by Kelly, A. S.
I’m thrown by the whole situation; but I’m also starving.
He sits down opposite me, and I dig a fork into my scrambled eggs.
I’m exhausted and worn out from last night. But I’m also inexplicably happy; I know I shouldn’t feel like this, and I shouldn’t let myself get carried away, but it’s so nice to see his sexy face in my kitchen in the morning. I can’t stop staring at him.
“Is everything okay?”
“What?”
“You’re staring at me.”
I shake my head, embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s just so weird.”
“What?”
“You, me…having breakfast in my kitchen. My cat has basically fallen in love with you.”
He laughs, scratching the little animal under her chin. As soon as he sat down, Caramel leapt into his lap. Usually, I don’t let her do that while I’m at the table – but he’s so gentle with her, so I’m letting all my usual neurotic tendencies slide. Just for this morning.
“You shouldn’t,” he says, interrupting my train of thought. “Don’t question it, try to make sense of it all.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You could try not to over-analyse everything.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“But it is, Jordan,” he says, his voice sweetening. “You just have to let things go. Stop fighting against them.”
“Are you just saying that because you want to get in my bed again?”
He smiles. “Honestly, I don’t know if it’ll happen again.”
And when he says it, so nonchalantly, I realise that he’s right: there’s a chance it won’t happen again. The thought turns my mind completely upside-down.
“I have no plans for it to happen again – even though you think I do.”
“I never said that.”
“It happened. Neither of us expected it.”
I swallow down my irrational disappointment with a mouthful of eggs. I shouldn’t feel this way.
“And there’s no reason to sign another stupid agreement.”
Keeping my own bitterness from crawling up my throat won’t be easy; I take a huge gulp of coffee.
“No one will find out. You can trust me.”
“Okay.”
It’s the only word I’m able to say.
He gets down from the stool and looks at me.
“I should go, now.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, and I realise only now that he’s fully-dressed.
Ready to disappear.
Ready to forget everything.
“I don’t want Skylar to wake up and realise I didn’t come home.”
“Of course.”
Another two words. I’m making progress.
“Thanks for last night.”
I don’t even attempt to swallow that one.
“Thanks for dinner. And breakfast.”
He nods, smiling. “Have a good day.”
“You, too.”
He walks off, disappearing into the next room with Caramel at his heels; unlike me, she’s doing everything she can to keep him here. I hear him gathering up his things, then opening the front door. Only when it slams shut behind him do I realise that I’m holding back tears; I don’t know whether they’re of anger or disappointment. Either way, I know that they’re unwelcome. I’ve felt like this before, and I made a promise to myself that I’d never feel like this again.
I’m quiet at lunch, in a terrible mood: two things that don’t go unnoticed by Iris.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on? Or are you going to make me guess?”
I push the chicken around my plate with a fork, then lift my gaze to her.
“What if I told you that I’m not actually sure what’s wrong?”
“I’d believe that – if it were true.”
“A few things have happened over the past few days that have confused me. I don’t know how to react.”
“Things at work?”
I shake my head.
“Man-related things?”
I sheepishly meet her gaze again.
“It’s just been an odd week.”
“Why?”
Because I keep finding myself bumping into Niall Kerry, and I’m starting to enjoy his company. I’m starting to seek him out. And I’m scared that he’ll disappear.
“I saw Steven,” I say instead.
“Do we really have to say his name?”
“He was out for dinner with his fiancée.”
Iris heaves a deep sigh. “And he’s the reason you’re so upset?”
“I don’t think I’m upset, just…” I shake my head. “What is wrong with me?”
“Honey…” She reaches her hand across the table in search of mine.
“No, Iris. I’m not still in love with Steven,” I say, watching as she visibly relaxes. “But it still hurts.”
“Of course it hurts, my love. And there’s nothing wrong with you. He just wasn’t the right man for you.”
“What if the right man doesn’t exist? What if I’m alone forever?”
“Does that scare you?”
“I don’t know,” I say, honestly. “I used to want so many things.”
Things that Steven took from me when he left.
“And you don’t want them anymore?”
“Everything’s more complicated, now. I don’t believe in them anymore.”
“That’s normal, Jordan. But, listen: not all men are like Steven. I know that there’s a wonderful man out there just waiting for you.”
I smile gratefully at her, and go back to picking at my chicken. This conversation has saddened me even more; I’m still thinking about him, standing at my door, in my kitchen. Leaving me there, alone.
“Have you seen Niall Kerry recently?” Iris asks out of the blue.
“This isn’t about him,” I blurt.
“Of course not.”
“It’s just that…” I sigh, dropping my shoulders and leaning back against my seat. “I don’t want to fall for it again.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I’m scared that I already am falling.”
“If you don’t take any risks, honey, you’ll never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.”
“I’ve already taken enough risks, Iris – and I lost everything. I don’t want to do it again.”
Because I believed: in him, in us. I believed in marriage, in everything we had and everything we would always be.
I met Steven at school. We went to the prom together, and we kissed. We were together for the whole of our final year. Then he left, and I stayed here, alone. I kept studying, experienced life – nothing ground-breaking, but experiences nonetheless. I went out with other guys: but not many, and no one memorable. When I was given the opportunity to leave, I didn’t. I chose to stay. I chose Iris, this town, and my roots. I chose to keep doing what I’d always done. I became the head teacher of the Abbey when I was quite young – I actually wanted to teach, but life chose a different path for me, and I’m happy that it did. Then Steven came back when his father fell ill. We saw each other again, and started to date. When his father died, I was there for him, and we fell back into love. We got married, bought a house. I wanted to start a family with him: the family I’d always dreamed of. But he had other plans. Slowly, I faded away, became this version of myself. I believed that I’d be safe from disappointment, suffering, heartbreak. I believed that until Niall Kerry came along. I shouldn’t let him hope for something that left a long time ago. I’m not ready to risk myself again: especially not for a man like him.
Niall
I got home before my daughter woke up. My parents were already downstairs, of course, but managed to limit themselves to a judgmental glance thrown in my direction. I chose to ignore it. I had a shower and stepped outside to see if my dad needed any help in the fields.
My parents run a farm; potatoes, cabbages, carrots, the works. They even have a few sheep. They used to take care of everything
themselves, but as the business grew, my father decided to hire some full-time workers, leaving him with less hard labour and more time for some well-deserved rest.
I never even considered stepping into my father’s shoes. Everyone around here goes into farming, or rears livestock, but it never interested me. I wanted to leave, to follow my sporting dream. I wanted to be someone.
“Need a hand?” I ask as I approach him.
This morning he’s decided to repaint the fence that separates our garden from the fields. He can never just relax, and enjoy his Sunday; he always has to be busy with something.
“There should be another paintbrush around here, somewhere.”
I look around, and find it lying in an empty paint bucket. I grab it and dip it into the coloured liquid, before moving around to the other side of the fence and getting to work.
“How was last night?”
He and Mum went dancing last night in a nearby town. There’s a bar there with live music – it’s a popular place for people of a certain age to go and have fun.
“I drank too much, your mother got angry, and I almost had to sleep on the sofa. At my age, too.”
I try to stifle a laugh.
“I’m not as fit as I used to be. Sleeping on that sofa nearly kills me.”
“Maybe you should try drinking less?”
He glares at me. “How was your evening?”
It’s difficult to answer that question when the memories of last night are swarming vividly around my mind; her skin, her hair over the pillow, her eyes on my body. The way her mouth slid up and down me – and the way my crotch seems to be reacting now, just at the thought of it.
“It was good,” I respond vaguely, hoping he’ll drop the subject before I can make an arse of myself.
“Did you go out with Tyler?”
“Uh-huh.”
My father doesn’t seem to want to move on. I stand there, hoping he’ll find something else to talk about.
“Skylar seemed to have a good evening, too.”
“Really?”
I haven’t seen her yet – unlike me, she is not an early riser.
“I never thought that she and Rian would get along so well.”
“She’s a woman,” he says, almost condescending. “Have you ever considered that she needs a female figure in her life?”
“Oh. Well…” No, to be honest. I had never thought about it. But I can’t tell him that, or I’ll be on the receiving end of another lecture.
“And your mother is too old to be a reference point for her.”
I laugh, and he looks at me.
“Don’t you dare tell her I said that.” He waves his paintbrush at me, threateningly. “It’s good for her,” he says, serious again.
“I guess it is.”
“Have you spoken about it with her?”
“Not really. Sometimes she mentions things, but it’s more to punish me than to open up to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“She accused me of abandoning them.”
“Mmm.”
“But I wasn’t her partner.”
“But you were Skylar’s dad.”
“I didn’t know she was so alone.”
“That’s because you were never around. You didn’t know anything about their lives.”
I sigh, defeated. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to make it right with her.”
“I agree. I actually think you’ve missed your chance, Niall, to make up for everything that happened. But you can start from today. You can build a new future with her.”
“I really want to,” I say, decisively.
And that’s exactly why this obsession with the headmistress has to stop for now. I need to be a good example for my daughter. I have to start acting like a father – and sleeping with the head teacher of my daughter’s school isn’t exactly a good place to start.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
I dip my brush back into the paint and turn back to the fence.
“But that doesn’t mean that you should only dedicate yourself to her,” my father says.
“What?”
“It’s good to be there for her, to focus your attention on your daughter and her future, but that doesn’t mean that you should forget about yourself in the process.”
“I’m not sure I’m following, Dad.”
“You’re a man, Niall. And, from what I can see, you’re also extremely lonely.”
“I’m not lonely,” I say, offended.
“I don’t exactly see women lining up outside.”
“This isn’t the best time to be talking about women.”
“Your mother and I are worried about Skylar.”
“We all are.”
“And we’re worried about you, too.”
“Are you worried I’m going to fuck something up again?”
“We’re worried that now, because you want to do the right thing, that you’ll forget about everything else. We’re worried you’ll forget about yourself.”
“Don’t you think I’ve already thought about myself enough?”
“I think you’ve been thinking about yourself in the wrong way.”
“You’re losing me, Dad,” I say, confused.
“You can’t be a good father to anyone if you’re unhappy inside.”
“I’m not unhappy.”
“You need to dedicate your time to yourself, too; because you can only be a better father to your daughter once you’re truly happy. You need to be an example for her. The hardest part is finding the right balance.”
“This conversation is getting way too complicated.”
“Maybe you’ll only understand it when the time is right.”
“What I think, Dad, is that I’ve fucked up too many times. I’ll never have enough time to make it up to her.”
“You have messed up a lot, that’s true. But you’ll find the time to make it up to her if you want to, Niall.”
I smile at my father, as I see Skylar approaching in the distance, those horrendous rubber boots on her feet. My father follows my gaze and turns to face her, putting his paintbrush back in the empty bucket.
“Maybe you two should finish up here,” he says mischievously. “I’m tired. I think I’m going to go and have a little nap under that tree.”
“You’re really making the most of this, aren’t you?”
My father chuckles from beneath his moustache, smugly content.
“Maybe a little. Hopefully you’ll be able to make the most of it, too.”
Niall
I spent almost twenty years playing for the best team in the country; they scouted me while I was still living here. I received two more offers after I left school, but I didn’t want to stay here, near my family. I didn’t want to be the guy who couldn’t let go of his roots.
I had nothing against my parents – we had a good relationship and I didn’t want to run away from them. I had nothing against the city I grew up in, either, despite everything that happened with Mary Hannigan. It wasn’t a reason to leave.
It took me years to realise what my reason was: I wasn’t running away from someone or something. I was running away from myself.
I didn’t want to become like my father: a man who was bound to his family and his business. I didn’t want to be like my mother, who’s a member of the town council; someone who organises events and coordinates official festivals. I didn’t want to be one of them. I wanted to be someone to remember.
I didn’t know what else to do, other than sport. I was no good at school. I had trouble reading, and I was really shit at Maths; but I knew how to play, and everyone realised that pretty quickly. A diamond in the rough, according to my coach. A born sportsman.
By the age of eighteen, I had a contract in my hands, an apartment of my own in Dublin, and two sponsors who paid good money just for my face. I had no obligations and no responsibilities outside the sporting world. I was young, free, and charming; I had everything in the palm of
my hand. And this was exactly how I felt right until life decided to put me to the test about nine months ago. Someone came knocking at my door with a girl in tow, telling me that she was my responsibility, now.
Okay, so that’s not exactly how it went, but you get the idea.
I wasn’t a complete dickhead, despite what everyone believed. I had no ties, and I never went looking for them; I liked having fun and I threw everything into my career. No one complained about the way I behaved – I don’t think I’m the first sportsman to enjoy female company now and then. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with living my life this way. I never thought it would cause me so many problems; especially when trying to win over my daughter’s trust, or that of the women who would fall at my feet.
I’ve dated a lot of women: some only lasted a night, while others stretched out to an entire week. But I never made any promises. I never deceived anyone. I never thought I was hurting anyone along the way.
So, when one of these flings suddenly became the future mother of my child, I panicked. I was young, I was stupid. I had no idea what it meant to be a father.
My manager suggested I sign a non-disclosure agreement that also obligated me to contribute money to my daughter; but her mother didn’t want my money. She wanted her daughter to have a father.
When Skylar was born, we both decided that it would be best for her to use her mother’s surname; we also decided that I wouldn’t announce her birth to the media. She signed the agreement, but still refused my money. It seemed childish to me, so I told her that I’d put all the money into a savings account for Skylar to use for her university fees. She agreed.
Every month she would send me photos, messages, emails; she asked me to go and visit them, to get to know my daughter, to be part of her life.
I went to see them a few times. I was uncomfortable, out of place. But my parents, who I obviously told about the whole thing, wanted to meet their granddaughter. They wanted to be part of her life – so, I had to be, too.
I brought her here to visit them a few times, and spent a few weekends and one Christmas with her when she was five. But over time, we started to drift a little, only communicating over the phone. I’d go over and visit them a few times, but I’d only stay for an hour or so. I brought presents for her that I hadn’t picked out, and sent her birthday cards written by somebody else. Things only seemed to get worse, until her mother rang me one day to tell me that she was dying.
