Chapter Nineteen
Carey went red in the face. He looked as if something was caught in his throat. He coughed and spluttered. Then he managed to say, “Get to hell out of here. I don’t want to see your ugly mug ever again.”
“Likewise, I’m sure. But first a little something in writing.”
They agreed the terms of the deal, then Blaine made for the door. Before leaving, he turned to Alfred.
“No hard feelings,” he said, extending his hand. Alfred looked confused, gazing from his boss to Blaine and back again. Finally he reached out and took the offered hand. Immediately Blaine pulled him forward and head-butted him on the bridge of his nose. There was a meaty clunk. Alfred fell back against the wall, then slid slowly down it. He held his cupped palm under his nose to catch the blood. There was a lot of it. Wearily Blaine went down the stairs. His forehead was now as painful as his ribs. But in spite of the pain, he felt good. The satisfaction of a job well done, he told himself. And he still had one thousand two hundred and fifty pounds of Carey’s money to help heal his various aches and pains. He went outside into the evening air, found a phone box and rang home. This time Sam answered.
“I was about to leave.”
“The gin all finished?”
“Just about.”
“I hope you’re not heading for Artie’s place.”
“No, I’ve a girlfriend who lives in Rathmines. She’s putting me up for the night.”
“I’ve got good news. Your father has agreed to draw up a legal document saying he has no more control over you. And he’s also going to give you a generous allowance to help you get settled.”
“Hey,” a delighted Sam shouted into the phone, “how did you manage all that?”
“It’s a long story and it’ll keep till tomorrow. You’ve got my phone number. Ring me and we’ll arrange to meet. Then I’ll tell you everything. And by the way, it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you visited your mother more often. Just to show her how much you love her.”
“I’ll do that.” The girl made kissing sounds down the phone. “You’re a darling man. How can I ever repay you?”
“I can think of a way but maybe we’ll wait till you’re older.”
“I’m old enough.”
“Sure you are.”
“And life isn’t a sad song any more, is it? Especially not with good people like you in it.”
“Get away with you. Go on up to Rathmines and forget about me. Live your life like a summer-hunting swallow.”
“Till tomorrow?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Blaine put the phone down, but he was grinning in spite of his pain.
Chapter Twenty
He left his car parked outside the Carey building and walked down to the Clarence Hotel and went inside. He asked the porter to ring a taxi for him. While he was waiting he went into the bar and had a large brandy. It bloomed like fire in his stomach. The taxi arrived and took him up to the Cabra Road. There were lights in the front windows and a familiar crock of a car was parked in the drive. He stood beside it and looked at the sky. There was a sliver of moon and stars were beginning to blink into view. A red glow lit up the horizon, promising another fine day tomorrow. He found his keys and opened the front door. Annie was standing in the hall, the nozzle of a Hoover raised like a gun. She was wearing an apron with “Who Gives a Fig?” stencilled on the front, and green wellington boots.
“I like the gear,” Blaine said.
“It’s what a cleaning woman would wear. That’s how you think of me, isn’t it?”
“I think of you in many different ways. That’s only one of them.”
“Thanks very much.”
“You’re the light of my life.”
“Aha, flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I love you.”
“But?”
“You’re not the easiest person in the world to live with.”
“We all have our faults.”
Annie put down the Hoover and leaned against the wall. There was a fine film of sweat on her upper lip that Blaine would have liked to brush off with his tongue.
He said, “We could try again. I can change. You can change. Forgive and forget.”
“Forgive maybe, but it’s hard to forget.”
“Let’s seize the moment. We could go upstairs and try to coax a sweet song out of the bedsprings.”
“And after that?”
“We’ll live each day as it comes.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“We can give it a bloody good try.”
Annie grinned, then she came forward into Blaine’s arms.
“Careful with the ribs,” he warned her.
“You think they’ll interfere with your performance upstairs?” she asked, looking concerned.
“You can lead and I’ll follow on.”
They were halfway up the stairs when Blaine paused.
“Just one thing. Any chance you’d wear those green wellingtons in bed?”
“Oh, you are kinky!”
OPEN DOOR SERIES
Sad Song by Vincent Banville
In High Germany by Dermot Bolger
Not Just for Christmas by Roddy Doyle
Maggie’s Story by Sheila O’Flanagan
Jesus and Billy Are Off to Barcelona
by Deirdre Purcell
Ripples by Patricia Scanlan
Sad Song Page 4