Breakaway

by Deirdre Martin

  He spoke his mind, Liam. Rory admired that. He had a sense that if the circumstances were different, and they were back at the Wild Hart in New York, he and Liam could have been great mates. Too bad his own treachery had made that impossible.

  “I already have, in a manner of speaking,” Rory told him. “I think it’s great you want to protect her,” he continued as he looked around the bar. “I think it’s great you all want to protect her. But Erin can hold her own. Believe me.” He grabbed the pint glasses, looking to Jake. “Grab a table?”

  “Over my dead body,” Bettina declared. “If you two end up rolling around in a good punch-up, I want to see it up close.”

  “And this way, you can all listen in on our conversation as well,” Jake pointed out.

  “As if we would,” Bettina said indignantly.

  Jake and Rory looked at each other and laughed.

  “Go to hell, the both of ya,” said Old Jack. He pointed a warning finger at Jake. “Watch your back, son.”

  “No worries. I can take care of myself, Jack.” He touched his glass to Rory’s. “To friendship.”

  Rory thought he detected a note of sarcasm. Getting paranoid, he told himself.

  “To friendship,” he echoed.

  9

  “What, have I got a booger hangin’ from my nose?”

  Erin cringed. She and Sandra had no sooner stepped over the Oak’s threshold than their fellow villagers behaved as if they were watching a tennis match, eyes going from Rory and Jake…to Sandra and Erin…back to Rory and Jake…back to Sandra and Erin.

  Sandra turned to Erin, exasperated. “Do I have a booger hangin’ out or what?”

  “San, you’re carrying a bat,” Erin murmured.

  “Oh, Christ.” Sandra lifted the bat, seemingly oblivious as to why people shrank back. “Don’t worry: we’re not here to harm anyone.” She chuckled before flashing Rory one of the most threatening looks Erin had ever seen. “Well, maybe one or two people.”

  Sandra lowered the bat, and the bar patrons exhaled a collective sigh of relief. Erin refused to glance at the bar. The sight of Rory with Jake completely stunned her. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it at all. She tugged on Sandra’s sleeve. “C’mon. Let’s see if we can find a seat.”

  Together they headed toward the back. The local band were to the left of the old stone fireplace, winding down from a well-known traditional reel; Sandra glanced at Erin and put a finger down her throat as if she were going to vomit. “Christ, if I never hear this song again in my life, it won’t be too soon.”

  Erin agreed, heart sinking as she scanned the room. Every table appeared to be occupied. She was about to point it out to Sandra when her friend lunged for a tiny table that just that second was being vacated, beating out two middle-aged, mildly drunk women whose puffy faces had clearly seen better days.

  “’Scuse me,” one of them said in an unmistakable cockney accent, “but that’s our table, you fat cow.”

  Ever so subtly, Sandra began swinging the bat by her side. “Excuse me: what gives you the right to think you can talk to me like that?”

  “San,” Erin said quietly.

  “This is our local,” Sandra continued.

  “Well, la-di-bloody-da,” the drunker of the two said.

  “You’re damn right, la-di-bloody-da,” Sandra retorted. A standoff ensued. Sandra made a great show of looking back and forth between the bat and the Brits.

  “Fine, take your stinkin’ table,” said the bottle blond who’d called Sandra a cow. “We were thinking of clearing out of this piss hole anyway.”

  Noses up in the air, they walked away. The one time they glanced back with matching sneers, Sandra gave them the two-fingered salute.

  “Ha!” Sandra crowed as they slid into their seats. “Pathetic, those Brits.”

  “Sandra, you’re holding a bat. What did you think they were going to do?”

  Sandra ignored her, looking around. “Not too many old ones in tonight.”

  “Strictly Come Dancing is on, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Erin’s parents were among the show’s devoted followers. Often, when she was in her room studying, she could hear it blaring from their TV. Sometimes she’d come in and watch it with them. It made her mother happy. It also helped Erin take her mind off the fact that she was home alone on a Saturday night.

  She and Sandra had no sooner gotten comfortable at their hobbit-sized table than out of the corner of her eye Erin spotted Old Jack waddling toward them, his expression uncharacteristically grave.

  “Evenin’, ladies.”

  “Hey-o, Jack,” said Sandra with a broad smile. “It’s been a while.”

  “Too true.” Jack held out his hand. “Gimme the bat.”

  Erin groaned.

  Sandra looked offended. “What, you think I’m gonna club someone?”

  “San, just give him the bat,” Erin urged.

  “It’s not you beatin’ on people I’m worried about,” Jack explained. “It’s some of the other elements here.”

  “Tourists?” Sandra mouthed.

  Jack nodded curtly. “All I need is for a few of them to get pissed out of their skulls and grab it away from you, and I’ve got a real situation on my hands.”

  Sandra frowned. “That’s never gonna happen. When’s the last time there was a good punch-up here?”

  “A month ago. Two of them PJ people were in their cups and got into an argument over whether the Salmon King could triumph over the Guardian of the Toadstool or some such nonsense. Before you knew it, they were throwing punches and crackin’ each other over the head with chairs. If it wasn’t for Liam, they’d have smashed the place to bits.”

  “All right,” Sandra grumbled, handing over the bat.

  “Thank you.” He leaned over the table, looking like he was going to burst with a secret. “What d’you think of Frick and Frack over at the bar, hoisting a few?”

  “Who?” Sandra asked innocently.

  “Laughin’ it up like the old days, letting bygones be bygones,” Old Jack continued, looking for a reaction from Erin.

  “Good for them,” Erin replied flatly. It made perfect sense. Angry as Jake had been at Rory cutting him dead, it had always been plain to see that it pained him deeply, like being shunned by your own flesh and blood. She wasn’t all that surprised to see them together, though she doubted Jake had welcomed Rory with open arms.

  Old Jack looked disappointed with her answer. “Is that all you have to say about it?”

  “Stop being a mixer, Jack,” Sandra warned.

  “Right, right.” Old Jack sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere. “What can I get you two? Black Velvets?”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Erin.

  Sandra agreed. “One of us’ll be over in a few to pick them up.”

  “Good enough,” said Jack. He held the cricket bat in both hands, weighing it, assessing it. “I think I might get one of these permanent.”

  “Just remember to hide it from Bettina,” said Erin with a grin.

  * * *

  Jack gone, Sandra plunged immediately into the topic of the night.

  “What do you think happened with Jake and Rory?”

  “Obvious: Rory went and begged for forgiveness and Jake accepted his apologies.”

  Sandra looked disappointed. “I know. He’s good at spouting the tough words sometimes, is Jake, but in the end, he’s a big softie.”

  “I know.”

  “I hope he’s making Rory crawl a bit.”

  Erin rested her chin in the palm of her hand and studied her friend’s face. “You’re very big on the crawling, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t you think he should suffer at least a little bit for what he did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, there you go, then.”

  Erin couldn’t quite see the bar from where she and Sandra were sitting, and she was glad. She didn’t want to see Rory and Jake together right now. The ra
pidity with which Jake forgave Rory made her feel petty. There was no way she was going to forgive him that quickly, assuming she forgave him at all.

  “I’m parched,” Sandra declared. “I’m gonna go tell Jack to hurry with our drinks. Be back in a tick.”

  * * *

  “Good Christ, help me, here comes Sandra.”

  Rory steeled himself for what was certain to be the tongue-lashing of all tongue-lashings. Sandra wasn’t just Erin’s best friend; she was her protector. God forbid anyone said or did anything that hurt Erin in any way: Sandra would hand them their bollocks on a plate. Erin was the same way when it came to Sandra, which had always worried Rory. He was always fearful that one day, Sandra’s husband was going to spew his filth at Erin the way he did at Sandra. Well, that would be the day that wanker met his Maker, that much was sure.

  He could think of one positive to Sandra’s ripping into him: it would help take his mind off Jake telling him that he and Erin had “gone out” a few times. What did “gone out” mean? A meal? A stroll? Just the thought of Jake being with Erin in any capacity beyond close friends set Rory’s teeth on edge.

  “Hiya, Jake,” said Sandra. “Long time, no see.”

  “Ah, Aislinn’s been working me to the bone.”

  “Usually does. You do get some time off, though, don’t you? Time to relax, do a bit of wooing?”

  “I do, yeah.”

  “Good on ya.”

  “Hello, Sandra,” Rory said, striving to sound friendly. Maybe she wasn’t going to ball him out. Maybe it would be the deep-freeze treatment.

  Sandra barely looked at him. “Hiya, Rory,” she replied apathetically. She eyed Jake. “You two patched it all up, then?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Jake replied obliquely.

  In a manner of speaking? Rory puzzled. What the fuck did that mean?

  “These things take time,” Rory explained. “I was a right prick. I don’t deserve his trust right off the bat.”

  “The only thing you deserve is to be run out of town on a rail,” said Sandra.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Jake asked politely.

  “Erin and I already ordered, thanks. That’s why I’m here. Waiting on two Black Velvets.”

  Rory smiled to himself. Erin had always loved Black Velvets.

  “Maybe I’ll go back to the table and sit with you two,” said Jake.

  “I’m sure Erin would love it,” said Sandra, “especially since you two haven’t been able to spend any quality time together as late.”

  “Maybe we could get a table for four of us,” Rory suggested smoothly.

  Sandra looked at him with contempt. “What’re you going to do? Muscle those four fellas over there out because you want their table?”

  “You know I’d never do that.”

  “All I know is you’re a swine, Rory.”

  “I’ll second that,” said Liam, delivering Erin’s and Sandra’s drinks.

  Sandra smiled. “What do I owe you, Li?”

  “I’ve got it,” said Rory.

  “Sure, why not?” Sandra sniffed. “You’ve got the money.”

  “I’ll get your next round, Sandra,” Jake offered, in an effort to keep up.

  Sandra smiled at him affectionately. “Thank you, Jake.”

  Before Rory even had a chance to lay his money on the bar, Liam pinned both he and Jake with an intense glare of displeasure. Sandra stood riveted to the spot. She had an avid look in her eyes that Rory knew oh too well: her gossip radar was on full blast.

  “Listen to me, you two douche bags. I know there’s nothing Ballycraig loves more than a juicy drama. But I’m here to tell you I’ve got about this much patience”—Liam pinched his thumb and forefinger together—“for cock blocking here at the bar. So do it somewhere else.”

  “Can we cock block over a game of darts?” Rory asked, tilting his head in the direction of the board. “The Yanks over there just finished up.” He sipped his Guinness. “You up for a little game of darts, Jake?” he challenged.

  Jake laughed. “You couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a banjo!”

  “What are we wagering?”

  “The one who wins gets to take Erin to the fair in Omeath,” Sandra blurted.

  Jake regarded her with astonishment. “Don’t you think you should check with her first?”

  “She’ll be fine. Everyone knows that Rory can’t play darts worth a damn, Jake. And seeing the best man win will make me and everybody else in the pub happy.”

  Rory slid off his bar stool. “Bring it on.”

  * * *

  Sandra was all hyped up when she returned to the table with Erin’s Black Velvet. Erin assumed the crazed look on her friend’s face was the result of her tearing Rory a new one in full view of half the village. But that wasn’t it.

  Erin leaned back, taking the first delicious sip of her drink. “Don’t get cozy,” said Sandra. “We’re going over to the bar pronto.”

  “What for?”

  “Rory’s challenged Jake to a game of darts!”

  “So what?”

  “The winner gets to take you to the Omeath Fair.”

  Erin cupped her ear. “Say again? Because I could have sworn you just said the winner is taking me to the fair in Omeath. I must be going deaf, because that can’t possibly be what I heard.”

  “It’s true,” Sandra said excitedly, oblivious to the displeasure in Erin’s voice.

  “And whose brilliant idea was this?”

  “Mine.”

  Erin stared at her in disbelief. There were only a handful of times over the years that Sandra had done something that really cheesed Erin off. This was one of them.

  She gulped her drink, more out of fortification than thirst. “You want to tell me why you’ve humiliated me in this way?”

  “Hear me out!” Sandra guzzled so much beer Erin was afraid she’d choke. “Rory and Jake were trying to outman each other, and Rory is actually the one who issued the challenge.”

  “Rory couldn’t play darts if his life depended on it.”

  “I know. Let me finish.” Another long excited gulp had Sandra finishing her drink. “Rory wanted to know what the prize would be. And that’s when I said the winner could take you to the fair.”

  “I see. So you just volunteered me up like some prize calf.”

  Sandra clucked her tongue in frustration. “You’re not getting it. There’s no way Mr. Cock of the Walk will win, and it’ll bug the hell out of him being bested by Jake. He’ll also hate that everyone will be rooting for Jake. It’ll be good for him to eat a slice of humble pie.”

  “But then I still have to go to the damn fair with Jake!”

  “Big deal,” Sandra replied dismissively. “Tell him it’s just as friends. But Rory won’t have to know that, will he?”

  Sandra’s enthusiasm was not infectious. “How would you feel if I did that to you?”

  “I’d be on the moon if two fellas were warring over me, and in public, too,” Sandra retorted.

  Erin felt guilty. “You think that, but—”

  “No, I know it. So quit lookin’ like a misery guts and let’s go over there.”

  10

  “Ah, the fair princess hath arrived!”

  Rory noticed the deadly look Erin gave Old Jack as she and Sandra joined the small crowd gathering to watch him and Jake throw darts. He’d never been great at darts, but he was confident he could hold his own. Knowing Erin was watching would sharpen his concentration and push his adrenaline to the point of victory.

  He caught Erin’s eye. She was sober as a judge. He checked to see if she looked at Jake with the same indifference. She did. Thank God. Jake looked smug and relaxed. I love you mate, Rory thought, but you’ll be running back to cry into your mam’s skirt tails when I’m done with you.

  Sandra sidled up to him. “This was a risky suggestion for you, Rory, knowing how much you suck. I admire you for that.”

  Rory was skeptical. “Really.”

 
“No. I think you’re a shite.”

  “Thanks, San.”

  Rory picked up a dart, feeling its weight as he pointed it between his thumb and forefinger in throwing position. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself throwing darts again and again, each one hitting the bull’s-eye. His aim would be fine.

  Jake sauntered over to him. “Just in case you’ve forgotten, throwing an imaginary dart isn’t like throwing a real one. Not only that, but you’re not behind the ochre.”

  “I know I’m not behind the ochre,” said Rory. He took a hearty slug of his stout. “What do you want to play? Around the Clock or Five-oh-one?”

  “Five-oh-one,” Jake replied with a smirk. “Seeing as that’s the simplest.”

  Rory shrugged. “Fine.”

  Jake looked irritated. “You really think this is going to be no sweat, don’t you?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  Jake shook his head, but there was a trace of affection. “Smug bastard.”

  “Have you ever known me to be any different?”

  “Come to think of it, no. But things have changed round here. You’ll see.”

  * * *

  “C’mon, Jake! C’mon, Jakey!”

  What had gone from a small crowd watching the darts match had become the night’s entertainment for all as word quickly spread that the competition was for time with Erin. The excitement of the locals piqued the tourists’ interest, even though none of them knew the backstory that made things so dramatic.

  If one more person comes up to me and asks, “What if Rory Brady wins?” I’ll scream, Erin thought. She’d always found darts boring as sin, but not tonight. Tonight, she was completely invested in the game, though for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why; neither of those two lunkheads were a prize to spend time with. Jake would try to get all wooey and she’d have to fend him off, and Rory would be all triumphant and smug. Forget Sandra’s twisted logic: Erin knew that the big loser in all this was her. She glared at her friend, but Sandra was oblivious as she gabbed away with Bettina. Erin’s eyes searched out the cricket bat. It was safely ensconced behind the bar.

  “Way to go, Jake!”

  Claps and whistles brought Erin back to the moment. Jake was kicking Rory’s ass.