‘It’s not like that, Em. It’s …’ he says, rhythmically clenching and unclenching his right fist as though it might hold the words he’s searching for. ‘Look, I know it’s hard for you to understand, but over these past few months and years I’ve been to hell and back with the businesses and may very well return there. I’m back in court in London on Friday and who knows what might happen.’ In a slow blink the heavy wet drops brimming on his dark lashes break and a pair of tears race down his pale face.
‘To be honest, it’s all I can do to get out of bed and put on the armour these days,’ he says, dragging heavily on the cigarette. ‘And Magda, she –’ He stops to exhale an impressively long plume of smoke but says nothing more. He couldn’t look any more sad.
‘But you love her?’ I ask, tears streaming from my own eyes now.
His silence says everything.
I swallow my heavy sobs. I know this is my time. I know this is the moment. I open my mouth again and out it fires. ‘I have a boyfriend, Dad.’
He spins around, stunned. His eyes blaze wide and he’s perfectly still now. Even his jowly cheeks stop wobbling. For the first time in weeks it feels like I really have his attention.
‘I tried to tell you about him before. I was really excited, desperate to share it with you, but each time I’d go to talk to you, like properly talk, you had to go.’ I lean against the pantry door, needing its support for what I’m about to say. ‘I never thought I’d feel the way I do about him.’ Dad turns to me and inhales deeply. He’s really listening now. ‘You see, Dad,’ I take a deep breath, ‘I didn’t know. Nobody told me I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with Liam Flynn.’
Dad’s eyes flash open and smoke spills chaotically from his nose and mouth. I can only watch as the blood drains from his face and his Adam’s apple drops in his throat as he stares into the middle distance. He flicks the cigarette to the ground.
‘Jesus Christ, Emerald!’ he says, stepping closer, running his left hand over the stubble on each side of his chin. ‘You’ve got to tell me this is a wind-up.’
It’s my turn to shake my head. He registers this and stamps on the discarded cigarette butt with his heel, crushing it into the path. He starts to pace up and down on the gravel. ‘I’m taking you home.’
‘I don’t want to go home, Dad.’
‘Now listen to me, Em.’ He stops here and I watch him attempt to grab a hold of his temper. ‘Give me a few more weeks. I’m going to sort this. You’ve got to trust me.’
‘No.’
In a split second his rage is suspended and his tired eyes skim back up at me on the step. ‘No?’
I grit my teeth, but every part of me is shaking. ‘No. I won’t.’
‘No, you won’t come home, or no, you won’t trust me?’
‘Neither, not right now, no.’
He slinks towards me. ‘Emerald,’ he says, his face wide open; the pain is plain to see. ‘Please,’ he says ever so slowly, ‘tell me what I need to do to make this right.’
My hands find the wall behind me. ‘I already know.’
‘OK,’ he says, tapping another cigarette out of the pack. He flips it up and down on the box as though considering whether or not to light it. Finally he pops it into his mouth. ‘Tell me.’
‘You need to apologise.’
He spits the unlit cigarette from his lips and reaches out, seizing my hand. ‘Sweetheart, I am sorry. I am so sorry,’ he cries.
I shake off his grip. Did he really believe it could be that easy? ‘Not to me –’
‘I’ve been to see your mum,’ he cuts in, reaching for my hand again.
I hold it up to his face, stopping him. He scratches his head and I clear my throat. ‘To Donal Flynn.’
There’s a low growl as he turns on his well polished heel, walking into the garden past Grandma’s little vegetable patch. He takes a right by the shed and disappears amongst the apple trees. Where’s he gone? Suddenly he’s marching back up the path towards me, each stride faster and more resolute. ‘This isn’t a game, Emerald,’ he barks, waving the unlit cigarette in front of him, a storm raging behind his eyes.
‘It’s not. And that’s why you’ve got to put it right.’
‘How are you proposing I do this?’ he says, cupping his hand around the lighter and sparking it too close to his lips.
A vehement trail of smoke spills from his nostrils but my eyes never waver from his. ‘A simple sorry, face to face.’
‘We’re not in the playground now.’
I fan the stinking cloud away. ‘That’s exactly my point, Dad. This isn’t a squabble between boys – this is real!’
‘Real?’ he says, with a laugh that is horribly hollow.
‘Yes!’
Both of his hands fly into the air. ‘I am within a hair’s breadth of losing everything. Everything!’ he roars. ‘That’s what’s bloody real to me right now. All that Horizon stuff was three years ago – water under the bridge. Donal Flynn will always blame me for what happened.’ I watch his eyes slowly close, exhausted by his anger. ‘I’m damned in his eyes, no matter what I do. That’s just the way it is, Scout.’
‘You can’t call me that any more.’ I look down on him from the step, the only time I’ve towered above Dad in my life. ‘Don’t you see? Scout’s dad was the bravest man alive because he started something he knew was doomed but he stuck with it, in spite of everything, because he knew in his heart it was right.’
Dad blinks, his face a wash of confusion: eyes and mouth, frozen open in stunned surprise. Then he flicks his fag butt behind him with a deflated sigh and slowly shakes his head.
‘He had real courage, Dad.’
He looks up at the sky, squinting through a shaft of sunlight that’s broken through the heavy grey cloud. ‘What do you honestly expect it to achieve, Em?’
‘I don’t know. I just know it’s the right thing to do.’
LIAM
All I came to say
Da doesn’t seem to notice my lousy driving the rest of the way home; at least he says nothing. It’s not until we pull into the drive that he sits up sharply in his seat, which in this car means his head practically hits the roof.
‘Who the f–?’ he barks, flinging the door open and clambering out of the car before I’ve even stopped.
I’m still rolling down the drive when I look up to see Mam standing inside the open door, talking to some man in a suit. Her arms are crossed over her spotty apron. I expect he’s selling something. Da’s up now, hoofing down the drive towards them. I pull the handbrake up and shove the door to get out. Then I hear him.
‘Get out of here,’ he roars, slinging at the fella’s neck from behind. ‘Get out of my house!’
My brain’s struggling to compute; it’s no salesman.
‘Wait, Donal,’ the man cries, wrestling free from the grip of Da’s giant arm around his neck. He struggles loose and twists around so I see his whole face. It’s his hairline, the same grey receding hairline that stood out from the photo in Emerald’s grandma’s house. Jim Byrne, the shameless scut is standing on our front step, fixing himself. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Da’s giving him a filthy look, looking like his chest is finally about to burst out from under that shirt of his. Mam’s one step higher, perched inside the door, nervously tucking her fringe behind her ear. What the Jaysus is going on?
‘D’ya hear me, Byrne? Out!’ Da shouts, pointing back to the road before pushing his shirtsleeves further up his arm.
Mam pulls Da’s hand down. ‘Donal, listen to what –’
‘I can’t, Maeve,’ he cuts in, waving his hand violently up the drive again. ‘I’ve had twenty years of his shite. He can’t Back-to-the-feckin’-Future himself out of this one. There’s no making this better.’
I follow Da’s hand to where a little black A-Class Merc is parked up on the road by the bus stop. It’s Emerald’s grandma’s car! I must have missed it driving in but I’m staring at it now, trying to digest all the chaos, when the
passenger door opens and Em’s head emerges. Decked out in a man’s shirt and shorts, her feet flip flop down the tarmac drive. Her hair is all tied up on her head and she looks over, her eyes meeting mine. Her face is steely and determined, exactly like it was the night she waded through the icy sea, on to the shore at Deadmaiden’s Cove.
I want to run and shield her from the bomb that’s about to explode on the porch below.
We all watch as she approaches. I don’t want to take my eyes off her but she’s staring ahead to Jim and my head has to track from side to side to follow both her and the unfolding showdown. She bows her head in a tiny, stern nod to her own da, who studies her for a second before turning back around to mine.
Next thing I’m watching Jim’s hand tentatively extend to Da’s and my heart is doing mental things; that’s when I feel her body brush up against mine and volts of electricity surge through me.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jim says to Da.
I look to Da, then to Mam, then to Emerald and then to the back of Jim’s head. I don’t move; nobody does. We’re collectively fixed on him.
‘That’s all I came to say,’ he says, his neck and shoulders hung low. ‘It’s too late of course, but maybe one day you can forgive me.’
Da’s staring at the ground, rocking his head from side to side. His lower jaw juts forward and he’s panting like an animal. He sucks in a huge breath. ‘Well, you can feck off now you’ve relieved your conscience,’ he shouts at Jim, kicking at the plant pot by his foot.
Jim dips his head and starts to stride back up towards us. I slump as Emerald leaves my side; her force field edging towards their triangle of doom. Seeing her approach, Da steps back beside Mam, like he feels her electricity too. Jim stops and turns around. I can see all their faces now as Em scans each of them in turn.
What’s she at? Does she not know what Mam’s already been through? That force field of hers won’t stand up to Da’s red-hot lava. Still she stands, hands on her hips, looking at Da, before she takes a deep, growling breath. He recoils further into the hallway and Mam clamps a cautionary arm on his available limbs.
‘I was angry too,’ Em says, her voice is small but her words are crystal clear. ‘And when I didn’t think I could possibly get any more angry, I did. But I couldn’t stay that mad,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘It was eating me up from the inside, like I was drinking poison and expecting the people I’m mad at to drop dead. What’s the point in that?’ she says, throwing her hands up at the two dumbstruck men. She settles her gaze back on Da. ‘You’ve suffered enough, Mr Flynn. You deserve to be free. Don’t do it for him.’ She gestures back to Jim. ‘Do it for you. For all of you.’
Is this happening? Have we switched galaxy? Something is going on with Da’s face. Em’s stare is like a dimmer on his cowboy eyes – the longer she looks at him the more their burning light defuses. I’m walking down the drive for a closer look. I stop beside Em and instantly feel her fingers lace into mine. Jim glances up at us, looking tortured. I see Mam’s eyes over the top of Jim’s head, Da’s too, and all six startled peepers dart from one to the other, trying to work out how the world just flipped upside down.
‘C’mon, Em. Let’s go,’ Jim says. The raised veins at the side of his head are bulging.
Emerald squeezes my hand. ‘Go on, Dad, I’ll follow later,’ she says. Her body is shaky against mine and I squeeze her hand back as Jim stands there for what feels like an eternity, eyeballing her. He won’t even look at me. I don’t think he can. Then his head drops and he trundles back up the drive.
Without Byrne as cover, Da’s eyes are fully on me now. It’s hard to read his look but I’d hazard a guess at that post-traumatic shell-shock. Emerald twists back up the drive and I spin on my heel. Her body moves with mine and we pivot together like the wheels and pinions on Grandda’s old watch, except now our little mechanism is turbocharged.
Together we turn back to Mam and Da, who are motionless on the front step. Da’s arms are crossed and Mam’s leaning against the door frame on her left. As I take them in, it’s not Da’s face that shocks me; it’s Mam’s. She’s looking at Em. Actually, it’s not so much looking at her as dissecting her. Despite her defensive stance, her eyes are warm and alive. Em stares back and something passes between them, the force of which is making my chest tight.
Perhaps it’s Mam’s lips that give her away, not smiling as such but slanting a fraction like they mean to.
Who was I kidding? I don’t need to shield Emerald Rutherford Byrne from nothing; nobody does.
EMERALD
A bit like Irish college
‘That was fun,’ I say, thumbing away the remains of my Carmex cherry lip balm from the edge of Liam’s mouth. ‘I mean it.’
‘Your little shelters goodbye party was Kenny’s idea. Had I my way I’d have kept you to myself.’
I take in a last lungful of Portstrand’s sea air. ‘Can’t believe I’m going home.’
Liam sighs. ‘It’s a bit like Irish college.’
‘What?’
‘Ah, you think it’s the worst thing ever, being sent off, but then you’re heartbroken to leave there in the end.’
‘Um, I think there’s a little more to it than that,’ I say, kicking him lightly on the shin. ‘I was kind of hoping you did too.’
‘I do and you know it, but it’s a good analogy; trust me.’
‘Wanna come in?’
‘Better not. Nana Byrne’s going to want a piece of you tonight. She’s gonna miss you too, I bet.’
I shut Grandma’s front door gently behind me and take a second to savour the delicious quiet of the hallway where the steady tick-clang of the grandfather clock is the only sound. I think about my first night here eight weeks ago and how everything so familiar now felt anything but. I’m about to set my key down on the hall table when I pick it back up and hang it on the ornate row of gold hooks above the holy water bottle.
‘In the kitchen,’ Grandma calls out.
I catch a glimpse of my mascara-less eyes and cheeks more freckly than ever and I smile a crooked smile at my smiling-back face. It’s like the cracks are merging into some kind of whole.
‘Emerald?’
‘Coming,’ I say, bouncing into the bright kitchen. Grandma is sat at the table, twisting her rings around her finger; a tiny clump of tissue crumpled into her fist. There’s no steaming teapot, no china plate of biscuits. I try to swallow.
‘Eliza has called several times now.’
I search her face for a lead, instinctively patting down my pockets. ‘But I left my phone here.’ I walk into the room, closer to her.
‘Call her back first, pet?’ she says, pressing her lips together and making them go thin.
‘She’s OK, isn’t she? I mean, nothing’s happened? They let her out?’
‘She’s fine,’ she cuts in, with a slow nod. ‘She’s at home but she needs to talk with you.’
I sprint up the stairs, tumbling all the way until I reach the bed. Collapsing on to the floor, I snatch the phone from where I’d left it charging under the side table. Six missed calls from the home phone number, which is some relief. No message. I hold my breath and stab redial. She picks up immediately. ‘Mum? You OK?’
‘I’m fine, darling. You?’
I push myself up and sit down on the bed, letting the air cautiously out of my lungs. ‘Yes, but –’
‘It’s your dad.’
‘What about him?’ I say, curling my feet underneath me.
‘They reached a verdict. Well, the first verdict, at least.’
Today of course! I’d somehow let Dad’s court case slip my mind. I’ve been so distracted; so blinkered by all the implications for me that I’d somehow detached from it, fooling myself into believing his punishment was served on the Flynn’s driveway last Wednesday. I’m now absolutely sure that was a mistake. ‘And?’
‘There isn’t an easy way to say this, Em.’
‘Spit it out, Mum. Please!’ I’m sitting up straight a
gain, perched on the edge of the bed.
‘He’s been served a three-month sentence.’
‘Jail?’
‘It’s hard to believe. No matter how many times I say it myself, it won’t seem to sink in. I keep expecting to be told it’s just a bad dream.’
‘Because of the Bay Road development? For how he pulled out?’
‘No, that’s part of a wider investigation. He was found guilty of contempt. Failing to cooperate, basically. A receiver was appointed to examine several of his companies and Dad’s people seemed to string them along, or, up the garden path, as the judge said. I’m so sorry to have to call you with this, Em. I wanted to tell you myself tomorrow, but I was afraid you’d see it in the papers at the airport.’
I can’t think of anything to say. Having read all those stories online, none of this should feel like a shock. But it does. It feels like we’re talking about someone else, someone who’s not my dad. My skin feels too tight and there’s a delicate pattern of bluish rings all the way up my cold legs.
I need a bath. I’ve a sudden desire to be underwater again.
‘D’you want to talk about it?’
‘Not now,’ I answer, curling back up into a ball. I lay my face against the cool pillow, wondering how a night can swing from such joy to despair inside of an hour.
‘It’s a lot to take in.’
‘I’d like to try and sleep.’
‘I hate the idea of you going to bed with this sort of worry.’
‘I’ve had worse, Mum.’
She sighs but neither of us speaks. Jail? Prison? I’m trying to picture him now alongside these words, but no image comes.
‘The house feels strange without you,’ she says.
‘Will they take it? That’s what happens, isn’t it?’
‘They’ll take what they can, but –’
‘Will I have to leave Hollyfield?’
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