Breakaway

by Deirdre Martin

  “We’ll see.” Rory’s confidence had her shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

  Rory took another sip of his beer. He hated to admit it, but something inside him was feeding off all the animosity being directed his way, making him feel cockier than ever. Which was why when Liam O’Brien planted himself in front of him with a menacing glare, Rory was unimpressed.

  “Steer clear of my cousin. We clear?”

  “As glass.” He took his time downing more beer. If the folks of Ballycraig thought he was going to guzzle his pint and head out as quickly as he could, they had another thing coming. Feeling a bit congenial, he turned to Teague. “How’s life treating you these days, Teague?”

  “All right,” Teague replied, still staring down into his beer broodingly.

  “Yeah? What’re you up to?”

  “Same as usual,” Fergus answered for him, talking more to his friend than to Rory. “Spongin’ off his mam and dad and living on the dole.” He patted his friend’s hunched shoulder. “Buck up, Teague. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. There’s loads of people doing the same.”

  “Ah, shit off, the lot of yuz!” Teague snapped angrily, slamming his pint down on the bar and storming out of the pub.

  “I see nothing’s changed with Teague,” Rory observed. “It just isn’t Saturday night if he doesn’t leg it out of here believing his dignity’s been insulted.”

  “How about you leg it out of here?” said Bettina.

  “It’s a public house,” Rory reminded her. He stood there fifteen more minutes nursing his pint, but finally he drained his glass and put his money down. “I’m looking forward to seeing you all again soon.”

  “Just you try it,” Old Jack began to sputter. “Just you—”

  Bettina stilled him with her hand. “Calm down, you old fool. Don’t have a nervo.”

  Rory could feel them all watching him as he left. Ripping him to shreds the second the door closed behind him. Rip all you want, Rory thought. But it’s not going to get you anywhere.

  * * *

  “Sandra?”

  Erin’s voice echoed nervously through what appeared to be an empty house. Ever since they were teenagers, each of them had had a key to the other’s home. Larry hated it, of course, claiming it was a “gross violation of his husbandly rights.” Sandra’s reply to that was always the same: “Shove off.” She wanted Erin to have access to the house “just in case,” which meant if Larry was being a drunken jerk and Sandra needed someone to fetch the kids. Sometimes the mere threat of Erin’s appearance made Larry back off; sometimes it made things worse. If the latter was the case, all Sandra had to do was pick up her cell and Larry was off like a shot.

  Sandra’s brood was gone, which was not a good sign. It meant Sandra had sent them off to her mother’s. Erin surveyed the living room; nothing was broken and there were no half-eaten plates of food on the coffee table, which was good. It meant Sandra hadn’t had to hustle them out in the middle of a boiling row. Erin proceeded into the kitchen. It was messy as usual, but nothing was broken. It was as she was walking back into the living room that she heard a groan from upstairs.

  “Sandra?”

  Another groan.

  Erin tiptoed up the stairs. Please, Christ, don’t let that moron be there. Please.

  Fighting trepidation, she quietly opened the door to Sandra’s bedroom. No Larry. But her friend was there, curled up in a little ball, her pallor gray and her eyes shut tight. “I have a terrible migraine,” Sandra whispered as Erin perched on the edge of the bed.

  “Yeah?” Erin asked, disinterested.

  Sandra opened her eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “What’s the matter with me? You think I’m thick, after all these years? What did he do? You always seem to get migraines after he’s pulled one of his stunts.”

  “You’re wrong. He didn’t do anything.”

  “What did he do? And you better answer me, ’cause I’m getting sick of asking.”

  Sandra looked chastised. “The usual: tearing me to shreds in front of the kids. I had Lucy bring the brood to my mam’s.”

  “What was he even doing in the house, San?”

  “He wanted to see the kids.”

  “Well, he sure did that, didn’t he? I’m so sick of this.”

  “What?” Wincing, Sandra pushed herself up into a sitting position.

  “You heard me. Year in, year out, it’s the same old tune. Next I’m going to tell you he’s a bastard, and then you’re going to cry and say he doesn’t mean it. Then Larry will come back and cry all apologetic, and you’ll believe him because staying stuck is safer.”

  Sandra looked incredulous. “How can you say that to me? I’m your best friend!”

  “Which is why I’m telling you the truth!” Erin was surprised to find herself trembling with anger. “You deserve better than this.”

  “Do I?” Sandra looked bitter. “I made my bed and now I have to lie in it.”

  Erin’s voice shot up an octave. “Will you listen to yourself? You sound like half the old biddies in town, who stayed in the beds they made because the Church had them by the throat, making them believe they had to suffer. You can get out. There are ways out.”

  “You don’t understand. I love him.”

  This was the line that always soured Erin’s guts. She couldn’t bear to hear it one more time. “WHY! He’s a fat unreliable loser who treats you like shit and scares the hell out of your children. What’s there to love? Is the sex really that good?”

  “Go to hell, Erin.”

  “Right, I will.” Pulse flying, Erin was almost to the bedroom door when Sandra called out.

  “Don’t go, please don’t go.” Erin turned back to find her friend’s face crumpled with tears. “Don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you, San.” Erin sat back down on the bed, stroking Sandra’s tangled hair. “I love you, which is why I’m tired of banging my head against the wall. D’you have any idea what it’s like to see you this way? He’s ground you down so badly over the years that you actually think you deserve the way he talks to you. I remember the way you used to be. Sometimes I see a flicker of it, like when you helped me through all the stuff with Rory. You were so strong. You and Jake.”

  “Because we were dealing with your life, not mine.”

  “Let’s deal with yours, then.”

  Sandra looked at her warily. “You don’t understand. I’ve got four kids. I can’t just pick up and go.”

  “No, but you can make a plan to pick up and go, and then do it when the time is right.”

  “The kids’ll go mad.”

  “Kids rebound. And it’s not like he’s even here most of the time.”

  Sandra lowered her gaze. “I know.”

  “Unless you let him move back in.”

  “No, no, he’s not going to move back in,” Sandra was quick to assure her.

  Erin brightened a little. Maybe she was finally getting through. “Let’s make a plan, then.”

  Sandra peered up at her with bloodshot eyes. “I’m too tired right now, Erin. I swear.”

  Fine, right, whatever.

  Sandra looked at Erin sheepishly with a half smile. “I’ve heard that for the right price, Spats O’Toole can arrange for an ‘accident’ to happen.”

  Erin was appalled. “This is no time to make jokes!”

  “Isn’t it?” Sandra caught Erin’s eye, and within seconds they were howling with laughter. A tried-and-true method to relieve stress. Let it out. Or hide it, whichever the case may be. Erin sometimes thought it was a mad thing for them to do, callous and inappropriate. And indeed, it was. But if it made Sandra feel better for a moment, that was all that mattered.

  They wound down, Sandra swiping at her eyes. “Jesus, I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard since Old Jack dressed up as Cher for that Halloween party.”

  “At least then we had the courtesy to go outside and laugh.”

  “Too true,” Sandra agreed. She l
ooked down at the duvet again for a long moment, then lifted her eyes to meet Erin’s. “I swear I’ll do something, Er. I’ll call Social Services tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Erin returned softly, even though she knew Sandra probably wouldn’t. But maybe she was underestimating her friend. Maybe this time Sandra had had enough.

  Erin playfully pinched the top of Sandra’s hand. “You going to lie about all day like a queen?”

  “No, of course not; I’ve too much to do.” Sandra looked resigned as she swung her legs to the floor, rubbing her arms. “I’m freezing. Isn’t it supposed to be summer?”

  “You say that every summer.”

  “Summer: season of tearing my hair out,” said Sandra grimly as she slipped on her robe. “All the kids home, moaning, ‘I’m so bored, I’m so bored.’ At least I’ve got Larry Jr. sorted.”

  “How’s that?”

  “He’s going to the football camp.”

  “Really?” Erin knew it was stupid, but just the mention of the football camp made her stiffen. Football camp equaled Rory. Rory equaled pain. The moment passed.

  “Apparently he’s getting in because he’s underprivileged.” Sandra looked indignant. “Do you think he’s underprivileged?”

  “I don’t. Underprivileged is quite a strong word.”

  “Thank you. He’s got a roof over his head, food to eat…”

  “I think they mean disadvantaged—like, you’ve no money to send him to camp or something like that. It’s good he’s going. It gives him something to look forward to every day, you know? Build up confidence.”

  “You’re right. I suppose I didn’t think of that. Well, he could be your spy if you wanted him to,” Sandra needled as they headed downstairs.

  “What are you on about?”

  “Christ, you haven’t heard? You must’ve been holed up all day and night yesterday with your nose pressed to the computer.”

  “What are you on about?” Erin repeated, growing irritated.

  “He’s back.”

  There was no question about who he referred to.

  “Get out of it.” Erin’s mouth grew dry as she followed her friend into the kitchen.

  “I’ve got it on good authority.”

  “Who?”

  “Bettina,” Sandra answered, looking proud that she’d been the one to tell Erin.

  “Go on, then. What did she say?”

  “She said the bighead came swaggering into the Oak like he owned the place.”

  Sounds like Rory, Erin thought.

  “Said he’s staying the summer to help his gran out with this and that. That he’s gonna be helping out Jackson Bell at the camp. It’s obviously a load of bull,” Sandra continued, frowning as she took in the disaster area that was her kitchen. “He could hire someone to work on his gran’s; he’s got the money.” She gave Erin a sly look. “You’d have to be stupid as a stone not to realize why he’s really here.”

  Erin snorted. “Well, good for him! If he gets within a mile of me, he’ll never play hockey again. My father will break his legs.”

  “He’ll have help from all the men in town. Bettina said Liam told Rory that if he tried to come near you, he’d have his head handed to him on a plate. You know your cousin: he would do it.”

  “And what did Mr. Big-time Hockey Star say to that?” The thought of Liam threatening Rory was extremely gratifying.

  “Bettina didn’t say.”

  “Hmm.”

  Erin sat down at the table while Sandra put the kettle on.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Erin was annoyed. “What do you mean, what am I going to do?”

  “You’re bound to run into him.”

  “And when I do, we’ll exchange pleasantries and go our separate ways.”

  “And what if he wants more than pleasantries?” Sandra pushed.

  “Then he can go chase himself.” Erin was tempted to take one of Sandra’s cigarettes to calm herself. Her nerves were jumping. “I can’t believe he has the gall to come back here.”

  “I know,” Sandra agreed. “Especially when the reason is so obvious.”

  Erin frowned. “Will you stop banging on about that, please?”

  “You know I’m right.”

  “All I know is he’s the jerk who turned my life upside down, and if it wasn’t for you and Jake, I’d be in the lowest level of hell. He’s an idiot if he thinks I’d ever give him the time of day.”

  Sandra raised her eyebrows. “Seems to me you’re getting very emotional about someone you claim not to give a toss about.”

  “We have a long history,” Erin replied evenly. “It’s not like that part of my brain has been burned out, you know. There’s a thin line between love and hate. I used to love him. Now I hate him.”

  “You could always cross back over,” Sandra said suggestively.

  “And you could keep your yap shut.” Erin looked at her in amazement. “Listen to you, talking about me crossing back over. I thought you hated him like poison. I thought you said if you ever crossed paths with him again, you’d tear his head off.”

  “I was just testin’ ya. See how you would react.” She gave a small yawn. “You do realize this is going to be Ballycraig’s summer entertainment. You and Rory.”

  “That doesn’t speak well of Ballycraig, then, does it?” Erin was working hard to hold her temper at bay. “It makes the village look like a pack of bumpkins.”

  “Nevertheless, I don’t think you’re going to be able to brush him off as easily as you think. Don’t forget: I know you.”

  “Then you know I’m not a moron. Now can we change the subject?”

  4

  “The drainpipe needs fixin’. And I don’t know what’s wrong with the telly.”

  Rory took a deep breath so he didn’t snap at his grandmother. His reception at the Oak was tepid compared to what he thought it was going to be. As always, Bettina was the one with the biggest balls, going after him about Jake. There was no gray with the lot of them: Erin and Jake were good, and he was bad. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t turn things around.

  His assessment of the night ended abruptly with a sharp, painful twist of his right ear.

  “Are you listening to me?” his gran snapped.

  “Yes, for chrissakes.” He rubbed his ear. She’d been doing this to him since he was a little boy. He’d hated it then, and he hated it now. “I promise I’ll get around to it this afternoon, all right?”

  “Why? What are you doing all day?”

  “I told you, remember? I’ve got to go into town to finalize things about the camp with Jackson Bell, and then I’m going to check out the PJ Leary Walking Tour.”

  “That’ll take all of two minutes.”

  Rory laughed. “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s not a native, is he? It’s not like you can say, ‘and here’s where he went to school,’ and ‘here’s where he wrote his first book.’ There’s nothing to see on the High Street. ‘Here’s where he took his first piss in the pub’? You’d do better just going up to his cottage and introducing yourself.”

  “Maybe,” Rory mumbled. He was a huge PJ Leary fan. All the Blades were. Their secret started when they were on the road: when curfew kicked in, they’d all hang out in Eric Mitchell’s room, where Eric would read the book aloud. Eric was great at putting on dramatic voices for each of the characters, maybe because he was married to an actress.

  “How did it go last night, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “How do you think it went?”

  Rory 1, Ballycraigers 0.

  “Did you have a drink or did Bettina chase you out right away?”

  “Of course I had a drink.”

  “She was feeling merciful, I see.” She paused. “Liam have anything to say to you?”

  “Yeah, something about not coming near Erin. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  “Don’t be arrogant, Rory. You know how much everyone loves Erin. I don’t think you quite
know what you did to her. If it wasn’t for Sandra and Jake, the girl might have topped herself.”

  Rory was horrified. “Erin would never do anything like that.”

  His grandmother glared at him. “How would you know? People thought you’d never piss off on her, but you did, didn’t you? I was mortified: my grandson, breaking up with the supposed love of his life on the phone!”

  “What was I supposed to do!” Rory replied, guilt building inside him. “Fly back to Ireland to do it?”

  “A real man would’ve. But not you. A coward, you were.”

  She was right.

  “And a fool,” she continued, on a roll. “So now you’ve got a case of ‘you don’t know what you’ve got till you lose it.’ I’ll be eager to see how that one goes. Now finish your tea and get workin’ on that telly before you waste your time in town.”

  * * *

  Never again. Erin was fuming as she got off the bus that ran between Ballycraig and Moneygall. Never again would she fold when her mother handed her a shopping list and, huffing and puffing as if breathing were a chore, told her, “My heart’s acting up again. I can’t handle the stress.” Next time, she’d point out that her mother had never had a heart problem in her life, despite smoking and not having eaten a piece of fruit or a veg since the seventies. “Strong as a bull,” her dad always said proudly. More like full of bull, Erin thought.

  She was done being an indentured servant. Erin had placed an ad in the Galway Independent for someone to replace her as housecleaner and jack of all trades, room and board included. She was flooded with applicants. Her plan was to meet with applicants in Crosshaven, at a small caf there well known for its delicious bacon sandwiches. She’d bring her laptop with her and get some studying done in between interviews.

  Erin dragged the upright shopping cart behind her. She hated the damn thing, with its squeaky wheel. She reminded herself she should be grateful. At least she didn’t have to drag her clothes to the launderette like Sandra.

  It was a cloudless day, the sky a blue tarp stretching over the world’s head. Now what color would you call that, Miss Art History Major? Powder blue. No, sky blue. There was an infinitesimal difference between the two. But it was important, when it came to art, to describe things as accurately as possible, especially if one day you wanted to become a docent or a curator. Color choices could be a clue to the artist’s mind. Somehow, Erin had known that before she even started working toward the degree. Many a time she and Rory would be out and she’d point at the pink streaks at sunset and—