Big English Girl

by Paula Clamp

  Ellie had, instantly, recognised the hand in the light that was holding the rifle and she wasn't afraid of it.

  Chapter 50

  "Ronan?"

  Ronan squinted his eyes, to be sure that the body matched the voice he thought he recognised.

  "Ellie? What are you doing here?"

  "What are you doing here?"

  He looked sheepishly down at the rifle in his hands.

  "It's not as bad as it looks…okay, it is…in fact it’s much worse. But this has nothing to do with you and me." Ronan rushed towards her, "I care about you, Ellie."

  Ellie’s heart imploded, "You don't know me and I clearly don’t know you."

  "I care about what I know."

  "You're caught with a rifle in your hands and you think a bit of flirting will sort it all out. What's going on, Ronan?"

  "We're just gun-running. Now we have peace here in Northern Ireland, there’s plenty of others who are interested in what we have decommissioned.” He spoke as if this was an activity as common as shopping for groceries, “The stuff we have was buried years ago on the Sullivan estate, near the old tree. It would be a waste to let it just rot when there’s guys out there with oil-rich, deep pockets. We don't use them ourselves."

  Ronan tried to grab Ellie’s arm, but she pulled away.

  "Gun-running? Is this just about money, Ronan? You never struck me as…"

  "Not just money." He held down his head and his long, straggly hair enveloped him.

  Ronan looked like a small boy caught with his hand in his mother's purse and not at all like a seventeen-year-old caught with guns. Ellie could see the muscles in his jaw nervously tighten and pulsate and half of her wanted to reach out and reassure him somehow. The other half wanted to slap him.

  "Is it running with the pack, is that what you like?" She couldn't remember where, but Ellie knew that she had heard this phrase somewhere else before.

  "No - why do you say that?"

  "Okay then, if it’s not that - is it the 'this and that' when I asked you yesterday what you did for a living?"

  "Ellie, you're out of your depth here."

  Ellie had felt out of her depth from the moment she stepped off the bus, but now didn’t feel like the time to admit it, “No, Ronan it looks like you are."

  He nodded pitifully; his bravado dissolving as quickly as the storm was beginning to outside. This was Ronan, the young village hero, the local entertainer and the apple of his mother's eye; this was also another dimension to the same boy.

  "I thought your interest in me was too good to be true." Ellie squeezed past Ronan and sat down on the edge of the upturned sofa, spinning one of its wheels around with her fingers, in a desperate attempt at composure, "You're even more flawed than I am."

  "Look, Ellie, I can't explain why I’m doing this." He sat down on the other edge of the sofa, facing Ellie, "Trust me, its messy - it's complicated."

  "I can do messy…I can do complicated."

  "I can't."

  "Well, what if I go first."

  "What?"

  "What, Ronan, if I get all my messy and complicated stuff out in the open and then you can get yours out there too."

  "This isn't ‘Show and Tell’, Ellie. You don't have to…"

  "But, I do, Ronan. You view guns as nothing more than a commodity. You don’t see what they can do – that they can be used to kill. And I know all about death – do you know why?” The wheel of the sofa made a low whirring sound as it was rotated. Ellie bit hard on her bottom lip, "Because my mother killed a baby and then she ran away. She couldn’t even face up to her responsibilities. Her entire life was a lie.” A tear escaped, but she impatiently wiped it away, “I'm this tragic, pathetic figure back home - too big to hide and ostracised from everything and everyone, even my own father. Here in Lusty, I was slowly starting to feel that I was part of something - until I discovered how much hurt my own flesh and blood has caused. So, Ronan, what about your complications and your mess?"

  "I…I…” Ronan stuttered, “Okay, Ellie, I’ll tell you that my involvement here has nothing to do with money and more to do with…revenge."

  Only now, did Ellie have a sense of the world beyond the four, burnt-out walls. The dripping, outside and in, had lessened to that of a leaking tap and the gusting wind had silenced. The hurricane was moving on.

  Ronan continued uncertainly, "I can’t go into details now and I know we've only just met, Ellie, but I do think we are similar in so many ways and now you’ve just confirmed it for me. Let's get away from this shit-hole together. London is perfect for us - the kind of place where people can get lost. How exciting would it be? We're just teenagers and we’ve both got baggage that we don't need to carry any more. When I said that I cared about you, Ellie, I meant it."

  Ronan knelt down, his knee in a puddle of fresh rainwater and the rifle resting across his lap. He reached for Ellie's hand. The physical superiority of Ellie's position unsettled her. She didn't want to be looking down on Ronan.

  Suddenly, she felt an immense sense of claustrophobia. Maybe, he was genuine. Of course he was flawed and damaged, but he was the kind of boy that girls like her could only ever dream about.

  Outside, the hurricane had totally subsided. The splinters of sunlight filtering in through the boarded-up windows suggested the storm clouds were melting away. The light sliced into the abandoned living room like spears. The dripping inside of the cottage had now fully reduced to a slow, water-torture pace. Ronan remained at Ellie’s feet with his head bowed. She could see the long hair, now dark and damp, clearly defined and spreading randomly out from the crown, reminding Ellie of a basket of coiled eels. The tan on his face had turned sallow.

  The walls of the room were falling in and Ellie felt her lungs contracting. She had to get out.

  "I have to think, Ronan." Ellie stood up and began to leave.

  "Again? How come you're always running out on me?"

  “Because running away is my thing.” She was her mother’s daughter after all.

  "What is there to think about, Ellie? You can quit school and we can both get jobs. Just you and me and new beginnings."

  Ellie's watch pointed to half-past-two. If she was to get the bus and the earlier flight, she had two-and-a-half hours to make sense of everything she’d just discovered and to decide what she was going to do with her life.

  "I have to go."

  "Where, Ellie?"

  "I really do need space to think for a while."

  "Just say it and I’ll go and get a few things together and I’ll get the flight back with you."

  Ronan's huge, imploring eyes, melted away every sensible and rational thought in Ellie’s head. Ronan needed her and right now, she needed to be needed.

  "Okay, Ronan, pack your things."

  Ellie heard a deep sigh of relief, followed by a soft thud as Ronan relaxed his hand and the rifle dipped to the floor.

  Chapter 51

  When Ronan stood outside of the derelict cottage, with his back against the back door, he could see Ellie turn away from the cottages and head immediately in the direction of the Sullivan estate. The storm had proved to be short-lived; dying as quickly as it had been born. Gaps opened up in the clouds, revealing an ultramarine vault to infinity. Ellie was trying to avoid the puddles by leaping over them, but they were many and her energy far less. Who was she to judge anyone, least of all a boy who had only ever been attentive to her since she’d arrived? Ellie had just discovered that her mother’s past was something to be frightened of and she needed to get as far away from it as possible. Her father hardly knew Ellie existed anymore, so why should she care about him? Running away, with someone like Ronan Campbell, sounded very appealing right now.

  But before Ellie could embark on this precarious journey back to England with Ronan, however, there was one person she had to say ‘goodbye’ to.

  When Ellie left the road and entered the forest, it was as if the storm still raged and the rainwater poured down and b
ounced from the leaves. Shafts of sunlight punctuated the damp gloom. Ellie then took the pathway through the brambles and overgrown blackberry bushes, leading to the dense hedge of holly, opening out to the small side-door of the big house. But for some reason that even she didn’t understand, Ellie decided that on this last visit, she really wanted to enter by the front door.

  She lifted the heavy doorknocker and just dropping it back again once was enough to shake the entire wooden door. A cheerful 'come-in' was heard from inside. The front door was so difficult to open that Ellie didn't feel she had the strength to close it again. This didn’t matter too much, as she knew that she wouldn't be staying long. Once inside the great hall, Ellie could see no one; that was until she looked up and saw Conor balanced on the scaffolding, with a paintbrush in his hand.

  "What about that storm? It was a monster." Conor shouted down to her.

  "Yeah, it was." Ellie had so many storms brewing in her head at the moment; the meteorological one was insignificant by comparison.

  "Good going at the treasure hunt, Ellie. Even with the weather interruption, I reckon we made about fifty quid."

  Ellie looked around at the grand hall and even grander house and out of the front door to the acres of neglected land and couldn’t help but wonder how a teenage boy, like Conor, could cope with it all.

  "Fifty quid is great, Conor, well done. I just came by to say 'cheerio'. I've a few bits and pieces to tie up before the bus comes and I didn't want to go without saying…Bye."

  "Oh." Conor looked distracted for a moment, but then began to resume his painting, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  "So, then…I'll see you again some time."

  "Okay." He replied casually, but from Conor’s paintbrush, there appeared to be more emulsion plopping on the floor, than actually going onto the architrave.

  "Thanks for everything." Ellie added.

  "I didn't do anything."

  Ellie thought for a moment, she wished that her mind was as empty and vacuous as the huge hall she was trying to fill with her voice.

  "Yeah, you did, Conor. You made me feel welcome from the very first time I met you."

  "I annoyed you on the bus - you can't deny that."

  "That's true."

  "I wasn't really much help when it came to your family search."

  "I suppose you’re right - you weren't."

  "I tried to punch your boyfriend's lights out - and failed. Conor Sullivan at your service."

  "Really, Conor, thank you for putting up with me.”

  "You're welcome."

  Conor, finally, stopped his painting and looked down at Ellie, swamped by the magnificence of the great hall. Even from this distance, she could see the specks in his dark brown eyes glinting. The floor was a disk of concentric tiled circles and Ellie wished she could be the bullseye. When Conor then swung his long arms and legs down from the scaffolding, Ellie no longer thought of him as awkward, but as just a boy who happened to have very long arms and legs, just like her. How much easier it would have been if Conor were the one who wanted to sweep her off her feet. But life, and Ellie’s life in particular, was never that simple.

  "You're dripping, Conor."

  Conor now stood before her, with the paintbrush dripping down onto his feet. He looked down at his splattered shoes and their new coat of Antique White, "I’m shite at goodbyes." He replied gently.

  "So am I. When my father was more like himself, he used to say that every goodbye makes the next hello closer." Ellie smiled.

  "I'll bear that in mind." Conor gently laughed, "He sounds like a smart man. You must be very close."

  "We used to be, before my mother died. But that changed quickly. It was hard to put my finger on at first, but he didn't seem proud anymore when he looked at me." Ellie also stared down at Conor's freshly painted shoes and their sheen, like melted butter.

  "Maybe, it was you looking at him differently, Ellie, rather than the other way around."

  Ellie recognised some truth in Conor’s words.

  As she was now about to leave and probably never see Conor ever again, there was more that Ellie wanted to say before she left.

  “Do you mind if I share something personal with you, Conor – something I haven’t told anyone before?”

  “Of course not, Ellie.”

  “My mother killed herself by intentionally driving her car, at sixty-miles an hour, straight into a tree. She didn’t have her seat belt on and she crashed right through the front window. She died instantly. I saw photographs of the accident scene at the inquest. I remember the sight of her blood and it being the exact same colour as the lipstick she would wear on those rare days that she was happy. There was lots of it.” Ellie inhaled deeply, “The morning of her death, we’d had an argument – a big one. We’d been having them quite often. My Mum’s mood swings had gotten worse and my Dad, being my Dad – he just chose to ignore them.” Ellie inhaled deeply, “Understanding now, a little of my mother’s background and the guilt she carried, I realise that she’d struggled to cope for a big part of her life. My father’s depression is because he blames me for her death, you see. If we hadn’t have been fighting…”

  Conor looked her directly in the eye, without blinking, “Ellie, you were and still are, just a kid.”

  “I was old enough to know better.”

  “No, Ellie, you weren’t, but your father was.”

  Ellie so wanted to hold Conor close.

  “Do you know that your father and my mother knew each other?”

  Conor nodded.

  “And about their connection to Marianne-Mae Campbell?”

  He nodded again, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you myself, Ellie. I didn’t want you to be hurt. Nobody around here wanted that.”

  Ellie didn't reply. Conor nervously swapped the paintbrush from his right to his left hand and a spray of fine paint hit his shirt.

  Ellie's throat burned as she continued to suffocate the tears. She inhaled quickly and the scent of fresh paint filled her lungs. Only now, did she appreciate how much she valued everything about Conor; what he had to say and how he said it. If she had been able to spend more time with him, Ellie knew that he’d somehow make everything better. The girl who arrived on the bus the day before would never have dreamt of sharing her feelings with anyone. But with Conor, she felt that eventually, she would have poured out her heart. And when it was empty of all pain, she would have given it to him to keep.

  Unfortunately, however, this realisation was too late; Ellie was about to return home, with a boy she barely knew.

  Chapter 52

  Ellie had one more thing to say to Conor, before she went to catch her bus, "Instead of running away that time at the front of your house, I wish I’d stayed. When I met you yesterday, I really didn’t know how you felt about me. I still don’t. To be honest, I thought you were just messing with me. Even if I was just a harmless distraction for you, I just wished we’d had more time to get to know each other a little better. For what it’s worth – I was never just messing."

  Conor stepped towards Ellie, his wide, open eyes full of warmth.

  "Ellie, are you ready?" Ronan was stood in the open doorway, with a huge, heavy rucksack over his left shoulder and Ellie's lighter one on his right, “I picked up your bag whilst I was at it.”

  "What the…?" Conor quickly shot a razor sharp glance between Ronan at the door and Ellie beside him, "He’s going with you?"

  "He wants to give London a go – a fresh start."

  Conor was momentarily frozen to the spot as he made the connections, "You just couldn’t resist could you, Ronan?" His words were filled with venom, as he then marched over until his nose almost touched that of his adversary.

  Ronan casually shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know what you're talking about. Come on, Ellie."

  "You've gone too far this time," Conor's spittle reached Ronan's eyes, "This need to have everything that’s mine - this is the last time, Ronan."

 
"Conor?" Ellie turned Conor's wide shoulder back around to face her, "Why would you say I was yours?"

  "He knows how I feel about you."

  "How do you feel about me?"

  "He's rambling, Ellie." Ronan still hadn't crossed the threshold into the house, "It's all that gentrified in-breeding."

  Abruptly, neither boy now had Ellie in their mind, or in their vision. Conor spun around, reached out his long arm and punched Ronan straight on the side of his jaw. Startled, Ronan fell backwards, but then quickly recovered and with his body fully framed by the big, heavy door, he began to laugh. Conor lunged again, only this time Ronan defended himself against the blow with his left arm, before retaliating with his right fist and an uppercut under Conor's chin. Conor fell backwards, towards the staircase, brushing against Ellie.

  "Please, stop it! Both of you!" But Ellie's pleading words were entirely lost.

  Conor tried to recompose himself on the wide tread of the staircase, but Ronan had him in his sights. A second punch caught Conor at the side of his face and a trickle of blood seeped from his cheek. But as Ronan stepped back to take a third punch, Conor managed to kick out and hit his opponent full square on the knee. Ronan roared with pain.

  Ellie quickly tried to see if Ronan was okay, but he simply pushed her away and emerged from his crouching position, with a bar of scaffolding in his hand. Conor desperately searched for something to shield himself, but there was nothing, so he turned up towards the huge, spiral staircase and began to retreat. Ronan caught hold of Conor’s foot and the shoe, splattered with wet paint, came off in his hand.

  Conor continued to make his escape up the stairs, with Ronan chasing after him. Ellie desperately tried to pull Ronan back, but she was no match for his power and he pushed her away with ease. She had no other option than to follow both boys up the stairs and into what she instantly recognised was once Bernard Sullivan's bedroom. Inside, Conor was scrambling around, as if he was searching for either an attacking, or a defensive weapon. Ronan still carried his hefty baton of wrought iron, whilst Conor was surrounded by fragile, antique heirlooms. Conor reached for the portrait of his father and held it in front of him.