by Paige Toon
When I come back, Charlie is sitting alone.
‘Where’s Adam?’
‘Over there.’ He nods at the two o’clock table. Adam is surrounded by four girls, including the pretty blonde. He looks like he’s in his element.
‘Good work,’ I say, impressed, climbing onto the bench seat properly and facing Charlie.
‘Come on, then, tell me about the others.’
‘No, no.’ I shake my head. ‘I’ve talked enough.’
‘I’m curious. Seven.’
‘Are you sure? Okay, then. I met Olli on a press trip to an Icelandic Ice Hotel. He worked in hospitality.’ And he looked after me very well. ‘My boss, who’d gone off on maternity leave, had come back around this time and it felt like I’d been given a whopping great demotion, so, after meeting Olli, I resigned and went freelance. Mum was now an assistant cruise director and touring the British Isles, and, as Iceland was one of their stops, I decided to go back to cruise coordinating so I could drop in on Olli every few weeks. I blogged in the staff Internet café in my spare time and sold off my articles to magazines and newspapers.’
‘I think I read your Olli account,’ Charlie says.
I remember him saying that he agreed with Fay about Nicki and me having a similar tone of voice. ‘Olli was the one who couldn’t remember me,’ I remind him.
‘That’s right. He sounded like a total dick.’
I laugh. ‘Yeah, he was. I think he’s got a whole jar of hearts somewhere, like the Christina Perri song.’
He gives me a blank look.
‘ “Jar of Hearts”? By Christina Perri? Never mind. Anyway, after Olli dumped me, Mum and I went and joined the Caribbean cruise set. I played the field a bit during those twelve months. It was hard not to, working on that ship. I didn’t fall in love again for another year.’
‘How old were you?’ he asks.
‘Twenty-five. That was Dillon.’ I’m hit by a wave of anxiety. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to Ireland tomorrow to meet up with him. Ooh!’ I put my hand on my belly.
‘You all right?’
‘Yeah, fine. I’m just nervous.’
He looks surprised. ‘I thought you took it all in your stride.’
‘God, no! It stresses me out massively.’
‘Why do you do it, then?’
‘You’ve got to step out of your comfort zone sometimes.’ I take a gulp of my beer. ‘Anyway, I started feeling homesick after so long away so I went back to do the British Isles to be a bit closer to Dad. Dillon was part of the ship’s entertainment crew – a musician. I fell so hard for him that I ended up handing in my notice and going on tour with him and his band of merry Irishmen.’
On board he’d played jolly folk music for our passengers. Off board, the band’s music had more of a rock edge. Dillon played the guitar and the banjo and was one of three singers.
‘He was very sexy, a bit of a bad boy. The girls used to go mad for him. I walked away after a few months before he cheated on me – I was certain he would. He was not happy,’ I state, remembering how he refused to accept that we were over. He said that I’d live to regret it.
I thought twice about contacting him prior to my visit, just in case he told me to go jump, but in the end I risked it and got a surprisingly warm email in return. We’re meeting at a pub tomorrow night – he’s got a gig a few doors down.
‘What am I on now? You still want to hear this?’
Charlie nods. ‘I think you’re up to nine. . .’
‘Okay, super quickly. After I left Ireland, I went to work for another travel magazine in London. That’s where I met Liam. He was a picture editor. Very sweet, very sexy. We tried to keep our relationship under wraps for a while, which was fun, but we were together for a good eighteen months.’
‘You like the whole forbidden-love thing, don’t you?’ Charlie comments drily.
I grin. ‘Yeah, I do, actually. At least, I did. I’ve grown up a bit now.’
He smirks at me.
‘After Liam came Seth. I was twenty-seven and I wanted to get away from London for a bit, so I joined Mum on the Japan route. It all went a bit pear-shaped. I won’t bore you with the details. Eleven was—’
‘Wait,’ Charlie interrupts. ‘How did it go pear-shaped?’
‘Urgh, seriously, I’ll tell you another time if you really want to know.’
‘Okay.’ He seems intrigued.
‘Eleven was. . . Beau!’ I say brightly. I cast a quick look at Adam over my shoulder. ‘I wonder if he’s seen Michelle to ask about him.’ I turn back to Charlie. ‘Beau was fun-loving and gorgeous. The perfect antidote to Seth the Wanker. I’d be so happy if I could track him down while I’m here,’ I say. ‘And, finally, there was Felix. I was twenty-nine and had agreed to do a freelance lifestyle piece on unusual forms of exercise. Felix was a free runner. He was also a dental hygienist.’ I laugh. ‘He was always looking at my teeth, which could be really annoying. We broke up about three times, but kept getting back together. I think I just wanted to settle down at that point, but it was a couple more years before I found Elliot.’
Charlie raises his eyebrows. ‘So that’s your twelve?’
‘That’s my twelve,’ I confirm. There were others, but no one I loved enough to give a piece of my heart to.
‘How many have you met up with?’ he asks.
‘Five: David, Olli, Jorge, Gabe and, of course, Elliot. Seven more to go, and another ticked off after tomorrow. Ooh.’ I clutch my belly again and then reach for my beer, downing another nice, big mouthful.
‘Could’ve brought mine over,’ Adam says suddenly, placing his hands on my shoulders and making me jump so violently that I spill my drink. He slides onto the bench seat next to me and reaches for his pint glass.
‘No luck?’ Charlie enquires derisively.
‘Nup. Night’s still young.’ He slides a little closer to me on the bench seat. I place my hands on his biceps and waist and push firmly until he starts to slither back in the opposite direction. The look on his face is priceless.
‘Did you ever ask Michelle about Beau?’ Charlie asks Adam when he’s stopped chuckling.
‘No, I haven’t see her. I know where she works, though, so I’ll pop in this week. What number guy are you on?’ He glances at me.
‘I’m finished,’ I say. ‘That’s my talking done for the rest of the evening.’
‘It better not be,’ Adam replies. ‘We’re going to another pub to do some karaoke after these drinks.’
‘Are we really?’ I ask with glee, ignoring Charlie’s objections. ‘Singing is not talking. . .’
Chapter 19
I’d forgotten how breathtaking the Ring of Kerry is. It’s almost taking my mind off my hangover.
It’s Saturday afternoon and I’ve been driving for two hours. I flew from Bristol, arriving in Cork at just after two o’clock. Because I’m not meeting Dillon until this evening at a pub in Killarney, I decided to take the scenic route via Kenmare, Moll’s Gap and the Killarney National Park. It doubles my driving time – from one and a half to almost three hours – but it’s worth it. It’s actually a pleasure to be behind the wheel of a normal hire car after wrestling with Hermie.
The first time I did this route was with Dillon when he was touring with his band. I remember being so blown away by the scenery that I couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard about it before. It felt like a big secret that the Irish had cunningly kept from the rest of us.
It’s a gorgeous sunny afternoon, and as I make my way along the gently winding roads with the window down, I breathe in the cool summer air and sigh with happiness. All around me are the most stunning rocky hills, cast with both light and shade from the sun and the cotton-wool clouds in the sky above. The grey of the rock blends with the green of the patchy grass, so that the colours come across as muted, like the palette of a painting by a centuries-old landscape artist. I look through the white trunks of birch trees to a lake that’s as still as glass and just as reflective.
The ground is covered with a carpet of moss and fern and, on impulse, I pull over.
I get out of the car and climb carefully down the hill to the stony shore. Great slabs of smooth grey rock slope into the water’s edge and all around are big boulders of various shades of grey. I sit down on one and stare out at the water, taking a minute to appreciate the beauty around me.
Despite my pounding head, I smile every time I think about last night. I can’t believe we managed to get Charlie to do DJ Kool’s ‘Let Me Clear My Throat’. It was hilarious.
I giggle to myself, even as I sit there on my own. Ouch. I wish my head didn’t hurt so much.
Both Charlie and Adam ended up walking me home. We almost fell into the estuary with all the zigzagging that was going on. Adam kept teasing me about the three different men who’d tried to pick me up. I don’t know why I always pull guys on dance floors – I’m not even trying, and most of the time I’m not interested.
When we arrived at the hill at the bottom of the campsite, Adam let out the biggest groan and collapsed on the side of the road.
‘I can’t walk up there,’ he stated.
‘I’ll take it from here,’ I replied gallantly.
But, by God, that incline is steep. I swear I almost cartwheeled back down the hill. Charlie saw me struggling and came to my aid, pushing me up from behind. I’ve never laughed so much in my life.
Well, I probably have. But it was a very funny night.
I still can’t believe he rapped.
It’s five thirty by the time I make it into Killarney and check into my hotel. I have two and a half hours to kill, so I decide to go for a wander.
As soon as I’m outside on the street, I’m approached by a wily-looking chap offering a horse-and-cart ride down to the lake. He has a mouth full of crooked yellow teeth, gigantic ears and a brilliantly bushy moustache, and he’s wearing a sweater with ‘IRELAND’ embroidered on it underneath a green shamrock.
There are several other younger and less on-the-verge-of-death-looking horse-and-cart drivers standing in a group across the road, but none of them are touting for business. Quite frankly, I admire Paddy’s enthusiasm – and the fact that he’s fantastically called Paddy – so I find myself agreeing. I figure it’ll give me something else to write about.
As I follow him and climb onto his green-and-yellow-painted cart, I notice the smirking faces of the other drivers.
‘All right, Paddy?’ one of them calls.
‘Yeah, you’re all right, lads,’ he calls back, waving them away.
I soon realise what the joke is.
Paddy’s horse is so old and slow that I could walk twice as fast. Paddy keeps waving vehicles past, sometimes right into the path of oncoming traffic, and I wince as a bus almost collides with a car. All the while, Paddy chats amiably, geeing his horse along every so often, prompting her to trot for about four seconds before she reverts to snail speed. Despite appearances, though, Paddy is as sharp as a stake.
When we finally make it into the park, he asks me if I’d like to take a boat ride out to the derelict abbey on Innisfallen Island. It sounds appealing and Paddy even says he can call ahead and have his friend waiting, but, having longingly counted seven other horses and carts happily trotting past us – all with smugly smirking drivers – I decide I’d better decline.
Back at the hotel, I don’t even have time for a shower, but the smell of horse manure is up my nose, and, just in case that scent has spread to the rest of me, I decide to have a quick one.
By the time I get to the pub, I’m fifteen minutes late and bricking it. I take a deep breath and walk into the crowded venue, scouring the room for anyone remotely resembling Dillon.
I can’t see him anywhere. Has he stood me up? Has he already walked out again?
My pulse is racing as I squeeze into a narrow space left by two bulky blokes in black-leather jackets at the bar. I still feel rough, so, much as I could do with some Dutch courage, I order a soft drink and then find a quiet corner of the pub. With one eye on the entrance, I wait, and, as I do so, a memory comes back to me. . .
We’d dropped in on Dillon’s parents, who lived in Dalkey, southeast of Dublin, on the coast. That weekend it was raining across the whole of Europe, but Ireland was in the midst of a rare heatwave. Dillon wanted to take me to the beach, so we parked in Killiney Hill Park and walked hand in hand down the cliff pathway. The blue of the sky melded into the blue of the ocean and the coast was bursting with wild-flowers. The view made me think of the French Riviera – it was outstandingly beautiful.
Down on the beach, the sand was grey and murky and the water so cold that it almost froze my toes off, but, somehow, Dillon managed to go swimming. I sat there and laughed at him, while behind us a train chugged back and forth – offering its passengers the most incredible views of the ocean. I remember thinking that I would be happy settling there, and, if I had to commute to work in Dublin, the coast train would be the way I’d want to travel.
I fell hard for Dillon that weekend, seeing him interacting with his parents, witnessing him at home in a happy, stable environment. I almost believed that one day we could have that, too.
But then we went back on the road again, back to the bars, back around drink, drugs and rock and roll – not to mention the girls – and I convinced myself it was a pipedream.
‘You are not leaving me,’ he said, and the look in his dark eyes still haunts me.
‘It’s already done. I’ve taken a job in London.’
‘Then I’ll come with you.’
‘No. You’d miss your band. You’re not ready to settle down. I’m not sure I am. Let’s quit while we’re ahead. Let me go before we end up hating each other.’
‘If you leave me now, I’ll hate you for the rest of my life!’
My thoughts return to the present. Half an hour passes. I don’t know if Dillon is coming, if he’s already been or if he’s simply getting back at me for dumping him.
But, luckily, his band are playing a gig a few doors down. Time to revert to Plan B.
I see him as soon as I walk into the bar. He’s right at the back at a table crowded with pretty girls and drunken band members.
Not much has changed, it seems.
They’re all laughing raucously and shouting and I watch as Tezza the fiddler pours whiskey into shot glasses and they all knock them back.
Dillon relaxes into his seat and casually drapes his arm around the shoulders of the girl next to him. His hair is chocolate-brown and messy and falls haphazardly off to one side, just like it used to.
The next thing I know, his dark eyes have locked with mine and his easy smile dies on his lips.
The girl in his arms turns to look at him with confusion – presumably because he’s gone rigid – then she follows the line of his sight until she’s staring at me, too.
I smile and shrug. Ta-da! Here I am!
I am completely faking my nonchalance. My heart is pounding ten to the dozen.
I casually jerk my head towards the bar. I’m getting a drink. You want to join me?
As I turn away, I see him slide out past the girl.
He’s coming.
I feel, rather than see, him standing behind me.
‘Can I get a vodka, lemonade and lime please?’ I ask. So much for not wanting alcohol today. ‘Drink?’ I look over my shoulder at Dillon.
He shakes his head abruptly. He is still incredibly good-looking. He has lines around his eyes that weren’t there the last time we stood face to face, and salt-and-pepper strands of hair around his temples.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks me in a low, heated voice.
‘You told me I was welcome to come,’ I point out with a calmness I don’t feel. I used to love hearing him talk in his lilting Irish accent. Even angry, he sounds sexy.
‘I was drunk when I wrote that email.’ He stares sullenly at the bottles lined up behind the bar.
‘Well, I’m here now. Are you sure I can’t buy you a drink?�
� I raise one eyebrow.
Charlie’s question from last night is ringing around my head. ‘Why do you do it, then?’
‘Fine.’ I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief as he changes his mind. ‘Make it two,’ he tells the bartender.
Dillon meets my eyes again for a long, painful moment. It’s a struggle to not look away.
‘Is that your girlfriend?’ I ask gently, when the hardness in his expression finally begins to soften.
‘Just a girl,’ he replies quietly, nodding at the bartender as two vodkas appear in front of us. I hand over a tenner and pick up my glass.
‘Bottoms up,’ I say cheerfully.
He downs half of his drink in one.
‘Urgh.’ I pull a face, and I’ve had only one sip. ‘Got such a shitty hangover today,’ I reveal. ‘I don’t know why I ordered this.’
He places his glass back on the bar and leans against it, facing me.
‘Why are you here?’ he asks directly, folding his arms.
‘Don’t you know?’ I reply. Has he read my blog?
‘You think I will have looked you up?’ He sounds defensive.
I shrug and avert my gaze. ‘I thought you might’ve after getting my email.’
‘Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.’
I grin at him.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You sound like a little boy.’
‘Piss off, Bridget, I don’t need this.’
‘Dillon, chill the fuck out. You’re still so feisty.’ I keep my tone light and eventually his fury morphs into mild humour.
‘You’re still so. . .’ He screws up his face, thinking. ‘Annoying.’
‘Ha! Yes, I am still annoying. So come on, have you read my blog or not? Or do you just want to make this difficult for me?’
‘I definitely want to make this difficult for you,’ he says, but I can tell he’s not completely serious.
‘Okay.’ I take a deep breath. Honestly, five men down – I should be used to this spiel by now. ‘I’ve come to ask you for your piece of my heart back.’
I know instantly that he has read my blog. He knows exactly what I mean and precisely why I’m here. There’s not even a hint of surprise on his face.