in on the woes of running the gym. She was so deflated by the time he was done that she didn’t even try to talk him into visiting. Just once, she would love to say, “How are you, Dad?” and hear, “Grand, grand. You?” in response.
And he didn’t even know what a failure she was here. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should come home and run the gym. It didn’t dawn on her until she hung up. He hadn’t once asked her about her.
Carlene had underestimated Sally’s influence. A week went by with only a few visits from Declan. He seemed so concerned for her, and she was grateful for his company and his assurances that things would get better. He did everything he could to cheer her up, including bombarding her with jokes. “Have you seen the Ballybeog cemetery?” he asked her.
“I have,” Carlene said.
“Did you know that nobody who lives near the cemetery is allowed to be buried there?”
“No,” Carlene said. “Why not?”
“Because they’re not dead yet,” Declan said. His visits kept her sane. One day he saw her book on souterrains and started leafing through it.
“Why the interest?” he asked.
“I’m just . . . curious about all things Ireland,” Carlene said.
“Ah, right, right,” Declan said. Carlene felt a rush of guilt. Here was maybe her only friend left in Ballybeog, and she was lying to him. She couldn’t help it; the soute
rrain was her secret, the one thing keeping her sane. “Remember you asked me if I knew who gave you this book?” Declan said.
“Yes,” Carlene said. “I’m sorry you didn’t see her. She’s the same woman I ran into at the Ballybeog Museum.”
“I reckon I know who you’re on about,” Declan said.
“You do?”
“It sounds like Ellen,” Declan said.
“Ellen,” Carlene said. Why did that name sound familiar?
“She’s Pat McGee’s daughter. Stays in her room most of the time.” That was it—she’d heard the women on the bus to the cliffs talking about Ellen.
“Why do you think it’s her?”
“She’s a skinny thing with short dark hair. Very pale.”
“That’s her. Well, that’s great, right? It means she’s coming out of her room.”
“I heard Pat McGee say so the other day. Seems she’s been coming out of her room since you came to town.”
“Me?”
“You’ve got your own Irish stalker!”
“That’s so great,” Carlene said. “I wish she was a paying stalker.”
“Don’t you worry, pet. They’ll come back.”
“Thanks, Declan.” He got up to leave, then stood by the door watching her.
“I love Sally like she was me own daughter,” Declan said. “But I’ve always known Ronan wasn’t the man for her. She won’t see it for a long time all right, but you did her a favor. And let me tell you, chicken. That home movie? That was some kiss. Some kiss, all right. I’d say Ellen isn’t the only one you’ve lured out of hiding. I think if you played your cards right, you might just talk that boy into settling down.” Before Carlene could argue otherwise, Declan winked and was out the door.
Carlene scrubbed the floors. She polished the bar. She polished the brass rail at the foot of the bar that she always forgot about because she was always on the other side. She polished the tables and the chairs. She cleaned windows inside and out, mopped and swept the floors, and walls, and pictures, and shelves, and knickknacks. She played all of her favorite songs from the jukebox. She played a game of pool by herself. Then darts. She lost both. She cried. She danced. Every morning she crawled thirteen steps into the souterrain and back. She played with Columbus. She rearranged the furniture on the back deck and picked fresh wildflowers every morning. Ronan called several times, but Carlene didn’t call him back.
