by Fox Brison
I should have slept in the car, I groaned, when I saw a flash of black lace in its reflection.
“I’ll go!” I practically screamed, and leaping for my washbag and escape, only succeeded in knocking her onto the bed. “Oh, I’m so sorry Brianna,” I turned to help her up, catching another eyeful of creamy breast. They weren’t big, but would fit nicely in my… I widened my eyes, and letting go of her hand, raced for the bathroom and a very cold shower.
***
We made it into bed without further awkwardness on my part. I was as far to the right of the mattress as I could possibly get without falling onto the floor. Brianna rolled over to face me.
“I thoroughly enjoyed tonight,” she sighed. Her wavy blonde hair was tucked behind her ears and tumbled over her shoulder, hiding the spaghetti strap of her vest. She appeared innocent, yet also a temptress, a peculiar juxtaposition I was having trouble handling.
I was also having a smidgen of trouble with my breathing.
“It sounds like it!” I chuckled. She inched closer. By now she was in the middle. I thought about putting my arm around her… but the connotations of sitting closely on the sofa or a hug in the car were totally different to a cuddle in bed.
For me at least.
“How about tomorrow we go sightseeing and forget about Maggie O’Shea for one day. We could visit Croagh Patrick. Don’t panic, I won’t make you climb it barefoot,” I joked.
“I won’t be in any fit state to climb Croagh Patrick tomorrow, with or without shoes!” she retorted laughingly. “I think I drank too much,” she hiccoughed.
“I wouldn’t say so,” I soothed. “Just enough to relax and take your mind off things, but not too much that you’ll wake up tomorrow regretting anything you’ve done.”
“Regrets? I’ve had a few of those,” she said quietly.
“Leo?” I asked.
“Hmm? Oh yes, he’s one. He soooo wasn’t my type, although I’m not sure what my type is exactly. Do you have one?”
“A type?” I was bemused and amused by her rambling.
“Yes, you know. Butch, femme, tall, short. Type,” she said. Tipsily.
“I don’t really have one,” I shrugged.
“No? Sam does. She likes her women slightly butch. I think I would too.”
“Erm. Okay?” Bemused? Nu huh, I was totally fucking lost. Did Brianna just out herself?
“Someone like you,” she said determinedly.
I felt a twinge in the South Pole that had suddenly grown more humid than a South Sea Island. “Bri?” Did she want this? I mean, she was a bit tipsy but not sozzled… I moved a few inches further away but I wanted to know, needed to know…
“Hmm?” she murmured, her eyes drooping.
What am I doing? “Nothing, get some sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.” I couldn’t do it. We had become firm friends and I refused to jeopardise that. I would ignore the growing attraction. Thankfully, it was something that had never happened to me before, feeling a twinge of arousal for a friend, never mind a straight friend. Still, if I didn’t know better… I’m sure she snuck a peek at me when I came out of the bathroom, and she’s forever touching me… I grinned in the darkness. Brianna let out a little whimper cutting into my reverie.
Jesus Elisha, will you stop!
She was blatantly as straight as a die and therefore as poisonous as hemlock.
Chapter 21
Brianna
The following morning I woke in stages, my mind sparking into life a good bit before my body. Breakfast didn’t end until eleven, so I was going to enjoy a long lie curled up in a soft bed with Elisha’s arms wrapped around…
Shit! I was about to jump up when something stopped me. I watched the first fingers of sunlight pierce the thin curtains, and regulating my breathing, I turned my head. Gazing fondly at Elisha’s soft face, her round cheeks pink from warmth and sleep, I gave myself a second or two to appreciate her in all her somnolent glory. I wanted to touch her, but was inordinately afraid…
Afraid I might like it too much. Afraid she wouldn’t like it at all.
She breathed a sexy moan from between her lips which sent shockwaves throughout my alert body, two parts in particular standing to attention. The sudden burst of attraction was unexpected, yet… welcoming?
I didn’t want to wake her because I was enjoying the moment, but was also desperate for the bathroom. I tried to slide out from underneath her arm, but that only resulted in her grip tightening and she nuzzled into my shoulder. “Leesh,” I stroked her arm.
“Hmm?” The dreamy smile spreading across her face stopped midway when she opened her eyes. “Brianna, oh my God, I’m so sorry!” She leapt six foot to the right, her face flushing brightly and her eyes darting from left to right in sheer panic.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I calmed her.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel.” She stopped talking.
“Feel?” She’d done that alright!
“Uncomfortable,” she whispered.
“You didn’t, God, not at all! I probably started the snugglefest anyways. Sam says I’m like an octopus.”
Elisha visibly relaxed; I could actually see her body flop. Laughing, she stretched her arms high above her head, another tension release, and her t-shirt rose up displaying a teasing flash of her stomach. Christ who needs a washing machine with abs like that.
“How are you feeling?” she asked turning over onto her side.
“No hangover, thank God, but I could eat!” I thought about apologising for my drunken questioning of the night before… but thought better of it. Coward. Instead I grabbed my clothes and found sanctuary in the bathroom. Once there I leant my back against the door. What on earth was my problem at the moment?
My hormones were all over the place.
***
“Good evening, stranger!” Sam’s teasing lilt instantly made me laugh. I looked at the picture I had of her on my phone. She was always laughing, smiling, joking. She was the Scooby to my Shaggy and I loved her for it.
“Hey, you,” I replied. Lying on my bed I stared out of the window. “So it’s raining-“
“Again,” she interrupted me.
“It’s not been that bad actually. Only four out of the seven days this week,” I said wryly. “Did you get the pics I sent?”
“I did. The site’s looking good… and as for the view. OMG, Brianna. You lucked out there.”
“I know the mountains are stunning, right?”
“I was referring to your housemate,” she cackled. “Ms. Farmer Butch, 2017.”
I felt stirrings in my stomach, unease? Huh. “Elisha’s good fun, and we have a lot in common, for example a love of chocolate cake and an absolute loathing of cooking.”
“I think someone might have an ickle cruuuush,” Sam ribbed
Again another gurgle in my stomach. “No, not at all,” I said defensively.
“Riiiighhhttt,” she drawled. “Are you okay, Bri?” This time the teasing quality to her tone was gone.
“I still feel stupid and bummed about what happened at Westport.” And I was. However, that wasn’t the reason for my outburst.
“I know, sweetie. But you can’t get disheartened, you’ll find another lead. I haven’t seen you this determined about anything apart from your music. Christ, you never missed one second of practise when we were at school.”
“I’ve actually been playing again,” I admitted softly.
“Then if nothing else, Maggie gifted you that.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, curious.
“Would you have picked it up again in England?” she said drolly. Silence was my answer. “Exactly. I can hear it in your tone, Bri. Something is happening to you over there. Embrace it. Let whatever it is happen. It’s sounding good on you.”
“Thanks, Sam. Listen, Elisha’s cousin and her wife have invited me and Elisha to stay in a few weeks’ time. I want to go and visit Maggie’s grave, but we’re also going to do the tourist thing. The reaso
n I called was to ask whether you fancied a weekend in Dublin? I don’t think Gloshtrasna could cope with you!”
There was a pause followed by an excited squeal. “I’d love to! I’ll find a hotel near where you’re staying-”
“No, Elisha’s already squared it, and we can all stay at her cousin’s place.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t!”
“You could and you will. They wouldn’t have offered if they’d minded,” I said. “Elisha’s lovely, Sam. I really want you to meet her.”
“Have I been replaced as your BFF?” she laughed.
“Never,” I replied. Elisha could never be my BFF, she was something more, something unquantifiable. Again with the interesting and unusual reaction. Flushed skin, rapid heartbeat.
Maybe the flu was rearing its congested head again.
Chapter 22
Brianna
Frustratingly, things were crawling inexorably to a halt in my attempts to learn more of Maggie’s backstory.
Make that any of Maggie’s backstory.
Elisha and I identified two other possibilities in and around Westport, one Mary Margaret O’Shea, the other Margaret O’Shea Donleavy, but my follow up trip a fortnight later was another bust. Turns out they were cousins, Mary Margaret living in Australia and Maggie Donleavy in Limerick. So it was back to square one and the hatch, match and dispatch notices in local newspapers.
Our trip to Dublin was looming large on the horizon and to tell the truth, I wasn’t looking forward to it. Going to visit the grave of someone I didn’t know shouldn’t be worrying me quite so much.
Speaking of being worried…
The fair weather turned foul a few days after we returned from Westport, thus the build was running over, and what at first proved a minor problem, was swiftly escalating into a catastrophe. There were certain tasks that were immovable feasts, and no matter what we had to be ready for them. The wiggle room I factored in before breaking ground had already been eaten into; actually it had been gorged on. It was no longer a case of squeezing blood out of a stone, I was going to have to squeeze weekends out of a bunch of Irish lads.
There was more chance of getting two pints of A negative from the granite outcrop!
Dom was in the process of levering a large boulder out of the earth using long lengths of timber as pry bars. The digger from the plant hire company had broken down again, the second one in as many weeks, meaning it had to be done the old fashioned way. Stone Age? Oh for sure, but at least something was happening. I waited until he was finished and called, “Dom?”
“Brianna?” he said, leaning against the steps of the portacabin.
“Can you ask the lads to give me a few minutes before they head to lunch? I need to have a word.”
“Right,” he acquiesced, albeit hesitantly. Dom clearly had an inkling of what was to come, and from the lack of enthusiasm I gathered it wouldn’t be welcomed.
Get a grip, Bri. I wasn’t here to win friends and influence people; I was here to do a job on time and on budget. Motivational speech over, I got back to work.
***
When the knock came minutes before one o’clock I took a deep breath, yet the instant I saw the scowls and furrowed brows I knew I was in trouble. I began with a smile. “So, thanks for giving me a moment of your time-”
“Just be sure that’s all it is. I could eat the twelve apostles,” PJ grumbled.
It was hardly front page news that he was going to be the main dissident. “Obviously you’re all aware that we’re currently running behind on this project,” I continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “However, all is not lost. We have a small window of opportunity to make up for lost time, but it’s going to take all of us pulling together.”
“Fair enough, Brianna,” Dom agreed. “Right lads-”
“Wait, Dominic, I’m not finished.” I overlooked the groans and steeled myself. “We can’t get back on track simply by working our usual hours, and staying late isn’t a viable option at this time of the year. Therefore, I have devised a rota to include weekends.”
“You’re feckin’ joking!” PJ exploded. “I’m not working the weekend.” There were several mumbled agreements, even from the more conscientious guys who I thought would be on side.
“I didn’t hear you complaining last week, PJ, when we finished early three days in a row because of the weather!” I retorted.
“Not my fault,” he said sarcastically.
“No it’s not your fault, it’s not my fault either. Perhaps we can blame global warming, but it is what it is. Look lads, this camp is for disadvantaged kids, the first of whom are booked in for the last weekend in July, and I’m damned well not going to disappoint them.” I shook my head at PJ’s huffing, and ignored the audible cursing otherwise I’d be picking up my hole punch and aiming it at his head. It was like dealing with a recalcitrant child. “I can’t force you to work, you all have contracts and there’s no clause that compels you to give up your weekends. I appreciate some of you will have things planned. As for everyone else, all I’m asking is that you think about the bigger picture.”
They trooped out one by one without so much as a backward glance, not even Dominic who shut the door quietly behind him. I’d gone with the softly softly approach, and if they didn’t step up to the plate I was screwed. About the only thing getting screwed on site at this point!
I glared at the damned schedule pinned to the notice board taunting me, and bowing my head I banged it repeatedly against the desk.
***
On my way back to the cottage for lunch, I had another bright idea to call and check in with my folks.
Big mistake. Monstrous. I should have returned to bed the minute the kettle broke and the first glacial drops of water came out of the shower this morning, I scowled angrily. Day. From. Hell. And apparently Beelzebub wasn’t finished with me yet!
“Hey, Dad,” I said when he answered the phone with a gruff hello. “Is Mum about?”
“Bri,” he said brightly. And slurry. Great. One thirty in the afternoon and he was already on the sauce. “No she’s in town.”
“Okay, I can always call her later. How’s the new house?”
“Shite,” he said. I should have ended the call right there and then, but he sounded more resigned than belligerent. “So how’s things?” he asked.
“Honestly? Not great.” If anyone would understand my predicament he would. Noel McAteer had plenty of experience of being the big bad boss.
“No?”
“No,” I sighed. “We’re way behind schedule.”
“Sure, that’s what happens on a project when you’re at the mercy of the elements. Did you not consider that when you drew up your plan?”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, Dad!” I couldn’t believe he asked me such a stupid question. Oh wait, I could because he was rat arsed. Maybe I should call back when he’s sober… dawn next Thursday perhaps. “That’s long gone. I’ve asked the crew to work a few weekends.”
“The lads will appreciate the overtime.”
“You’d think, but they weren’t overly enamoured by the suggestion. They might come around.” I wasn’t holding out much in the way of hope.
“And what about that other business?”
Ah finally we’re getting down to the bare bones. “Not so good either.”
“Really?”
Did he have to sound so gleeful? “I might try a different approach, starting from my birth and working backwards. Can you tell me the name of the hospital where I was born?”
“The Rotunda in Parnell Square,” he replied tentatively, like it was a trick question aimed at tripping him up.
“Right and you said it was a private adoption, so how did that work exactly?”
“For chrissakes, Brianna, how do you expect me to remember that? It was over thirty years ago, and the solicitor took care of everything,” he snapped.
“The name of the legal firm will do, Dad,” I kept calm and patient. “I can search online afte
r that.”
“Jesus, it was Eamon… no James… no wait it was Seamus. I think. Gorman. Seamus Gorman.”
It sounded like he pulled the most common Irish names out of a hat and tossed them into the ring. Mum will know. “Okay, last thing, your address in Dublin?”
“Why do you need that?”
“Nostalgia,” I explained. “If I’m taking a trip down memory lane, I might as well see where it all began. Plus the solicitor will undoubtedly need it.”
“I can’t remember, we moved around a lot. And don’t bother your Ma, she has enough to worry about,” he warned.
“What about your local? I bet you can remember the name of that and where it was!” I hissed sarcastically. Either he had early onset Alzheimer’s or he was being deliberately fractious and obstropolous in an attempt to sabotage my search... Why? What the hell was going on with him? I opened the cottage door and walked in, thankful Elisha wasn’t home to hear our heated exchange.
“I didn’t have a local! And I’ll have none of your lip, Brianna McAteer! I worked hard my whole life to give you private schools and violin lessons, to pay for holidays and buy a nice house, to give you the life you deserved, the life Maggie wanted for you. So I’ve had a drink? I’ve earned it!”
His anger was unexpected, but perhaps called for. He was a good father and my disrespect wasn’t justified. “Dad-” I tried to interrupt.
But he was on a roll and continued with his rant. “Why can’t you leave this be? Leave the past in the past, Brianna, where it belongs.”
Opening the fridge, I took out the cheese sandwich I’d made before going to work that morning. It was as unappetising as this conversation. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I can’t,” I said sorrowfully.
“Since you’ve become such a believer in fate, why don’t you listen to it? If it was meant to be, you’d have found something already. Your poor mother is hardly sleeping a wink because of all this carry on.”