Breakaway

by Deirdre Martin

  “Because it doesn’t work that way.”

  Jake scowled. “Who says?”

  “I say. In Sandra world, it doesn’t work that way. And if you don’t like it, you can stuff it, Jake Fry.”

  Erin leaned over to Rory. “She’s a bit tipsy. I think I should take her home.”

  “I agree.”

  “Well, I’m with Sandra,” Erin announced. “The night’s turned to total shite, and I, for one, don’t see any point in sticking around.” She tugged on a strand of Sandra’s hair. “Let’s call it a night.”

  “Fine with me,” said Jake, looking away.

  Sandra rubbed her temples. “Okay. I’ll admit it: I might have had a little bit too much to drink. I’m sorry.”

  “You can turn into a nasty cow after a few, darlin’, I hate to say it,” said Jake, turning around to take her hand. “It worries me.”

  Sandra looked touched. “You’re a sweet one, Jake. I won’t ever flirt with another if you promise you won’t, either.”

  Jake kissed her hand. “Deal.”

  Sandra suddenly looked weary. “God, I could fall on my face right here. I can’t believe I have to work so early in the morning.”

  “I thought you didn’t work Sundays,” said Erin.

  “Ah, your mam needed a spot of help. And before you get in my face and tell me she’s starting to work her manipulative charms on me, I want you to know I volunteered. It’s only a bit of polishing the silver and that, things that it’s getting hard for her hands to do. Foldin’ some linen and stacking it in the upstairs linen closet. She doesn’t like to get on that step stool, and I don’t blame her. And, yes, she is paying me.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “I suppose you two’re staying?” Sandra said to Rory and Jake. “Continue your adventures with Miss America?”

  “Yeah, Jake and I are gonna stay for just a few more and then we’ll go,” Rory answered, ignoring the Miss America crack.

  “You’re already weaving on your feet, Rory,” Erin said worriedly.

  “I know. But we’re making up for lost time. You know me, Erin: if I’m too drunk to drive, I won’t, and neither will Jake.”

  “Good.”

  He squashed her in a big bear hug. “I love you, Erin.”

  “And I love you, Rory. I’ll call you in the morning, love.”

  * * *

  “One crack over the head. Two, at the very most. Problem solved.”

  Erin heaved a sigh of disbelief as she and Sandra headed out of the Oak into the darkness and drizzle. The door had barely closed behind them and already San was blathering about the cricket bat and how many wallops it would take to bring Wendy to her knees.

  “You’ve a real violent streak in you, you know that?” Erin folded her arms across her chest to keep warm. She’d forgotten to bring a jacket, and the drizzle was chilly. “I think if you could commit a murder and get away with it, you would.”

  “Damn straight I would. And there’s no need to guess who the victim would be.”

  They both chuckled.

  “God, I couldn’t stand that woman,” Sandra continued vehemently.

  “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

  “Right, I’ll admit it: I behaved badly. I may have been a bit harsh on her.”

  “A bit? They could use you to break prisoners!”

  “But I didn’t like her attitude. What I said was true, Er: she never asked us what we did. Who we were. Yeah, she showed a little interest in your wedding for about five seconds, but then it was back to Rory. It was like we were invisible.”

  Erin swallowed. “I know.”

  “And just because she wasn’t sticking her tits under their noses doesn’t mean she wasn’t flirting with our men. Did you see Jake, fallin’ all over himself to give her a ride? And Rory looking so pleased with himself because she wants him for some feckin’ book project? Talk about having powers to bewitch men. Made me want to puke.”

  Erin put her face up to the rain. She thought, If I start to cry, San won’t know.

  “You know what makes it worse?” Sandra prattled on. “That self-confidence. I mean, a slag, right, she’s only got one thing to offer. A bloke can put a bag over her head and get on with it.”

  “Sandra!”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not gonna lie. But a woman like that—well, she’s got loads of ways to keep a fella interested, doesn’t she? Both in and out of the sack.”

  Erin felt a lump thickening in her throat. “I suppose.”

  “I kept thinking about that show, Sex and the City—you know, where the women were all smart and smooth, with great clothes? Perfect-looking? That’s what she reminded me of.” Sandra paused. “Cow.”

  Erin’s chest began to ache. “Can we please change the subject before I get sick?”

  Sandra laughed. “Will do.”

  Erin wished Sandra was sober. If she was, she wouldn’t be talking like this. She’d realize that everything she was saying was like plunging a dagger in Erin’s heart, making her feel more and more inadequate. There was no way in hell she could ever compete with Wendy Dann, or any other New York women. Tonight had just confirmed it.

  36

  Until her parents had taken over the B and B, Erin had been fond of Sundays. The family went to Mass, then headed home to make a big afternoon dinner. It used to be the way every churchgoing family did things, but the tradition was dying as fast as church attendance in the country was dropping off. Ballycraig was one of the few villages that could still fill up the pews, but everyone tacitly knew (apart from Father Bill, apparently) that it wasn’t the homilies they were coming to hear; it was the cake hour after Mass, where everyone exchanged gossip.

  After walking home with Sandra, Erin had gotten a call from Liam, telling her he was leaving the Oak early because he felt like shite, and if she wanted a lift back to the farm rather than crashing at San’s, which was quite noisy, he’d swing by and pick her up. It worked out perfectly. She really hadn’t wanted to sleep at San’s, nor had she wanted to go back to the pub and horn in on Rory and Jake’s bonding. Sleeping at the B and B was out. She felt bad that Liam seemed to be in the beginning stages of a wicked cold, but it helped her out.

  Sandra rang her a little after noon, asking her to stop over. Erin had nothing on today, since her parents were visiting her mam’s younger sister, Josie. They saw each other twice, maybe three times a year. Her mam always came home in floods of tears because they fought, and then for two weeks afterward there would be lots of angry words sizzling down telephone lines. Then it would blow over.

  “Hiya.”

  Erin used her key to get in. The scene she came upon was the usual one: Oona at the computer and LJ watching a football match on TV. No sign of Lucy or Sandra.

  “She’s in the back garden,” LJ said flatly, eyeballs glued to the screen.

  “The back garden? Are you sure?” Last time she’d seen San’s back garden, half the plants had met their maker, and a colony of sunflowers and mint had taken over.

  “Yep.”

  Erin headed through the kitchen to find Sandra sitting on the back stoop, smoking a cigarette. There was a swath cut through the jungle.

  Erin urged her to shove over and sat down. “You’re going to start gardening?”

  “Fuck, no. I just wanted to cut a path to the back fence. Oona’s gone all green and wants to get a composter.”

  “Jake cut it through for you?”

  “Nah.” Sandra took a puff off her cigarette. “Mam let me borrow her machete.”

  “Her machete? What is it with your mother and objects that can kill, San? It’s getting a little scary, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “I don’t. The cricket bat was to crack Larry’s head if it came to it, as you know. She uses the machete to protect herself in the house.”

  “From who? Pirates? Where on earth did she even get it?”

  “That’s what I don’t know, and to tell the truth, I don’t want to ask.” She handed the f
ag over to Erin, who took a puff. Somehow, it still felt illicit when she and San smoked together. It was great: God knows there were few things illicit these days.

  “Where’s Miss Gina?”

  “At Mam’s.”

  Sandra sounded off: not quite her usual wisecracking self. She looked pensive.

  “You okay?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me what’s going on, San.”

  Sandra looked pained. “I was at your Mam’s dead early this morning, like I said I’d be last night.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was on the step stool at the end of the second floor, putting linens away, being dead quiet and all so I didn’t wake anyone.”

  “And—”

  “I saw your Rory coming out of one of the bedrooms.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  Sandra looked on the verge of tears. “Erin, honest. Why would I tell you something like this if it wasn’t true? You’re my best friend. I’d never want to hurt you.”

  A thundering began in Erin’s head. “There’s no way.”

  “I know what Rory looks like! He was creepin’ down the hall guilty as a cat, leaving the room of that New York smoothie.”

  “Couldn’t be him,” Erin insisted.

  “Jesus God,” Sandra said, wrapping an arm around Erin’s shoulder. “I swear on the heads of my kids.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Erin replied. The thunder in her head was turning sharp and painful. I knew it, she thought, trying not to let the hysteria she was beginning to feel overwhelm her. I knew that was the type of woman he really wanted.

  “Maybe it was one last hurrah,” Sandra suggested gently. “Or something like that.”

  “Before what?” Erin retorted. “He gets saddled with his unsophisticated fiancée? He’s the bastard who wanted me back, not the other way around. He’s spent all summer trying to regain my trust, and now he does this?” She choked back sobs. “I knew I wasn’t enough for him!”

  “Stop being daft.” Sandra twined her fingers through Erin’s. “It’s got nothing to do with you, and everything to do with him.”

  “That’s hard to believe.” She paused, trying to get her thoughts in order. “One last hurrah. That’s the only thing that makes sense.” She felt mildly nauseous as she looked at Sandra for confirmation. “Right?”

  “It’s gotta be that, love. Nothing else makes sense.”

  “Unless seeing her reminded him of what’s available back in New York.”

  Erin put her head in her hands, succumbing to her misery. “I can’t believe I have to go through this again.” She looked down at her engagement ring. “I’m stuffing this down Rory’s throat if anything happened.”

  “No, you’re not! Did you know women are under no obligation to return an engagement ring to a fella when she breaks things off? Or come to think of it, even if it’s him who breaks things off. That ring was a present to you. Sell it back to the effin’ jewelers. Or have it redesigned and call it your ‘Go feck yourself, Rory Brady’ ring.”

  Erin sniffled, managing a small smile. “You’ve always been able to make me laugh. Even when some wanker turns my whole life to shit. Again.”

  “It’s his life that’s turnin’ to shit, girl. Mark my words,” Sandra lit another cigarette. “I’d cut his dick off with my mam’s machete if I could.”

  “Maybe she’ll let me borrow it,” Erin replied glumly.

  “Look, you know I’m here for you in whatever way you want me to be. If you want me to go with you when you kick him in the pants, I will. Anything.”

  “Thanks, Sandra.”

  “Now what, Er?”

  “Now I throw up, square my shoulders, and walk over to his gran’s cottage.”

  “And then you come back here, right, and we’ll pal around with the kids, yeah? Get your mind off that loser.”

  “Yeah,” Erin whispered. She was afraid if she succumbed to the waves of tears building inside her, she’d never be able to stop.

  Sandra hugged her. “I’ll be here.”

  “I know. Right now, it’s the only thing keepin’ me going.”

  37

  “Thanks for the ride, Da.”

  Erin wasn’t sure where to go or what to do when she left Sandra’s. Her first impulse was to walk to Rory’s gran’s cottage, but it quickly became apparent, even though she was in a state of increasing devastation, that confronting Rory with his gran there was completely inappropriate. It wasn’t like she could ask her to leave.

  The Oak was out as well, for obvious reasons. Ditto Aislinn and Liam’s. She had to see him alone. She walked up and around the streets surrounding the High Street for a while, alternating between feeling dazed and feeling like she was being flayed alive. Finally it came to her: she’d meet him at the rowan tree, private enough for her to scream her guts out at him. He sounded baffled when she told him she didn’t need him to pick her up because her dad would be driving her there. But ultimately, he didn’t question.

  Her mother was near delirious with joy when Erin showed up at the B and B unexpectedly to catch a ride with her dad. “Now, don’t tell me you can’t be here for tea later,” she gently admonished. “You and Rory both.” Erin smiled weakly, assuring her she’d try to do her best.

  Rory was already there when they arrived, sitting against the thick trunk of the tree. The sight of him canceled Erin’s devastation, replacing it with black rage. She knew that if she couldn’t contain it, the unleashed energy of it would decimate him. Maybe it was his turn to see what annihilation felt like.

  “Rory’s gonna drive you home, yeah?” her father checked.

  “Yeah, Da. No worries.” She was fibbing: after Rory left, she was going to walk down to the road and call herself a cab.

  “All right, then. Here, give your old man a peck on the cheek.” Erin complied, trying hard not to burst into tears as the crushed child within her silently begged, Da! He hurt me! Go hurt him, please!

  “Right, off with you now. Give my love to Rory.”

  “I will.” Erin was reminded of working at the jeweler’s as she flashed her father her best fake smile. Best get used to it. There’d be no real smiles today.

  The closer Erin got to him, the more the dark energy inside her pushed, desperate to burst out. He was a liar, a cheat, a selfish bastard. How could he have this kind of lack of respect for her? He had a happy smile on his face she wanted to slap off.

  “Hey, you.” Rory stood up to hug her.

  Erin’s face hurt as she forced a second fake smile. “Hey, you, too.” When he leaned over to kiss her, it took every ounce of energy and self-restraint she had not to shove him away and tell him to go screw himself.

  Who the hell did he think he was? Who the hell did he think she was?

  “How’s your morning been?” he asked.

  “Fine. Yours?”

  “All right.” He rubbed a spot above his right eye. “Though I do have a bit of a headache. Me and Jake tied one on. Had more than a few after you and San left, I have to confess.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Erin folded her arms across her chest, staring out over the graying horizon. Clouds were moving in. What a cliché. Maybe Rory would get hit by lightning. She could only hope.

  Rory looked concerned. “You okay, Er?”

  “I’m fine.” She couldn’t look at him.

  “You just seem in a bit of a black mood.”

  “You’d be in a black mood, too, if you found out your fiancé slept with another woman.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She whirled to face him. “Don’t play the innocent. It doesn’t suit you. It never has.” Look at him, she seethed, pretending to be mystified. “Look, I know what you did, right?”

  He looked even more confused. “Er…”

  “Oh, cut the shit, pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about! How dare you insult my intelligence this way!”

  Rory was blinking confusedly. “What way?”

>   “You know, you scumbag!”

  “Jesus Christ, Erin!” Rory seemed alarmed. “I’ve no idea what you’re on about! I swear to God!”

  Erin sighed wearily. “You want to play this sad little game? Fine.” She took a second to unclench her jaw. “Sandra saw you sneaking out of that New York agent’s room at the B and B early this morning, Rory. She was loading up the linen closet and she saw you creep down the hall. Care to explain that to me?”

  “Sure.” He actually had the balls to look relieved. “Neither Jake nor I were fit to drive by closing time. So we sat on the benches outside the pub just talking—and near puking, I might add—until I felt clearheaded enough for me to drive him home. Around sunrise, this would be.”

  Erin crossed her arms and said nothing, so Rory continued.

  “Anyway, I’m driving back to gran’s, and who do I see limpin’ on the side of the road but Wendy Dann, looking like five miles of bad road.”

  Erin frowned. “Right.”

  “Seems she’d been ‘chatting’ with PJ all night”—he gave Erin a significant look—“and he wanted to drive her back to the B and B, but she told him no, she wanted to walk back into town in the lovely, early-morning Irish mist.”

  “Stupid twit,” Erin said under her breath.

  “Well, she tripped in a hole along the way and twisted her ankle. I wanted to ring Doc Laurie and take her there, but she insisted on going straight to the B and B. I drove her there, I carried her up the stairs to her room, and then I left. I guess that’s when San saw me.”

  “What a tidy little tale,” Erin said sarcastically. “Tell me: did you tuck the little darlin’ in as well?”

  “Only if you define ‘tuck in’ as helping someone with a badly sprained ankle into her room.”

  “Was her ankle so bad you couldn’t fuck her standing up?”

  “I didn’t fuck her at all!” Rory snapped. “What is it that you don’t get?”

  Now he had the gall to start losing his temper, which made Erin even angrier.

  “You know what I get? That you’re a lying wanker. It’s coming in loud and clear.”