by Kelly, A. S.
“But don’t you want a new life for yourself? One where you meet people, maybe meet a girl…”
I whip my head up, glaring at him.
“They’re not all the same, you know,” he says kindly.
“Don’t start with one of your speeches. The fact that you’ve found someone who seems – for now – not to want to run away, doesn’t give you the right to give me a life lesson.”
“Watch what you’re saying, Ryan.”
“They’re all bitches or sluts. They stay with you until they get a better offer, then they leave. Apart from your Riley, obviously…” I say, hoping for a rise out of him.
“God, you’re impossible, you know that? You can’t even try to be reasonable.”
“I can be, just not with this,” I say, ending the conversation.
And to think that this morning I woke up with such good intentions. It just took that waitress…whoops, sorry, that owner of the café, and her inane comments, prompting Ian to bring up the only topic that’s forbidden between us.
I scoff as I climb into the car with Ian, headed for the airport. I can see the town spread out ahead of us: the streets I grew up in, the park we used to fight in, the cafés that have been around for decades, and the familiar countryside that I’ve missed these past few years. I tell myself that, deep down, it’s nice living here, in my own city, near my family, with Ian, as if nothing had changed.
The problem is that something has changed.
I’m not the same person anymore, and I don’t plan on going back to who I was. The kind, polite boy, there for everyone and too sensitive to be considered a man – he doesn’t exist anymore.
He’s dead. Buried. Over.
I don’t care about being nice to waitresses, shop assistants, bank clerks, because I don’t want to be close to anyone. Apart from my teammates.
I don’t want friendships, relationships. I don’t want anything.
“Ready for your first away game? You nervous?” Ian asks, as I pull into a space in the terminal car park.
I nod and get out of the car. We walk over to the check-in desk and queue up behind some of the other guys in the team.
Playing calms me down – or, at least, it lets me forget about everything, without needing to kill someone. I always wanted to play. There was never another option, and I’ve worked hard to get where I am today.
I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve been playing since I was thirteen. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful places in the world, and I’ll continue to do so. Right now I’m in Dublin – after that, who knows.
For now, I have to stay here. I just need to keep a low profile, see as few people as possible, limit any social contact and, for God’s sake, avoid that bloody café, or next time I’ll have to talk to her. And I’m certain she’ll like my response even less than she liked my glare.
Looks are painful.
But words can kill.
7
Chris
“He collapsed before he’d even touched the bed.”
“Thank God he did touch it! At least you didn’t have to help him onto it and lay him down! The bastard.”
Vic and I have given ourselves a break. It’s three o’clock, which is normally a fairly quiet time. Quiet enough to leave Leah and Brad, two kids who work for me, alone behind the counter. Vic is more like my right arm. We’ve been friends since school, and we’ve both worked in this café together since we were eighteen. Actually, I started working here back then – she applied to keep me company, and then never left.
I started as soon as I left school. I didn’t have any big ambitions, I was never the star pupil at school; I needed a job that gave me some independence, where I could show my family that I could do it on my own. I knew I’d never be a doctor or a lawyer, and so when the old owner offered me a job, I felt at home right away. Then I never left. Three years ago, he decided to retire – I took over, and now it’s all mine.
I’m proud of what I’ve achieved, proud that, despite everything, I still manage to get through every day without setting anything on fire, or creating any irreparable damage. Without making my teenage son hate me, who seems, for now, not to be making any plans to run away or murder me. Let’s hope that lasts at least a few more years.
“Of course it never goes well for me! Honestly, is an evening out where I meet a guy who doesn’t pass out before I can shag him really too much to ask?”
Vic’s attempts to find a man – at least for a night – always make me laugh. It’s not easy nowadays, especially when you’re in your thirties and have barely any time to dedicate to the cause, and all the guys around are young, beautiful and carefree.
“Maybe you should just stop looking in the same old neighbourhood pubs?”
“What does a girl have to do around here to have, oh, I don’t know, one orgasm a month?”
A cough from the doorway shuts us up right away. I get down from the counter I’m perched on to smile at the aforementioned teenage son, standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Please, Mum, tell me you’re not actually talking about orgasms,” he says, probably horrified at the thought that his mother could possibly want one.
“You shouldn’t even know that word!” I tease him. I know full well that he knows the word, just as I know he’s probably already started to…have them. Something I’ve decided not to think about.
He laughs and comes into the kitchen, looking for something to eat.
“What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to go straight home after school?”
“I’m seeing some friends.”
“What about your homework?”
“It’s Friday, remember? I think we’re going to the cinema then grabbing something to eat.”
“Mmm.”
“I’ll be back at one.”
“Midnight at the latest,” I retort.
He snorts, shoving the sandwich he just made into his mouth.
“Do you have money?”
He shakes his head.
I pick up my bag and look for my purse. I’ve only got a fifty-euro note.
“I want the rest back, okay?” I warn him.
He gives me one of his cheeky smiles and leaves the kitchen, satisfied.
I know I’ll never see that money again.
“You’re too lenient with him,” Vic criticises me.
“I know.”
“You realise that soon you won’t be able to control what he does? He’ll take advantage of you, lie to you…”
“He’s a good kid. He doesn’t give me much trouble, he’s good at school, he doesn’t steal and he’s not rude. So, a little bit of trust…”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty because he doesn’t have a father.”
“He has a father.”
Vic bursts out laughing.
“What? Martin’s a good dad.”
“Yeah, sure, when he shows up.”
“He’s there when we need him to be, that’s what counts. I can do the rest on my own.”
Vic looks at me, unconvinced, before hopping down from the counter and taking one last sip of her wine.
“Seeing as you’re on your own tonight, fancy a drink together? What do you say?”
“And what is it we’re doing right now?”
“This doesn’t count, it’s basically our lunch break! Once we’ve closed up, let’s go to Little Venice, have something to eat and a few glasses of wine. Trust me, we’ll be home before ten.”
I don’t doubt that. I rarely go out, and when I do, I’m always back before Evan. I want him to find me there, waiting for him. I don’t want him to think his mother is out and about doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who.
I have to set a good example, and while he’s at this difficult age, I can’t slip up now.
“Fine, we’ll go to Little Venice. But just for some pasta and one glass of wine, okay?”
“Cross my heart,” she says, gesturing.
I barely believe her.
8
Ryan
“Come on, let’s go. You need to eat something.”
“Don’t you have a woman waiting for you at home?”
“Riley has a show tonight, it won’t be done before eleven. I don’t want to go back to an empty house.”
“Are you ten years old or something?”
He sighs. “I just don’t like being…on my own.”
Okay. What has he done with my brother? He used to love being alone, in his sparse, empty apartment.
That’s what women do to you. They fry your brain.
I snort and get out of the car. I really don’t want to go into the restaurant, listen to the gut-wrenching sound of people chatting; but I’m hungry and I don’t have anything at home. It’s pointless at this time of night trying to find a twenty-four-hour supermarket to get the stuff I’d need for dinner.
Ian pushes the door and we stop in the entrance, waiting for someone to show us to a table. I cast my eyes around and see that it’s pretty full – we’ll probably have to wait a while, or go and find the first McDonald’s we come across, something I would definitely rather avoid. I hate junk food.
A waiter approaches us, telling us apologetically that they’re full, even when Ian tries to convince him to find us a table.
“I’m sorry, we’re completely full. I’d tell you to wait, but the kitchen closes in twenty minutes, so you wouldn’t be seated in time.”
Ian looks around, before pointing to a table of four where two girls are sitting.
“We could go and join them.”
“Are you kidding?” I grab his arm.
“I know them,” he says to the waiter. “I’m sure they’d happily let us sit with them.”
“I don’t know…” says the waiter, but Ian’s already waving to the girls, calling them from across the restaurant.
“Hey! Vic, Chris!”
The girls turn quickly, and when they see who’s calling them, I instinctively close my eyes, cursing to myself.
“Let’s go,” he says, urging me to follow him, but I stand, frozen in front of the door.
I open my eyes slowly and meet her gaze, fixed worriedly on mine, while Ian goes over and greets them warmly. Then he turns, realising I haven’t followed, and waves me over.
I stand there, unsure of what I’m waiting for, nervous and embarrassed. I don’t think I can go and sit with them after my episode a few days ago.
After a few seconds, she tears her gaze away with a shrug, giving her implicit consent. I take a deep breath and head over to their table, taking off my jacket and hanging it over the back of the chair, before sitting down next to her.
“So, girls, I’d like to introduce my brother and teammate, Ryan. Be nice, even though he doesn’t deserve it.”
I shoot him a look, while the other girl sticks her hand out towards me, smiling seductively.
Fantastic: a maneater.
“I’m Vic. It’s really nice to meet you, Ryan…it’s nice to see a new face every now and then. Right, Chris?” she turns to the other girl, who’s sitting in silence with her eyes glued to the menu. “This is my friend Chris,” she continues without pausing. “We work together at the Red Cherry. Well, she’s the owner and I’m just a waitress…” she talks away without stopping for breath, and I subconsciously rub at my temples. I can already feel a headache coming on.
While Ian joins in with Vic’s conversation, Chris and I sit there in silence, both overly intent on studying that stupid menu.
I know deep down that I should forget about my inclination to treat everybody like shit, just for a moment. After all, they let us join them at their table, even though I’d acted like a bit of a bastard. So I scrape together my pride and turn to her, without really looking at her.
“Thanks, Chris,” I mumble through my teeth, trying to ignore the burning sensation in my stomach caused by having to make conversation.
She lowers the menu and turns to me. I look up to see her amazed expression, her eyebrows raised.
“Mmm…so you are capable of being nice,” she says, and even though it pains me to admit it, I’d say I deserved that.
I give her a small smile while she takes a sip or two of her wine.
“By the way, my name is Christine, or, if you prefer, Ms. Morgan. Not Chris – not for you. I only let my friends call me Chris,” she huffs, and I can’t do anything but accept the insult and stay quiet.
We order Lasagne and Fettuccine Bolognese. The girls were already drinking wine, so we order the same, and while we’re waiting for our food, Ian and Vic continue their conversation. My brother must’ve become really popular around here.
“How come you guys are out alone on a Friday night?”
“Training finished late and Riley’s busy with a new show. So we decided to grab something to eat together before we head home.”
“I saw Riley a few days ago, she came into the café with your mother… She’s so beautiful. How does she do it?”
Ian smiles, puffing up his chest. When he’s talking about Riley, he loses his mind.
“Have you decided on a name yet?” Chris adds.
“Not yet, we’re still discussing it. We have different ideas so we’re trying to compromise.”
“Riley’ll decide in the end,” Vic comments. “At the end of the day, she has to do all the work.”
Ian laughs. “That’s probably how it’ll go.”
I drink way more than necessary just to digest the conversation and the evening, which couldn’t be going worse.
I’m relieved when our food arrives. At least we’ll have something else to do now, and we can all stop talking.
Hoping that no one ropes me into a bland, pointless conversation, I concentrate on my food, praying that the evening will end soon and I can finally go home, and sink back to my reassuring, depressing silence.
9
Chris
We leave the restaurant, and I can finally breathe, clear my mind. I knew the wine was a bad idea – I should’ve stopped after half a glass, at most after a full one, but Ryan’s presence put me on edge. So, without knowing what to do to avoid talking to him or looking at him, I threw myself into eating and drinking.
Terrible decision.
Vic’s in an even worse state than me, but that’s nothing new. Teetering on her heels, she clings to Ian’s arm, who kindly helps her over to the car. Ryan hangs back a few steps, in silence. I get that he’s a man of few words, but it’s really unnerving. He only let out a few grunts, incomprehensible monosyllables. He’s the kind of guy who makes you nervous right from the beginning. I can’t believe he’s Ian’s brother.
“Thanks, Ian, I’ve got it from here,” I tell him, taking Vic’s arm and trying to get her into the car. But I’ve drunk a little too much as well, and the lasagne hasn’t helped. Maybe I should’ve had a coffee before we left.
“Are you sure you’ll manage?” Ian asks me, worried, coming over to us.
“It’s all under control.”
“Haven’t you been drinking too?” he asks, doubtfully.
“Just a glass,” I say, playing it down, using the rule of three.
“I think it was more like three or four.”
His voice, sombre and unwarranted, gets under my skin.
What the hell does he want? It’s none of his business.
I shoot him a look, trying to make him understand that it’s not his problem, before Ian speaks again.
“You’re both over the limit. I can’t let you drive.”
“I only live ten minutes away, Ian, I can handle it.”
“I don’t trust you, Chris. I can’t just leave you to make your own way back. How about I take Vic home in my car, while Ryan drives you home in yours, then I can come and pick him up? That way, we all make it home in one piece.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, through my teeth.
Ryan comes over and takes my keys out of my hand.
“Excuse me?” I turn towards him, annoyed.
“Don’t
make a scene. Come on, I want to get home, too.”
I give Ian Vic’s address, and he helps her over to his car, while I reluctantly sit myself in the passenger seat next to Ryan.
He puts the keys in the ignition and starts the engine, then turns to me to check what area I live in. I nod, without even looking at him, turning my head away and crossing my arms over my chest.
I let my eyes wander over the road flying past me, an unexpected wave of alcohol-induced sadness washing over me. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the scent of his aftershave filling my car and my lungs, throwing my thoughts into confusion. I can’t ignore all of them.
It’s the smell of a man. A real man.
He doesn’t smell like alcohol and cigarettes, broken promises and nights filled with tears. He smells like laughter, evenings in the garden and intertwined fingers. He just smells good, like safety, like warmth.
I realise how long it’s been since I breathed in something strong, intoxicating and damn enjoyable.
Suddenly, the space we’re sharing is too cramped. I feel a strange stirring, and a retch climbs up my throat, making me instinctively throw my hand in front of my mouth.
I can’t be sick in my car, and I definitely can’t be sick in front of him.
“Everything okay?” he asks in his usual, gruff way. I force myself to nod, so that I don’t have to open my mouth and risk losing control.
“Do you want me to pull over?”
I shake my head, but he pulls over anyway onto the side of the road. He gets out of the car and comes over to my side, opening the passenger door and offering me his hand.
I keep shaking my head, feeling the humiliation reach my eyes, which have started to well up.
“Come on, don’t be a baby,” he orders, before taking my hand and pulling me out of the car.
His touch ignites something in me, bringing me heavily back down to Earth. His hand is huge, powerful, but inexplicably reassuring; rough, with deep grooves that show years of hard work. It’s warm, almost boiling. A hand that makes you dream of relaxing evenings on the sofa, and of fiery nights between the sheets.
