Breakaway

by Deirdre Martin

  “I see.” Her mother’s expression was cold as she stood. “Well, that certainly was an earful. Anything else while your tongue is in prime working order?”

  “No. That’s it.”

  “Sleep tight, then.”

  “You, too, Mam.”

  Erin remained at the table, listening to her mother’s light footfall as she went back upstairs. Jesus wept. The woman could be maddening, not to mention downright bloody mean. Erin couldn’t help but wonder if there was a bit of jealousy mixed in with her mother’s put-downs. Maybe she’d wanted to cut loose once upon a time, but couldn’t. She got up and turned off the kitchen light, suddenly yearning for sleep. A midnight discussion in the O’Brien house: this would count as an exciting night in Ballycraig, she supposed.

  6

  Sandra laughed so hard when Erin told her the story that tears were running down her face. Erin was laughing hard as well: once one of them started, the other always followed. San’s booming laugh was one of Erin’s favorite sounds in the world. All Erin had to do was hear it, and if she were in a bad mood, her negativity would vanish instantly.

  “Oh, Christ,” Sandra wheezed. “I’ve got to stop or I’m going to wet me knickers. Online dating? You?”

  “I know. And even if I was, what would the big deal be?”

  “Erin, your mother doesn’t understand the Internet. That’s part of the problem.”

  “You’re right.”

  Sandra swallowed a deep breath, wiping away the tears sliding down her cheeks with the palms of her hands. “This one’s going in the books. Especially the bit about her wanting to give the old thumbs-up or -down.” She giggled. “They’re like Holmes and Watson, your folks. Maybe they can solve the mystery of who stole the tea biscuits from Finnegan’s Market.”

  “Don’t be mean.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  Erin had “the day off,” and as was usually the case, she spent part of it with Sandra. Sometimes she wondered if it was unhealthy that Sandra was her only female friend. It wasn’t like they’d separated themselves from the other girls at school: they’d both drifted in and out of various cliques. But at the end of the day, no one measured up to Sandra in Erin’s eyes, and vice versa. They’d probably wind up living together when they were old, two mad cows subsisting on crisps and tea in some dodgy caravan park somewhere.

  Sandra leaned against the wall of the launderette, lighting a cigarette. “Don’t tell me I’m ruining my health, because I know it.” She took a drag and blew it out with force. “So your mam’s still pushing for Jake?”

  “Yeah,” Erin said glumly. “Said I need to take a look at him with new eyes and all that.”

  Sandra took another puff, looking thoughtful as she blew a stream of smoke out the side of her mouth. “Mightn’t be a bad idea.”

  “What? You’re the one who said you couldn’t picture him in bed!”

  “I know. I do feel a bit guilty saying that, since he’s a friend and all. But I was having a good think on it the other day.”

  “That’s a terrifying combo, San, you and thinking.”

  “Shirrup. Here’s the thing: There’s something to be said for a fella who worships the ground you walk on, you know. A fella who’s dependable and romantic and all that.” Her eyes tracked a handsome, sturdy man down the street.

  “Did Jake talk you into saying this to me?”

  Sandra looked affronted. “Of course he didn’t.”

  Erin remained skeptical. “Are you lying to me?”

  Sandra’s mouth formed a shocked O. “Of course I’m not lying.”

  “Then what accounts for the abrupt about-face?”

  “I was thinkin’ about me and Larry,” she said in a melancholy voice. “What a right bastard he is. How my life might have been different if I’d kept me legs closed in school and held out for someone like Jake.” She smiled sadly. “We could have double dated. You ’n’ Rory and me ’n’ Jake. It would have been brilliant.”

  “You could still marry a fella like Jake, easy. All you’d have to do is divorce the lummox.”

  “Thinkin’ about it,” Sandra muttered tetchily.

  “What?” Erin said, trying to restrain herself from jumping up and down with glee.

  Sandra’s hackles went up. “Don’t get yourself all worked up. It might not even happen. It’s just…like you said, I’ve got to start thinking about the big picture. The kids.”

  “And?” Erin prodded.

  “I went to the One Family place in Crosshaven, right? The one that gives free legal advice to women?”

  “And?”

  “They have free courses that train you up to get back in the workforce.” Sandra tossed her cigarette to the ground, snuffing it out with the bottom of her well-scuffed sandal. “Not that I’ve ever really been in the workforce.”

  “Taking care of four children and Larry qualifies as work if you ask me.”

  Sandra smiled weakly. “Anyway, it seems it might be something worth thinking about. They have day care, too. I could bring Gina with me on the bus. Larry Jr.’ll be in football camp all day, and Oona’s old enough to fend for herself, or I can talk with Becca Lafferty up the road about her spending time there, since Oona and her Britney are thick as thieves. I’d be home in time for tea.”

  “What about Lucy? She could help out a bit.”

  “Right. Twelve years old and climbin’ out her window at night. I’m at my wits’ end with that one. Truly.”

  “When do courses start?”

  “Ongoing.”

  Erin paused. She didn’t know if what she was about to say was madness, genius, or both. “I can help out a bit, you know.”

  “What the hell are you on about?”

  “There’s no reason I can’t do a bit of your grocery shopping if you’re so sure Lucy will be useless.”

  “She’d pocket the money, that one.” Sandra shook her head emphatically. “There’s no way I’d let you help out, Little Miss Goody-goody. You’ve got your own course to concentrate on.”

  “True,” said Erin, plucking thoughtfully at her lower lip as she tried to think of other ways to help Sandra. She was finally taking the first step to get free of Larry, and Erin wanted to help facilitate that in any way she could.

  “There’s got to be something I can do.”

  “I know how you can help,” Sandra said, shielding her eyes from the sun.

  “How?”

  “I need to put down an emergency contact in case Larry Jr. gets sick or hurt at football camp. I’m not putting his father down, that’s for shit sure. Can I put you down?”

  “Of course.”

  Sandra looked relieved. “That’s a load off my mind.”

  “I just hope I don’t run into Rory.”

  “You can handle it. Give him a good kick in the ball sack and be on your way.”

  “Shoulda done that when I saw him the other day.”

  Sandra shook Erin’s arm. “You waited until now to tell me?”

  “There’s nothing to tell. He was taking the PJ tour and I was coming back from the shops in Moneygall, and didn’t Mr. Eagle Eye spot me across the road and come running over.”

  Sandra was breathless with excitement. “What happened?”

  “I told him to leave me alone.”

  “How did he react?”

  “He backed off, miraculously.”

  “Ha! For now. He was just testin’ the waters.”

  “Well, the water’s freezing, I can tell ya.”

  Sandra gave a small grimace. “I hate to tell you, Er, but telling him to leave you alone is kind of lame-o, you know?”

  “Why?” Erin asked crossly. “What should I have said?”

  “I think ‘go screw yourself till it falls off’ would have been more effective, but that’s just me.”

  “That’s more your style than mine.”

  “How’s he looking?”

  “The same, I guess. I didn’t really look.” You didn’t really have to. “Th
e same” meant handsome as hell.

  “He was always a looker,” Sandra said with a sigh.

  “Then you go look at him,” Erin retorted.

  Sandra looked surprised. “Don’t have a nervo.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Then why’d you go all sharp on me? Like it irked you I found him attractive!”

  “It just bothers me that you can find anything good about him.”

  Sandra looked skeptical. “If you say so.” She pushed off the wall. “Best go back and see if that old crow Edith Cruise is done hogging the dryers. It’s just her and that dozy husband of hers. I don’t see why she needs three dryers. I’ve half a mind to pull her stuff out of one of ’em.”

  “The last time you did that to someone, they tossed some bleach in one of your loads, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah. If I ever won the lottery, the first thing I would do is buy a washer and dryer. The second thing I would do is go for liposuction.”

  “You don’t need it, but I know that’s going in one ear and out the other.” Erin hugged Sandra. “I’ll give you a ring tomorrow, all right? Maybe I could come over, bring some pizza for us and the kids.”

  “You should be out and about, Erin. Not hanging with your married friend and her brood.”

  “There’s no one to go out and about with.”

  “I bet Ja—”

  “Shut it.”

  “Don’t be tryin’ to find Mr. Right online now,” Sandra shouted as Erin started down the street. Erin grinned, looking back over her shoulder at Sandra. Sometimes they still acted as if they were twelve. And as far as Erin was concerned, there would always be comfort in that.

  * * *

  It was only a week later that Erin got a call from the football camp, telling her that Larry Jr. was “puking up a gale” and asking if she could please come get him. Sandra had started going for workshops and classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays to start out. They both knew that if Sandra leapt into the deep end and went five days a week, she’d be overwhelmed and quit. Going two days also allowed her to be home with the kids the majority of the week, arousing no suspicion in Larry. Erin was the only one who knew what she was doing, Sandra having decided not to tell any of her kids for now. Lucy and Oona thought their mam was at some playgroup with baby Gina. Sandra especially didn’t want Lucy to know, because if she did, she wouldn’t think twice about telling Larry in payback for some slight Sandra might have committed against her, real or imagined. Erin was pretty sure she and Sandra weren’t as stroppy at that age as Lucy was.

  It was Jackson Bell who’d rung her. For a split second, all she heard were the words football camp and her heart lurched. She promised she’d be there for Larry Jr.—or LJ, as he was now insisting on being called—in a few minutes.

  Her intentions were admirable until she remembered, with some embarrassment, that she couldn’t drive. She’d been meaning to call for driving lessons for months but hadn’t gotten around to it, swamped in studies and housework. She remembered Rory trying to teach her to drive when they were fifteen, because her father wouldn’t. The lesson with Rory had turned out to be a minor nightmare: he barked commands at her like a military officer, making her more and more nervous until she burst into tears.

  She’d been an idiot to tell Sandra she’d be the emergency contact. What was she thinking? She felt badly for LJ, but she had no choice but to take the bus or to hire a cab, which would cost a ton. She couldn’t run to the auto shop and ask her dad to give her a lift and back. Her father treated his Ford Fiesta like it was a Maserati: only he was allowed to drive it, not that he did much of that. He didn’t drive it so much as admire it as it sat there parked in the sun, gleaming. She could plead it was an emergency, but all her dad would have to hear were the words “sick child,” and that would be it.

  Right. No time to waste. She started out the door, running smack into her mother.

  “Where are you off to, looking like the Devil’s on your heels?”

  “Larry Jr. is sick. He needs someone to pick him up at football camp.”

  Her mother looked confused. “Why can’t Sandra do it?”

  “She’s ill herself. Plus, she can’t drive.”

  “May I point out that you can’t drive, either?”

  Erin was getting restless. “I was going to get a taxi.”

  “Are you out of your skull? Do you know how much that will cost?”

  “But—”

  “Ladies, ladies.” Erin and her mother turned. Mr. Russell, the dapper, elderly permanent boarder, was right behind them, all dressed and ready for whatever it was he did all day since he retired from the Royal Mail. “Why raised voices on this cloudy morning?”

  “I’ll tell you why,” Erin’s mother said, fixing her daughter with a black look. “Erin has to go pick up Sandra’s boy from football camp. He’s ill. Unfortunately, my daughter seems to have forgotten she doesn’t have a license to operate a motor vehicle.”

  “I can give you a lift.”

  Erin’s face lit up. “Really? Oh, that would be wonderful, Mr. Russell. I’d pay you for the petrol.”

  “Don’t be daft. It’d be my pleasure.”

  Erin’s mother pasted a smile on her face. “That’s really very generous of you, Mr. Russell.” She turned to Erin. “When do you think you might be back?”

  Translation: surely you can’t expect me to do your chores.

  “Don’t know. Why does it matter?”

  They locked eyes until her mother looked away. “No matter,” she said, affecting a nonchalant tone. She regarded Mr. Russell. “Thank you again for chauffeuring my daughter.”

  “Think of it as payment for all those years you never moaned about the post being late.” He offered his arm to Erin. “Shall we?”

  * * *

  Given that he was seventy-eight, Mr. Russell was quite a good driver. He could be a bit forgetful, and he did bang on a bit about working for the Royal Mail, but he’d had a hard life, what with his wife dying early and him never remarrying. He still managed to keep his sunny disposition, though. There was something to be learned from that.

  No clear skies today; it was gray and drizzly. Larry Jr. was probably caked in mud; with this weather, the football pitch had to be dirt soup.

  Erin knew she’d be seeing Rory. They hadn’t crossed paths since their encounter on the High Street, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of his every move. Everyone in town felt compelled to give her a Rory update, no matter how many times she politely informed them she didn’t give a goat’s arse. Even if she did want to keep track of Rory Brady’s whereabouts—which she didn’t—she certainly wouldn’t let them know.

  Mr. Russell turned into the dirt parking lot. Erin’s eyes were immediately drawn to the shiny black Range Rover looking very out of place. Rory. What an idiot, rubbing his wealth and success in the noses of everyone who wanted his head on a pike.

  “I can’t thank you enough for the lift. I promise I won’t be long fetching Larry Jr.”

  The old man looked a bit shamefaced. “A bit of a problem there. It totally slipped my mind I have an appointment in Crosshaven that I’m already late for. I won’t be able to drive you back.”

  “No worries,” Erin assured him, pretty certain she had enough cab fare to get herself and poor little Larry back to town. If not, Jackson would give her a lift. She got out of the car. “See you back home.”

  “Yes, I’ll be home for tea.”

  Erin waved good-bye as he drove out of the parking lot, and started for the camp.

  It hadn’t changed much at all, except that the concrete building that housed the locker room/office “complex” had been given a fresh coat of blue paint. Two groups of boys were out on the muddy pitch with Jackson Bell and some unidentified teenage assistant. Which meant Rory was the one waiting inside with Larry Jr. Shite. Erin felt like a trespasser as she walked past the gaggle of boys, their heads’ swiveling in unison to watch her before returning to their game. Jackson gave her a
big wave. Erin remembered when it was Jackson himself who was a camper. Felt like it was a lifetime ago. It was a lifetime ago.

  Erin pushed open the complex door, unable to stop a small smile of recognition as it squeaked as loudly as a mouse getting its tail stomped on. At least some things never changed.

  She’d been right: it was Rory minding Larry Jr. in the office. He looked surprised to see her. Erin bypassed him and went directly to San’s son, who was lying on a sort of makeshift futon. He was the color of milk.

  “What’s up, Larry?” Erin asked gently as she crouched beside him. “I hear you’ve been ill.”

  “My name is LJ now,” he insisted weakly.

  “Right. LJ. What’s going on, love?”

  “I’ve been puking.”

  “I’ve been giving him sips of water so he doesn’t dehydrate,” Rory put in.

  Erin still wouldn’t look at him. “Thank you.”

  She put her palm to Larry—LJ’s—forehead. No fever. “What did you have for breakfast?”

  Larry groaned. “Don’t remember.”

  “I’m sure you can if you try hard enough,” Erin coaxed.

  “You promise you won’t get mad at me?”

  “Why on earth would I get mad at you?”

  “Mam will when she hears.” He looked at her pitifully. “Promise you won’t tell her.”

  “I can’t promise that. But tell me anyway. I have a feeling you’re not the one behind this.”

  “It’s Lucy’s fault.”

  ’Course it is, Erin thought. Jesus, that girl.

  Erin steeled herself. “What did Lucy give you for breakfast?”

  “Leftover fish pie, some ice cream, and a tin of peas.”

  “Oh, God.” Erin covered her mouth so she wouldn’t gag. “Did she feed that to Oona as well?”

  “No. Oona told her she felt ill and went back to bed.”

  “Smart girl.”

  Rory came over, crouching on LJ’s other side, where he began stroking the sick child’s head tenderly. Erin looked away. It conjured up too many hours spent in conversation about having kids. She was unnerved by the tenderness of Rory’s gesture. It was hard to completely hate a man who was kind to a child, even if that man was a prick when it came to women.