Breakaway

by Deirdre Martin

  Rory wished Jake would hurry up with the ice. He was a hockey player, so he could keep this trash talk up for days if necessary. But it was only a matter of time before Alec ran out of tough talk and returned to his usual subjects, like shears and Wellies. Rory decided he’d end the joust before Alec ran out of ammo by shifting gears with an out-and-out lie.

  “I heard through the grapevine that the training of the new dog is coming along well.”

  Obviously relieved from the burden of coming up with more tough talk, Alec jumped at the chance to return to himself. “It is. Jupitus is going to be a champion herder. See, the thing about training herding dogs…”

  And he was off. If Jake were in the room and they were still mates, they’d both be burning a hole through the floor with their eyes, trying not to laugh. Rory started to smile, then stopped. Hopefully he could fix things. Jake appeared holding a blue terry washcloth filled with ice cubes. He shoved it into Rory’s hand.

  “That should do it.”

  Jake stared at his brother.

  Alec’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

  “Can you get out of here? Rory and I have business to discuss.”

  “Oh. Right. I guess I’ll go back up and watch telly.” Alec suddenly seemed to realize that he should make some kind of final threatening gesture at Rory to show his brother he had his back. A blank look came over his face as he searched for something tough to say that he hadn’t already said. “Watch yourself,” was all he could manage, in a poor imitation of a growl.

  Rory lowered his head so Alec couldn’t see him smirk. “Thanks for the ice pack,” he said to Jake.

  “Well, I wasn’t gonna let ya bleed all over my house, was I?”

  “I can tell having Alec here hasn’t improved your skills as a housekeeper.”

  “Yeah, well, we can’t afford a cleaning lady like you, can we?”

  Jake sat down opposite Rory. Their banter couldn’t hide the anger in Jake’s eyes. It was something Rory had rarely seen.

  “Well?” Jake said eventually, leaning back as he laced his fingers behind his head. “You got something to say to me?”

  “I do.” Rory looked at his friend head-on. “I’m really sorry for what I did, mate. I’m a fucking arsehole.” Rory gingerly pulled the flannel away from his nose. The bleeding had stopped.

  He waited for Jake to say, “It’s all water under the bridge.” Jake had always been a forgiving soul. But his mouth remained clamped shut.

  “Hey,” Rory asked confusedly.

  “Hey, what?”

  “We all squared, then? Back to being mates?”

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me. You think you can just appear in Ballycraig and everyone is gonna fall at the big hockey star’s feet?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to that,” Rory joked.

  Jake was unmoved.

  “Look, let me make it up to you, all right?” Rory asked, starting to feel a little desperate.

  Jake snorted. “And how do you plan to do that?”

  “How do you think? I’ll buy you a couple of pints.”

  “You’re a feckin’ idiot, Rory.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. C’mon, Jake, let’s get a pint.”

  “Yeah, all right. But it doesn’t mean shite. It’s just a chance for me to drink for free.” Jake grabbed a faded red sweatshirt off the back of the chair. “Before we hoist a few, there’s something you need to know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Erin and I have gone out a few times.”

  Rory smirked. “Pull the other one, mate.”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “To mess with my head?”

  “Sorry to tell you, but you don’t need me to mess with your head.”

  Rory remained skeptical. “You’ve gone out with Erin.”

  Jake pulled the sweatshirt over his head.

  “You still going out with her?” Rory asked casually. It couldn’t be. Erin would have shoved it in his face earlier in the day, wouldn’t she? No. That wasn’t her style.

  Jake smirked. “Why shouldn’t I go out with her?”

  “No reason.” There was no way.

  Jake’s voice was hostile as he asked, “You never change, you know that?”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means you always think you’ll win at everything.”

  “Generally I do.”

  “We’ll see.”

  8

  “I hear Rory was your chauffeur on Thursday.”

  Erin had been expecting this. She was sitting at Sandra’s kitchen table, chitchatting as her friend casually buffed her nails. Erin had intended to tell Sandra about the “Driving Miss Erin” episode herself. But later, when she was up in her room prepping for an exam on surrealism, she realized LJ would tell Sandra the minute she got home from her course.

  “Yes, Rory drove me and La—LJ—home.”

  She watched Sandra lift a hand to observe her handiwork. They were going to the pub tonight. One night a month, Sandra put aside being mam and was just Sandra in her own right. “Girls’ night out,” she called it, an old-fashioned moniker if ever there was one. In the past, Larry would stay home with the kids—if he was sober. But he’d always exact his pound of flesh, moaning and groaning as if he were doing Sandra the biggest favor in the world. Now that he was theoretically out of the house, Sandra’s mother, Dot, was coming over to babysit. At Erin’s urging, Sandra planned to ask her mam if she could watch Oona those two days a week she was at her course.

  “Am I going to have to blackmail you to get the details?” Sandra asked, motioning for Erin to splay her own hands on the table so she could do her nails.

  “You’ve got nothing to blackmail me with.”

  “Don’t I? If you don’t give the gories, I’m going to tell everyone you used to dance around in your bra and panties pretending you were Kylie Minogue singing ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head.’ Or what about your mad crush on that wrinkled old baldy, The Edge?”

  “Shut up! That was for one month!”

  “Well, it felt like ten effin’ years to me, believe me.” She gave Erin the evil eye. “I’m waiting.”

  “Tell me what Larry Jr. told you.”

  “LJ,” Sandra corrected with a roll of her eyes.

  “Go on.”

  “Nothing that has to do with you and Rory, I can tell you that.” Sandra gingerly dropped the nail polish brush into the bottle. “He said he was dead ill, you came for him, you had no way home, and Rory drove you back to town in a big black fancy car, telling him all sorts of stories about New York.”

  “That’s about all,” Erin said flatly as Sandra coated her nails in Vibrant Violet. Erin thought it sounded like the name of a porn star.

  “For Larry Jr., that was all,” Sandra corrected pointedly. “A big black fancy car, huh?”

  “Range Rover, tinted windows and leather seats and all that. No noise. You’d swear you were motoring along swaddled inside a cotton ball.”

  “Must be nice.” Sandra was now painstakingly polishing the fingers on Erin’s right hand. “Look, I’m getting a little cross here waiting for the details,” she grumbled. “At this rate you’ll be picking out my tombstone before you get round to them.”

  “Right, here’s the riveting tale: I got a call from Jackson that your LJ was ill, and I wanted to get up there fast. I was going to hire a cab, but Mr. Russell was on his way out and gave me a lift up to the camp.”

  “He’s a lovely old weirdo.”

  “Yeah, but he forgot he could only take me one way. So I was stranded. I was going to get LJ and me a cab back when Superman intervened.”

  Sandra leaned toward her. “What did he say?”

  “Oh, that it was silly to take a cab since he had a car, blah, blah, blah. Then he started going on with ‘let me at least do this one thing for you.’”

  “As if one lift into town is gonna undo the destruction he’s done in your life.”

>   “Oh, there’s more.” Erin chortled.

  Sandra looked thrilled. “What?”

  “You’ll love this. He said anytime I needed a lift—anywhere—I should just ring him and he’d take me wherever I wanted to go.”

  “You’re jokin’ me.”

  “I’m not. That’s what he said.” Erin shook her head. “Can you imagine?” She mimed flipping open her cell. “Hi, Rory, it’s Erin. Yeah, I need to go down into Crosshaven because I’ve a yen for Chinese takeaway. Be here in five minutes.”

  There was a long pause as Sandra ran her tongue around her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Do it.”

  “Say again? I don’t think I heard you right.”

  “Do it. Take the bastard for everything he’s got. He owes you. Hit him up for rides. If you want to go up to Dublin to shop for a weekend, let him take you and pay for the lot. Anything at all you want, hit him up for it.”

  “I couldn’t do that.” But before the words were out of her mouth, she was having doubts. She imagined snapping her fingers and making Rory Brady do her bidding. Hmm.

  “Did seeing him do your head in?” Sandra murmured sympathetically.

  “A bit,” Erin admitted reluctantly. “One minute I’d look at him and it was like a knitting needle was being driven into my heart, and the next minute there would be a bit of banter like no time had gone by. It was unnerving.” Erin paused. “I hate him.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I do!” Erin insisted.

  “You want to hate him,” Sandra pronounced, “but you don’t.”

  “He’s a bigheaded git, San. He thinks I’m such a pushover that all he has to do is say one mea culpa and all is forgotten.”

  “That’s why I say you should take him for all he’s got, the bigheaded ass. Let him go along thinking he’s making progress with you, and then bam! You tell him to jump off the nearest cliff and that you want nothing to do with him.”

  Erin glanced away.

  Sandra’s grin was evil. “You want to do it, I can see it in your eyes. Nice girl Erin O’Brien showing Rory Brady and the rest of Ballycraig that she’s grown a pair.”

  Erin shuddered. “I hate that expression.”

  “Such a delicate flower,” Sandra teased. “I bet he’ll be in the pub tonight.”

  Erin didn’t respond.

  Sandra completed Erin’s last nail. “You’re done. Just let it dry.” She screwed the top of the nail polish onto the bottle. “Does he have his own teeth?” she asked abruptly.

  Erin peered at her in confusion.

  “I’ve heard all the blokes have their teeth knocked out in ice hockey. Did you notice if his teeth look fake?”

  “I know he’s got a few in there that are fake, but it’s not like he’s puttin’ all his teeth in a glass at night. And what’s this got to do with anything?”

  “Just curious. Stand up.”

  “Inspection time, is it?”

  “Yes.” Sandra gave her the once-over. “Presentable. Your shirt should be a little tighter—you’ve got nice knockers. But other than that you look pretty hot.”

  “Ta.”

  “MAM!” Oona’s voice cut through the kitchen, shrill as a siren. “GRAN IS HERE!”

  “God, I hate when she yells. Puts my teeth on edge.”

  “C’mon. We’ll face the Inquisition and then we’ll be off.”

  Erin had always loved Sandra’s mother. She was gruff, but she was also a laugh. Her house was a tip, which was where Sandra inherited her sloppy house genes from. Erin always preferred hanging around at San’s rather than her own house. At Sandra’s they could blast music and leave plates in the sink and not have to wash and dry them immediately. Sandra’s mother didn’t treat them like they were the world’s biggest pains in the butt.

  Sandra led the way into the living room. “Hiya, Mam.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Herbert.” Erin kissed Sandra’s mother’s cheek.

  LJ was hopping from foot to foot excitedly. “Gran brought a bat!”

  Sandra fixed her eyes on her mother. “Wha?”

  “A cricket bat! A bat!”

  Sandra closed her eyes, speaking carefully. “Mam, why did you bring a bat over here to babysit?”

  “You know damn well why,” her mother replied in an exaggerated whisper.

  Erin kept out of it. Good on Sandra’s mam for bringing a bat over in case Larry decided to show up. On the other hand, it mightn’t be a good thing for the kids to see their granny swinging a bat at their father.

  “Gimme the bat, Mam,” Sandra said under her breath. No one moved. “I said: Give. Me. The. Bat.”

  Her mother handed it over with a glare.

  “Right,” said Sandra, switching into her cheery mam voice. “You’re gonna be good for Gran, right?”

  “Yes,” said Oona, playing with an iPhone.

  “Where in the name of Christ did you get that?” Sandra demanded.

  Oona didn’t even look up. “Dad.”

  Erin and Sandra exchanged worried glances.

  “I’m jealous,” Sandra said to Oona. “I wish I had one of those. When’d he give it to you?”

  “After school.”

  “After school.” Enraged, Sandra hissed in Erin’s ear, “Thievin’ bastard. Probably nicked it from Dixons in Crosshaven.”

  She ruffled her son’s hair, smiling sadly as he jerked away. “You have one, too, you lucky thing? Did he give you yours after school as well?”

  “Yep.” Larry looked nervous. “He said not to tell.”

  “It’s good you did,” said Sandra. “Don’t worry: I won’t rat you out.”

  Larry the Bastard played on the boy’s worship of him. Erin could picture it: Larry drooping his arm over LJ’s shoulder and leaning in close, confiding in him with his boozy breath, saying, “Now I’ve got a present for ya, but it’s a secret, okay? You can’t tell a living, breathing soul. Ya hear?” What child is going to refuse a gift like that from his father in exchange for simply keeping quiet? Secrets, secrets, secrets. The Irish way. She ought to know: she was keeping secrets from her parents.

  “Let’s get going,” Sandra said wearily. She turned to her mother. “Gina’s in bed, obviously. These two can stay up late tonight, since it’s Saturday.”

  “How late?” LJ asked.

  “Gran will decide that.” Turning to her mother, Sandra continued, “If Lucy comes skulking home with the bag of bones in tow, tell her that if he doesn’t go, she’ll be getting no allowance from me. As if that’ll matter,” Sandra said to Erin under her breath. “She’ll just run to that no-good father of hers and boo-hoo it, and he’ll give her whatever she wants so I look like the crap parent.”

  She sighed. “You have my cell number and the number at the Oak, right?” she checked with her mother.

  “I do.”

  Sandra kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thanks so much, Mam.”

  “Ah, you know me. A right sucker for punishment.”

  She looked at LJ and Oona sternly. “I better get a good report from Gran when I get home. Ya hear me?”

  The kids nodded earnestly.

  Sandra’s mam smiled at Erin as she jerked a thumb in Sandra’s direction. “Keep an eye on this one, will you?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  Erin had no intention of getting even the slightest bit tipsy, since she wasn’t much of a drinker. Sandra, on the other hand, sometimes needed a bit of looking after. She’d always been able to put away the pints. It embarrassed Erin sometimes.

  They were out the door and halfway up the street before they realized Sandra was still holding the bat.

  “It’ll only take us a min to run it back,” said Erin.

  “Don’t be silly. I’m bringing it with us to the Oak. That way if Larry comes in, he’ll get the message loud and clear that if he messes with me, he’ll be walkin’ out with a head cracked open like a melon.”

  “Meanwhile, everyone else will think you’re mad.”

  Sandra grinned. “And when
have I ever given a toss about that in my life?”

  * * *

  “Jesus, Mary, and Saint Joseph. If I had false teeth, they’d be dropping to the floor right about now.”

  Old Jack’s exclamation as Rory and Jake walked through the pub door together had the exact effect Rory knew it would: it killed conversation.

  “You always were melodramatic, Jack,” Rory said, enjoying the look on people’s faces, especially the Trinity. He could hear their pea-sized brains working furiously: What the hell is Jake doing with Rory? The feck’s back in town less than two weeks and already Jake has let bygones be bygones? Jakers is a good sort, but this is sheer weakness.

  “You two kiss and make up?” Bettina asked dryly as Rory and Jake sidled up to the bar.

  “Looks that way,” said Rory.

  “That’s putting the cart a bit before the horse, mate,” said Jake. Rory smiled tightly, ignoring the light laughter that came at his expense.

  Rory nodded at Jack. “Two pints, if you please.” He was feeling pretty good right now. The hometown crowd could hold grudges for decades, but now that they saw he and Jake were making amends, their hatred of him might loosen its grip. And once he and Erin were back together, well, he’d be back to being the pride of Ballycraig.

  Jack plunked the pints down before Rory and Jake. “C’mon, then. We need a good story to cheer us up, especially after the way Galway got slaughtered today by Sligo. How did you lovebirds reunite?”

  Jake smirked. “Didn’t this one come knockin’ at my door beggin’ for forgiveness.”

  “I didn’t beg,” Rory corrected, mildly irked.

  “God forbid the Great One beg,” muttered Teague Daly.

  Rory rounded on him. “First of all, there’s only one Great One, and that’s Wayne Gretzky. Second of all, you got something you want to say to me?”

  Teague shrunk in his chair. “No.”

  “Didn’t think so.” Rory looked at Jake. “Mind if I continue the story?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “I showed up. Jake punched me in the nose. We figured we could hash it all out over a few. Nothing a few pints can’t solve, right?”

  “Go tell that to my cousin,” Liam called from farther down the bar.