Rory looked astounded. “Do you really think I would do that to you? After returning to Ballycraig to win you back? What’d be the point in it?”
“Maybe you wanted one last hurrah before you hitched up with your old Ballycraig albatross.”
“And if I did want a ‘last hurrah,’ as you call it, do you think I’d be thick enough to fuck someone under your parents’ roof? I can’t believe you could even think this of me. Sandra runs to you tellin’ you half-arsed tales, and you believe her.”
“Because it’s such a normal thing for her to see,” Erin replied sarcastically. “You creepin’ out of the B and B in the early morning.”
Rory’s mouth was set in a hard line. “I just explained to you what happened.”
“Yeah, and you’re banking on my gullibility to get you off the hook. I’m not that timid, accommodating mouse who worships you and thinks everything that comes from your mouth is the Golden Word of God.” Erin laughed scornfully. “I don’t blame all of this on you; it’s partially my fault for being so stupid as to give you another chance. I should have known this could never work. Not after you’ve been living in New York all this time.”
“You’re talking complete shit, Erin. I wish you could hear yourself.”
“And I wish you could have seen yourself! The way you looked at her, and how easily you fell into patter about this place and that place around town! The polish of her! I could never measure up to that!”
“Who the hell is measuring?” Rory yelled plaintively. “This is all in your head!”
“You really seemed to want a life with me. Now I see you’re still the same selfish bastard! I can’t spend my life with someone like that. I won’t. I gave you another chance, and you blew it.”
Any warmth that had been in Rory’s eyes was fading. “I’m gonna say this once, and then I’m not gonna say it again: I’m not lying to you. I’ve never slept with another woman behind your back, and I’m not now. If you stop a minute and think, you’ll see what I’m telling you happened makes sense.”
“Yes, it does fit together very nicely.”
Rory tipped the aviator sunglasses perched atop his head down onto his nose. “I’ve explained to you what happened,” he said in a controlled voice. “If you don’t want to trust me, or believe me, well, that’s up to you. But I’m not gonna stand here and go round and round on this.”
He started down the hill. Erin was furious as she watched him go. He was betting on her running after him, all, “Rory, Rory, I’m sorry, how could I ever doubt you?” That was the way things used to work in the past when they’d have a bad argument. Rory would always cut the discussion short and walk away, thus ensuring he carried all the power with him. And Erin, frightened little Erin, would scamper after him, terrified that in her stupidity, she had finally said or done the one thing that would make him see who she really was—a loser—and she would lose him for good.
Not this time.
38
“They’ll love this.”
Erin stood next to Liam at his kitchen table, watching as he loaded up a large canvas tote bag with sandwiches, vacuum flasks of tea, and a nice big chunk of buttered brown bread. Usually Aislinn and Jake took their lunch break at the house. But today, since it was so nice outside, Liam had decided he’d bring lunch out to them. Erin, still living there, thought it was a lovely thing of him to do.
She hadn’t talked to Rory in three days, which was fine with her. She doubted she’d ever speak with him again.
The opening bars of “New York, New York” bleated from Liam’s cell phone.
“Fuck.” His expression clouded, but he picked it up anyway.
“Is everything all right?” Erin mouthed.
“Hang on a minute.” Liam covered the mouthpiece. “Can you bring their lunch up the hill? It’s Jack. Something’s gone wrong with one of the beer distributors and he sounds like he’s on the verge of a breakdown. I need to go down to the Oak.”
Erin started outside, Liam’s angry voice fading the farther she walked from the house. Erin knew Aislinn would be cheesed off that Liam was going down to the Oak—again. She often made the sarcastic comment that it was getting to the point where if Old Jack had a hangnail, he’d ring Liam to come into town to tear it off for him. From what Erin could see during the time she’d been under their roof, Aislinn was right.
Jake and Aislinn were up in the high north pasture. Often they worked different fields, but today they were both working with Jupitus. Actually, it would be more accurate to say the three of them were working with Jupitus, since Deenie was there, too. Wherever Aislinn went, so went Deenie. The older dog was sitting next to Aislinn, looking like a contest judge as she watched the younger Border collie with Jake. Deenie was half human, half dog. Aislinn waved her arms, whistling the command for the young dog to return to her side. Jake followed. Both he and Aislinn looked pleased to see Erin.
“This is a lovely surprise,” said Aislinn. Deenie started nosing the tote bag containing the food. “Hey! I taught you better manners than that, miss! Lay down.”
Deenie gave Aislinn a dirty look but did as she was told. Jupitus was already laying down beside Jake.
“Liam meant to surprise you, but Old Jack caught him on the blower.”
Aislinn looked angry. “That’s it. I’m giving that Jack a mouthful if it’s the last thing I do. Liam works damn hard. He’s allowed to have a few bloody hours to himself a day.” She rose and started down the hill. “Start without me.”
“He’s in for it now, Old Jack,” said Jake.
“He does seem to ring Liam a lot.”
“He’s getting old and needs help, but he’s too proud to admit it.” Jake peered into the tote bag. “There’s loads of food here. Why don’t you stay?”
“Nah, that’s all right.”
“Ah, c’mon. Here, you won’t even have to deal with the dirt.” He took off his jacket and spread it out on the ground. “There you go. Sit yourself down.”
Erin really had no pressing need to be anywhere, so she sat, watching as Aislinn closed in on the house. Jake handed her half a ham and Swiss sandwich. Erin held her breath, waiting for the sound of Aislinn blasting Old Jack, but there was silence. She must’ve changed her mind on the way down the hill, not wanting to stress Liam out even more.
She took a bite of her sandwich, washing it down with a sip of tea. It was a bit weak; after all this time, Liam still hadn’t gotten the hang of brewing a decent cuppa yet.
“Good sandwich,” said Jake.
“I was just thinkin’ that.”
“Bad tea,” he continued.
“I was thinkin’ that, too.” They laughed.
“He didn’t sleep with that woman,” Jake said casually, a non sequitur if Erin ever heard one. “He was beside himself that you could even think that. He was all for going round to Sandra’s and giving her what for.”
“For what? Something she wasn’t supposed to see?”
“He wouldn’t do that to you, Erin. Think hard.”
Erin opened her mouth to protest but was stopped by the larger realization that Jake had just defended Rory. Not that they were still rivals in any sense of the word, but hurtful barbs were still occasionally thrown, most of them having to do with her.
Erin sipped her tea slowly. He wouldn’t do that to you. That’s what her first intuition had been. But her internal compass was broken.
“Why should I believe him?” she asked Jake quietly.
“Maybe it’ll help if I fill you in on some other details of the night.” He took a hearty bite of his sandwich. “I’m sure he told you we got a bit pissed.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m talkin’ lying-down-on-the-street-singing pissed.”
“That’s bad.”
“Yeah, it is.” Jake smiled sheepishly. “Around five, Bettina was awake and took pity on us. She took us inside and made us some coffee. Instant, but still.
“Rory drove me home. When I talked to him later tha
t morning—well before you went feckin’ batshit on him, thanks to Sandra—he told me about that Wendy woman twisting her ankle. Rory wanted to take her to Doctor Laurie, but she was too embarrassed to go because she’d spent the night with PJ, and she didn’t want to look like a slag. So Rory helped her out and took her straight back to the B and B.”
Erin regarded him with suspicion. “How do I know you’re not covering for him? How do I know you and he didn’t concoct this big bullshit story to explain why Sandra saw him?”
“Number one: as I already told you, Rory would never do such a thing. Number two: men are thick as planks. We don’t have the brains to concoct a story that good even if we wanted to.”
Erin said nothing.
“He’d never do that to you,” Jake repeated firmly. “He never fooled around behind your back before, and he wouldn’t now.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m his best mate. He treated me like shit, but he admitted he was an asshole and a coward, and we’ve worked it all out. He’s not a prick anymore.”
Erin didn’t know what to say.
Jake, still sweaty from his chores, ran a cloth over his face. “Look, men don’t come runnin’ to each other spilling their guts once a day, like you and Sandra do. For Rory to talk to me about this shows how upset he is. He said it was worse than taking a puck to the mouth, the way you immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion.”
“Sandra jumped to the worst possible conclusion, too! So would any woman!”
“Yeah, and then their fella would tell them what really happened, and that would be the end of it,” Jake countered, tilting his head back to chug from his vacuum flask. His sideways glance was quizzical. “So?”
“So yourself. Think about it from my side, Jake. In walks this beautiful sophisticated woman—one who you were trying to impress, by the way, with your baloney about being mistaken for an athlete and all that—and within seconds she and Rory are speaking the same language. One I don’t know and will never know. And she’s talking in a way I’ll never talk, and carrying herself in a way I’ll never carry myself, and I know I can never be that for him. Ever.”
Jake looked frustrated. “He doesn’t want that. Why can’t you see that?”
“He’s on a different level than I am now.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “That’s rubbish.”
“Don’t tell me he hasn’t had women like this fallin’ at his feet for years.”
“Look, Er: the man’s not a priest. I’m sure he had a few good tumbles while you two were split. But that’s all they were: tumbles. All he’s ever wanted was you. He told me that. Even when you were apart, he thought about you endlessly. He knew he fucked up. It just took him a while to admit it to himself.
“Fix it,” Jake urged. “In your gut, you know he’s not lyin’. Don’t let some crazy notion you’ve got in your head wreck it all. Go talk to him.”
39
“Right, so we agree: from here on out, nothin’ but trust.”
Erin twined her fingers tighter through Rory’s. “Agreed.”
She’d felt a right twit going back to him, having to apologize for her assumption that the minute he saw a sophisticated, available woman, he’d jump at the chance. More than her lack of trust, which was insulting to him, it showed how immature she could still be, and how inadequate she still felt, despite proclaiming otherwise. She knew part of it had to do with those last few years, but it was wrong to blame it all on him.
“I can’t believe how hot it is tonight.”
They were lying on a blanket beneath a canvas of stars that looked freshly painted: the sky was as black as spilled ink, the stars sharp and bright as fine crystal. Soaking it all in, Erin thought. There are couples all over Ireland doing what we are tonight, relishing the solitude and beauty, the perfect atmosphere it creates for unhurried talk and ease.
She was bursting to tell him the good news. Rory was on his back, his fingers laced behind his head, gazing skyward peacefully.
“Rory, I’ve got some important news.”
He turned his head to look at her. “Yeah?”
“I’ve gotten an internship offer at the Guggenheim in New York. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s a start.”
Rory broke into a delighted grin. “I’m so proud of you. You were afraid to do it, but you took the leap anyway. Not everyone has the bollocks to do that, love.”
“I know. But there’s nothing in life that says just because you worked your arse off, things are going to go your way.”
“No, there isn’t. That’s called justice, and unfortunately, it doesn’t always seem to exist.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “But justice or not, I promise you our lives will be good. I promise.”
“Rainbows and unicorns all around, is it?” Erin teased.
“Only in the baby’s room.”
Erin’s eyes filled up quickly. “To hear you say that…”
“We always said we wanted kids.”
“We did. I’m just glad you’ve not changed your mind.”
“The only thing I’ve changed my mind about is being a self-absorbed prick.”
Erin turned onto her back, her gaze skipping from star to star as she held Rory’s hand tightly. “Tell me again about New York. About the flat.”
“It’s a bit small, but we can get a bigger one. It’s high up enough that we won’t hear the noise on the street, and we’ve got gorgeous views of the city. It’s also close to a subway stop.”
“An underground stop, you mean.”
“Right. I’ve got a few pieces of furniture…you’ll probably hate them. But we can worry about all that later.”
Erin’s stomach was flipping. She thought carefully. “I’ve been doing some thinking about the wedding.”
Rory pushed himself up on his elbows, looking at her excitedly. “Yeah?”
“About when to have it. What do you think about over Christmas?”
Rory deflated. “We talked about this. I don’t know what my schedule is going to be like. We don’t play on Christmas, but I don’t know how much time off I’ll have.”
“I don’t care.”
“What?”
“I don’t care if we’re only here for three days. I want to get married over Christmas, in the town where everyone has known us most of our lives. It’s what I’ve always dreamed. I don’t care when we have a honeymoon.”
“Well, that’s it, then,” Rory said easily, standing up and brushing off his pants. “I think that’s doable, even if it means flying in on Christmas Eve and flying out on Boxing Day.”
Erin hopped to her feet and threw both arms around his neck, giving him a powerful kiss. “It’s going to be wonderful.”
“It’s going to be Father Bill marrying us,” Rory said with a groan.
“It’s going to be wonderful,” Erin repeated. “Just wait and see.”
40
“Christ, he’s a natural. I don’t know why it didn’t dawn on me sooner that he’d be goddamn great at all this PR shit. Irish! You’ve all got the gift of gab, right?”
Erin smiled weakly and returned to watching the same thing the Blades head of PR, Lou Capesi, was: Rory talking to Hugh Grant. She was glad she wasn’t with him right now; she’d be so nervous her drink would be shaking in her hand. Still, watching him with the handsome actor rankled a bit: technically, she and Rory were supposed to be at the London-held party together. But it wasn’t exactly working out that way. One minute they’d be together, and then the next someone would “need” Rory for something, or Rory would excuse himself “for just a minute” as someone motioned him over. The minute would turn into two, three, many. Erin knew Rory: he was all about being a good sport and a team player. If someone needed a quote, or wanted to do a quick Q and A, or snap a photo, he had no problem accommodating them.
The Blades, as well as the league, had called and asked him to come to this charity party in London to help raise the league’s stature in the UK
, and to help promote the upcoming exhibition games. Erin wasn’t happy, even though he’d insisted on bringing her with him and arranging a few guided, private tours for her of the Tate and Tate Modern. The problem was that Rory always went above and beyond because he loved it: the attention, the hobnobbing, the “it-ness” of it. He looked so happy, so vibrant and alive. He was in his element, and she was way out of hers.
He wasn’t totally neglecting her. Whenever someone came over to them whom she didn’t know (which was pretty much everyone), Rory would proudly introduce her and try to get a pleasant conversation started. Sometimes it worked. But very often it didn’t, the other person ignoring Erin completely as he or she drew Rory into deep conversation about sports or Manhattan. And once Rory was drawn in deep, forget it.
“You havin’ a good time?” Lou asked.
“I am,” Erin answered.
Lou frowned. “No, you’re not. Can’t bullshit a bullshitter. I know how you feel. I hate these fuckin’ parties. There a necessary evil, though. I didn’t want to come here, but the league insisted someone be here to push Rory into the right conversations. As if he needs much pushing.” He drained his martini glass. “That soccer player Rory looks like, Beckham?”
“Yeah?”
“He’s over there if you want to meet him.” Lou indiscreetly pointed at Becks where he stood across the VIP tent. “You ever hear him talk? He sounds like a mouse. I mean, yeah, the guy is a great athlete, right? And the women love him. But it’s hard to give him his full due when he sounds like Mickey.”
Erin pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh out loud.
“And his wife? Madonn’, someone needs to order that woman a pizza. So thin you can see her ass bones? It just ain’t right.”
This time Erin did laugh, and the sound, miraculously, caught Rory’s ear. He said something to Man United’s Wayne Rooney, and then he was back with her and Lou.
“Christ. Sorry about that.”
Lou scowled. “About what? Did you talk to Simon Cowell about donating to the Blades Children’s Fund?”
Breakaway Page 27
