Fairground Attraction

by Raven McAllan

  She mock-thumped him.

  “Ouch.” Raig rubbed his arm as he looked at her. Still naked and himself bare-chested, bare-arsed and his jeans around his ankles it was an erotic sight. He glanced around the sun-filled kitchen with satisfaction.

  Sun-filled! His gaze turned to the windows, their curtains clipped back to show a lovely view of… “Oh fuck.”

  “What?”

  He laughed again. “The windows, just as well we’ve had ‘the visit’. We didn’t close the curtains.”

  “Oops. Or lock the door. Oh well, it’d make anyone damn sure never to call unannounced again.” She was laughing with him. “Although I’d love to see Stevie’s or Lizzie’s faces if they caught us in flagrante. Embarrassed but amused.”

  “They’d know your washing wasn’t just up to date and out of the machine. It’d be ironed as well. Or should that be hung out to dry. Ouch.” The switch to his leg was feather-light and teasing. “I owe you more than one, Vairi My Queen.”

  “You’ll be hung out to dry if you’re not careful, Rake. Watch it.”

  He grinned.

  Vairi stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes. “If you say ‘watch what’ or ‘I am’, I’ll scream.”

  “I won’t say either then,” he replied promptly. “I’d rather you scream for other reasons.”

  “Argh.” She sniggered as she spoke. “One day I’ll have the last word, Rake O’Shea. Just you wait and see.”

  “Not today though.” He’d noticed the time. “We need to get ready and head to the fair. Ten minutes?”

  “Twenty,” she said firmly. “If, and only if, I get to shower by myself.”

  “Spoilsport,” he grumbled, not really meaning it.

  “Every time,” she assured him. “When I am expected to get ready in a hurry. Otherwise I’m a great believer in the beneficial exercise of sport.” She reached down to pick her dress off the floor with one hand and gathered up the waistband of his jeans with the other. She slid them up to his knees. “Here, all yours.” She looked at the tabletop and patted it. “D’you know something, I’ll never be able to drink a glass of milk at this table again.” She gave him a kiss, and giggled as she walked to the door. “Oh, and if you want to read the paper it’s in the lounge. There’s a bit about that reporter bloke I was talking about.”

  He wondered if he looked as gobsmacked as he felt. As a parting statement, it couldn’t be bettered.

  “Fifteen minutes,” Raig called after her as she left the kitchen, her still-naked butt flashing him a tantalizing farewell. His answer was a wave of the hand.

  His jeans zipped but not buttoned, he drank a glass of water—definitely not milk—while staring blankly out of the window. How could she behave in such a way with him and not feel more than lust? Ah well, the Chinese water torture was drip, dripping its way into her psyche, he hoped.

  He remembered her remark about the newspaper and went to find it.

  Shit, shit and double shit. Who had fed the information about another exposé? The article was spare on true facts and high on innuendo, but someone somewhere needed shooting.

  “Shower’s empty,” Vairi called down the stairs.

  Pity that. He washed his glass and left it to drain before heading upstairs.

  Half an hour later, clean but unfortunately having to wear the same clothes he had arrived in that morning, he helped her onto the bike, knowing full well the skintight cream trousers and vivid blue shirt she wore like a second skin would be enough to get him hard and the ride would keep him that way. One look at her and he reverted to eighteen and permanently randy. No, I don’t, he acknowledged as they molded together and flowed around a corner. I feel thirty-one and permanently randy. He wriggled to try to be seated in a more comfortable position. Behind him, Vairi wriggled too. Accident or design? He didn’t deign to guess.

  By the time they pulled up at the site entrance, he was more than ready to pull her up. Up and into him. Over and over again. Judging by the look on her face, she felt much the same way.

  “Fuck, Raig.” She surreptitiously tweaked her jeans as she spoke. “I’ll never look at a biker in the same way again.”

  “Don’t look at all unless it’s me,” Raig advised her with a grin. “As for the rest… I wish, and I want.” His look was rueful. “It’s going to have to wait though.”

  “Huh? Oh.” She blushed. After all they had experienced together, she still blushed at innuendo face to face. He loved it.

  “Come on.” He took pity on her and led the way to the compound, where he left his bike. “I need to change.”

  As she took hold of the hand he held out to her, Vairi nodded toward the paper he had picked up as they’d left the house.

  “What do you reckon? He’s a star but it must be hard for his family. Never knowing…”

  He shrugged. “Someone’s in for it. That guy is bullet fodder to a lot of people.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess. But he does a lot of good, so surely someone will protect him?” Vairi asked. “After all, it’s something that needs doing and it’s bloody good TV.”

  “Hope so.” What else could he say? “Do you think he’s right to do what he does even if it puts him and those he loves in danger?”

  Vairi tilted her head to one side as she presumably considered his words. “I think I do. If he were my other half, I’d be shit scared every time he went off on assignment or whatever it is, but I’d be proud of him. And you know? Men and women all over the world have jobs that could impact—no, do impact—on their families. That’s what keeps our world safe. Why?”

  “That’s good to know. I, er, just wondered. I do get a bit of aggro in my other job.”

  She looked at him strangely. “I never knew investment banking was so scary. Never mind, I’ll still be on your side.”

  “Phew, my champion?”

  “Yeah, every time.”

  Now all I have to do is find out how to tell her about my other life and hope she meant it.

  They walked across the site, silent and empty except for workers who checked and rechecked safety equipment, rides, stalls, prizes, everything. Some called out greetings, others waved or nodded. Raig felt a visitor-less, deserted, silent fairground during the day was one of the saddest places he ever wandered around. Even the noise of hammers, or people calling to one another, didn’t lift the sensation of melancholy. At night, it felt different. Then it was waiting for the next event, any faults and drabness hidden by the all-encompassing cover of darkness and anticipation ran high. In daylight all imperfections were revealed and displayed for all to see.

  Raig looked at his empire, all on show, with a critical eye, and was reasonably pleased. Phil was good, better than good even. Raig knew he could leave the following week without any worries. Well, no worries about the fair at least. He’d face the other problem later. First he had his big night out to coordinate and enjoy.

  * * * *

  “He’s a lovely man, you know. Good looking, helpful and ever so kind. Do anything for any of these charities here.” One of the wheelchair pushers spoke to Vairi loud enough for Raig to hear. He doubted Vairi realized that the side of a stall was between them. He’d disappeared to go and sort out a minor problem on a distant booth and been waylaid by several people who’d wanted to thank him for the evening. It had been a good twenty minutes since he’d left her helping entertain the kids in the queue for the chair-o-planes, before he was able to make his way back to her. The evening had gone just as he hoped and there wasn’t long left before coaches and cars took the several hundred revelers away and the fairground staff started the big clear up.

  “Mmm, I know.” Vairi’s tone was humorous. Raig grimaced.

  “He pays for all this, does Sir Padraig. Out of his own pocket. Mind you, we all know he’s as rich as the richest. Sir Paul McCartney’s got nothing on him. He doesn’t flaunt it or anything. Just helps where and when it’s needed. There’s a good few kids here with all-singing, all-dancing wheelchairs thanks to him. To
say nothing of those adventure holidays for young carers. He’s one in a million, is Sir Padraig.”

  Raig groaned. Shit, shit and double shit. He could imagine Vairi’s brain ticking as she homed in on one point the woman had made.

  “Er, Sir?” Was that interest or annoyance he could hear?

  “Oooh yes.” He could tell by the tone of voice the woman was pleased to have someone to pass her knowledge on to. “Not that he uses the Sir bit, you know, being Irish and all that. A bit like Bob Geldof after Live Aid. They get it but can’t use it.”

  She made it sound like a vibrator with no batteries.

  “Yes, I see,” Vairi said in a noncommittal tone. “Look, it’s Benji’s turn now.” He watched as Vairi helped the boy into the seat and checked he was strapped in safely before she smiled at the helper and walked away. He caught her eye, and she swerved in his direction.

  “Well, hello, Sir Rake. Do I need to curtsey?” No mistaking the sarcasm. Or the hurt.

  “Cut it out, love. I never use it.”

  “You don’t say. Really?” She raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Or choose to mention it either.”

  He was uncomfortable, just as, he imagined a worm on a hook might feel. “Because it’s not important.”

  Her eyes flashed fire at him. “Not the right answer, Rake. I could have sworn you said I was important. You say you love me, but you don’t share something as consequential and relevant as a knighthood. Just because you choose not to use it, do not denigrate it. I don’t give a shit about your money. I knew you had to be reasonably well-off from what Lorna and Denny had said, but I don’t equate your wealth with you the man. Taking time out to work the fair, owning it. Doing something that could be dangerous. I’m not stupid, there’s got to be more than a few quid behind you. But your knighthood? That’s an honor. Don’t deny something that, whether you like it or not, is such an integral part of you. Not to me, who you profess to love. Some love that. If you lie by omission, how the hell can I believe anything you say?” She bit back a sob. “Ah hell, you’ve made me cry more than anyone in years and I do not like it at all. Shit, I told you how I feel about lies. All I ever had from Lorna’s dad was lie after lie. I trusted him, and he just about broke me. I swore blind after him that never again was I going to put up with being lied to. By omission or otherwise.”

  She was struggling not to cry properly, and his heart sank. If she was that upset over his knighthood, what the hell would she say when she found out the rest? He had no illusions it would be ‘when’ and not ‘if’. And it better come from him, not someone else.

  “Well, and just how would you like me to bring that into a conversation?” He tamped his rising ire down—anger wouldn’t help—and strove to keep his voice level. “And when exactly? Let’s screw, and by the way call me Sir when you come? Or, I’m good in bed because I’m a knight? Give me a break here, love. Even to say ‘hello, I’m Sir Padraig O’Shea’ strikes me as up my own arsiness.” He knew his tone of voice made him sound like a sulky kid who’d been caught out doing something wrong, but he couldn’t help himself. He might have lied by omission, but he felt what he had said was true. It wasn’t something you could drop nonchalantly into a conversation. To be honest, it wasn’t something he deemed relevant, or even really thought about. To his mind there were much more important things he had to divulge that were causing him headaches.

  He waited. She stared. All around them the noise of the fair continued. Children shrieked and screamed. Generator noises vied with the thumping base coming over the loud speakers. In his mind, all those sounds and people faded to the periphery. Only he and Vairi mattered. He watched the chair-o-plane whirling round above their heads in an absent manner and noticed it was slowing down.

  “Isn’t there a bit of pot, kettle and black here, Cracking Carry C?” He spoke wearily. “Maybe overreaction? Oh, for f— Heaven’s sake, this is neither the time nor the place.”

  He thought a hint of guilt flashed in her eyes. Perhaps it was pure rage, he had no idea. When she spoke her tone was waspish.

  “Again? Oh, how convenient. Shall I make an appointment with your social secretary?” She walked to the ride in preparation to help people off, and he followed her.

  “You do that. She’s called Vairi McQueen. Ask her when I can speak to you. You know where I am.” Sod this, he had work to do. He felt like throwing his hands up in an ‘oh, what’s the point’ gesture, but didn’t want to bring any more attention to himself. Few people had noticed the interchange, and that was the way he wanted it to stay. Head held high and smiling at all and sundry, he walked to the Ready Room to collect the goody bags already prepared for each and every child. Over to her now. Yes, he knew he was in the wrong. Yes, he was well aware he was behaving like an ill-mannered brat and yes, he was hurt, angry and fucking scared he’d blown it. And was likely to do so even more in the future. But she’d spat the dummy out as well…hadn’t she?

  He didn’t know if she watched him leave. Tried to tell himself he didn’t care. A lie, but one he would try to change into the truth. Hopefully. Eventually. Fuck it, who the hell do I think I’m kidding here? This is the price I pay for acting like I did. Grow a pair and get over it, for fuck’s sake. Privacy was a wonderful thing, but not when it cost him the one thing that mattered.

  There was a tug on his arm and he looked around. A lanky teenager, jeans held up by willpower, was looking at him nervously.

  “Mister, er, Sir…”

  He smiled and thought of an old song, something about smile, when your heart is breaking. Yup, he could do that. Maybe. “Raig,” he said now. “I’m Raig. And you are?”

  “Simon Dalton. I’m a carer. I want to say thank you. It’s been great. The lady you sent to help Mum is lovely, and she’s been a few times to get to know us. She says we’re friends now, and she’s going to come at least once a week so I can go to extra rugby practice. So, thanks.” He held out his hand and Raig shook it.

  “My pleasure.” He meant it.

  The boy turned away, but not before Raig saw the glint of a tear. Compared to what some of these kids had to contend with, his messed-up love life wasn’t even a hiccup in the grand scheme of things.

  Chapter Nine

  He didn’t see Vairi again that evening. Apart from a brief text just before midnight stating,

  You’ve fucked up good and proper, you wanker.

  He heard nothing from Denny or Lorna either. On automatic, he had spoken to anyone who cared to speak to him, accepting thanks, offering comments and generally not acting like an asshole who had, as Denny so eloquently put it, ‘fucked up’. If any of his colleagues noticed her absence, they didn’t say, and he managed to get through the chaos of fitting people into the correct buses, tidying up and even locking down the site successfully, all on autopilot. Later, when he looked back, he could remember nothing of the evening after Vairi had walked away.

  He didn’t join Phil and Jonny for a beer, just spoke a brief, “Stuff to do for work, see you tomorrow,” and went back to his trailer, pretending he hadn’t heard Jonny’s parting shot of, “Get out of your arse, Raig.” Trust Jonny.

  Easier said than done, he decided as he moodily walked across the scuffed grass. Even the still evening air failed to work its usual magic on him, and instead of expectant, waiting for excitement, the shrouded and shuttered stalls looked sad and lonely. Just like me, he thought before mentally kicking himself. You’re a grown man, fucking act like one. You’ve fucked up. No one else, so it’s down to you to sort it. Put up or shut up.

  In a nearby oak tree, an owl hooted, to be answered a few seconds later by its mate. The sound was melancholy and evocative and reminded him of his traveling childhood. Dusk and time for the creatures of the night, he mused poetically as he unlocked his trailer, hoping against hope Vairi would be waiting for him. Of course she wasn’t. This is not a bloody fairy story, it’s life. No magic wands, no happy-ever-afters unless you make them, mate.

  So he would do that
.

  Raig took out his laptop and began to send emails. The next stage of his life was hopefully about to begin. An hour later, he was satisfied he’d done as much as he could for a Sunday evening. There were going to be a fair number of people with fireworks under them in the morning, not all of them happy. So be it.

  Now to start damage limitation. He wouldn’t use Vairi’s mobile number. Hell, she’d probably refuse to answer his call anyway, besides erasing any texts without reading them. However, he could set the rest of the big grovel rolling. Firstly, with a text to Denny.

  Yes, I know, going to try to sort it. Please take care of her for me and ask Lorna not to stalk me with a pair of shears just yet,

  His cock shriveled at the idea of Lorna wielding any sort of sharp implement anywhere near his anatomy. She was, he reckoned, not averse to a bit of snip and cut if she deemed it necessary.

  Secondly, a quick phone call to a friend with clout in various areas and he was armed with some essential phone numbers. Not Vairi’s landline, he thought virtuously. To her, he would now behave above board and correctly, including not using her mobile. Even if it killed him.

  If she didn’t come around fast, it might well end in that.

  Raig plotted. It was an uncomfortable position for him to be in, one where he was asking the favors and not the one being asked. For Vairi he would ask—beg if necessary. He prayed it wouldn’t be necessary. By the time he fell exhausted into bed, he was as satisfied as he could be that ‘Operation Vairi’, as he chose to call it, was up and running.

  Satisfied, he slept a straight eight hours, to be woken by someone banging on the door. Damn, he felt as if he’d had eight pints and gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson, not two cups of coffee and a full night’s sleep. Looking around the bed, the covers neat and scarcely wrinkled, he realized he must have slept like the proverbial log.

  “The sleep of the just,” he announced smugly to Phil as he pulled open the door to find him on the step, fist poised to thump again. “You want coffee?” He turned and headed for the kettle.