SmallTownDuke

by Forbes, Sara

  I slow down the car. “Lorcan, it’s not uncle Danny, is it?”

  “Oh, no. Sorry.”

  “And don’t go mentioning a present the minute you get in the door, all right? That’s bad manners. Danny will bring it up himself if he wants to. It’s a long way away and they can’t carry anything big through an airport, so don’t expect anything huge.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And,” I continue, “This is very important—don’t talk about Uncle Seamus and me, OK? Say nothing. I’ll do the talking about that. Danny isn’t interested in that stuff anyway. He’s much more interested in hearing about how you’re getting on in school. And in your music lessons.”

  The pep talk settles him down for the few minutes it takes to complete the journey up the winding, private road to the manor. This will be interesting. Not just to see Danny and Shannon again, but also to gauge Ellen’s reaction to the news about Seamus and I. When I say interesting, I actually mean nerve-racking.

  Not to mention Danny’s reaction.

  Oh God. My hands are clammy on the steering wheel. it’s like the reverse opposite of the way things used to be; now I feel relatively fine entering Hotel Callaghan but a bellyful of dread on entering the manor.

  But it’s only temporary, I tell myself. Danny’s got Shannon. They’re just back from their honeymoon. After the initial shock, he won’t give a damn about my dating life.

  “Daaannny,” Lorcan squeals, after greeting Mrs. Muldoon at the door. He rushes past the bemused housekeeper, down the hall, to launch himself at duke who’s standing there, looking as tall, chiseled, and regal as ever.

  Despite myself, I mentally compare him to Seamus. Danny is rigid, composed, a dark horse, where Seamus is all blond, exuberance, strength and warmth. Introvert versus extrovert. I love Danny, but having experienced intimacy with Seamus, I know he’s the only man for me.

  I hug Shannon first and then Danny. She looks radiant with a floral scarf holding back her dark tresses, her olive skin glowing with youth and happiness.

  “Well, you’re as pale as ever,” I tell him.

  “It’s winter down there, what did you expect?” he replies.

  Shannon didn’t want to go anywhere hot as she gets enough of that in Texas. She wanted cool and temperate, somewhere like Ireland. So they chose New Zealand. They did all the expensive Lord of the Rings tours—money being no object.

  I listen to their tales of helicopter exploration and geographical marvels. It sounds wonderful, but I find my mind drifting off too many times. I’m grateful for Lady Ellen who sits regally her armchair nodding along, asking questions at all the right places. If Danny detects my lack of interest, he doesn’t let it show, but then again, he never would.

  At one point, Lady Ellen, Shannon, and Lorcan go out to get some food in the kitchen, leaving Danny and I alone in the room.

  “Everything good with Lorcan?” Danny asks.

  “Yes, yes. Why?”

  His eyebrows jump up. “Why? That’s a strange question.”

  “Um, yeah, sorry,” I say crossly. “Everything’s fine with Lorcan. He missed you though.”

  “And I missed him. What I mean is, was it all right for you, with logistics? I heard he was late for football on two occasions.”

  “News travels fast,” I say.

  “Callaghan couldn’t keep to schedule, what?”

  I glare at him. “Who said that?”

  “Emma Reilly.”

  I groan. “Well, Seamus was late maybe once, and the other times, he was bang on time. He may not be anal and early all the time, like you, but he got the job done, all right?”

  “Jesus, Cliona. I’m only asking.”

  “No, you’re not only asking,” I say testily.

  “Fine. I heard the rumors, as did half the country.”

  “And?” I demand. “What do you want to say to me? Out with it, Danny.”

  He shakes his dark head, his blue eyes shrewd. “I’m not telling you how to live your life. I’ve always noticed a…something between you.” He smiles. “I don’t mind, if that’s what you’re thinking. I actually welcome it.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure. Anything that’ll hep help mend the past, I’m all for. I just didn’t think it would happen because…" he trails off, clearly debating the wisdom of continuing.

  “Because what?” I ask impatiently.

  “Well, because it’s taken you so long. Or him, rather.”

  I shake my head. “If you’d experienced the atmosphere up in Callaghan Castle any time I darken their door, you’d know why that was.”

  “But no attitude from him, surely?”

  “No. He didn’t show up at all most of the time.”

  “Hm. Running away from problems. As usual.”

  “No, Danny. That wasn’t it.”

  “Oh?”

  I don’t feel like telling him that Seamus simply didn’t trust his emotions around me. It sounds way too self-promotional. I’m certainly not going to explain that Seamus had the hots for me for seven years and named his freaking boat after me.

  I smile instead. “Seamus likes to keep the peace, that’s all. And flirting with me in front of his father wasn’t going to keep things harmonious. So, he decided to stay away altogether to be on the safe side.”

  “And I suppose he felt guilty about taking Owen’s place,” Danny adds.

  “I suppose,” I say, my gaze flickering over his face. I know he’s felt that same guilt at times too.

  Danny seems satisfied with my answer, or at least unwilling to prolong the topic. “So,” he says, taking a crystal decanter of wine from the sideboard along with matching glasses. “I suppose this means you won’t be staying the night here at the manor? No point in offering you this excellent New Zealand Pinot Noir we picked up, biodynamically farmed?”

  I nod. “Tempting, but no. I’ll be driving home after this.”

  “You do what you have to. But can Lorcan stay?”

  “You don’t have to question that,” I say firmly. “Of course, he can stay. That’s not going to change, Danny. Ever.”

  He cocks an eyebrow skeptically. “Are you sure about that?”

  18

  SEAMUS

  It’s football day, and yet it isn’t. I stayed in Castle Callaghan last night because I was on the late shift in the hotel. It’s not the first night Cliona and I have spent apart, but it’s the first since the duke returned. And it feels…different.

  For one thing, Danny is taking Lorcan to football this morning, not me. And that stings. Perhaps I was hoping that we’d established a new routine, replacing old ones, but no, old habits die hard. The duke and the boy are still very attached. Cliona may do her best to forbid Lorcan from saying “Uncle Danny”—especially in my presence—but to the boy, that’s exactly what he is. He’s the uncle who earned the title. I’m just the uncle by birth.

  I know I’m being immature about this, but I can’t help it.

  I pack up my towel and change of clothes. I’m going for a swim in the lake. That will help clear my head before a new day of work.

  I wander out the back of the hotel, across the patio and guests’ lawn, and down the sheep’s trail through the fields. Long waving grasses flanking the path tickle at my shins. The silver lime tree-blossoms’ scent is heavy in the air—better than any man-made perfume. It’s that time of year when everything is in full bloom, just at the point of peak maturity. And in the blink of an eye, it’ll be Autumn again with its pungent, sweet air of decay.

  My trek takes me over the hill, up over the crest of Ginnitty’s field. The unlit bonfire is truly massive. They get bigger every year, apparently. Niall was here until all hours last night, arranging timber on the pile. The fire is a labor of love for him. Not just because he’s a pyromaniac, but also because it symbolizes our memory of Owen. It’s like telling the universe that the flame still burns. When someone is dead, it’s so easy to believe that their spirit returns in fire.

  Looks li
ke we’ll have fine weather for Owen’s anniversary tomorrow. First there’ll be mass in the church, then dinner in our dining room. Then we’ll send most people away and it’ll be just us, the inner family. That’s when the true debauchery will start. Far too much drinking, swearing, old stories being bandied about.

  This year I’m going to take it easy and not get caught up in the maudlin antics. Because at some stage, if last year is anything to go by, they’re going to burn that straw man and say very cruel things about the duke and Cliona.

  I’ve reached the lake and I strip down. The water sparkles in the sunlight, so inviting looking, but I know the freezing chills that await me.

  I plunge in. My entire body is bombarded with a thousand daggers of icy cold, pain. My lungs feel like they’re going to implode. I force myself to keep my head under, my forehead already gripped in a vice grip of painful ice. Then I break through the surface again, shaking my head madly, taking in a hoarse breath. “Holy crap,” I yell out to Mother Nature. It doesn’t matter how many times I do it, it makes me feel reborn, fresh, a hundred percent alive.

  I don’t stay in the water long, just enough time to do a circle around. I get out, and with shivering hands, pull on my sun-warmed shirt, hotel blazer, and pants. I lie back on the boardwalk just soaking up the sunlight. I still have a little time. I daydream of having Cliona here, lying beside me.

  God, it would be so nice...

  A shadow makes my face cool. I blink and open my eyes. I’ve been asleep. I peer up. “Niall?”

  “Uh huh.”

  I scramble up to check the time on my phone. Please don’t let me be late. I’m not. I sag back in relief. “What are you doing up so early?” I ask him.

  Niall has walked away and is sitting on a nearby fence, throwing pebbles into the water.

  “Oh, I thought I’d put some finishing touches to the fire. How was the swim, you mad-man?”

  “Good.”

  “All set for tomorrow?”

  The fact that he’s asking this means there’s something up. “Yes, Niall. All set for tomorrow. Same procedure as every year.”

  “So, you’re coming then?”

  “Of course,” I say evenly. “I’ll be at the church and the dinner, but don’t expect me to hang around that bonfire all night with you. And I’m sure I don’t have to spell out why.”

  He stops throwing stones. “Why don’t you spell it out? For my sake?”

  I exhale impatiently. “I don’t blame anyone for Owen’s death. It was an accident. Maybe you get off playing Guy Fawkes, but I don’t. Is that spelled out enough for you?”

  He glares at me. “Oh, why don’t you just go shit on his grave?”

  “Go fuck yourself, Niall. I have to work.” I jump to my feet and stomp off back toward the hotel.

  *

  I don’t see my brother for the rest of the day. And I’m not sad about it either. Business is brisk at the hotel and I could do with his help, but if he’d prefer to play with his silly bonfire, then let him.

  Da pitches in by helping out at the bar. He informs me that Enda’s on his way home from Maynooth.

  I’m much more anxious to see Cliona tonight, especially as I won’t see her tomorrow. We’re going to talk about making our relationship even more official after Owen’s ceremony by having her come stay here overnight in one of the suite rooms.

  Much as want to ignore him, Niall’s words rattle in my brain. Why don’t you go shit on his grave?

  I haven’t been there for so long. And it’s time I went. Not to shit on it obviously but to pay respects.

  So, after my shift at six pm, I drive the twenty kilometers to the graveyard. I park my car and traipse down the familiar lane to the gate. It squeaks open.

  Looks like someone has been here recently. A small bunch of primroses and pansies is propped against the headstone, the yellow purple contrasting startlingly against the white granite. I didn’t bring flowers. I don’t like cut flowers because we have them too much in the hotel. I try to replace them with potted pots wherever I can but it’s not always possible. But I have brought some sea shells. As a boy Owen loved to collect sea shells.

  “Owen,” I say. “I don’t know what to do. I’m his uncle, but you’re his father. I’m not trying to take your place, but that’s what it’ll amount to, isn’t it?”

  Unlike in all the books and movies, I don’t feel a presence, an ethereal guiding voice of majestic clam telling me what to do. The birds twitter overhead and that’s about it.

  I sink down on a nearby bench.

  Then I text Cliona. “Really need you tonight.”

  “Ditto,” comes her reply. “I’m at home. Come here.”

  And so I do.

  19

  CLIONA

  Making love to Seamus last night was different. More intense than ever before, more needy—on both sides. When I’m with him, I’m totally preoccupied with the here and now, his immense physical presence, his laughter, his smiles, his smell, taste, his touches.

  But when we’re apart during the daytime, like now, my heart starts to feel heavy with emotions that are almost painful to contemplate. Excitement and dread are mixed in even portions in the cocktail that is our future. It’s probably because he mentioned taking things to a new level that I start to wonder about the bigger picture.

  “Mom, Mom, Look, it’s Peter,” Lorcan clutches my sleeve. The batsmen have changed, and now it’s the turn of a friend of ours.

  Danny, Lorcan and I are attending a cricket match in the outskirts of Dublin and then meeting Danny’s friends afterward. It’s an annual outing this time of year which I always enjoy because I do like Garrett and his other friends. Also, this is the first time Lorcan attends a cricket match. Danny’s been giving him some lessons, so he knows the arcane rules.

  I’m glad we’re spending our Saturday far away from Ballytirrel. Seamus and I agreed to meet later.

  Garrett, standing beside me, says. “He’ll be able to join the school team soon. I played for them between age eight and fourteen.”

  “Yes, I’ve signed him up already,” I say. “It’s going to be a great experience for him.”

  “It’ll set him up for life. And he’ll get to see something beyond the hills of Ballytirrel.”

  “Well,” I laugh uneasily. “He does like village life, too. I don’t stop him from running around and making friends with the locals.”

  Garrett cocks an eyebrow. “Full on integration, huh? I hear you’ve been making friends with the locals, too.”

  “Shut up, Garrett.”

  Danny comes over. He’s got excellent hearing. “Don’t mind him, Cliona.”

  “Of course,” Garrett continues unperturbed, twirling the umbrella in his gin and tonic, “the man is stinking rich from what I hear.”

  “It’s not about the money,” I say. “God, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Ooh,” Garrett says playfully. “Then do tell what it is about.”

  “No. I don’t want to hear what it’s about,” Danny says, edging away. “I’m going over to take Lorcan over to the ice-cream stand.”

  I nod. Garrett and I watch him march with my son to the edge of the cricket pitch.

  “Bee in his bonnet still about Callaghan and you,” Garrett surmises. “And can you blame him?”

  “No, Garrett, I can’t. But at the same time, I can’t keep living in the shadow of what happened in the past either. Seamus had nothing to do with the hate-campaign against Danny and me, so I see no reason for Danny to be sore about it.”

  “But you have to admit, it’s complicated with him being the biological uncle and all.”

  I sigh. “I know. But it is what it is. It’s a tiny community. Are you surprised that there are complicated relations between people?”

  “Inbreeding, you mean?”

  I slap his shoulder. “So not funny.”

  Our gazes wander to Danny and Lorcan, looking the epitome of happy father and son. Danny’s hand rests gently on Lorcan�
��s shoulder as he points with the other to a player on the pitch. Lorcan’s upturned face is full of admiration and trust.

  And it’s been this way for years. Danny taught Lorcan to ride a bike, to ride a horse, to swim, even. There were times when I just left him over with the Moores for days on end as I was dealing with my business. And when I came back to pick Lorcan up, it was like he’d grown just another little bit.

  “Are you going to let Seamus infringe on that?” Garrett asks, nodding at the picture of father-son harmony.

  I shake my head. “Is any relationship easy? Uncomplicated? I just want what’s best for Lorcan, that’s all.”

  But even as I’m saying it, I know it’s not strictly true. Getting involved with Seamus is probably not the best thing for Lorcan at all. While Danny was away, it might have seemed like it, but now…?

  “They’re a funny bunch with their customs and traditions, aren’t they though? Some positively primeval, from a social historian standpoint.”

  Garrett’s always going on about stuff like this.

  “Primeval?” I say, amused.

  “Yes. The bonfire? The effigy? The ritualistic burning at the stake?” His gray eyes survey my face as if he can’t believe I even have to ask.

  “It’s just a fire to commemorate the dead, Garrett. Like the Vikings. They do it every year. What’s it got to do with effigies?”

  He leans in closer ad speaks in a hushed voice. “They make a figure of Danny out of straw, put on white shirt and dark suit on it, like Danny always wears. Black wig. It’s clear who they mean. And they throw it on top and they go whooping around it, half naked. Need I say more?” He takes a sip of his gin and tonic watching me speculatively over the rim of the glass. “I’d pay good money to see it.”

  My heart plunges to my feet. I stare at him. “Are you making this up?”

  “No, ask Danny if you want to.”

  “Danny knows about this?”