Where We Belong

by Fox Brison

  “Are you laying a guilt trip on me?”

  “I am. Is it working?” she smiled goofily. When she smiled at me I was putty in her hands. Who am I kidding? Even without curling those sexy fucking lips of hers I would give her the world.

  “Weeellll,” I drawled.

  She spun me over and straddled me. “Babe, think of the anticipation. We could sneak into the ladies for a quick…” she thrust her hips forward but left the sentence hanging like a juicy carrot, and that did it.

  I couldn’t fucking wait to get to the pub.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later I was ready to go. I insisted on showering separately otherwise we’d be lucky to make last call. I wore my favourite pair of washed out jeans; ten years old, they’d gone soft and had ripped naturally in several places. These I matched with a t-shirt that proclaimed I should ‘Keep Calm and Scarf Chocolate,’ a present from Sam for my thirtieth. I should have listened to the t-shirt instead of panicking and shacking up with, basically, the male version of me.

  Elisha came through from the bedroom and I glanced up from the violin, smiled, and looked down at the – my eyes snapped back up and widened, like really widened. She’d done… something to her hair. Whatever it was, it affected me deeply.

  “Your hair?” I stuttered, staring. Drooling maybe. I licked my lips to find out. Or maybe it was because she was lickable. What the fuck? Lickable? Was that even a word? If not it should be. “It’s different.”

  “I used a new product,” she said. Confidently. Did she realise the effect she was having on me? Surely not.

  “Product?” I repeated gormlessly.

  “Yes, wet look gel,” she elaborated hesitantly. “Is it okay?”

  Okay? It did exactly what it said on the tin because one look at her and I was sopping. My hands were itching to touch her. “It’s good, Callery,” I said insouciantly and nudged her. “Sean will be salivating.”

  “Only because he’s eighty and always forgets to put his teeth in,” Elisha retorted. “Besides the only one I want to impress is you.”

  “Are you sure? There are some fine looking Colleens around. What?” I asked when she spluttered.

  “Most of the Colleens around here are either drawing their pension or have six kids and counting.”

  “What difference does that make? I mean you turned me, and turned me but good!” I breathed longingly.

  “Brianna,” she started seriously and I became nervous. “Like a pint of milk left on the counter you were already on the turn. All I did was turn up the heat and finish the job!” She pulled me close and kissed me.

  “It’s a good thing that you’re gorgeous, Leesh, because your sense of humour leaves a lot to be desired,” I mocked, and taking her outstretched hand, led her from the house.

  ***

  I couldn’t decide if it was the weather, the holidays, the anticipation of sex in a public place, or simply that I was high on life, but the atmosphere in the Fiddler’s was off the charts.

  I was burning up but it had nothing to do with the pub being chocka, nor the coal fire. Nope, it was all to do with the manner in which Elisha was drinking her beer. Truly, I never knew drinking beer could be sexy. It was achingly slow and out of the bottle, which normally bothered me. (Come on, we have glasses for a reason!)

  However, when Elisha did it?

  Her long fingers wrapped loosely around the neck… her lips gently cradling the opening… the muscles in her throat contracting and relaxing rhythmically as she swallowed… I almost lost it completely when a dribble escaped and she licked it from her lips. And worse was to come (perhaps that should be better? my libido asked with a lascivious grin and waggle of the eyebrows) when her tongue flicked out as she removed another dribble from the neck.

  Is it too soon for a rendezvous in the toilets?

  “Are you going to play with that new toy of yours, Brianna?” Pat nodded to my electric violin waiting in the corner, ready to go.

  “What?” I jolted back into reality. New toy?

  “That yoke.” He pointed again to the violin.

  “Oh. Well. No. I wanted to bring it down for you to have a look. Elisha gave it to me. I don’t really play in public, I get nervous and it sounds awful.” Cats making love in a thunderstorm would be an accurate description.

  “Sure I was the same,” he revealed.

  “You got stage fright?” That took me back three or four steps because Pat was always up, front and centre.

  “If that’s what you want to call it.” He took a sip of his stout. “But knew if I wanted to win Biddy’s hand I had to get over it, to get under her,” he winked, “if you get my drift.”

  I did get his drift, but wished I hadn’t and blushed furiously.

  “She was sweet on Sean O’Connell until I played ‘The Rose of Tralee’ for her,” he said proudly.

  “We’ll have to start calling you Don Juan, you charmer, Patrick Doran,” I joshed.

  “You may have already won the fair maiden’s heart,” we both looked at Elisha, “but you want to make sure you keep it. Now play,” he insisted.

  Oh my God is it that obvious? I picked up the violin and plugged it into the amp. Christ it was the most beautiful and sensual thing I had ever held in my hands. I smiled at Elisha who was gesticulating wildly as she explained something to Maura. Make that the second most beautiful and sensual.

  Perhaps it was the confidence born of three or five pints of Guinness (I’d lost count because Elisha kept putting them down in front of me) but there wasn’t the habitual lurch in my stomach, nor did my fingers freeze on the strings. I closed my eyes and the memory of the previous night flittered into my mind, Elisha’s phantom touch sharpening the image into crystal clear clarity.

  My sudden ability to perform in public had nothing to do with Dutch courage and everything to do with being set free. Free from the bonds of failing, free from the claustrophobia of wondering if this was the life I was meant for, free from panic and uncertainty.

  Elisha Callery had set me free.

  I began with Kreutzer Etude no.8 before playing what I believed to be a jig. “Well aren’t you the dark horse,” Pat boomed so loudly a few of our neighbours turned to stare. “What else can you play?”

  I racked my brains. “Well here’s a piece you might like.”

  I took a deep breath and played a few notes to warm up. Still no nerves. I remembered the first time I played this piece for my mother in our dining room, which had doubled as a practice room from the age of five onwards. My fingers relaxed and the bow slid gracefully across the strings as the first notes sang, jubilant to be liberated from the instrument. The tips of my fingers pressed gently and then firmly as I became lost in the rolling hills and the rugged mountains, in the laughter and the tears, in the full and earthy scent of the peat, and finally in the fresh spring air cooling flushed cheeks.

  I didn’t notice that the room had fallen still, not at first, not until I heard another tone join my violin’s strength; the guitar accompanying a beat from the bodhran. It was perfect harmony, the rhythm of life.

  Music of the soul, the story of my heart.

  The last draw of my bow was followed by a burst of applause and I laughed embarrassedly. I turned to see tears shining in Pat’s watery grey eyes, his cheeks wet from ones that had already journeyed when the song was in its zenith.

  “Pat? Are you alright?” Elisha threw him a concerned glance.

  He wiped his eyes with a chequered handkerchief. “I’m grand. I haven’t heard Maggie’s Waltz since…” he paused. “It was played perfectly, Brianna, just perfectly.” Lost in the moment, the title hadn’t occurred to me until Pat mentioned it. Was this another sign? “A special person used to play it and no one else has ever come close to capturing the essence until now,” he said, sorrow and praise mingling in his tone. “Now, who’s for another?” He collected our glasses, I think as much as to collect himself, and went to the bar.

  The crowd called for an encore, and I
was only too happy to oblige. This miracle cure might not last therefore I was going to make the most of it. I hogged the limelight, but hey the compliments flying and the requests called as soon as the last note echoed in the room meant that I didn’t get much of a choice!

  It was mighty craic.

  We didn’t realise the time until Biddy arrived. She wore a strange expression. I lowered the violin, and raising an eyebrow at Elisha, flicked my head towards the old woman petrified at the door.

  “Biddy?” she shouted. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Biddy quickly pulled herself together. “My husband will be a bloody ghost if he’s not careful. I’ve been waiting outside for ten minutes.” Biddy didn’t like the pub and hardly stepped inside the place.

  “Biddy, you’re a fine lass,” Sean gave her a slobbery kiss on her cheek, and she pushed him away.

  Perhaps that’s why, I thought, chuckling to myself.

  “Sean O’Connell, you’re drunk you silly old fool. Wait till Katleen sees you! Leesh, do you and Brianna want a run home?”

  I smiled in acceptance and began packing away my violin and amp.

  “That would be grand, thanks a million,” Elisha accepted her offer.

  It took us almost twenty minutes to leave, quite the contrast to the first night I visited the Fiddler’s, when the locals had been curious but a little standoffish. Now I couldn’t shut them up! If they weren’t complimenting me on my violin, they were asking how the build was going. I was slowly but surely becoming a welcome part of the community and could easily see myself in fifty years’ time, like Pat and Biddy, walking out from the pub with my wife.

  Easy there, tiger, it’s only been one weekend!

  ***

  Biddy dropped us at the gate and after a lengthy goodbye, Elisha entwined her fingers with mine. “I need to ask you something,” I said when we were a few yards up the lane.

  “And that doesn’t sound scary,” she ribbed. “Ask away.”

  “What’s with the goodbyes? I’ve noticed it a couple of times, especially on the phone. Dom says ‘bye’ no fewer than six times per call. And that’s being conservative!”

  Chortling she shrugged. “It’s just a thing, and I’m guilty of it too. Shannon called when you were in the bath. It took us five minutes to hang up. My Da’s really bad. He says bye as a forerunner for a change of topic!”

  “In between the time taken to say hello, and the lengthy goodbyes, it’s a wonder anything gets done!” I said, only half joking. Looking ahead I could see the lights of home piercing the darkness.

  Home. It was definitely starting to feel like that. In retrospect, I had sensed that innate sense of belonging the minute I walked through the front door and Elisha gave me the guided tour.

  I also felt like we’d strolled full circle since our first trip to the pub. The sky was wide open and full of hopes, dreams and promises. I could understand people’s obsession with wanting to explore the heavens, why space was the final frontier, or rather, the beginning of the final frontier. It was enticing and vital, exactly like Elisha.

  She reached over and kissed my cheek, which warmed from her touch. “You were wonderful tonight. I thought I was going to burst with pride.” She stopped in the yard and I had no option but to follow suit, she held my hand tightly in hers. “I wanted to ask you the other evening, but didn’t want to spoil the moment.”

  “Ask me what?”

  “Why you quit playing?”

  “I suffer for my art,” I laughed, but it was a mocking tone.

  “Suffer?”

  “Long story, but you were the first person to hear me play in over a decade.” I sighed and stared into the night sky. “I… I was twenty when it all began to slowly slide downhill. Pressure began to build, each performance increasing in size and programme… and the critics became harsher and less forgiving… until one day I snapped… my confidence shot to pieces. I dropped out of college and as I couldn’t escape from the ache of utter disappointment, I quit on the love of my life. Tonight wouldn’t have been possible without you.” I offered her a kiss and she took it.

  “You do realise we’re having sexy times tonight, you don’t have to butter me up,” she said and I slapped her arm. “I’m sorry, Bri, I don’t take praise or compliments well, especially when they’re not deserved. What you do comes from in here, nowhere else.” She touched my chest where my heart was beating faster and faster. “I’m glad people got to see what an amazingly talented woman I’m sleeping with!”

  “You’re a dope,” I laughed, and leant my head on her shoulder. I was curious as to why we were loitering outside the back door. Yes it was a romantic night, but it was a touch on the chilly side.

  “I mean it, Bri. When I’m with you I feel like I’m on top of the world.”

  “Okay, you’re a soppy drunk, I can live with that,” I teased. “Jesus!” I ducked as a bat missed my head by mere inches. “Are all of the animals in this bloody country designed to torture me?” I groaned.

  “Come on, I’ll make you an Irish hot chocolate, that’ll calm your nerves,” she said.

  “Is that like an Irish coffee?” I asked.

  “It is, only I use Bailey’s instead of whiskey.”

  I needed no second invitation

  ***

  “Nooo,” I groaned and buried my head under Elisha’s arm. It couldn’t be Monday morning already. Last night was a late one, a very late one. We stayed up into the wee hours talking and making love, and it seemed like I had only just nodded off when the alarm sounded. I wasn’t hungover, not from the alcohol anyway, it was more of an orgasm hangover.

  “Why don’t you have an extra half an hour? I’ll light the fire and start breakfast.” Elisha jumped out of bed, leant over, and kissed my forehead.

  “I’ll see to the fire,” I said roguishly, pulling back the covers.

  “You will not, you’ll do as you’re told.”

  “Or what?” I waggled my eyebrows.

  “Or I’ll have to give you a good spanking.”

  Okay that woke me up. I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down onto the bed. “Do you know what you do to me?” I whispered.

  “The same as you do to me, I hope,” she replied. I wanted to tell her right there and then but I didn’t. It wasn’t just the awesome sex, it was everything. She was everything.

  And I wanted forever.

  Chapter 39

  Elisha

  I adore the country of my birth. The Emerald Isle. Eire. Ireland. I proudly lifted a glass to St Patrick every March 17th, and followed the girls in green all over the world via my television – I wasn’t loaded. I love the passion (no prima donnas rolling around here) of the GAA, and the food… honestly, there are too many delicious dishes to mention. I can’t cook but I can eat.

  The weather, however, that I could take or leave.

  Standing in the middle of yet another downpour, my boots squelching in the pervasive mud that reached the parts other soils couldn’t reach, I considered emigrating to Australia for the third time that hour. Sheep farming down under would be a doddle. Dry. Warm. Several thousand miles away from my family who were currently inching towards the red zone of irritation on the Elisha-o-Meter.

  And Brianna would look great in a bikini

  Still, in spite of the gloomy conditions I couldn’t stop smiling, because one advantage to the inhospitable climate meant that I got to snuggle on the sofa with Brianna. And our snuggles inevitably led to kisses and our kisses led to…

  Turning another sod of turf, a well-timed raindrop tricked down between my collar and neck – well-timed because I needed cooling off. I checked out my partner on the work gang, my eighty four year old stubborn as a mule neighbour. I could have stacked the turf myself, should be stacking the turf myself, but no, Patrick insisted he help.

  “Leesh?”

  “You’re flying it, Patrick,” I called but didn’t look over, desperate to get back. Brianna and I were brand spanking new
and I couldn’t get enough of her.

  “I’m… I’m…” he panted.

  His voice was insipid and this time my head snapped up. I dropped the sod of black turf I was holding, and made my way over to him as quickly as I dared without letting on I was worried. “You okay there, Pat?” I placed my hand on his back and knelt beside him.

  “Ah… sure… just… winded.”

  Winded my arse, obstinate… “Look I can finish up here. You head back and tell Biddy to get the tea made. I’ll follow once I’ve this line stacked.”

  “Leave it, Leesh,” he insisted, “we can do it tomorrow when the rain-” he took a sharp breath and winced in pain.

  “When the rain stops?” I cut in opening my eyes wide and grinning.

  He chuckled. “Noah wasn’t Irish, that’s for sure. All that fussin’ over forty days and forty nights? We call that spring.”

  “Or summer!” I joked. “Go on wit ya, I’ll be right behind you.” We both knew it would be at least an hour, but it was tantamount to how weak Patrick was feeling that he didn’t put up more of an argument. I walked with him towards his tractor, my hand ready in case he took a dive. He stopped at the last gate.

  “Give me a second to catch my breath.” He held onto the post, and then perched on the small stone wall next to it. I silently damned his dogged pride.

  “Have you been back to the doctors?”

  “Doctors?” he scoffed. “He’ll only tell me to stop smoking and drinking. I’m eighty four years old, what good’s that going to do? I’m grand, sure.” He laughed and ran his fingers through fine white hair. I hadn’t noticed, but he was awful thin, gaunt rather than ruddy.

  “Good. We’ve a busy few months coming up and I need my best worker.”

  “I’ll be here, Leesh.” After three attempts he stood on shaky legs.

  “I’m gonna drive you home.” I held his arm to steady him.

  “You will not! Get what you want done, and I’ll see ya for lunch. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” I kept an eye to him until he reached his battered red tractor, which, like himself, was growing old and rickety.