Fire Down Below

by Andrea Simonne

  “I can imagine. And he’d never admit defeat and go to sleep either.”

  She nods. “It sounds like you know him well. He’s always been stubborn, even as a boy. Once he’s set on a course of action, it’s difficult to persuade him otherwise.”

  I pick up my coffee, holding it with both hands. “It makes him both appealing and infuriating. Especially at work—he used to be my boss,” I explain.

  “Really? I didn’t know that. I hear his new business is doing well. I know how determined he is to make it a success. Do you still work with him?”

  “No.” I explain my current situation and she nods.

  “Declan said you were a friend, but I didn’t know how you two met. He doesn’t like it when I pry into his love life, but what can I say? I’m his mother.”

  “Uh oh, you two aren’t talking about me, are you?”

  We both turn to find Declan standing in the doorway. He’s wearing loose striped pajama bottoms and a short sleeved t-shirt, looking handsome in a sleep tousled sort of way.

  “Unfortunately we’ve barely gotten started.” His mother winks at me. “Maybe you could go back to bed and give us a chance for some real girl talk.”

  He grins. “In that case I’d better stay.”

  “There’s fresh coffee.” She motions to the side. “I’m getting ready to make a breakfast fry. Would you like some? I thought Kate might enjoy it.”

  “That’d be grand.” Declan grabs a cup of coffee, and then comes over to sit next to me at the table. “Look who’s awake. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “A lot better. Although I’ve been awake since five o’clock.” I peer down at my watch. After doing the mental gymnastics I figure it’s now almost six-thirty. “Are you guys always up this early?”

  “Not me,” Declan says yawning. “But for some reason everybody else in my family is up at dawn.”

  “You eat meat, don’t you Kate?” Marion asks over her shoulder. “Declan never mentioned whether you were veggie or not.”

  “Yes, I eat meat. Do you want me to help you with anything?”

  “No, just relax. I don’t get to cook like this very often, so it’s a pleasure.

  There’s a sizzling sound and then the smell of bacon permeates the kitchen.

  “What’s a breakfast fry?” I ask Declan.

  He chuckles. “You’ll see. Heart attack on a plate is what it’s best known as.”

  “So Declan tells me that your parents are on holiday in Greece,” Marion says, coming over to stand next to the table for a moment. “That sounds lovely.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’re having a great time.” I tell her about my dad’s affinity with Crete and that my great grandparents were Greek. She asks where my mother’s family is from and I tell her they’re mostly French with some English thrown in.

  “No Irish, huh?” she muses. “You almost look Irish with your dark hair and fair skin. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “No, it’s just me. I think my parents wanted more kids, but it wasn’t in the cards for them.”

  “That’s too bad. What do they do for work?”

  Declan puts down his mug. “Ma, stop interrogating her.”

  I laugh. “I don’t mind. It doesn’t feel like an interrogation.” I tell her that my mom is a psychologist and my dad a retired city planner.

  She nods in approval. Apparently I’m passing the test, if there is one. Though something tells me it wouldn’t matter if my parents were hippies living in a school bus, as long as Declan likes me, she’d like me too.

  “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, but you really are cooking rashers and eggs.”

  We turn and there’s a tall older gentleman walking into the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Martin,” Declan says and they nod at each other.

  “Those aren’t for you.” Marion moves back over to the stove. “I’m doing a fry up for the kids. Our guest, Kate here, has never had a traditional Irish breakfast.”

  Martin puts his hand out to me. “Good to meet you, Kate. I’m Martin.”

  We shake hands and I tell him it’s nice to meet him too, realizing he must be Declan’s stepfather. He takes a seat at the table and regards Marion pleadingly. “A few bites won’t hurt. It’s been ages since I’ve had a decent breakfast.”

  Marion sighs and then smiles. “All right, but only a few. I don’t want to see your cholesterol go up again. You remember what the doctor said.”

  Martin smiles at us like a kid who’s gotten away with something. “So how was your flight over?” he asks me.

  We discuss the current travails of air travel. Martin seems nice enough and strikes me as the type of man that was probably stuffy when he was younger, but has mellowed with age. From what I can tell he and Declan get along fine, but I don’t get the impression they’re close. After a short while Marion brings over a couple of plates filled with eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato and some odd-looking fried items, placing them in front of me and Declan.

  “There you are,” she says. “An Irish breakfast.”

  “Thank you. Wow, this looks serious.”

  “Don’t worry. Just eat until you’re satisfied. I don’t expect you to finish everything.”

  “What’s this over here?” I ask, pointing to the fried items I don’t recognize.

  “You don’t want to know,” Declan says, shoveling in a mouthful of eggs.

  “I don’t?”

  “Blood pudding.”

  I get an alarmed expression on my face and Declan laughs.

  “Now you’re scaring her,” Marion says. “Don’t worry. It’s all quite delicious.”

  “I take it this isn’t what you guys usually eat for breakfast?”

  No,” Declan says. “It’s too much for most people every day.”

  “Though there’s nothing like a good breakfast fry,” Martin says longingly.

  “Yes, we know,” Marion puts her hands on his shoulders. “Unfortunately Martin would eat it every day given half the chance. He used to and that’s why he’s no longer allowed.”

  “I have to eat grapefruit for breakfast now,” Martin says in mock injury. “Isn’t that sad?”

  We smile and I think about my dad’s heart attack, how he’s always loved rich food like this too.

  Marion comes back with a small plate for Martin and some toast and fruit for herself. She asks what our plans are for the day and Declan and I look at each other and shrug.

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing the Book of Kells,” I say.

  “Really?” Declan seems surprised.

  “I thought it looked interesting. Plus it will be fun to visit Trinity College and give Lauren the lowdown when I get home. I’ll bring my camera and take some photos.”

  ***

  It’s another sunny, crisp day outside as we walk around Trinity College. The architecture is beautiful with stone buildings and cobblestone walkways. There are tree-lined areas and benches to sit on. Because of winter break there aren’t many people, but it’s easy to imagine how it would look filled with students bustling between classes. I stop and take some photos from a few different angles.

  “I guess you brought the sun with you from Seattle,” Declan says, reaching down to take my hand as we continue to walk around.

  I laugh, trying to act nonchalant about the hand holding. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of that before.”

  “Me either, it’s usually the rain I’m accused of bringing.”

  His hand feels good around mine, and I have to admit, even that bit of contact between us is setting off sparks in me. I think of all the ways I’ve fantasized about him.

  The Book of Kells is in the Old Library Building and there are a surprising number of tourists. We have to walk through a bustling souvenir shop to get to the exhibition and once we’re there it’s even more crowded. The exhibition is interesting; even though it turns out they only display two pages of the actual manuscript. Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to take photos.r />
  “The details are amazing,” I say, pointing at one of the large posters displaying a blown up page of the book.

  Declan nods and slips his hand in mine again as we shuffle through the exhibit following the queue of people.

  “Just think how much work went into all this,” I continue, “and how it was made so long ago.”

  “It’s very intricate,” he murmurs, running his fingers around my wrist and then down again, moving his thumb in slow circles over my palm. My breath catches at the erotic way he’s touching me. When I glance up at him, he seems indifferent though and only meets my gaze briefly. I try to keep my outward appearance normal too.

  We continue to follow the crowd winding around each display and as we do, he keeps touching me in this intimate way. His fingers sliding between mine—back and forth. I never knew holding hands could be so sensual. I feel a slow warmth spreading through my body. It’s difficult to even keep my breath steady. I’m still pretending to study the exhibition when Declan leans down and whispers in my ear.

  “I want to be alone with you.”

  He stares at my mouth. This time when his gaze meets my eyes it’s heated and I realize the indifference he showed earlier was an act. As we walk through the rest of the exhibit, swallowed by the crowd, I start to do the same thing to him that he was doing to me. Running my hand under his coat sleeve, touching him, grazing his wrist with my nails, and when I milk his fingers, I hear an intake of breath. He pulls his hand from mine and slides it around my waist instead, drawing me in tight against him, so he’s pressed directly behind me.

  “You’re a bad girl,” he says in a low voice. “I never knew that about you.”

  I smile. “You started it.”

  He pushes my hair aside with his other hand so his fingers graze my neck. “I’m not complaining. I like bad girls.”

  “And what are we going to do about that?”

  “Don’t worry, I have a few ideas.”

  Some people jostle us accidentally as we continue moving with the queue. Luckily we’re close to the end. There’s a large mob huddled around the glass case that displays the actual pages from the Book of Kells.

  Declan shakes his head in annoyance. “This is ridiculous. I don’t care whether I see it, but I know you want to. Come on.”

  He presses his way through the crowd, still holding my hand, clearing a path. Eventually we get to the front and are finally able to see those glorious two pages. It is neat, but I have to admit it doesn’t seem worth all the fuss. I’m reminded of viewing the Mona Lisa years ago at the Louvre. It was like seeing a celebrity in real life and discovering they’re much less attractive than you thought.

  I notice a sign for something called The Long Room and I motion at it to Declan.

  “Let’s go check that out.”

  We walk upstairs and discover a library that consists of a long hallway with book cases on both sides. It smells ancient and according to one of the signs, many of the manuscripts are two hundred years old. Like downstairs, there are a lot of people milling about. We poke around a bit and when we walk past a stairway with a small alcove, Declan suddenly pulls me behind it.

  I look at him in surprise, but he doesn’t give me time to ask questions as he pins me against the wall and starts kissing me. I wrap my arms around his neck and our mouths are a jumble of tongues, lips, and teeth. His hand slips down, squeezing my waist while his other hand reaches further, lifting my leg, so we’re pressed tightly against each other. My blood is turning to fire and when I reach behind Declan and grab him, pulling him to me, he groans into my mouth and then draws back, his breath ragged, his heart beating fast like mine.

  I try to capture his mouth again, but he leans his brow against my forehead, trying to steady himself.

  “Christ Kate, I’ve wanted you for so long...this is difficult for me...I know I’m rushing you.”

  “You’re not rushing me. I want you too.”

  “I’m not looking for a fast fuck.”

  I let my breath out. “Me either.”

  “I’ve thought about this so many times. I want us to be together.”

  I put both of my hands up to his face and pull his head down so I can look into his eyes. They’re filled with lust and longing just like mine. “I’ve thought about you a hundred times and in a hundred different ways. I’ve fantasized about you even when I shouldn’t.”

  “Is that true?”

  I nod. “It is.”

  “God...,” he groans and brings his mouth crashing onto mine again. His hands reach down and grab my ass, lifting me up, so I can wrap my legs around his waist. Squirming I feel the hard length of him against me. My mind is so gone with lust I don’t even think about where we are or what we’re doing and that we’re practically having sex in this tiny alcove only steps away from hordes of people. It isn’t until one of those hoards speaks in a British accent right around the corner that reality interrupts with a rude slap.

  “Where do you think these stairs lead?” Some woman says.

  Declan and I freeze. We’re both panting and staring at each other like a couple of thieves caught in the vault. I glance down at myself and notice that he’s managed to lift my sweater, pull up my bra, and that one of his hands is on my exposed breast. For an alarming moment I wonder if we could be arrested for public indecency.

  “I think that’s closed,” a second woman says. “There’s a chain across the top of the stairs there.”

  The first speaker murmurs something in agreement and then from what I can tell they both wander off.

  Declan has his head to the side with his mouth open, listening. When he turns back there’s an incredulous expression on his face.

  “Shite!”

  I swallow and nod, relief flooding through me. When our eyes meet we both start to laugh. Declan buries his face in my neck as we cling to each other, our whole bodies shaking with laughter.

  “I was scared we’d be arrested!” I wail quietly and this only makes him laugh harder.

  Finally we manage to calm down and untangle ourselves. I readjust my clothes, while Declan watches with interest. “That was close, but definitely worth it.”

  We make our way outside walking around again he asks me what I’d like to do with the rest of the day.

  “Any more touristy things from your Best of Dublin guide that you’d like to see? I have to admit going to the Book of Kells was a lot more fun than I expected.”

  I stop walking. “You know what I’d like to do? I’d like you to show me your version of the city. The places that were important to you—where you went to school, where you hung out. Would that be okay?”

  He studies me for a few seconds and then nods. “Sure, you mean like where I lived? That sort of thing?”

  “Exactly. Although didn’t you grow up in the house we’re staying at now?”

  He shakes his head. “No, I grew up in the Northside. We didn’t move down here until after my mom married Martin. I was nearly a teenager.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah...come on,” he says with a grin, grabbing my hand. “I’ll give you the real tour.”

  ***

  We head over O’Connell Bridge as Declan points out some of the different stores to me. The streets are packed with cars and people, everyone carrying shopping bags. There are Christmas displays and more lighted banners with the words ‘Nollaig Shona Duit.’ It’s clear Dubliners are a festive bunch.

  “Does it ever snow for Christmas?” I ask.

  “No, not often. It’s mostly the rain.”

  Soon we leave the shopping area and head into what appears to be a more working class area. There are still shops, but it’s mostly mom and pop type places and pubs, a lot of pubs. There’s one on every corner.

  Declan lets out a breath when we take a left turn. “Jayzus...,” he mutters. “Will you look at that? I haven’t been in this neighborhood in a while. It’s really changed.”

  We head down a residential street. De
clan points out houses to me, talking about some of the people he used to know.

  “My good friend Danny used to live there, and over there is where the first girl I ever kissed lived.” He points to a small brick house with a wreath on the front door. “We were both ten years old. Her name was Jenny Green and I had a huge crush on her. She told me I could be her boyfriend and then a week later she dumped me for someone else.”

  “She dumped you! How could she be so cruel?”

  He chuckles. “In truth I was relieved. She had three older brothers who threatened to stomp on anyone who so much as looked at their sister. I spent that whole week living in terror. She was cute though. I remember that.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “Dark hair with fair skin—she had a bossy attitude as well.”

  “She sounds breathtaking. It’s clear to me that you have excellent taste in women.”

  He gives me a sideways grin.

  When we drive up to a small white house with a tiny patch of faded grass in front, he stops the car.

  “There it is. That’s where I lived until I was twelve.”

  We’re both quiet. The house isn’t terrible. It’s two stories and appears to have been well maintained over the years. There are some Christmas lights strung around the door which could use a coat of paint, though everything else seems okay. It’s a far cry from the posh house we’re staying at now. It’s barely even in the same universe.

  “My mother’s family is well off. They strongly disapproved of her marrying my father and felt she was marrying down.” He makes quotation marks with his fingers. “A couple of years after my father died she got re-married to Martin and that’s when we moved to the Southside. It was a tremendous change. ”

  I wanted to ask more about his father, but I remember him telling me that he didn’t like to talk about him.

  “Were your parents happy?”