by Sue Fortin
Chapter 14
I’m surprised to see Mum step out of a taxi that afternoon. She has taken to staying at the hospital until the evening, when she either comes back home with Fiona or decides to stay overnight with Dad.
‘Hello, Mum,’ I say as she walks into the café. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Sure, it’s grand,’ says Mum. ‘I was feeling a bit tired, so I thought I’d come back and have a rest. The nurse will call if there’s any change.’
I study Mum. She does indeed look tired. She has a washed-out appearance and there are dark circles under her eyes.
‘Go up and lie on the bed,’ I say. ‘Do you want me to make you a cup of tea to take up?’
‘No. It’s fine. I’ll make myself one upstairs.’
‘Okay. I’ll be closing soon and I’ll come up to check on you,’ I say. Mum is agitated and it bothers me. Mum’s not usually flustered by anything. I watch her hurry through the kitchen and out the rear of the café, towards the steps. It’s then I remember there’s no milk in the flat. I had used it up that morning.
Looking round the empty café, I quickly go over to the door and flick the lock. I will only be gone a minute, it won’t matter. I doubt whether I’ll have any more customers now, it’s nearly four o’clock.
Taking a carton of milk from the fridge, I nip out of the café and up the staircase. The door to the flat is open and Mum is standing at the kitchen sink. A small plume of smoke curls up into the air.
‘Mum, what are you doing?’
Mum jumps. She steps in the doorway, preventing me from coming in.
‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘What’s that you have there? Milk? Oh, thanks.’ She reaches out and takes the carton from my hand.
‘What are you burning?’ I peer over her shoulder. The blackened remains of some sort of card or paper lies in the sink. The flame gives one last puff and extinguishes.
Mum turns and runs the tap. ‘Oh, that. Nothing,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t get the gas to light, so I used an old piece of card.’ She swishes the water around with her hand and then drags the charred remains up the stainless-steel side with the palm of her hand. Taking a piece of kitchen roll she wipes them off into the bin.
I look over at the hob. One of the burners is alight. ‘Are you sure that’s all it was?’
‘Erin! Please,’ says Mum with an unusual impatience. ‘I’m tired and need a lie down and you should be in the café.’
‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ I say, slightly bruised from her reaction. ‘I’ll get back. Make sure you get some rest, won’t you?’
An hour later, having closed the café up for the day, with a certain amount of trepidation I go back up to the flat. I’m still a bit confused about Mum’s reaction earlier, but I’ve decided to put it down to the stress of Dad being in hospital. It’s only natural, now I come to think about it. Mum is, in fact, doing a great job keeping it all together.
I needn’t have worried. Mum is in a much better mood than when I left her earlier. The rest has obviously done her some good. I make a light tea for us both and while Mum takes a shower, I settle down in front of the TV.
I flick through the channels, but nothing really holds my attention. The weight of trying to juggle my new-found responsibilities here in Ireland with those of work back in England, and not to mention Ed, are bearing down on me. Will he really sack me? If he does, how will that impact on our relationship? That’s if you can call it a proper relationship at the moment. We’ve hardly seen each other and I have to admit, the physical side of things is pretty non-existent. Last time he was over, I turned him down for sex, citing it was my time of the month. It had been a lie, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to have sex with him. I’m not quite sure what made me do that. I like to think it’s stress, although I suspect it might have something to do with a certain Irish mechanic.
Speaking of which, what is going on there? I know I like him. Like him a lot. But is this impairing my usual rational judgement? Is there even a point in liking him as more than just a friend if I’m skipping off back to London soon? The latter thought doesn’t fill me with any cheer.
‘Oh, this is so confusing,’ I groan to myself, pushing a cushion to my face. ‘I can’t think straight any more!’
‘You all right?’ Mum is standing in the doorway, refreshed and relaxed from her shower. She tightens the belt on her dressing gown. ‘Anything you want to talk about?’
I smile fondly up at her, not wishing to share my dilemma. ‘I’m fine, thanks. A bit tired, that’s all.’
Mum looks sceptical. ‘You sure? You can talk to me. Don’t want you bottling things up and then, you know…’ She waves her hand airily.
‘Scoot off?’ I offer. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not about to hot-foot it off to London in the still of the night. It’s all under control.’
Mum nods her head. ‘It’s nice having you back, if only for a while. I’ve missed you, Erin.’ She turns away and heads for the kitchen.
I jump to my feet.
‘Mum.’ I follow her into the kitchen and put my arms around her. I hug her tightly. ‘I’ve missed you too.’
As Mum returns the embrace, I’m aware of the shift in dynamics between us. Now, as a grown woman myself, I feel responsible for Mum, it’s almost as if our roles have been reversed. I know people speak of this as their parents age and the child becomes the carer, but this isn’t so much a physical need, but more of an emotional need. I won’t let her down, not this time.
‘Look at us daft pair,’ says Mum, as she pulls away from the embrace to wipe a few stray tears from her face.
‘What are we like?’ I sniff through a smile. ‘Look, it’s still light out, I think I’ll go for a quick run. Clear my head a bit. Will you be all right on your own?’
‘Of course I will be. I don’t think I’ll go back to the hospital tonight. I could do with a decent night’s sleep,’ says Mum. ‘Off you go now.’
I take my usual route out onto the High Street, past The Smugglers and turn left to take the outermost road of the village which leads to the church and then, looping back onto the High Street, I head for Beach Road.
It feels good to be out in the fresh air, stretching my legs and breathing in the sea air. I try not to think of anything other than my feet rhythmically pounding the tarmac and keeping my breathing steady as I listen to my iPod and shut away my troubles. I’ll think about them later.
I sense him a nanosecond before he appears at my shoulder, but it still makes me jump. I stop running and pull out my earphones.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you,’ says Kerry smiling. Skip follows closely behind, excited at the unexpected chase.
‘Where did you spring from?’ I say to Kerry. I bend down to give Skip a stroke. ‘Hello, boy. Your owner making you run, is he?’ I stand up and begin to jog on the spot to keep my muscles warm.
‘Saw you running past The Smugglers. Guessed you’d probably loop back round, so I thought I’d see if you wanted to come in for a drink.’
‘What, dressed like this? All hot and sweaty?’
‘Nothing wrong with that.’ His grey eyes glitter with mischief.
I shake my head. He’s a terrible flirt at times. ‘Right, don’t let me keep you from your pint,’ I say. ‘I need to get on. It will be dark soon. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
I begin to jog away, fiddling to get my earphone in, and am surprised to see Kerry appear at my shoulder once more. I carry on jogging, slightly amused by the thought of seeing how long he can keep up for.
‘I actually wanted to speak to you,’ he says, falling into step beside me.
I give up with the earphones and tuck it into my bra strap ‘Uh-ha. Go on, then.’
‘I’ve been meaning to call in for the last couple of days, but I’ve been tied up with a private paint spraying job. Whenever I’ve called in to the café, you’ve been really busy.’
‘Or you’ve had Joe in tow.’
‘Exactly,’ Kerry says as we jog side by side. ‘So, what
are you up to at the weekend? Got anything planned?’
I fight to stop myself smiling. Kerry is trying to sound casual, but doing a very poor job of it. ‘Nothing. Why?’ I say.
‘Ed not coming over?’
‘No. That’s why I’m doing nothing.’
‘Great. I mean, that’s a shame.’ Kerry takes a few deep breaths, his pace slows slightly. ‘Shit. I’m such liar. I don’t mean that’s a shame at all.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘You don’t?’
‘Fancy spending the day with me on Sunday? We could have a ride out on the bike.’
‘Your motorbike?’ I say. Kerry doesn’t answer me immediately. His breathing becomes deeper. ‘Do you want me to stop?’ I ask.
‘No. Not at all,’ he says. He gives a whistle to attract Skip’s attention as the little dog dives into some bushes, hot on the scent of a rabbit, no doubt. ‘And in answer to your question, I don’t have a pushbike, if that’s what you’re thinking. This running lark is enough exercise for me. I’ve…no intention…of extending it to include a pushbike. Skip! Come on. Good boy.’
‘I’ve never been on the back of a bike before,’ I say.
‘What, never?’
‘Never.’
‘We will have to remedy that, won’t we?’ he says. ‘Unless you tell me Ed is a black belt in martial arts, or something like that? SAS-trained and can kill me with his little finger.’
I laugh at the thought. ‘No. I think you’re safe there.’
I can hear Kerry’s breathing getting heavier as we continue the run. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?’ I ask. ‘I’m not saying you’re a wimp or anything…’
‘I told you before,’ he puffs. ‘I’m no wimp…but there are other ways to…prove it.’
I laugh again. He has a habit of making me laugh. I remember back to the other week when I had jogged by and he had called out of the window to me. I lengthen my stride and begin to pull away from him.
‘Hey…that’s not…fair.’ Kerry catches up with me, again matching his step to mine. ‘You’re dressed…for running…I’m not.’
‘Admit it, then,’ I tease. ‘You’re no match for me.’
Kerry stops running and bending over, rests his hands on his knees, breathing hard. ‘Not in these boots.’
I turn around and once again jog on the spot. ‘Excuses, excuses! You’ve got no stamina.’
‘No one’s ever complained about my stamina before.’
And there, he is doing it again, making his eyes glitter mischievously. ‘First time for everything.’ I turn and sprint off down the road.
‘Be ready first thing Sunday morning,’ Kerry calls after me.
I wave my hand in acknowledgment but don’t turn round. I don’t want him to see the ridiculous grin that has involuntarily plastered itself over my face. Going on the back of a motorbike is something I would never normally dream of doing. Ed wouldn’t approve, for a start. However, I’m beginning to suspect Kerry Wright is having a bad influence on me. And I don’t mind in the slightest.
Chapter 15
My eyes fix on the black crash helmet Kerry is holding out to me. Should I do it? Do I have the nerve? Ed would disapprove. It’s this thought that makes me take the crash helmet.
Shaking my hair over my shoulders, I pull the helmet down over my head. The padding, although soft and spongy, holds my face firmly in place, squeezing the sides of my cheeks against my teeth. There’s a funny smell to the inside of it; musty like a charity shop, with a dash of petrol. I struggle with the woven chinstrap, not being able to see the D rings makes it difficult to fasten. I feel Kerry’s hand on my wrist as he pulls me towards him and takes over, securing the strap in a matter of seconds. Then, turning the key in the ignition and thumping down on the kickstart with his foot, the vintage Triumph Bonneville erupts into life, the noise rumbles through the exhaust pipes like a purring lion awakening from its slumber. A few flicks of the wrist on the accelerator and the beast roars into life, louder, deeper, faster, now snarling. I flinch and screw my nose up at the fumes emitting from the exhaust. A hot, burning oily smell, once again mixed with a hint of petrol that I can taste as it drifts in the air.
Kerry pats the pillion seat and holds out his hand. For the briefest of moments, I hesitate. My stomach is jiggling around so much I imagine my insides must look like a snow dome that had been vigorously shaken by an over-enthusiastic child. I’m unsure if this is fear or excitement. I glance at Kerry.
‘Trust me,’ he calls, his voice muffled by the visor and the growl of the engine. ‘You’ll be okay. I promise.’ His grey eyes ooze sincerity and, in that second, from just that one look, I really do believe I can trust him with my life.
Swinging my leg over the seat, I rest my feet on the pegs and shuffle closer to Kerry. Excitement zings through me as the insides of my thighs come to rest against the outsides of his and, slipping my arms around his waist, our bodies mould together.
‘Do what I do,’ instructs Kerry. ‘If I lean, you lean with me. Any problem and you want me to stop, just tap my shoulder. Okay?’
I give the thumbs-up sign and raise my voice above the engine noise. ‘Yep. That’s fine.’
I’m surprised by how excited I feel and although I know Kerry is pulling away slowly, I can’t help but tighten my grip on him.
Steadily, we cruise out onto Beach Road and follow the estuary up-river, then turning at the end away from the water down the High Street, we head out of the village. Hitting the open road, I hear the change in the engine noise as Kerry moves down a gear and accelerates away.
It’s a totally new feeling being on the back of a motorbike. It’s a beautifully warm morning and I feel cocooned in the leather jacket and gloves Kerry insisted I borrow from Bex.
The feeling of the wind rushing over me, being so close to the road as it zips underneath the bike, together with the noise of the engine rumbling and growling, roaring occasionally, gives me a real sense of freedom.
We ride up the hill towards a semi-derelict croft we used to frequent as teenagers. We often held late-night parties up there away from the adults of the village. Okay, parties might be stretching it a bit, but we took alcohol up there, sat around a camp fire, a few of them smoking, while one of the lads boomed out the music from his car stereo.
Kerry reaches back with his hand, patting my thigh.
‘You want to go faster?’ he shouts above the noise.
I can just about make out what he’s saying and looking in the mirror on the handlebar, I nod my head. He winks back at me and then moves his hand to cover mine, pulling me tighter to him.
The speed at which we accelerate takes me by surprise and for a second, as I jerk backwards, I think I might tumble off the rear of the bike, but the momentum flicks me forwards again and my crash helmet taps the back of Kerry’s. I cling on and snuggle up against his back as close as I can, dipping my head to stop the wind buffeting it backwards. It’s scary but exhilarating all at the same time as I feel the adrenalin rush through me.
We reach the foot of the hill and Kerry slows the Triumph down, coming to a gentle stop. I hop off the back and nearly fall over, my legs have a jelly-like feel to them. Kerry laughs and puts out a hand to steady me.
‘Here, let me do that for you.’ Pulling me towards him, he fiddles with the chinstrap. I’m suddenly aware of how very close we are. His face only inches from mine. His hand brushes the underside of my jaw as he works the strap free. He pauses. When he speaks, his voice is soft. ‘How was the ride?’
Aware my heart is racing and my throat dry, I somehow manage to force a response. ‘Amazing.’
‘That’s what they all say,’ he replies.
For a second I think he’s going to kiss me. If I’m honest, I hope he does. However, he lets go of the straps and slides the helmet from my head. Jumping off his bike he tugs my arm. ‘Come on, let’s walk to the top.’
We walk up the steep grass bank that leads to the very top of the hill. The old croft
has taken a beating from the coastal elements over the years. One half of the roof is completely caved in. The door and windows are boarded up now.
‘What have you done with Skip today?’ I ask.
‘He’s with Joe,’ says Kerry. ‘I can’t exactly bring him on the bike and I don’t like leaving him on his own. Storm loves him and he’s got the garden to run around in.’ After a few more minutes’ walking, we reach the very top of the hill. ‘You get a great view of the Irish Sea from here,’ says Kerry, shielding his eyes from the sun.
Standing behind me, his hands rest on my shoulders. He lowers his head so his line of sight is level with mine, our faces touch. Once again I’m very aware of our closeness. It’s difficult to concentrate.
Kerry is now pointing across the hill. If I lean back I will be in the crook of his shoulder. He carries on pointing out landmarks, oblivious to the intimacy of our bodies.
‘Now, if you turn slightly, over that way is Cork.’ Like the wind blowing a weather vane, he leans into me and turns my body. ‘Over there, you can see where the estuary comes in and Half Penny Bridge. And if we turn all the way round, we have the beautiful rolling countryside.’
We stand together, silently admiring the scenery and I secretly enjoy being in such close proximity with him. We’ve barely been out of physical contact since I got on the bike.
‘You can see for miles up here,’ I say. ‘It’s a beautiful view. Funny how I never really appreciated it all the times I came up here as a teenager.’
‘We had far more important things on our mind in those days,’ says Kerry. ‘Like getting drunk. Having a smoke. Making out. But you’re right. It is beautiful up here. I really appreciate the view today.’
I can feel his warm breath on the side of my cheek. I have no doubt what will happen if I look at him. Even before I am fully facing him, his lips are on mine. More forceful than I expect. More demanding. And definitely more exciting.
Kerry pulls me even closer, our bodies fusing together from top to bottom as his hand slips under my t-shirt, his fingers spreading wide across the bare skin of my back. Oh God, help me. I’m sure if he wants to, I’ll have sex with him right here on top of the hill.