by A. S. Kelly
“Your family have already thanked me enough. And about your apology: it’s fine. It was your opinion.”
Jesus, she’s difficult.
“Maybe I exaggerated.”
“So you didn’t want to compare my arse to the boot of your car?”
“I don’t think your arse is anything like the boot of my car.”
She smiles.
“And I don’t think you’re…stupid.”
“But you do hate me.”
“Sometimes, I guess…”
“Well, I can accept that. You don’t have to like me.”
No, I shouldn’t like you, Christine.
“Was there anything else?”
“I think that’s it.”
“Thanks for…”
“Hey, honey, who’s at the door?”
A man walks up to her, a glass of wine in his hand.
“Who’s this?” he asks, looking me up and down.
“Oh, this is…er…” now it’s her turn to splutter.
No. Who’s he, and what the fuck is he doing with her? Why is he holding a glass of wine, as if he’s relaxed, happy – at home?
He wraps his arms around her. His hand slides down her back, as he pulls her towards him. He’s telling me, wordlessly, mate, back off, this is my woman.
“This is Ryan.”
“Mmm,” the bastard comments.
Did I really just call him a bastard?
“Do you want to come in, Ryan?” he asks, innocently.
Innocent my arse. He wants to let me in just to mark his territory.
I look at him, angry. He’s about as tall as me, with broad shoulders, huge hands, long fingers… I don’t even want to think about what he could do with those hands. He has light hair, and dark, menacing eyes. He’s wearing a shirt.
A shirt? Is he a fucking doctor?
For fuck’s sake.
“I’ve actually got somewhere to be.”
I don’t have anywhere to be. Apart from at home, getting drunk off anything I can find in the fridge.
“Maybe another time, then,” he adds.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, through gritted teeth.
“So…thanks for stopping by, Ryan.”
Christine goes back inside with him, and they close the door.
And I stay standing outside.
Story of my life.
I quickly get back into the car, locking myself inside and groping around desperately for my paper bag, hoping I won’t throw up in it instead.
21
Chris
What the hell am I doing outside this house, all dressed up, with a cake in my hands? I must’ve gone completely mad.
I asked Riley for the address, trying to be discreet about it, but discreet isn’t really my forte. So I just told her that, after yesterday’s episode, I’d like to go and visit the O’Connors to check that everything’s okay. My mother always taught me never to go to someone’s house empty-handed, so I stole a cake from the café and brought it with me.
Riley reassured me that I wouldn’t be intruding on anything, and they’d be pleased to see me – so here I am. I can do this.
I knock on the door, and quickly smooth down my windswept hair, balancing the cake in my other hand.
The door opens and Mrs O’Connor’s warm smile immediately makes me feel better.
“Hi, Mrs O’Connor. I hope I’m not interrupting anything…”
“Of course not! It’s lovely to see you.”
I smile nervously.
“I just wanted to see how Mr O’Connor’s doing.”
“He’s doing well. Come in, come in.”
“I don’t want to be rude.”
“Of course you’re not, dear. It’s always nice to have visitors. Come in, my husband’s in the back garden, sorting out some of the plants. That green thumb of his – I’d be happy to just leave it all to grow over,” she chats, inviting me in.
“I…I brought you this,” I say, handing her the cake. “It’s a strawberry cheesecake, we make them in the café.”
“Thank you, love, you shouldn’t have.”
I feel my face flush bright red, and follow her through to the kitchen. She puts the cake down on the countertop and asks me if I’d like anything to drink.
“I couldn’t say no!” I say cheekily.
“I’ll bring you a glass of wine. Feel free to go and say hi,” she says, nodding towards the back door. “He’s doing much better today, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”
I do as she suggests and open the back door. Mr O’Connor notices me right away, looking up from his rose bush.
“Good evening, love,” he smiles kindly at me.
“Hi, Mr O’Connor. I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I’d pop in.”
“I’m glad you did,” he says, getting up from the ground and taking off his gloves. He approaches me with his hand outstretched. “We don’t get many visitors, apart from the three usual troublemakers…”
“Hey,” a voice says from inside, followed by a head poking out from the doorframe. “Who are you talking about, there?”
Oh, shit.
He takes off his hat and wipes his forehead with an arm, my jaw dropping to the floor. I can count all the veins in his neck, his arms, and the ones snaking down beneath his belt.
“Oh…hi,” he says, realising who I am.
“Er…hi.”
His father watches us both, narrowing his eyes.
“Mmm,” he says.
“No, no mmm Dad,” Ryan cuts in.
“Uh-huh.”
“No uh-huhs either.”
His father raises his hands and pretends to hear his wife calling from inside. “Excuse me, my better half needs me in there,” he laughs.
“Oh, come on!” Ryan says, gesturing exasperatedly, but his father takes no notice and disappears indoors.
We stand there in the garden, in silence, staring at our shoes. Or rather, he stares at his, as I stare at least five feet higher than that, counting his abs.
Jesus Christ.
He’s a work of art.
“So…how come you’re here?” he asks, interrupting my X-ray observation of his torso.
“I just thought I’d come and see how your father is doing.”
“Sure.”
“I brought a cake.”
God, I am such an idiot. Why did I need to say that?
“I’m sure my parents appreciate it,” he says, flatly.
“So…do you live here?” I ask.
What the fuck am I thinking?
“I just came to help out in the garden. I’m a bit too old to be living with my parents,” he replies, almost bitter.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, wanting to justify myself.
He shrugs.
I clear my throat. “Last night…well, I…”
“You don’t have to say anything. I shouldn’t have come to your house unannounced like that. You had company,” he says, emphasising the last word.
“You could’ve come in.”
“I didn’t want to disturb.”
“You wouldn’t have,” I say, clearing things up.
“Well, that isn’t what it looked like,” he shoots back, seemingly angrier now.
This guy has some serious attitude problems.
“Anyway, you don’t need to explain anything to me,” he continues.
“Exactly.”
Okay, now I’m angry too.
Could we be any more stupid?
“There you are!” His mother steps outside, saving us from jumping at each other’s throats; and we were pretty close. “Take this, dear,” she hands me a glass. “Let’s go and sit on the patio, the weather’s beautiful today.”
I follow her, and sit down next to her on the garden furniture. Ryan keeps his distance, standing a few paces away.
“No drink for me, then?” he asks, irritated.
“You know where the kitchen is.”
He scoffs impatiently, and
disappears inside.
“Are you off work today?”
“I wish! I work every day, I just took a few hours off today to run some errands.”
“Wow, you must be so tired in the evenings.”
“I am,” I reply, taking a few sips of my wine. “But it’s all part of the game, isn’t it? Running your own business isn’t easy.”
“Of course not.”
“We close at seven,” I say, checking my watch. “Supposedly in an hour. I should probably head back.”
“Already?”
I stand up. “I’m sorry, but I have to close up.”
“You’re welcome to come back later, for dinner.”
“D-dinner?” I repeat, nearly choking on my last sip of wine.
“Why not?”
“I don’t think…”
“It would be our pleasure.”
“Just…someone’s waiting for me at home.”
“Bring them along, too.”
“I don’t know…” I say uncertainly. “I’ll be late, and…”
“We usually don’t eat before eight.”
I think about it for a few moments.
“O-okay,” I say, feeling as if I’ve just landed my self in a huge amount of trouble.
“We’ll wait for you,” she says, smiling kindly.
I’m already thinking of how I can make it up to Evan for forcing him to come along.
22
Ryan
I come downstairs after a quick shower. After training finished, I came straight to my parents’: Dad needed a hand in the garden. Luckily, I didn’t get changed, and I have a clean set of clothes with me.
Mum insisted that I stay for dinner, and after storming out last time, I couldn’t really say no.
Dad’s laying the table in the dining room. Five places.
“Who’s coming for dinner?” I ask Mum, going through into the kitchen and grabbing a beer from the fridge.
“I invited Chris.”
I spit my beer out across the kitchen tiles, a coughing fit building up in my chest.
“And she’s bringing someone along.”
Thank God I didn’t try to take another sip.
“Someone?”
“Yes, she said she had someone waiting for her at home, so I said she could bring them along.”
“But you don’t even know her! You don’t know what she’ll do, if she’s a raging maniac, who she’s bringing with her. They could be Jack the Ripper, or…”
“Still can’t get the chainsaw working?” my dad asks, coming into the kitchen.
I snort and escape into the living room, just as there’s a knock at the door.
“Do you mind, Ryan? That’ll be them.”
Shit.
Come on, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s just a nice dinner with her and her handsome doctor.
God, where’s Nick when you need him.
I open the door, ready to throw up all over the carpet.
“Oh…hi. You’re here, too,” she says, surprised.
“Well, you know, it’s my parents’ house.”
“You said you didn’t live here.”
“I have dinner here every so often.”
Seriously? Why am I explaining myself to her?
“Come in,” I say, stepping aside to let her in.
“Thanks,” she growls through her teeth. “Come on, Evan. I’m sure you can put up with this for one evening.”
I knew he was a dick.
Christine comes in, followed by a guy. No. Not a guy. A boy, a teenager. Her spitting image.
“Evan, this is Ryan. Please be nice, don’t embarrass me.”
“Hey, Ryan, how’s it going?” he says waving, then coming through the doorway. “Was that alright?” he asks Christine.
“Don’t piss me off…”
“There you are!” My mother hands her a glass of wine, which she accepts without hesitation.
Evan shakes his head, and she smirks at him like a flippant teenager.
“Don’t start,” she warns him. “Or I’ll have to take you straight back home.”
“Mind your own—”
“Who’s this charming young man?” my mother interrupts.
“Did she seriously just say that?” Evan hisses under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
“This is Evan,” Christine says, throwing me a quick glance. “My son.”
This time I need a paper bag as big as Santa’s sack.
“Oh, but…” Mum seems embarrassed.
“Yeah, I was a bit of an accident,” Evan says, without missing a beat.
“I didn’t mean to…” Mum stumbles, trying to justify her surprise, but she’s not a very good actress.
“It’s okay,” Christine says, elbowing Evan.
“He looks just like you,” Mum says, trying to recover some dignity.
“Everyone says I look more like my father.”
“And he…isn’t he coming this evening?”
“Why would he?” Evan says shamelessly.
“Er…I…” Mum’s face is flushed so red she’s almost purple.
“Evan’s father doesn’t live with us,” Christine explains curtly, swiftly finishing off the wine in her glass.
“I’ll get you another,” Mum says, sensing her discomfort. “And maybe a drink for Evan, too?”
“A beer would be great.”
“Evan!”
He shrugs. “Worth a try.”
My father walks into the living room, completing the scene.
“We’re all here,” he says, approaching us. “Good evening, Chris, and hello…”
“Evan,” he offers.
“Sure, sure…Evan, I knew that.”
He knew?
“I could never forget my own grandson’s name.”
Oh, fuck. Not tonight.
Everybody looks around, confused for a few moments, until Dad says: “Come with me, boy. I have something I want to show you,” and gestures for him to follow. Evan obliges, without objection.
We’re all going mad.
We sit at the table, our general embarrassment thick in the air: at least, that of me, Mum and Christine. Dad seems to have bonded right away with the boy sitting next to him, speaking to him as if he were his grandfather.
“What did you show Evan?” Mum asks discreetly.
“His father’s room. Photos, jerseys for the teams he’s played for, medals…”
I literally spit my dinner back onto my plate to avoid choking.
“Cool,” says Evan, as if he didn’t hear the first half of the sentence. “I didn’t know he was a rugby champion.”
“All of my boys are,” Dad proudly declares.
“Do you play rugby, Evan?” Mum asks.
“No, I actually don’t like sports.”
Christine kicks him under the table.
“Ow!” he complains. “What did I say?”
My father laughs. “He can always change his mind. At that age, Ryan didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life either. He decided later to follow in your uncles’ footsteps.”
This time, I spray half my beer across Mum’s linen tablecloth.
“My God, Ryan. Do you need a bib?”
This time, I don’t know whether my dad’s being serious or not. I’d rather not know.
“How’s school, Evan?”
The boy rolls his eyes, and I notice Christine sigh heavily.
“I put up with school, and the school puts up with me.”
What an answer. I don’t know who his father is, but the boy really is all his mother.
“What’s your favourite subject?” my mother asks, encouragingly.
Jesus, if I were Evan I’d have lost it by now.
“Let him eat in peace, Karen,” Dad intervenes.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t,” Christine defends her.
The conversation moves between topics. Neutral ones, thank God. The weather, pl
ans for summer, Christine’s café. All things I can handle, where I just have to nod or grunt. All things considered, the evening isn’t going too badly.
When it’s time for coffee, Christine insists on helping clear the table. She stands up and smooths down her tight dress, which hugs the arse I compared to the back of my car.
Fuck, I really am an arsehole.
“Don’t do it,” Evan says next to me.
My father has magically disappeared, and we’re the only ones left at the table.
“Do what?” I ask, curious.
“She’s a disaster, in every sense of the word.”
“What? No, I…”
He looks at me, his eyebrows raised. “And, please, don’t look at her arse like that – not in front of me. That’s my mum, for fuck’s sake!”
“I wasn’t looking at anything!”
“Yeah, right…look, I do things like that, too.”
“Seriously? How old are you again, kid?”
He looks at me, his face serious. “Way older than you – at least, way more mature than you, mate.”
“You’re way off, I’m not interested in your mum.”
“You’re fucked. You know that, right?”
“I don’t get it…”
“You will…” he says, wisely.
“Hey, what are you two talking about?” Christine comes back into the room with a tray in her hands.
“Your arse,” Evan says right away.
“Ryan O’Connor!” my mother appears from behind her.
“Me? Fuck, no, that’s not true…I wasn’t…”
Evan grabs my arm and nods at me to just leave it. Then he leans in and whispers: “Fucked,” enunciating every letter.
And I know that he’s completely right.
23
Chris
“Thank you so much for tonight, dinner was great.”
“You’re welcome anytime, dear. I’ve put some leftovers into a Tupperware for you – you just have to pop them in the microwave.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to…”
“Thank you so much, that would be great,” Evan jumps in, shamelessly grabbing the tub from her hands. “It’s not like we cook every day at home.”
Jesus, this is embarrassing.
Thankfully, Karen laughs.
