Some Girls Do

by Murphy, Clodagh

  Luca shrugged. ‘I’ll walk.’

  ‘You can’t! You’ll drown. And public transport has pretty much broken down. Get a cab.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll get a cab.’

  Yvonne leaned closer to him and whispered, ‘Do you need some money?’ Not quietly enough, though, because everyone heard.

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Philip huffed, staring disdainfully at Luca. ‘See what I mean?’ he mumbled to Fionn. ‘Fucking beggar, like the rest of them.’

  Luca gave him a hard look. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Philip mumbled sullenly.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Luca said to Yvonne. ‘I can manage cab fare.’ He leaned in and kissed Yvonne, nodded to Claire, and left.

  ‘Why do you have to be such an arsehole, Philip?’ Yvonne fumed.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Ivan asked, coming over and frowning at Yvonne in concern.

  ‘Philip’s being a complete dick,’ Yvonne said.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Ivan looked sternly at Philip.

  ‘He was being racist and saying horrible things about Luca.’

  ‘That’s not cool, bro,’ Ivan told him.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Come on, man. I know you’re upset about Aisling, but don’t be a prick and take it out on everyone else. You should apologise to Yvonne and Claire.’

  Philip sighed heavily. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I was out of order.’ He seemed genuinely contrite and ashamed.

  ‘That’s okay,’ Yvonne said.

  He looked at Claire hopefully. She wasn’t entirely convinced. That stuff hadn’t come out of nowhere. But she never had to see Philip again, so she nodded acceptance.

  ‘We’re going on to a club later, if you want to come,’ Fionn said to Ivan.

  ‘Really?’ Ivan turned to Yvonne. ‘Are you going too?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Will you wait until I’m finished up here and I’ll go with you? I have to stay to the end.’

  ‘Of course.’ Yvonne’s face lit up.

  ‘I’ll see you guys later, then,’ Ivan said, as Philip and Fionn drifted off.

  ‘I should go,’ Claire said. ‘Traffic’s going to be a nightmare, and God knows how long it’ll take me to get home.’

  ‘Okay,’ Yvonne said, pulling Claire into a hug. ‘See you on Monday.’

  ‘Ivan’s lovely. You should go for it,’ Claire murmured in Yvonne’s ear, then made for the exit.

  Well, at least it was over, she thought, as she sat into her car. She glanced at the clock on the dash. It was only ten. If the traffic wasn’t too bad, she would have still have time to eat and watch some TV before bed.

  Chapter Four

  The rain was coming down in sheets, gushing from overflow pipes and pouring onto the pavements, forming huge puddles and filling Luca’s leaky boots as he trudged along. He had been up until four in the morning, working on a piece, and he was so fucking tired he could barely lift his feet. The hard concrete of the pavement even started to look inviting, and he was almost tempted to lie down on it, curl up and close his eyes. He couldn’t get any wetter than he was already. If he’d been heading towards warmth and comfort, he might have had the energy to keep going, but the prospect of his cold, dismal flat didn’t offer much incentive.

  He shouldn’t have bothered coming out tonight, he thought, as he squelched through puddles. It had been a complete waste of time. He’d thought he would at least get something to eat, but those pathetic canapés wouldn’t have fed a bird and he was starving. His stomach was hollow and his saturated clothes clung to him. He was so miserable, he wanted to cry. He should have ignored that stupid wanker Philip and let Yvonne give him the money for a cab.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he became aware of a car slowing beside him, keeping pace with him as it drove along by the edge of the pavement. Great. Now he’d picked up some pervy kerb-crawler – that was all he needed. He heard the peep of a horn, but kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other. The horn honked again and he turned this time, dredging up the energy to tell whoever it was to fuck off. But then he saw that girl from the bar – Claire – peering at him through the window and beckoning him towards the car.

  Christ, had she followed him? Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone? Sighing heavily, he waded across to the car and bent to the window.

  ‘Get in,’ she called, waving at him through the steamed-up glass. She opened the door. ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘No, thanks, I’m fine.’ He made to close the door again, but she put her hand against it, holding it open.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Get in. You’ll be soaked.’

  ‘I’m already as wet as I can get. Besides, I’ll ruin your seat.’

  ‘It’s just a bit of water. The seats are leather. It’ll wipe off.’

  Of course the seats were leather, he thought wearily. He wanted to tell her to get lost, embarrassment at her catching him out in his lie about taking a cab made him prickly. Besides, he’d had enough of that lot tonight to last him a lifetime, and he really didn’t fancy spending another five minutes with any of them. He was in no mood to be patronised by her. But the desire to sit down was overwhelming, and he could already feel the warmth seeping from inside the car. It was too much to resist.

  ‘Okay, thanks.’ He shut her door and walked around to the passenger side.

  ‘So, where to?’ she asked, as he slid in beside her.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I live in Ranelagh but—’

  ‘Well, don’t go out of your way. I live just off Mountjoy Square, so drop me wherever’s convenient.’

  ‘No, I’ll drive you home,’ she said, as she pulled back into the traffic, with a little frown of concentration. ‘I thought you were going to get a cab.’

  ‘I couldn’t find one,’ he said tersely. ‘I decided it’d be quicker to walk.’

  Thankfully she nodded and didn’t call him out on the taxis that were all around them, their yellow lights glowing into the dark, signalling that they were free. At least she had the decency to let him keep a little of his dignity.

  ‘You don’t have any money, do you?’ she asked.

  So much for letting him keep his dignity. He leaned his head back wearily and said nothing.

  ‘For a cab, I mean?’ she persisted, glancing across at him. ‘You didn’t have any money for a cab, did you?’

  Jesus, couldn’t she let it go? ‘No, I didn’t have any money for a cab,’ he admitted.

  ‘Why didn’t you say? One of us would have lent it to you.’

  ‘Because I couldn’t pay it back.’

  ‘That wouldn’t matter.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a loan, would it, if I didn’t pay it back?’

  ‘Well, one of us would have given it to you, then. Whatever.’

  ‘I don’t want handouts.’

  ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know – not having money.’

  ‘I know that,’ he said snappily. So why did he feel so fucking mortified? Still, it was easy to say that when you had money.

  ‘Damn,’ she muttered. ‘This traffic is awful.’ It inched along, bumper to bumper, the rain pounding the roof. It made the atmosphere inside the car claustrophobic. ‘How do you know Yvonne?’ she asked.

  ‘We grew up near each other, hung out with the same crowd.’

  Just then her mobile rang and she answered it on speaker. It was Yvonne, checking if she’d got home safe.

  ‘I’m still stuck in traffic, but I’ll get there,’ Claire said. ‘Have fun. And thanks again for tonight. I had a lovely time.’

  Luca noticed she didn’t mention having picked him up. ‘Why do you do that?’ he asked as she hung up and tossed the phone back into the centre console.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Why did you tell Yvonne you enjoyed yourself? You were miserable.’

  ‘Was it that obvious?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Most people
don’t really pay attention to anyone else.’

  ‘It wasn’t really my scene.’

  ‘So why say you had a great time?’

  ‘It’s called manners,’ she said tightly.

  They drove in silence for another few yards. She seemed nervous, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel when they weren’t moving.

  ‘How long have you been living in town?’ she asked eventually, and he got the impression she had spent the entire silence coming up with something to say.

  ‘You don’t have to do that, you know.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Make small-talk the whole way.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  They lapsed into silence, and she seemed to relax a bit. She spoke again only to ask directions when they got to Mountjoy Square.

  ‘This is it,’ he said, as they pulled up outside his building. He was relieved to see it wasn’t too bad tonight. There was just one skanky couple across the street ripping ten shades of shite out of each other, and a lone drunk swaying in the doorway. It could have been worse. It usually was.

  ‘You live here?’ she said, peering up at the tall Georgian house.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, opening the door for a quick getaway, one foot already on the pavement. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ he said, over his shoulder, as he got out. ‘Bye!’

  ‘Um, hang on.’ She leaned across and spoke to him through the open door. ‘Do you think I could come in and use your loo? I’m desperate, and you see what the traffic’s like. It’ll be ages before I get home.’

  ‘Oh, well …’ He huffed. Sweet Jesus, could this night get any worse? He’d told her not to go out of her way, but she wouldn’t listen. He’d known he’d regret taking the lift. But he couldn’t very well say no, could he? He’d have to let her come in, and then she’d see how he lived. He wanted to curl up and die at the thought.

  ‘Please?’ she said, grimacing painfully for emphasis. ‘I’m about to have an accident.’

  ‘If you don’t mind leaving your car here,’ he said, hoping the dodgy neighbourhood would scare her off. ‘There may not be much left of it when you get back.’

  ‘I’ll have to take my chances,’ she said, turning off the ignition.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. Play it casual, he told himself. This was where he lived and, as she had said herself, being poor was nothing to be ashamed of. If she insisted on coming in, she would just have to take him as she found him. Besides, she wouldn’t be there long. She wouldn’t have time for a good look around. When she’d used the loo, she’d probably leg it out of there as fast as her lovely long legs would carry her. It wasn’t as if he had to make her tea or anything. Wait … did he have to make her tea?

  He opened the front door, studiously ignoring the drunk, who was belting out what sounded like a mash-up of ‘The Fields of Athenry’ and ‘Poker Face’ at the top of his lungs. Once inside, he rolled his eyes at Claire to make a joke of it. He wanted to rush her upstairs so she wouldn’t have time to take in the mangy hall with its noxious smells and hair-raising noises. But he decided to give her a break and knocked on the door of his neighbour, Joseph, a Nigerian, who lived in the first flat with his wife and baby daughter. Joseph stuck his head out in answer to his knock, opening the door fully when he saw who it was.

  ‘Luca!’ He beamed.

  ‘Hi, Joseph. Sorry to bother you. Could you do me a favour?’

  ‘Of course. What can I do for you?’

  ‘My friend’s just coming upstairs for a minute,’ he said, indicating Claire, who waved hello. ‘She’s left her car out front. Could you watch it for me?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’ He smiled at Claire, ducked inside for a moment, then stepped into the hall carrying a huge colourful umbrella and closed the door behind him.

  ‘Thanks. We won’t be long,’ Luca said, as he led Claire to the stairs.

  ‘That’s not something to boast about, Luca,’ Joseph said, laughing as he went to the door.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, as she followed him up the stairs. ‘For getting him to watch my car. I really can’t afford to lose it.’

  Luca shrugged. He wasn’t being entirely altruistic. If anything happened to her car, he’d be stuck with her until she got a taxi.

  He lived on the third floor at the top of the house. He took a deep breath outside his door, bracing himself to play it cool. Then he opened it and ushered her in ahead of him, flicking on the light switch as he followed her. Nothing. Oh, shit. His heart sank. He flicked the switch on and off idiotically a few times, as if it was suddenly going to spring back to life, just because he wanted it to. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Claire stood in the centre of the room gazing at him quizzically in the light coming through the window from the street.

  ‘No electricity. Sorry.’

  ‘Are you having a blackout or something?’

  Lights glowed in the building opposite, and the streetlamps poured yellow rays through the window. Clearly there was no blackout. It was just him – his own personal blackout arranged especially for him by the electricity company. Well, he had been warned – several times. Still, on the bright side, it meant she wouldn’t get a good look at the place – and there was no question of offering her tea. He would get her out quickly, then put on some dry clothes and get under the blankets with the remains of the bottle of whiskey he still had in the cupboard.

  ‘The lights were on downstairs,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, it’s just … It’s been cut off.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well, I have a torch somewhere for just such emergencies,’ he said, going to the kitchen area and rooting through a drawer. He found it quickly and switched it on, relieved to find that it was working.

  ‘There you go,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘The loo is just in here.’ He guided her to the bathroom with a hand at her back. ‘Hope you’re not afraid of the dark,’ he said, smiling as he closed the door on her startled face.

  He went back to the living room, threw himself down wearily in the big soft armchair facing the street and closed his eyes.

  Claire was appalled by what she had seen of Luca’s flat. Granted, she hadn’t seen much, but as she washed her hands, she looked around the little bathroom in the dim light of the torch. The poverty of it was heartbreaking. She frowned at herself in the cracked mirror over the washbasin. She felt bad now for asking to come in. He obviously hadn’t wanted her to see where he lived, and now she knew why. It was a complete shithole. And he was soaked to the skin, with no electricity. She would have to get him to come home with her. But he was so touchy. How could she do it without making him feel even more humiliated and patronised? She sighed. Well, she had to try. There was no way she could let him stay here.

  ‘Thanks,’ she called, as she made her way back to the living room. She was greeted with silence. She shone the beam of the torch around, but she couldn’t see Luca anywhere. Maybe he had gone back downstairs ahead of her. She stood for a while, taking in her surroundings. It was a large room, with high, wood-panelled sash windows. There was a little table in one corner and a small kitchen area separated off by an open archway. Most of the room was given over to painting equipment and materials. A large easel stood near the window, and the shelves were crammed with brushes, bottles and tubes of paint. Canvases of various sizes were stacked against the walls and propped up on chairs. She couldn’t see the subjects, but Luca hadn’t been kidding about their size – some were enormous. There was a threadbare sofa against one wall, and a large armchair facing the window. She went to the window and peered out, to see if Luca was on the street. But Joseph was alone, leaning against the bonnet of her car under his multi-coloured umbrella.

  Turning away from the window, she gasped: Luca was in the armchair, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling softly. She hesitated, not sure what to do. She couldn’t leave him there in soaking wet clothes. He didn’t look very comfortable, his head at an awkward angle.

  ‘Luca,’ she said softly,
hoping it would be enough to wake him. But it wasn’t. ‘Luca!’ She shook his shoulder gently.

  To her relief, he stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Oh, sorry. I fell asleep.’

  ‘Sorry, but you wouldn’t be very comfortable if you slept there for the night.’

  ‘You done?’ he asked, standing up.

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You really need to get out of those wet clothes. You’ll catch your death.’ You’ll catch your death! Had she really just said that? She’d definitely been living with her mother for too long.

  He nodded. ‘I’ll change.’ When she made no move to leave, he said, ‘But I’ll wait until you’re gone, if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘Oh.’ She realised she was staring at him stupidly. ‘Look, why don’t you come home with me?’ she said in a rush.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you can’t stay here. You have no electricity – no heat or hot water. You’ll freeze.’

  ‘You want me to go home with you?’ he asked, a smile curling his mouth.

  ‘Um … well, you have to stay somewhere. Do you have a friend you’d like to stay with? Or your family? I’ll drive you wherever you want.’

  He blinked at her for a moment, apparently bemused. ‘No, I’ll go home with you,’ he said finally.

  ‘Right. Good.’ Somehow he made it sound like he was doing her a favour. ‘Bring some dry clothes.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll just throw some things into a bag.’

  In his bedroom, Luca pulled open drawers and stuffed a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved top and a sweatshirt into a duffel bag, along with a couple of pairs of boxers and some socks. He didn’t have any other shoes, but hopefully his boots would dry out overnight. Then he opened the drawer of his nightstand and took out a packet of condoms, stuffing them into his jacket pocket. It wasn’t like him to be so obtuse, but Claire had surprised him by being so forthright about wanting him to go home with her. He was usually good at picking up the signals, but it hadn’t even occurred to him that needing the loo was a pretext to come up here with him. She hadn’t seemed such a ballsy type at the bar. Well, still waters run deep, he thought, smiling to himself. Tonight wasn’t turning out so bad after all.