Where We Belong

by Fox Brison

  That was borderline criminal!

  ***

  “Hey, Bri,” Elisa said jauntily.

  “Humph,” I grunted.

  “What’s up? It’s not another rat is it?” she gurgled.

  Yes, that didn’t wind me up at all. “No, it’s not another rodent the size of a mastiff that carries diseases which can kill millions. Millions,” I emphasised. “It’s the fact that you can’t be arsed to wash your breakfast dishes.”

  “I’m sorry, I was running late. I had a meeting with Eleanor at the local employment service office about organising another job fair. Things have been hectic this week.”

  “I know! And do you think I just sit on my arse all day?”

  “Well, technically,” she was trying to tease me out of my ill humour, but her jokes fell flat. Actually, not so much flat as they became a bed of irritating nails.

  “Technically?” I asked coldly.

  “I was only messing. Jesus, Bri, what happened in Dublin? Did you have a lunchtime personality transplant at the Rotunda?”

  Red rag? Meet the bull. “You’d be unlikely to know that!” Before she could riposte I added, “And please for the love of God, could you change the toilet roll when it’s finished. I do not enjoy drip drying!”

  “Drip…” she shook her head. “There plenty left the last time I went.”

  “Plenty? If Barbie was next in line and even then she might have struggled,” I sneered. Red sauntered in and sat next to the stove. “And speaking of disease ridden animals, the chicken has to go.”

  “What do you mean?” She stood between me and the bird. Seems she really did prefer the plumper breasted variety.

  “I mean out of the house!” I wasn’t a monster for crying out… okay so maybe I was a little bit. Damn.

  “So in order of importance, rats, wash up, toilet roll and Red gone. Is there anything else?” She was angry but in a sad way too. I wanted to apologise, but the personality wisecrack slapped me across the face.

  “That’ll do for the minute,” I snarled.

  “Right. Just so’s I know. Here.” She threw a bag towards me and left. I opened it and slumped onto the sofa. Inside was a music book of Irish favourites.

  “Fuck,” I whispered, my anger evaporating. I closed my eyes and wished, not for the first time, that I wasn’t such a goddamned chicken shit.

  Chapter 29

  Elisha

  The cottage was bristling with tension and not the good kind either, like the excited tension of having five numbers and waiting for the sixth lottery ball to be drawn, or the heightened sexual tension from an old fashioned will they won’t they romantic film. No, the house was fraught with nervous tension accompanied by pseudo joviality on my part, and bona fide defensiveness on Brianna’s. The rat and toilet roll incidents were merely a couple of examples of this.

  I was still in the dog house because of those episodes, even after I gifted her the music book.

  As I approached the door I heard the violin and hid outside listening. Christ, she’s phenomenal. Now I wouldn’t call myself a connoisseur by any stretch of the imagination, but I knew what I liked and this? Oh this was on a completely different plane. It spoke to me. It sang of lost loves and wasted opportunities. It whispered a chorus of late nights in your lover’s arms. It cried with the pain of heartbreak. Why she wasn’t doing this for a living beggared belief; if she did, she would have fangirls in every country in the world. The music stopped and I waited, but after five minutes it appeared that was it for the evening. The rain started, and sighing in disappointment I had no choice but to go in.

  ***

  “Brianna, do you want a cup of tea?” I enquired. I’d received nothing but a cursory grunt when first I entered the house. It could, I suppose, have been down to her being lost in concentration, although the way she’d been acting lately I’m not sure she deserved the benefit of the doubt. Engrossed in a pile of old newspapers, she guarded them with her arm as I passed by, like you did as a kid at school during a test.

  What are we, nine?

  “No thank you, I’m good,” she answered courteously but failed to meet my eye, something I noticed she struggled with since our return from Dublin. I was regretting everything about that trip, apart from the time myself and Brianna spent alone. And of course dancing with Brianna. Oh also the heart to heart with Shannon.

  About Brianna.

  I made my tea and brought it through to have on the sofa in front of the fire. The weather was atrocious because the terrible twins, wind and rain, were back. However, Brianna’s actions were far more interesting than the weather, and as I wasn’t brave enough to risk another run in, I watched covertly. She blew out a long stream of air from between pursed lips. Muttering under her breath she crossed something out on the note pad beside her, before proceeding to violently tear off the top sheet and scrunch it into a ball. The papers were plainly in relation to her search for clues about Maggie O’Shea and her family.

  And just as obviously, it had nothing to do with me anymore!

  Brianna was shutting me out, and I was sick to my back teeth of her attitude. I’d resisted calling her on it because I was afraid of creating an even worse atmosphere, or more to the point, risk her walking out on the build.

  And me. That wasn’t a nonchalant addendum. In the grand scheme of things it had claimed top spot.

  However, enough was enough.

  “Anything interesting?” I asked, flicking my head towards the table. The archives, crisp white and recently printed, were covered in black lettering, codes that entailed no breaking yet provided leads which trailed nowhere. Frustration emanated from every one of her pores and I wondered if she was contemplating giving up.

  “What do you care?” she snapped.

  My eyes imperceptibly widened. Colour me surprised, hadn’t I been with her every step of the way so far? “I care immensely,” I attested, confused, and perhaps more telling, devastated that she could think such a thing. “If I didn’t care I wouldn’t have spent God knows how many hours trawling through family genealogy sites, or have gone to Westport and Dublin-”

  She cut me off with a sarcastic, “Ha! You came to the cemetery, but the minute Sam wiggled her bountiful hips I didn’t see you for dust!” With a whoosh, her hand sliced through the air, done with me.

  Oh hell no, missy! “Sam wiggled her bountiful hips? What are we, characters in a Georgian romance?” Bemusement and hurt quickly metamorphosed into annoyance. What Sam and I got up to was none of Ms Jane fucking Austen’s business. Besides, she was the one who pushed us together the whole weekend, she was the one who ditched us. And now I was the one being punished because I went out of my way to ensure her friend had a good weekend?

  “I wanted to go to the hospital but, if you remember correctly, you insisted I take Sam to the art museum instead.”

  “Oh, I remember. I remember really having to twist your arm too!”

  My phone rang preventing the angry retort perched on the tip of my tongue. Saved by the bell! I answered it with a curt, “Yes... Right, I’ll check it out. Thanks, Pat. Bye… yeah. Yeah. Bye, bye… yes of course I’ll call and let you know… no I can manage… Yep. Okay byebyebye.” The moment I hung up I started to pull on my wellies and hoodie. The yellow slicker Biddy gave me for Christmas was ripped off the coat hook, and I thrust my hands into the arms, or tried to at least. Several livid attempts later I finally managed the feat.

  I believe threatening it with burning pitch did the trick.

  The light was fading, and in the midst of going to retrieve the torch from the kitchen Brianna called, “Where are you going? It’s absolutely pissing down.”

  Thank you Queen Obvious of Obviousland. I closed my eyes. The sniping and bad blood was reaching endemic proportions. It was getting to the stage where staying with my family was not only more attractive but preferable; it might be the only way to save mine and Brianna’s relationship which at the moment resembled a blind cobbler’s thumb.

&nb
sp; Battered, bruised, and bent out of shape.

  “There’s a ditch flooding near the camp and if I don’t get it sorted it could overflow onto the site. Now.” I kept my tone nice and calm.

  “Now?” She repeated.

  “Now what?” I asked in reply to her questioning tone.

  “No, you said now,” she said, exasperatedly. “I hate it when people leave me hanging!”

  Oh, here we go again with her perfect Queen’s English. “I simply meant I have to deal with it.”

  “Aren’t you going to call Thomas? Surely a digger would be useful.”

  “The blockage is on Doran land, so Thomas won’t help.”

  “Why not? I thought neighbours helped each other here. Or was that a load of old tosh too?” Again with the sarcasm.

  “What’s that supposed to…never mind.” I couldn’t give a toss anymore. I honestly couldn’t. The Doran/Callery feud had been going on for years, and Isabella was nothing if not loyal when she wanted to be. “Unfortunately, I’m not Dervla Kirwan and this isn’t Ballykissangel. If the field floods it could set the camp back by days if not weeks.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Brianna leapt out of her chair.

  “No, you’re not,” I said coolly but forcefully. “I refuse to give you another stick to beat me with.”

  “I can hold the torch. I have a vested interest in this too, Elisha. I don’t want to be stuck here any longer than necessary.”

  Her words were acid running through my veins, but at least I now knew where I stood.

  ***

  Crouching down, I shone the torch into the drainpipe leading from one side of the road to the other. It was blocked alright, but I couldn’t make out what was causing it.

  “Hold this.” I passed the torch to Brianna and she moved closer. Much as I was loath to do it, I had no choice. My hands delved into the ice cold water, hoping against hope that the decomposing carcass of a dead animal wasn’t the reason for the obstruction. That really would be the icing on the shitcake. Brianna inched closer, so close she almost stood on me.

  “Brianna, will you watch your damn step and lift the torch higher, I can’t see a bloody thing,” I exploded, the frustration of the situation and what had gone before finally getting the better of me.

  After a good while spent fumbling around in the dark and murk, I dislodged a sizeable branch. Panic over, I thought and prepared myself for the ensuing torrent, but scarcely a trickle oozed through the marginally larger gap I’d created. Fuck. Evidently the branch was merely the tip of the iceberg.

  “For feck’s sake, there must be a small tree lodged in there!” I growled. “Bri, could you go back to the cottage and fetch a length of rope? There’s some hanging over the rafters in the good shed.” For once she did as I asked without arguing. I remained and continued to clear away debris, which at least kept me warm. Brianna was back before I knew it - she must have run the whole way. She did have the physique of a long distance runner… really, Leesh. Really? Even up to your armpits in shite you’re still thinking of Brianna’s body! Jesus!

  “Is this okay?” she panted, and for the first time in an age met my gaze. God tonight her eyes were striking, thunderous like the wind, and as stormy and grey as the clouds racing overhead.

  “It’s perfect, thanks.” Taking the thick blue nylon cord from her outstretched hand, I got down on my knees and crawled as close to the opening as I could. I grimaced. There was no clear way to get the rope around the trunk.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to get inside and tie this thing off – or try anyway,” I explained.

  “No, wait!” she called and pulled on my jacket.

  “What now?”

  “You might get stuck!”

  “Is that wishful thinking?” I asked scornfully.

  “Oh don’t be ridiculous!” she scoffed.

  “Ridiculous?” My eyebrows rose disbelievingly. This coming from the woman who complained that I left two squares of toilet paper on the roll?

  “Yes, ridiculous,” she reiterated. “We should call someone.”

  She may have had a point, but getting a digger out here tonight would be nigh on impossible. “We’ll try this first. If it doesn’t work, I’ll call someone, okay?”

  “Okay,” she relented.

  I crawled into the drain and managed to hook the rope over what I hoped was the main branch. It snagged and I pulled sharply to try and… “Ya feckin’ whore’s bastard!” I cried and stared down at the rip in my yellow slicker which was already turning bright red. I sat back on my haunches.

  “Let me see.” Using the torch, Brianna examined the tear. It wasn’t big, but it was painful and the blood was seeping rather than gushing, rather like the water. “That looks nasty, Leesh, maybe I should take over.”

  “No,” I refused point blank. “I know what I’m doing!” My response was less to do with anger and more to do with not wanting Brianna to get hurt.

  “Yeah catching hepatitis or tetanus,” she mumbled.

  Ignoring her (partly because yet again she had a point) I knelt, this time taking far more care. After a couple of aborted attempts I was reunited with the rope. Tying it off, I yanked at it to ensure it was secure. Miraculously it worked, and the substantial branch gave a little. I heaved once, then twice. “I felt some movement!” I called over my shoulder, resting for a second to catch my breath and allow my burning biceps time to recover before my next attempt.

  “Please, Elisha, let me give you a hand.” Brianna positioned the torch on the bank so it was still providing us with light. It caught the rain in its beam, large droplets that shimmered in the dark.

  We were in a tug of war we had to win because water was already crawling indomitably towards the site.

  Although… if it did flood Brianna would have to stay longer… in spite of everything I wanted her to stay, because even a pissed off angry bitch of a Brianna was better than no Brianna at all.

  My gloves grew slick with rain and mud, which made gripping the rope infinitely more difficult. After performing a watery waltz for several minutes, I stopped and stood up. “This isn’t working,” I puffed. “Maybe I could use the quad bike.” I turned round to Brianna who was shaking with cold. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, her voice tense and edgy. “Wouldn’t the ATV have the same problem that we’re having? There’s no grip.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.” Last chance saloon, Callery. “Okay, on three?” I shook the crap off my gloves and firmly gripped the rope. Setting my feet apart, I steadied myself. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “One.” My feet slipped a little and I dug them deeper into the mud and stones of the gulley bed. “Two,” I exhaled and filled my lungs. “Three!” We heaved. My muscles burnt with effort and we both grunted as the strain began to take a toll on our bodies. The blood rushed into my head… and just when I didn’t think I could take any more, the branch came surging out of the drain. Staggering, I stepped back to regain my balance, muddy water gushing towards me in a torrent of biblical proportions. I sidestepped neatly to escape the onrushing deluge. I knew ten years playing football would come in handy, I thought smugly. Brianna tried to perform a similar manoeuvre, except she wasn’t quite as deft on her feet. I reached for her but I was too late…

  The ensuing tidal wave of mud covered her from head to toe.

  Spluttering and coughing she eyed me with… I’m not entirely sure. I couldn’t make out much beneath the layer of dirt, but I assumed it was incandescent ire. Rising from the water like she was emerging from the primordial soup of which all life was created, slimy brown water dripped from every single part of her body – along with bushels of organic material. She wiped her eyes… or tried to, but instead only succeeded in smearing the mud rather than removing it.

  Lifting her arms, I presumed to try and flick some of the crap off, she instead shoved me in the chest with all of her might.


  I wasn’t expecting it, not at all, and fell on my arse. My saving grace? The torrent was presently nothing more than a slow dribble, meaning I avoided the mud bath and arboreal hair accessories. Brianna held her hand to her mouth.

  Before spitting out whatever had been on it.

  We glared at each other readying for round ninety-seven…

  Brianna bit her bottom lip. She stilled and stared at me and I steeled myself for the vitriol to spew forth. But it didn’t. Her eyes lightened and a crease began in the mud where her lips forced themselves up into a smile. It started as a supressed chuckle that she had the good grace to appear embarrassed about, but soon graduated into a full blown side splitting laugh, complete with hands on thighs and gasping for breath. I grinned. Christ I’d forgotten how laughter could lift the spirits, especially Brianna’s. It was the nectar of the gods.

  The anger that had been coursing between us was instantly replaced by something else, something…

  “You know what, Brianna,” I chortled, and picked myself up, “I wish I knew what you wanted. I wish...” before I could finish, Brianna stepped forward and all my wishes came true.

  She kissed me.

  I was almost too gobsmacked (figuratively and literally) to respond.

  Almost.

  Chapter 30

  Brianna

  I stank to high heaven, was covered in slime and God knows what else, but that was inconsequential.

  Because, hallelujah, there was the passion that had been missing my entire life.

  It flared like a comet throughout every nerve in my body as Elisha instinctively responded to my clumsy advance. Taking control, she snaked one hand into my hair; the other was holding onto my waist ensuring I couldn’t escape.