by Fox Brison
Hello!
“She’s getting the drinks in,” I said, slightly flustered by my previous snappy mental retort.
The musicians struck up a lively tune and another slightly older man interrupted us. “Do you jive?” he asked.
“Yes of course I do.” I didn’t get the chance to consider how random the question was, because as soon as I answered he pulled me to my feet and flung me around the room like a Rottweiler with a rag doll. When I returned to my seat, dazed and confused, Elisha was back and radiating amusement.
“I thought he said do you drive,” I mumbled, still recovering from the ordeal – although Dominic had gone so perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. She cracked up and I took a thirst quenching swallow of my pint. “Nothing for you?”
“Maybe later,” she said. “What do you think of the music?”
“It’s amazing! I love how the melodies change from carefree birds singing in spring, or a racing river, to emotion filled angst of rain clouds and thunder raging in the heavens. It’s a whole sensory experience you can lose yourself in,” I waxed lyrically.
“I don’t think I’ve heard music described in such a way before.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound pretentious.”
“You didn’t, you’re magnificent- I mean your description.” She took a swift drink of her orange juice. “Your description was magnificent.”
“I haven’t been moved like this in a while, but it’s abundantly clear that no divide exists between musician and audience here in this pub, both are essential ingredients in making the piece meaningful. I kinda forgot that,” I said wistfully.
Elisha nodded her head in agreement. “Jesus, if you play music as passionately as you speak about it, you must be a frickin’ genius. So how about it?” she asked.
“Oh I didn’t bring my violin,” I nonchalantly waved off her request.
“You could borrow-”
“I don’t know any of the songs,” I interrupted sharply.
“Sorry, Brianna,” she apologised, and touched my arm tenderly. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
I felt awful. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have explained before I bit your head off that I don’t play for anyone, not anymore. I’ve barely started playing for myself again.” She regarded me with attentiveness and total understanding. “But maybe one day.” The offer was genuine – and shocking. I’d never had the slightest inclination to play for anyone in over ten years and now? Now I was seriously considering it, now I could actually see myself picking up my violin and wielding my bow for Elisha.
“I’d really like that, Brianna, but there’s no pressure which is more than can be said for my bladder. I’ll be right back.”
She headed to the bathroom and her place remained free until an elderly gentleman took her seat and a slurp of his pint. “Howya,” he said, the mash up of ‘how are you?’ becoming more familiar to my ears. Huh. Who needs Google translate? Apparently Guinness helped with that too!
“Grand,” I replied like a local. Except in a London accent. I sounded like Ray Winstone demanding protection money. “That’s a beautiful instrument you have there.” I reached out and touched the violin he’d set down on the bench beside me.
“It belonged to my wife’s father,” he informed me proudly.
Impressive. That must have made it over fifty years old, maybe even more. He nodded to the other musicians and as if being conducted they began to play. I didn’t recognise the song, and when they reached the chorus my new companion jumped up and joined in, tapping his foot in time with the bodhran. It was a crowd pleaser and the whole pub started singing about the queen of the sand wearing a black rubber band. I knew I had that wrong, so I listened more intently, even turning my head to one side in an attempt to distinguish the words more clearly. I looked like a golden retriever but it worked. I began humming quietly along to the lyrics, eventually joining in the refrain once I had it down pat. “Her eyes they shone like diamonds… I thought her the queen of the land…and her hair, it slung over her shoulder… tied up with a black velvet band…”
Yep, that makes more sense.
In the meantime Elisha returned from the bathroom, and sat down in the seat the fiddler had vacated. It was the Irish version of musical chairs! He joined us once the song finished a touch breathless. “That was great,” I exclaimed, my eyes bright and my face flushed from the alcohol. “You play so well I was disappointed when it ended.”
“One song at a time’s enough. Arthritis.” He waggled his fingers as proof, but they didn’t look arthritic.
Elisha gave up her seat, and squeezed in next to me. Her firm thighs flexed and my eyes were captivated by the way they moved beneath her jeans. A few Sundays walking to the pub and I too would have thighs that could crack nuts. “Pat, do you want another glass to celebrate your parole?” she asked.
Parole? He didn’t seem like a criminal! But his name caught my attention. Where on earth… Pat? “Pat?” I repeated my mental question.
“Oh, sorry, Bri, this is Pat Doran, Bridget’s husband,” Elisha made the belated introduction. “He had a bad dose so she’s been keeping him locked up.”
“Ahh hence the parole comment. It’s good to finally meet you, Pat. And can I say I’ve listened to violins played by the greatest musicians from all over the world but yours… such amazing tone. Do you know where your father in law got it?”
“It’s not a violin, Bri, it’s a fiddle,” Elisha interrupted. “So, Pat, another glass?”
This time I interrupted. “No instrument as beautiful as Pat’s should be referred to as a fiddle.”
“I beg to differ!”
Pat chuckled and settled the argument with a pearl of wisdom. “Sure, the only difference between a fiddle and a violin is that you don’t mind spilling yer Guinness on a fiddle.” It was interesting because it suddenly dawned on me that as with the violin/fiddle, Elisha and I were intrinsically the same…
Except she was the jig to my concerto.
Chapter 16
Brianna
It was five a.m. Monday morning and I woke with a start, my heart pounding furiously. I had the distinctly disturbing sensation that I was being watched. With a modicum of apprehension I switched on the bedside lamp and squealed – loudly.
It was hard to tell who got a bigger fright, me or the chicken.
Either I didn’t close the bedroom door properly, or this was one helluva smart bird. “Shoo,” I chivvied her away. However, she merely eyeballed me and clenched her talons tighter around the metal frame of the bed. “Go on, shoo.” This time I waved my hands in the air and Red flapped her wings right back at me.
So naturally I screamed the house down.
Seconds later I heard a strangled, “Ouch! Fuck!” from the hallway and Elisha came limping in, her eyes frantically sweeping the room. She was waving a strange looking hockey stick around and wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a sports bra. In normal circumstances I might have given her the twice or thrice over in envy. However, this was not normal circumstances and her wonderfully toned body couldn’t distract me from the hen with malice in her bright orange eyes. They should have been green because I think she was jealous of mine and Elisha’s closeness!
Hence the crazy stalking.
“Bri? What’s happened? I heard a scream. Are you okay?” she asked, breathlessly. Flustered, her hair was sticking up on end and her skin was flushed. She looked like she’d just… before I even finished the thought I felt a pulsing but this time it wasn’t in my heart. I quickly crossed my legs.
“Red!” I squawked. However, the chicken was no longer the focus of my alarm.
“Red?” Elisha shook her head, picked up the chicken and left without another word for which I was grateful.
“The first thing I buy today is a bolt for my bedroom door, and the second is a box of bloody Paxo!” I called, attempting to return to some sort of normality and I heard a chuckling echoing from the hallway.
Wide awake I flopped back onto my pillow, the image of Elisha rushing to my rescue imprinted on my brain. Hmm. I reached down into my pants and, “Oh. My. God!” My fingers were slick. Startled, I whisked my hand back above the covers. I was totally confused. One of the reasons sex had been meh was that I struggled to get wet and would need a lubricant so it wasn’t painful. I used to think there was something wrong with me, but was too embarrassed to go to the doctor. Blatantly I was mistaken.
Because with one thought of Elisha pleasuring herself I was Niagara Falls.
***
My mobile hung loosely in my hand, and I moaned a heartfelt, “Thank God it’s Friday!” I was a picture of bemused frustration. Up until this point everything had gone swimmingly, yet Elisha casually taunted the construction gods and they replied as was their wont – and how.
Dominic and his team had laid the drainage pipes without incident, and the rain, apart from the odd shower, had thankfully held off. Finally, the old concrete slabs Elisha’s mother laid were broken up, and we were ready to pour the new foundations. To tell you the truth, I’d never been more relaxed during a build.
Which of course is when Sod’s Law decided to rear its ugly head and have a giggle at my expense.
Big time!
The bridge over the small stream that we shored up couldn’t handle the concrete lorry… which meant the foundations couldn’t be laid… consequently the next stage of the build was going to be at least a week behind schedule. Grrr. In all my time with McAteer Construction I had never gone over on a build - then again, I’d never overseen a site on top of a mountain before. City jobs owned their own problems, but I was used to them. Here I was a fish out of water.
“That bad?” Elisha waved an unctuous slab of chocolate cake in front of me. Layered with fudge icing and white buttons decorating the top, it was an orgasm on a plate.
“Gimme, gimme!” I pleaded, and although she did her best to remove it from my grasp, where chocolate was involved Brianna McAteer became the Flash, and I soon held the plate in my hand. “Oh God this is sinful!” I moaned around a mouthful of wickedness. The dark chocolate coated my tongue and its silky and sensual bitter/sweet combination tickled my senses. I proceeded to inhale the first couple of forkfuls in silent worship.
Elisha plonked herself down on the sofa beside me. “Look, Brianna, I know things didn’t exactly go to plan today but it might have been worse. I mean the concrete could’ve ended up in the dyke.”
I choked back an instant retort. Elisha kept laying up these zingers, and I battled to keep ignoring them! Concrete in the dyke… seriously? How could she not see that?
What she could see, however, was the bright side. “I guess you’re right,” I agreed, although after a hit from Bridget’s chocolate cake, I would have agreed to anything.
“You two should get a room. It’s like watching cake porn.”
“Cake porn? That should be a thing…” I said. “An erotic love story between a rich red velvet cupcake and a plain sponge from Madeira.” I cheekily appropriated the mug that she placed on the table. “Tea too? You read my mind.” Taking a sip I grimaced. “Urgh, since when did you give up sugar?”
“Since you started stealing my tea!” she crowed triumphantly.
“Cunning.”
“You have no idea.” She winked and fetched her own drink and the sugar for me.
“Leesh, can I ask you something?” I said hesitantly when she returned.
“That sounds ominous,” she eyed me nervously. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been offered a gig in the Middle East that’s too good to turn down.”
“What? No, not at all. I was simply wondering if you knew what a plastic paddy is.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph where are you after hearing that?” she seethed. It must be quite the insult and I wasn’t sure if I was angry or upset. I honestly thought the lads and I were getting along great.
“I overheard PJ say to Tom, ‘what did he expect with a plastic paddy running things,’” I explained and flushed a little in my humiliation. Being a woman, I was used to unflattering comments made in an undertone by brickies. It was the insinuation of criticism that stung. We were barely a month in and already they were moaning about the manner in which I dealt with things, and apart from the concrete and a couple of problems with a delivery of timber, we hadn’t faced any real obstacles yet.
“I swear to the Holy Mother I’m gonna throttle that little fecker,” she growled. Her happy go lucky demeanor that was almost ever present melted away, and I was left with indignant Elisha, a totally different beast.
I liked her. A lot.
“So what does it mean?” I repeated the question, even though from her expressive reaction I wondered if I genuinely wanted to know the answer.
“It doesn’t mean a thing except to a few gobshites who think that because they were born on the island of Ireland to Irish parents it makes them somehow superior!” she snapped. “Eejits.”
“Ahhh right. Well I’ll set PJ straight next the time I see him because I was born in Dublin and my parents are…” I stopped speaking, overwhelmed by a terrible sense of loss. It was like I no longer had an identity so I didn’t truthfully know if I was a plastic paddy or not.
“Brianna, are you okay.” Elisha asked her voice full of care. “You’re not letting that stook bother you? Or wait, you’re not allergic to chocolate buttons? Will I have to give you the kiss of life?” She waggled her eyebrows and I couldn’t help but snort.
“How is it, Elisha Callery, you always manage to make me smile no matter how bad I feel?”
“Bad? Wait until I get my hands on PJ!”
“It’s not PJ. It’s…” I hesitated and leaning back, pulled my knees up to my chest. Just tell her Bri, what’s the big deal? It’s not like you killed anyone! “I know my mum was Irish but I have no idea if my dad was.” Maybe Elisha could help. She had no vested interest in the situation and could remain objective, unlike everyone else in my life.
“I thought your dad was from Donegal?” she was, unsurprisingly, confused.
“The man I grew up believing to be my father is from Donegal,” I whispered forlornly, the words barely audible above the sounds of the television droning in the background. “Just before I came to Ireland I found out I was adopted.” I’m not sure what I expected Elisha to say or do, but she put her arms around me and pulled me close. It was exactly what I needed - well that and maybe a stiff drink, but as we only had Club Orange in, a cuddle would have to suffice. In all fairness, it would have won even if there was a twenty year old single malt sitting in the cupboard.
“That must have been a terrible shock.” She was still holding me and I realised she possessed this incontrovertible knack of being able to give me comfort when I didn’t think anything possibly could.
“You can say that again! I nearly stroked out; I don’t know if I’m being a snowflake about it, it just blew me away for some reason.”
“For some reason? Christ, Bri, it would blow most people’s minds. If my dad told me I was adopted I would feckin’ freak.” It was heartening to have someone validate my feelings. Sometimes it felt like I was going crazy.
“Family’s strange, isn’t it?” I mused, sitting up and taking a sip of tea.
“You’re telling me!” she groaned. “Take Isabella and myself for example. We were thick as thieves when we were young, but now? She’s never gotten over me being a lesbian. I don’t even think she’s homophobic, I don’t know what it is. Still, even though she can be a right shit, I would be there in a millisecond if she ever needed me.”
“Because that’s what family does, right?”
“Right.” She offered me more cake which I declined. I had a history of eating my emotions, and as a teenager suffered issues with my weight. “Do you know anything about your biological parents?” she asked.
“Only that my birth mother was seventeen, came from an area near Croagh Patrick and was called Maggie O’Shea. Oh, and that she di
ed giving birth to me.” I couldn’t help it; the tears began to fall.
Elisha placed a hand on my thigh. “I’m so sorry, Brianna. I know my Mammy leaving is totally different, but I do understand your feelings of loss and rejection.” Her empathy was palpable and it allowed me to be honest. I wasn’t worried about saying the wrong thing, or hurting someone I loved. I could just be me.
“She’s buried in Glasnevin cemetery. I want to travel to Dublin and visit her grave at some point.”
“Really? My cousin Shannon and her wife live not a ten minute walk from the cemetery. They’ve been badgering me to visit for months, maybe we could go together?” she suggested diffidently.
Was this another sign? “I’d like that.” I rested my head on her shoulder and felt her body tense.
“Brianna, is that why you applied for this job? Because it was convenient?”
I could understand her trepidation. The Free to Dream project meant everything to her and if I was using it as a means to an end, would I jump ship as soon as I had the answers I craved?
“I didn’t apply for this position,” I said and she looked at me skeptically. “Okay let me explain. In order of shit happening, and the depth being pretty much knee deep… my father’s company went under leaving me unemployed, I learnt my parents weren’t my parents, and finally I turned down my boyfriend’s marriage proposal.”
“I’ve heard of troubles happening in threes but two are usually minor inconveniences!”
