by Paul Cuddihy
There was silence in the pub for a few seconds, maybe even as long as a minute. A few voices that hadn’t been listening, or who’d heard the story before, could be heard muttering in the corner and the occasional shout or burst of laughter flew across the room.
‘You’re saying the man was crying?’ somebody eventually asked.
‘Sobbing like a baby so he was,’ Mick said. ‘I couldn’t believe my ears.’
He could see his audience struggling with the image. Who ever heard of a man crying? He was no man at all is what they thought.
‘Well seeing he was an Englishman,’ someone said to murmurs of agreement but Mick shook his head.
‘Here’s the thing,’ he said. ‘He was a Mayo man and that’s the honest to God truth.’
A few heads shook furiously. Voices expressed disbelief. What self-respecting Irishman ever cried after a fight? It was almost beyond belief and one or two eyed Mick suspiciously, beginning to doubt the truth of his tale. He was thankful there were no Mayo men in his audience. In the past they’d felt forced to defend the honour of their county and that ensured a messy end to the night. Mick found that a pocketful of pepper was a great advantage. Throw some of that in the challenger’s face and follow up with a couple of punches or a bottle cracked over the skull and, more often than not, the fight would be over before it even started.
‘Jesus, Mick, God was looking after you that day,’ another voice eventually said.
One or two others agreed. Mick just nodded and then leant forward to snatch up his pint and drain it dry, slamming it none too subtly back down on the wooden table. Hopefully someone would take the hint. The news about the man in black’s arrival in Glasgow wouldn’t leave his mind, however, and it was probably better if he could get away from the pub and have a clear head to think with.
‘So did that all really happen?’ It was a quiet voice at the edge of the crowd, a female voice, and everyone looked round.
Her hair, tied back, was as black as coal, but a few strands had broken free and dangled down the side of her face. She returned his smile but it was clear to Mick that she was expecting an answer. He hadn’t noticed her before and could only presume she’d hidden behind one of the burly men who’d stood at the front. That wouldn’t have been too hard, given that she was half their size.
‘What do you think?’ Mick asked, folding his arms. She mimicked the action and he grinned.
‘I think maybe it was a bit of the drink talking,’ she said.
‘Is that right then?’
‘Aye.’
Mick guessed she was about the same age as him, certainly no older than twenty at most, but she was sure of herself amidst this sea of men.
‘Well, maybe you’re right and maybe you’re not,’ he said, ‘but do you think I could make this up?’
Mick slipped out of his jacket, pulled down his braces and quickly unbuttoned his shirt to expose his bare, left shoulder.
‘Now tell me if you think the drink did that?’
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ someone said as the girl shrugged, and it seemed like everyone else blessed themselves. It still made Mick smile, even after having seen it happen so many times before.
‘That looks like a map of Ireland.’
3
WHAT KATE DID NEXT
Her tongue started down in Cork, caressing its rugged borders with a tenderness that would melt the hardest Irish heart. She retraced her steps a few times until it felt like she’d completely devoured the county before she slid onto Wexford and then up to Wicklow, whispering each county in turn with a grasp of geography that impressed Mick. She planted her first kiss on Dublin that seemed to cover Louth as well and seemed content to smother the capital with her lips. Mick wasn’t complaining, even after she decided to move onto Down.
By the time she’d got up as far as Antrim, Mick groaned and she remained there for a few moments, evidently pleased with his response, though she barely touched Derry before landing at Donegal.
‘Home at last,’ she whispered with a giggle while Mick, face down and eyes closed, grinned.
He could feel her body-heat seeping into his, her legs straddling his waist and he sighed deeply, almost relaxed enough to fall asleep but knowing why he would much rather stay awake.
Her fingers threaded their way through his coarse hair, stopping on their aimless journey to untangle the barriers they came up against, and still she remained in Donegal. There was Sligo to come, Mayo, his own county of Galway, Clare and Kerry to navigate before she returned to Bantry Bay, but she’d travelled enough of Ireland for one night, thought Mick.
He stretched and roughly nudged her off his body, spinning round in the same movement so that his arm was under her back to cushion the tumble and he was on top of her. Her legs wrapped themselves round his waist again like they were a permanent attachment and her arms pulled his head down till their lips met and their tongues jostled for space.
Her heels were pressing on his back, demanding his body and he thrust forward. She groaned and gripped his hair as he moved back and forth with the urgency of a newly-released prisoner, beads of sweat dropping onto her breasts, immediately bonding with her own moisture. God, he loved Ireland.
Mick lit a cigarette and watched her as she slept, face buried in the pillow. He’d made sure the blanket covered her waist and he gently flicked her hair back so that he could study her profile. As he stood over her, he studied the scar she wore on her back, though it didn’t resemble any country he had ever seen on a map. His fingertips hovered above it but he knew their coarseness would waken her if he touched her flesh.
Someone had taken a belt or a whip to her and not too long ago either. It was a fresh wound, still red raw, the skin yet to form a protective scab over it, but he knew he wouldn’t ask her about it when she woke up. He knew her name – Kate – and that was as intimate as he sensed she would allow it to be. If truth be told, he was happy enough with that as well.
He’d hoped, even as he’d put his shirt back on in the pub, never once looking away from her warm, brown eyes, that he was not going home alone, though he guessed she’d have something to say about it. She hadn’t been afraid to speak up already, bold words in the company of men, so he didn’t imagine it would just be as easy as buying her a drink, settling her on his knee where she’d been able to feel his intentions and it wouldn’t matter if he forgot her name or even bothered to ask for it in the first place. No, he realised there would be a bit of work involved with this girl.
Most of Mick’s audience had drifted away like a cloud of cigarette smoke, some to the bar, others tagging onto the edges of other conversations, while one or two staggered out the door, ready to navigate the dark and unsteady road home.
‘What’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?’ Kate shouted out.
‘You want to know, darling?’ said a drinker at Mick’s table, licking his lips hungrily to much laughter. Even Mick was smiling.
‘I’m not that thirsty,’ she said, hands thrust on hips.
‘She got you there, Teddy.’
Teddy shrugged, standing up and gripping his bollocks.
‘There’s many a woman would be happy for a bit of prime Kilkenny meat.’
‘So that’s why they’re all so hungry in Kilkenny then,’ she said, waving her pinkie at him.
‘You cheeky whore,’ Teddy said, moving towards her.
Mick stood up. ‘Take it easy, Teddy. Sit yourself back down. Come on now.’
Teddy reluctantly dropped back onto the seat, helped by Mick’s firm hand on his shoulder, nervous snickering from other drinkers ringing in his ears.
‘If you were my woman with a mouth like that, I’d soon knock it out of you.’
‘If I was your woman –’
‘And you,’ said Mick, turning to the girl. ‘Learn to know when to shut up.’
She made to speak again but Mick grabbed her arm.
‘You can help me with the drinks,’ he said.
; Mick stood leaning against the bar as the pints appeared before him. The offer of a drink had calmed Teddy down and he was talking with someone else, the girl already forgotten.
‘You can thank me later,’ Mick said as she stood, arms folded, glaring at him.
‘If he can’t take it, he shouldn’t give it out.’
‘That’s true, but you’re talking about a pub and an Irishman and drink. You were just about to get your face rearranged for your sharp tongue.’
She glanced over at Teddy and then back at Mick, her face softer, almost shocked.
‘Don’t mind Teddy,’ said Mick. ‘He’s a good man.’
She raised her eyebrows.
‘There’s plenty in here who wouldn’t have backed down, and there’s a few who would do a lot worse than bury their fist in your face.’
She leant on the bar, not bothering that her elbows were swimming in a puddle of ale. Mick watched her out the corner of his eye. He wanted to stare at her. No, in truth he wanted to rip her clothes off, cover her naked body with a thousand kisses and then ride her till his cock was ready to fall off. He could feel it getting hard just thinking about her and he knew he’d have to think of something else before anyone noticed.
He thought it was her black hair, long and wild, like she’d just battled her way through a Galway storm, the Atlantic winds doing their very worst. Then he caught sight of her eyes again and his heart started beating faster. He watched as her tongue caressed her bottom lip and he had to stifle a groan. At this rate he’d have to stand at the bar for the remainder of the night with his back to the rest of the pub.
‘So have you had a good enough look then?’
She smiled as Mick reddened and looked away, stuttering a few sounds that constituted his best effort at a reply. Her glass was placed on the bar, dwarfed by the bulky pints, and Mick picked it up, offering it to her.
‘Thanks,’ she said, their fingers touching as she took the glass. She smiled again and this time so did Mick. Now he knew for sure he wasn’t going home alone.
Kate groaned and rolled onto her side but she didn’t wake up. Mick had nearly finished his cigarette, each draw now almost burning his lips and fingers but he was determined to suck as much life out of it as possible before he had to kill it.
It was only now, in the silence of early morning, that he thought again about the man in black. A tiny flash of the weak dawn light had managed to push in beyond the flimsy blanket covering the window and it crossed Mick’s foot, warming it as he continued to watch Kate. He was tempted to get back in beside her and wake her so she could continue her tour round Ireland, but he was also thirsty, hungry and desperate to empty his bladder.
Throwing on his shirt and stepping into his boots he shuffled across the wooden floor and unlocked the door, holding his breath as it groaned when he opened it. He glanced over his shoulder but Kate never stirred and he stepped outside, closing it silently behind him. He climbed down three flights, keeping his right shoulder pressed to the wall to guide his way in the gloomy darkness of the staircase. When he got to the bottom he followed the pale, grey light that hovered in the back court, lazily shining through into the close.
Eyes shut, he listened to the trickle of water splashing off the outside wall. He looked down at his target but the bricks were so dark and dirty it was hard to see where he’d soaked them. He felt like it went on forever and he had to shuffle back so that his feet didn’t end up swimming in the frothy liquid.
There wasn’t absolute silence but it was near enough for this place; a baby crying – hungry or dying, he couldn’t tell the difference – in one of the rooms in the building behind him; a cough here, a shout there, but nothing in anger. The clatter of hooves on the cobbled street, getting closer, louder, and then just as quickly fading away. And high above, a bird serenaded him, an unlikely song of beauty amidst the stony sadness. It must have lost its way, he thought, for who would stay here if they had the wings to fly away?
He stepped back into the close, clearing his throat and spitting the contents out onto the grass just as a loud crash of water landed where he’d stood seconds before. It was a lucky escape. A shower of piss was enough to wake any man. He’d done the same many a time, but he’d come outside so as not to disturb Kate. Thanking God for his good fortune, Mick made his way upstairs more confidently, his eyes having adjusted to the bleakness.
As he approached the room, resolved to wake Kate and let her warmth seep through him once again, a crack of light escaping from under the door caught his eye. He stopped and carefully stepped out of his boots, leaving them on the floor as he crept towards the room, praying that his feet wouldn’t find a loose floorboard. He pressed his ear close to the door. There was a voice, deep and confident, questioning her, though he couldn’t recognise its origins. Occasionally, Kate would answer with a word or two.
Mick glanced back at his boots and then down at his body. He could make good his escape but he’d have to find trousers quickly or he’d be locked up in no time at all. And what would happen to Kate?
He knew her name and what would make her scream with delight when he was on top of her but beyond that, nothing. So what was he risking his life for? His right foot was almost in the boot again when he stopped. He knew he couldn’t leave her. He sighed angrily and slid back to the door.
The man was pacing up and down the room, his heavy soles clumping on the wooden floor. Mick pictured Kate cowering in bed, the blanket hastily clasped to hide her nakedness. The element of surprise was his only weapon, he realised, as he took a step back and battered open the door with his right shoulder, shouting wild, Gaelic curses as he did so.
Kate screamed and buried her head under the cover. Mick stumbled into the room and looked round, searching for the man who stood by the window, arms folded and wearing a grin as wide as the Clyde, displaying a full set of teeth the same dirty yellow shade as the dog collar round his neck, which had lost its pure sparkle, worn down by years of sweat, along with the incense that clung to it with smoky relish.
‘I see you’re still as big an eejit as ever, Michael Costello.’
Mick stared from the man to Kate and back again, his mouth unable to produce the sounds his brain was frantically trying to send it. Kate’s black hair slowly reappeared from under the blanket, followed by her puzzled face, which glanced at both men in turn.
‘It’s not like you to be lost for words, Michael, but I don’t suppose you’ll have been expecting me,’ the man said with a nod towards Kate.
‘Thomas … Thomas, it’s good to see you.’
The two men moved towards each other, throwing arms over shoulders and hugging warmly. They broke the embrace after a few seconds and stood back.
‘You’re looking good, Mick, if a little under-dressed.’
‘Well, you did catch me with my trousers down,’ Mick laughed with a glance at his bare legs.
Kate coughed.
‘Sorry … Kate, this is my brother, Thomas … Thomas, Kate.’
‘Nice to meet you, Father, I mean, Thomas, I mean…’
‘Thomas’ll do. I mean, we’re nearly family now,’ he said with a wink that made Kate blush.
‘Maybe you and I can catch a spot of fresh air and let this young lady get herself together now,’ Thomas said, throwing a pair of trousers at Mick and nodding at the door.
‘Aye … We’ll be downstairs,’ Mick said to Kate, whose eyes were urging him to get out as soon as possible. When the brothers were outside the door, Mick popped his head back inside the room.
‘Lock the door after us, now,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you three knocks when I get back so you’ll know it’s me.’
She slammed the door in his face without reply, though he heard the key being turned and he relaxed as he pulled on his trousers, reclaiming his boots on the way out.
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ Thomas said when they popped out of the close-mouth. He turned left and began striding down the street, Mick almost having to break into a jog
to keep up with his brother. They passed few people on their aimless journey that seemed to involve taking every left turn, though everyone who did scuttle past doffed their cap with a bow or quickly curtsied.
‘They don’t usually do that to me,’ said Mick. ‘They must be trying to make me look good.’
Thomas just frowned.
‘Can we not stop or at least walk a bit slower? I’m gasping here.’
Thomas stopped and turned to his brother.
‘Did our mother drop you on your head as a baby?’
‘What?’
‘What’s in there?’ Thomas said, knocking the side of Mick’s head with his knuckles.
Mick pushed the hand away. ‘Behave yourself now.’
Thomas shook his head and started walking again, though at a more agreeable pace for Mick, who was also trying to light a cigarette at the same time. He stopped to let the tip of the flame caress the tobacco, inhaling deeply to get it lit. Thomas stopped a few feet away and was lighting his own cigarette, which looked thicker and healthier than Mick’s scrawny effort. Collections must be good these days, Mick thought, but he just nodded at his brother through the haze of their intermingled smoke. The cigarette seemed to slow Thomas down and they continued at a more leisurely pace, still turning left at each corner.
‘Did you get my message?’ Thomas asked after a few minutes.
‘What message?’
‘My warning. Last night.’
‘So that was you then? I should have guessed.’
‘So what are you playing at, Mick?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’