by Paddy Kelly
“Can it Rob,” Andy said. “What did you fix, Eoin?”
“A friend of mine has a summer house on Gotland and we're invited to visit for a week in July. She says it's fantastic there.”
“She?” Rob said, with a grin. “So is this a friend or a wink-nudge friend?”
“She's a workmate. And definitely just a friend.”
“You said late July?” Andy said. “Sure, for a few days at least. Rob?”
“Yeah, sure, it's not like I can afford any other kind of holiday right now. We can always work on the website there, right? I mean, they'll have electricity?”
Eoin's phone beeped again. He pulled it out and opened the message.
Not Andrew Quirley is it?
Eoin's chest tightened. This didn't sound good. In fact this sounded complicated and Eoin hated complicated.
“Um, Andy? Your name, is it Quirley? Andrew Quirley?”
From the look on Andy's face Eoin could see that indeed it was. He also saw that Andy was furiously trying to work out why Eoin would be asking, and who he had on the other end of his text conversation.
“What?” Rob said, shifting his gaze from Andy to Eoin, aware that something was up. Nobody answered him. The waitress passed by again and, with an audible sigh, grabbed a few of the glasses that were now piling up on the table to a ridiculous extent. She swept away again, with no eye contact given or offered.
“Yeah,” Andy admitted after some consideration. “It's Quirley. Your friend, she someone I know? She the one with the house?”
“One second,” Eoin said, in the middle of tapping in his reply to Alice.
Yes, Quirley, bad?
He placed the mobile on the table. “Her name's Alice. Alice Köhler.”
Andy gave a nervous smile. “Alice? She's a friend of yours?” He shifted position and crossed one leg in front of him. “Right. I see.”
Beep beep. Eoin read the message.
Well he's not invited.
Eoin blinked. That sounded … determined, and not at all like Alice. Something odd was going on. He sent a reply—Why, what's up? What he do?—and turned back to Andy.
“I work with her. I'm guessing you know her?”
“You could say that,” Andy said. “We've bumped into each other, on occasion.”
Eoin nodded, and something occurred to him. Alice and Andy both dated online, and Alice had her thing about English speakers. So it wasn't hard to work out how they'd met. However, Alice seemed quite angry at Andy, and Andy seemed more than a bit nervous of Alice, which meant there was a lot more going on here than a simple date or two.
“Look,” Rob said, looking flustered. “If somebody doesn't tell me what's going on here, I'll have to—”
“You'll have to go get some ciggs, that's what you'll have to do,” Andy said, not taking his eyes off Eoin. “We're out, and I'm sure you owe me about a hundred.”
Rob nodded but didn't move. “Sure, in a minute. I'm not goin' anywhere until I see what happens here.”
“Whatever.” Andy turned to Eoin and leaned closer. “Look, that lady friend of yours has some issues with me. If she hasn't told you about them, then I shouldn't either, that's up to her. But I don't think—”
Eoin yelped in surprise as his mobile beeped again. He snatched it up.
Forget it, he's just not coming. Now drop this.
What now? Was she angry, and if so was it at him, or at Andy? What was he supposed to do here?
“See?” Andy said. “Something weird, am I right?”
Eoin said nothing and continued to study her text. He sent a reply.
Come on Alice, tell me something here!
“I’d really prefer not to see that woman,” Andy said. “And it's not that I'm scared of her, or anything—”
“Oh yeah he is!” Rob broke in. “Look at him, he's scared shitless! Now we're definitely goin' to this summer house, I just have to see what happens!”
Andy grunted as he raised his pint and consumed half of it in a few heavy gulps. Eoin, at a loss for anything else to do, followed suit. The waitress passed by once more, and not even her obvious attempts to not notice them could distract Rob from his ghoulish interest in Andy's discomfort and in Eoin's confusion.
Andy wasn't smiling any more and the mood at the table had definitely dipped from edgy to morose. “Rob,” he said flatly. “Go get ciggs. And Eoin, change the subject. Anything will do, just change it.”
Rob departed obediently and Eoin sat in the uncomfortable silence he left behind. He hid behind his Guinness, avoiding Andy's gaze, feeling slightly annoyed by the whole situation and his sudden unrequested role in it. Because if Alice and Andy had some lingering problem between them, and they were both friends of his, then he saw no way to not get involved.
He gave a sigh. More drama, that was just perfect. Because if there was one thing his life needed at this moment, it was more bloody drama.
Chapter 12
“So,” Kajsa said from the living room as Rob was tugging off his shoes in the hall. “Back so soon. Just the usual, or do you have time for a conversation today?”
Rob slackened the pace of his footwear removal. So it hadn't just been a glitch the last time he was here, something was definitely up. Kajsa had seemed well disposed to a quick one when he'd texted her an hour earlier, but now she was once again getting all … all something on him. He was starting to suspect there were indeed strings attached to this whole situation. It was therefore time to move carefully.
“Yeah, sorry about the last time, but my friend called, and he needed help—”
“Uppsala, yes, I remember.” Kajsa slung the tea towel she was holding across her shoulder. She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. She was wearing a pink and white striped top that hung loosely on her, and Rob couldn't keep his gaze from her cleavage even though he knew he should probably be trying.
”Look Rob, sorry, but when you contact me like that, just out of nowhere, I feel like, like a pizzeria.”
Rob shrugged. “Yeah, sorry. I was just on my way home, and I knew you were usually home on Fridays, so I thought—”
Kajsa waved a hand, causing the curve of her unsupported chest to jiggle. “Whatever, it doesn't matter. I will make some tea, do you want too?”
“Sure.” She headed into the kitchen and Rob followed after her, hoping she'd calmed down and the worst was over. He settled at her little fold-out table and flipped through a magazine without really looking at the words.
Kajsa had a nice flat with a high ceiling and every detail planned out. She even had plants and Rob was in awe of anybody who could keep plants. The longest he'd kept something alive was a couple of weeks, and that had been a cactus.
“So what were you up to this morning?”
“Was seeing my job officer, and do ye know what he did? He made me sign up for a start-your-own-business course, starting on Saturday! That’s the next two weekends out the bloody window. How about that, two prime July weekends just gone.” He shook his head in anguish. “It was never this hard being on the dole in Ireland. Ye just showed up and sort of waved at them when it suited ye, and they handed over the money. Here it’s all like”—he made a disgusted face—“work.”
“I agree, it’s very rude of them,” Kajsa said, spooning tea leaves into a pot. “Making the unemployed get up on weekends. The fascists.”
“But that was valuable programming time! And I need all the time I have to get this Internet idea off the ground.”
Kajsa reached for a high shelf, balanced on her small sockless feet. “Well if you have a business idea, then surely the course will be useful. What’s this idea of yours?”
Rob told her what they were working on. Not that she seemed very interested. She wasn't a single parent or a programmer, and as far as he knew she had little interest in online things in general. He babbled away anyway as it helped steer the conversation away from the more thorny areas of shame and guilt and such.
She set down two mugs
of tea and a jug of milk and then sat at the table, knee to knee with Rob. She smelled good. Her perfume, delicate with a sour edge, was slick with physical associations.
She poured milk into her tea and when she put down the jug her hand dropped and found its way to Rob's knee. And then, having found Rob's knee, the hand decided to keep on moving, as its owner moved her face closer to Rob's.
Rob suspected tea was postponed. He pulled her head closer, dug his fingers into her thick brown hair and sniffed behind the ears. Her breath came through her nose in tiny wheezes. Her hand continued its wandering and Rob slipped his own free hand into the hanging opening of her top. He found the spiky hair of her armpit and slid around to her right breast, where he located the nipple and squeezed.
Kajsa’s sliding hand also reached its destination, sending an intense burst of pleasure through Rob. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. She kissed him hard, shoving him up against the wall and knocking over one of the chairs with a clatter. Robs shifted his hand inside her top, then down the back of her loose skirt, bending over a little so he could keep on moving down and around.
Kajsa groaned. She kissed him hard, practically a bite, and dragged him to the other room where they fell in a heap on the sofa, kicking and pulling at clothes until most of them were off, or out of the way, or simply ignored.
Kajsa flopped down beside him with her back pressed against his mostly naked body. As Rob's hands slid around her she grabbed one of them and shoved where she thought it should go. She muttered something and parted her thighs, and Rob was pretty sure what was required of him, and happily provided it. He could not help a groan of his own as he closed his eyes and sunk into her.
Kajsa made the neh neh neh sound she only produced when especially excited. It was deliciously familiar to Rob, like the tang of her sweat and the perfect fit of their bodies. He moved urgently and she grabbed his buttock with one hand, pressing even deeper into her. Rob bit at his lip until he was sure there was blood there. He held his body back, pressing down, holding his focus.
Kajsa's final neh! lengthened into a shrill whine and Rob, who was waiting for this moment with keen interest, allowed his body to do what it so badly wanted to. As Kajsa stiffened he cupped her breasts, gritted his teeth and kept the motion going for a good many seconds longer. His vision sparkled on the edges with tiny white stars and he spat out a huge grunt of relief.
Rob inhaled a gulp of air and lay back on the sofa, suddenly remembering why he came to Kajsa's place so often. She rolled over, panting, and lay beside him, a tight fit on the narrow sofa. Her heart hammered against him while her hand wandered once more and did a lazy circuit of his pubic hair. Sunlight sparkled from a cluster of crystals hanging in the window, and Rob wondered how many neighbours had seen it all through the wide-open curtains. The thought made him grin.
“You know what I have in the fridge?” Kajsa said after a while. She sat up, reached for the bathrobe hanging on a chair and pulled it on.
Rob propped his hands behind his head. “An ex-lover's head?”
She ignored that. “Here, I can show you.” She made her way to the kitchen, with her bathrobe mostly open. Rob heard the fridge opening, and then heard her feet slapping on the wooden floor as she returned with something that, for a brief terrifying moment, did actually appear to be a head.
But he knew he needn't worry any more. Kajsa was fine, everything was cool between them. All back to normal.
“It's lamb, I bought it today! I was going to fix it for Sunday, but I thought I can do it now instead, won't take more than a couple of hours.”
Rob's gaze shifted from the lamb to Kajsa and back again. Go on, a tiny voice said in the depths of his head, hang out with the girl for once. Lamb is very nice, after all, and she's not that bad, is she? You could do a lot worse.
But the cold stone walls of Malone’s were calling loud and strong, and if he showed too much interest in Kajsa, maybe she'd start to get those … ideas.
“Not tonight Kajsa. I mean, it's really nice of you, and I do like a bit of lamb, but I have to get back home and—”
“Oh fucking damn it, Rob!” She slammed the frozen leg of lamb to the floor where it made an impressively loud boom. She dashed to the kitchen, slammed something there and returned with, oddly enough, a slip of paper. She slapped it down on the coffee table and punched Rob on the shoulder, nodding at it.
Rob sat up, feeling more naked than he liked, and unfolded the note. On it he read: “If Rob tries to fuck me and leave right after I will throw him out. For good.”
Kajsa glared at him, with more passion than he suspected she contained. She closed and belted her bathrobe, with the clear indication that it would not be opened again in a hurry.
“Um,” Rob said, and licked his lips. “But I thought it was cool. You know, I call you when, you know, and you call me—”
“I call you?” She leaned over, her hands on her hips and her cheeks pulsing red. “When have I ever called you for just sex, Rob? When? I have sent you a text maybe two times—two!—to ask you to do something simple and short, like have a walk or go to a movie, but no, not you, not Rob, you were always too busy! Doing your important fuck-bloody things!”
Rob, still mostly naked, was beginning to fear for the safety of his softer parts. He stared at her dumbly as he moved a hand slowly into a defensive position. That done, he sat up.
“Kajsa,” he began. And then he realised, as pathetic as it was, that he had nothing to follow it up with.
Kajsa spun around and stomped back into the kitchen. At lightning speed Rob pulled on as many items of clothing as he could find, not caring about petty details such as socks and underwear and which way the right way around was. Right now it was about survival, pure and simple.
When he passed the kitchen she was there, gripping the sink with white knuckles. She didn't look up as Rob scooped up his shoes and leather jacket.
“Look,” he said from the hall, but realised that was all he had to say. He stared at her stupidly, his mind a blank. “Um…”
“Get the hell out Rob,” she said. “Just go.”
The way she said it—flat and controlled—made his mind up for him. And although he knew he'd burn for eternity if there was an eternity in which to burn, and a place to burn in, he turned around and simply scarpered. He bolted down the steps two at a time, with his pubic hair poking through the open fly of his jeans. Behind him, shaking the entire building, the door to her flat slammed shut.
Rob hurried around the corner and leaned against the wall, red-faced and struggling for breath. Well that was it for Kajsa then. Which was maybe for the best, as now he could rid himself of the guilt about seeing her, and she could get out there and find a guy who might actually want to hang out with her.
He glanced around the corner, just to make sure she wasn't following. He watched for a few minutes, just to make very sure she wasn't following. She wasn't.
In a very strange kind of mood, Rob turned and headed home. He had walked for ten minutes before it occurred to him to close his fly.
Malone's was hopping. Rob didn't really know any of the people there but on Friday nights that didn't matter. He was on a nodding basis with enough patrons to pass the time, and somebody he knew properly was sure to show up eventually.
He was sitting at the bar, with a hundred-crown note raised in his hand and an expectant look on his face, when his phone rang. He dropped the money and pulled out the mobile. Oh. It wasn't Kajsa (which was just as well, because she was the last person he wanted to hear from). And it wasn't Andy or Eamonn or even Eoin. No, it was the mother of all phone calls. It was, in fact, his mother.
Rob stared at the mobile. What was the woman doing, calling him on a Friday? Didn't she know what happened on Fridays? And did she realise the position she'd put him in, calling him in a bar? Because he couldn't be seen talking to his mother in a bar.
It would be like that day in school when she appeared in the corridor, pushed her wa
y through his classmates and delivered the lunch box he'd forgotten at home. He could still feel the creeping shame of it. No, there were no mothers, not in schools and most definitely not in bars.
“Can you watch that seat for me?” he asked the lady in the denim jacket who was perched on the next seat over. She gave him a lingering glance and a slow nod, and Rob filed her away in his “possible shag when drunk” column before hurrying out.
He leaned against the wall outside Malone’s and pressed the green button.
“Well about time,” his mother said without an introduction. “I thought you'd never pick it up!”
“Ye don't pick up a mobile,” he said, and then decided to abandon that line of reasoning. Old dog, new tricks and all that.
“So Robert,” she went on, “what have you been doing with yourself lately?”
And then, before he could answer, off she went with her morbid litany of the dead and wounded. Rob made the standard noises of affirmation, idly scuffing his shoe against some raised cobbles as he listened. “Huh,” he said. “Really. Imagine that.”
But it had been a quiet month in Caherciveen. Not many people had died, and the number of grossly miss-formed babies was way below average. They were probably saving it up for the autumn rush, when there'd be a ferry wreck, a ten-car pileup, and a disease that deformed only Gaelic footballers and very cute puppies.
“Mmm,” Rob said to all of it. He fished out a cigarette with one hand and lit it as quietly as he could. “Mmm, did he now. Did he.”
Eventually she paused for breath and Rob steeled himself, ready for his interrogation. Oddly enough, it never came. Instead things took an unexpected turn.
“I suppose Karen's contacted you?”
Rob stiffened. “Um, what? Karen?”
“Oh Robert don't act stupid now, she's on her way over soon, she's packed and everything! I told her to call you, didn't she call you? She should have by now. Just call her, won't you? Do you have her number—hold on, here it is…”