Breakaway

by Deirdre Martin

  Rory.

  The bastard.

  She tried her best to hide it from Sandra, but the news he was back in Ballycraig had shaken her. Reaching into her bag of clichés, she picked “out of sight, out of mind.” Except it wasn’t true. News of his return opened the door in her head called Rory, which was supposedly snapped shut for good. Now all sorts of emotions were loosed. She felt confused and overwhelmed.

  Thankfully the bus stop wasn’t far from the B and B. All she had to do was go down the High Street, turn right two blocks, and she’d be back at her own personal prison.

  She said her hellos to Grace Finnegan, who was standing outside the grocer’s, smoking a fag, and to Sandra’s daughter Lucy, sitting on one of the benches outside of the pub with her “boyfriend.” “He’s got a face on him that would drive rats from a barn,” Sandra had said, and it was true. Lucy looked mortified that Erin said hi to her. The only thing worse than being greeted by your mother was being greeted by your mother’s best friend.

  A small group of people were coming slowly toward her. Erin frowned. The PJ Leary Walking Tour. Knowing there wouldn’t be enough room on the sidewalk for her and the loony devotees, Erin crossed the street, giving the group a quick once-over: a hip, young Asian man and woman dressed all in black. A middle-aged German couple dressed in matching hats. A pack of young, swarthy guys smoking. The usual group of avid Americans. At the rear was a handsome man who looked just like Rory.

  Couldn’t be, she told herself, even though she knew damn well he was in town. Erin ducked her head, continuing to check out the group surreptitiously. Shoot. It was him, all right.

  Erin hastened her pace. Seeing him was like seeing a ghost: it jolted her, cheated her of breath. Three more blocks, she thought desperately, beginning to feel shaky. Just three—

  “Erin?”

  She kept moving. If she stopped, she was affirming his question. But if she kept moving, there was a chance he’d think he’d just called out to someone who merely resembled her.

  “Erin!”

  Now he was jogging across the street. What was she supposed to do? Drop the grocery cart and run like hell? She was a deep-feeling person, but she was not a lunatic, at least not anymore. Appropriate cliché here: “time to face the music.”

  Erin halted, her right hand still gripping the shopping cart tightly, then she turned to him. An invisible fortress, impervious to pain, sprung up around her. If he stepped too close, he’d be massacred. She hadn’t a hint of makeup on and her hair was pulled back with a scrunchie. Her jeans hung off her now because of the year she could barely gag down food, thanks to him. He looked shocked. He deserved to look shocked. He’d created the woman in front of him.

  He was just about to open his mouth when the tour guide called out to him. “Mr. Brady? Will you be rejoining us or not? We’re about to head to the cottage.”

  “I’ve got to pass!” he called back. “I’ll be back tomorrow!”

  The brevity of the exchange gave Erin a chance to look him over quickly. He still looked like Becks around the time his hair was buzzed and he did that ad for Calvin Klein. More color in his face, though.

  That’s as far as she got before Rory’s attention was back on her. She waited. If he thought she was going to initiate conversation, he’d taken one too many pucks to the head.

  “Hi,” he said quietly.

  Erin was unsmiling. “Hi.”

  “How are you?”

  “None of your business.” She resumed walking. But he wouldn’t let it be.

  “Erin.” Her heart gave a tiny thump. She knew that tone, the one that carried the mildest touch of entreaty. Once she would have melted. Now she just wanted to get away from him before she went rabid on him, howling out all her pain and grief while she tore him to shreds.

  He repeated her name. Erin’s shoulders drooped in defeat, but she kept on walking. “What do you want?”

  “To talk to you.”

  “And so you have.”

  He was hustling alongside her. “No, I mean properly.”

  “As far as I can tell, this is proper.”

  “Erin, please.” He put a hand out to stop the cart, but she jerked it away.

  “Don’t touch me, Rory.” She quickened her pace, staring straight ahead. Almost there.

  “All I’m asking—”

  “Leave me alone, Rory.”

  “Erin—”

  She glared at him. “Leave me alone, Rory.”

  She didn’t care if she had to walk blocks and blocks past the B and B, repeating this over and over, if that was what it took to get him to leave her be.

  Rory lapsed into silence, but he continued walking beside her.

  “Christ, will you not even make small talk with me?”

  “Leave me alone, Rory.”

  Erin quickened her pace even more. It felt empowering to tell him to leave her alone, but at the same time, she was so unnerved to be walking with him she felt like she might throw up. She’d truly thought she’d never see him again, except maybe when his gran passed and the family came back to Ballycraig for the funeral. Now here he was, trailing her down the street, thinking all he had to do was say her name and she’d fold. The man had a screw loose.

  Erin?

  Oh, Rory! How are you? I’ve been wondering what you’ve been up to since you messed up my life. Oh, come in, let’s have a cup of tea and catch up. It’s so good to see you again, you egotistical heartless wanker of a prat.

  She was moving at a good clip, getting closer and closer to home, but Rory still trailed her. Erin couldn’t help but wonder if he was so stupid that he was puzzled by her hostility. She couldn’t believe he was going to be around all summer. She’d bet dollars to donuts (another cliché; she was going for the record) he was not going to back off.

  Because Rory Brady never backed off. He kicked, fought, bulldozed; he did whatever he had to do to get what he wanted, whether it was playing for the NHL, or appearing in his hometown like the risen Christ to regain what he thought was rightfully his. Too bad the fool didn’t know that the meek, love-sodden girl he once loved didn’t exist anymore. Erin squared her shoulders and continued on her way.

  * * *

  Okay, so that didn’t go exactly as planned, but it was the first time, Rory reminded himself as he turned around and started back toward town. “Piss off.” Those weren’t her exact words, but repeating “leave me alone” could be interpreted as the same thing.

  He’d almost missed her. Standing in the cluster of tourists waiting for the PJ Leary tour to start, he was amazed by the variety of languages swirling around him. The tour guide looked like a nutter, dressed as the leprechaun queen character from the first book, but Rory supposed it helped create the mood. He handed over his euros, waiting as everyone else took their turn to pay. And that’s when he saw Erin.

  At first he thought himself wrong: this pale woman with long, lustrous black hair was far too thin to be Erin. But he’d know that slow, graceful pace anywhere. Without thinking, he called out her name. The woman quickened her pace. It was Erin for sure, trying to get the hell away from him.

  He realized that now, but at the time, the thought never entered his head that she might not want to talk to him. He was too overwhelmed by the sight of her to create the simple equation: Erin + quickening pace = Go chase yourself, Rory Brady.

  He jogged across the street to talk with her. The coldness in her once animated green eyes took him aback. Never had he seen such a look of pure hatred on Erin O’Brien’s face. Just as disconcerting was the thinness. She’d never been overweight, but she’d never been all sharp angles that’d poke a man to death, either. She’d been soft and smooth-skinned, a carefree look on her face except when it came to her smothering parents or Sandra and the ball bag she’d married. Standing before him now, Erin’s sweetness was well under wraps. Things had changed.

  The minute he spotted her, he knew he’d bail on the walking tour. The chorus of voices that had initially caught h
is attention now sounded to him like a drone of bees he wouldn’t be able to swat away.

  Erin’s frostiness hurt, but as he’d told himself, it was just their first encounter. He had the whole summer to make things right.

  5

  “Erin, I need to speak to you, love.”

  Erin hung her head in defeat at the sound of her mother’s voice outside her bedroom door. It was close to midnight, which meant she wasn’t here to discuss B and B business. Erin closed her laptop. She’d been reading about abstract expressionism. She particularly liked Jackson Pollock, those huge canvases with splashes of paint that looked chaotic but really weren’t. As soon as she left Ballycraig, one of the places she wanted to visit was MOMA, to see one of these magnificent canvases in person.

  “Erin!”

  “I just need a minute.” It was wearying, the way her mother still spoke to her as if she were a recalcitrant child who needed to be told twice she was wanted.

  She opened the door just a crack, slipping through and locking it behind her before her mother could peep inside. Her mother hated the whole business with the lock. Weren’t they family? What on earth could she be hiding? My future, Erin thought.

  “What’s up, Ma?” Erin’s mood quickly turned to worry when she saw the distressed look on her mother’s face.

  She pressed Erin’s shoulder. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

  Erin followed her mother downstairs.

  “Here, have a seat.”

  Erin sat, thinking to herself that if the kitchen gleamed any brighter, she’d be blinded. Her mother had always been a bit fanatical about keeping the kitchen pristine. A stray pea left in the sink didn’t stand a chance.

  Her mother pulled up a chair beside her, her expression grave.

  “Ma, what’s going on? Is it Da? Did something happen? Brian?”

  “No, no, no, it’s nothing like that.”

  “Then what?”

  “This isn’t easy for me,” her mother began, massaging the back of her neck.

  Erin’s heart punched. “Are you sick?”

  “No.”

  “Ma.”

  “Look, your da and I realize you’re entitled to your privacy,” her mother said with a grimace. “But we’re not stupid. The locked door, you clacking away at that computer all hours.” Her eyes grew watery. “We figured it all out.”

  Erin was confused. “Figured what out?”

  “That you’re looking at online dating sites.”

  Erin heaved a sigh of relief. Her mother could have a wild imagination when forced to fill in the blanks. For a brief moment, Erin was convinced her mother was going to accuse her of looking at online porn.

  “I am.”

  Her mother blinked. “I don’t understand. Why on earth would you do that?”

  “Maybe I’d like to meet someone.”

  “If you’re only looking at fellas online, then I don’t understand why you need a lock on your door.”

  Erin contemplated banging her head on the table but knew it wouldn’t do any good. “I need my privacy.”

  “But I’m your mother.”

  “The one who read my diary when I was thirteen!”

  Her mother looked guilty. “I know, I know. I guess you’ve the right.” Her mother tapped her nails on the kitchen table thoughtfully. “I could help you.”

  “Say again?”

  “Look at fellas,” her mother said, her voice growing animated. “If you found some you liked, you could run ’em by me, and I could give ’em the old thumbs-up or thumbs-down.”

  “I love you, Ma, but you’ve lost it.”

  “I’ve lost it? I’m not the one who refuses to take a good look at what’s right under her nose. You need some guidance is what I say.”

  Erin groaned. “Not Jake again. Please.”

  Her mother pursed her lips disapprovingly. “It doesn’t make sense to me. He’s lovely, and what’s more, he’d treat you right. Already has.”

  “I know that. But we work best as friends.”

  “Ah, you barely dated him.”

  “Because I didn’t feel what you’re supposed to feel.”

  “Relationships aren’t all moonlit nights and roses, you know.”

  Erin was becoming prickly. “Really, Ma? Why don’t you tell me more about relationships, since I’ve never been in one.”

  Her mother’s expression remained serious. “Let me ask you something.”

  Erin sighed.

  “Pretend—do not interrupt me, please—pretend you’ve never seen Jake Fry in your life. Ever. And then he walks into the Oak. What would you think?”

  “I’d think he was handsome. So what?”

  “And suppose he started to chat you up and asked you on a date. Would you say yes or no? Remember: you’ve never seen or talked to him before.”

  “Mam—”

  “Yes or no.”

  “I’d probably say yes,” Erin admitted.

  “Well, that’s what you need to do. Look at him with fresh eyes.”

  Erin was silent.

  “D’you know how many women would give their eyeteeth for someone like Jake? He’s a good man, and he loves you to death, that much is obvious. He was there for you when the chips were down.”

  “I know he’s a great guy and all, but I just can’t—”

  “Get past that bastard Rory Brady,” her mother cut in bitterly.

  “That’s not true and you know it.”

  “I know what I know, and it’s a desperate woman looks to find fellas online when there are good men in her own town. Rory’s turned you against all men in Ballycraig.”

  “You’re addled. You know that, right?”

  “I know what I know.”

  Erin grit her teeth. “I hate when you say that.”

  “You know what I think the problem is with you girls today?”

  “I’m twenty-five, but go ahead, tell me.”

  “You’re all for the action and adventure. You’d prefer a bloke who treats you like shite, because you’re all caught up in the melodrama of ‘he loves me, he loves me not.’ You don’t give a nice fella like Jake the time of day because there’s no drama there.”

  Erin put her hands in her lap, digging her fingernails into her thighs. “Rory only turned out to be a shite in the end. You know that.”

  Her mother looked teary. “You should have given that one walking papers years before. For him to break up with you…”

  “Can we please get off the subject of Rory? And before you say it, yes, I know, he’s back in town. I saw him yesterday.”

  Her mother looked alarmed. “You did?”

  “I was coming off the bus and he was taking the PJ Leary tour. He spotted me and said hello, I said hello, and he kept yappin’ on. I told him to leave me alone, and he did. So you needn’t worry about him trying to charm me.”

  Her mother looked dubious. “We’ll see. He’s got charisma, that one.”

  She began to rise from the table, but Erin asked her to please sit down. “You’ve had your say. It’s my turn now.”

  “This’ll be rich.”

  “It will and all,” Erin shot back.

  “Right, I’m sat down,” said her mother, settling back into her chair.

  “Why was I the one coming back from Moneygall with the groceries?”

  Her mother furrowed her brows. “I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do, you understand perfectly well. It should’ve been the person you’ve hired to replace me.”

  Her mother looked cornered. “I haven’t had time to hire anybody. It’s been busy. The summer…”

  “It’s going on months now,” Erin pointed out plaintively. “Months. We agreed I would only be helping out for a short while, but I’ve started to feel taken for granted; you just keep piling more and more stuff on me.”

  Her mother stiffened. “I don’t understand.”

  “First it was just laundry and making the beds. Then I started doing the shopping. Now you’ve
got me vacuuming sometimes and baking the odd batch of scones.” Erin pressed her lips together. “This is hard for me to say, but if you don’t hire someone by the end of this month, I’m going to start interviewing people myself. I already put an ad in the paper and have had loads of responses.”

  Her mother pretended not to hear. “Darlin’, I don’t see what the problem is. Aren’t you happy to be working with your family?”

  “No,” Erin said bluntly, regretting it immediately. She had to tread the boards softly. “I have other things I want to do in my life.”

  “Like what?”

  “Get a college degree.”

  Her mother snorted dismissively. “Don’t be daft.”

  Erin’s insides felt like a dull razor was being scraped across them. “Why is that daft?”

  “University is for snooty people. You know, like Aislinn’s sister Nora.”

  “You had no problem with me taking courses when I was with Rory.”

  “Well, that was just a bit of fun, wasn’t it?”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Erin said sharply. “I’ve always wanted to make something of myself.”

  Her mother appeared mystified. “And what would you make of yourself?”

  “Whatever I want.” Erin tried to hold her temper back, but couldn’t. Her mother’s blatant insult cut her too badly to just sit there and take it. “Why is it that anything that doesn’t fit in with your view of the world is ‘daft’? I remember you saying Aislinn was mad because she took over her parents’ sheep farm. You know what your problem is? You never encouraged us to reach. Me and Brian. You never encouraged us to dream, because you think that if you dream, you might get hurt. Sometimes that’s true. I got hurt by Rory. But I learned from that: it’s better to dream and get your bloody face kicked in than to play it safe and live in a very tiny world, never taking any risks.”