Breakaway

by Deirdre Martin

  “No, she wouldn’t. It’s not her.”

  “I can show you a similar style with a smaller diamond flanked with some baguettes,” the saleswoman said helpfully.

  Rory handed the ring back to her. “That would be lovely.”

  Sandra stared at him. “Look, I’m her best friend, right?” she said to Rory under her breath. “I know what she’ll like and what she won’t.”

  “She wouldn’t like that,” Rory maintained stubbornly.

  The saleswoman delicately selected a ring from three cases down, bringing it to Rory. It had a similar square cut diamond, but with three little diamonds inset on each side.

  “That’s nice,” Rory murmured to himself. He held it out to Sandra. “What d’you think?”

  Sandra inspected it as if she were a jeweler looking for flaws invisible to the naked eye. All she was missing was a jeweler’s loop.

  “Nope.” She handed it back to the saleswoman, whose face was frozen in a polite smile. Rory felt bad for her, knowing how she’d feel by the end of the day.

  Sandra began perusing the case again, while Rory found himself beset by memories: he remembered picking out a simple gold, heart-shaped locket for Erin when they were seventeen, as well as the time the two of them were in here, pretending to shop for engagement rings.

  “I know the ring I want!” Rory burst out. He racked his brain, trying to remember it perfectly. “It was white gold…and the diamond was round but it kind of looked like a star…”

  The saleswoman smiled. “I know the one you mean.” She moved down two cases and delicately plucked a ring from the red velvet foam it was cradled in. “Is this it?”

  Rory’s heart flipped. “It is.”

  How many times had Erin returned to that ring again and again when they were in here? Yet when he was in New York, he’d never even tried to find this simple ring. The ring he’d picked out for her was, in retrospect, a bit too flashy. He remembered how much he wanted her to be impressed that he was making enough money to buy her a ring like that. What a jerk.

  But this was definitely the ring she’d always wanted. “She loves this ring,” he said, passing it to Sandra. “What do you think?”

  Sandra’s eyes began to fill up. “I think it’s perfect,” she whispered. She handed the ring back to Rory, who, feeling all aglow, passed it back to the saleswoman. “I’ll take that, please.”

  “May I help you with anything else today?”

  “Yeah,” Rory said, smiling at Sandra. “What’s your fancy?”

  Sandra looked mystified. “Whaddaya mean, what’s my fancy?”

  “It means I want to buy you something. Can’t have Erin’s best friend walk out of here without something for herself, eh? Think of it as a token for all you’ve done for us, San. Please.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Rory.”

  Rory squeezed her shoulder. “I know that. But I want to. Go on and have a look round.”

  It made Rory happy that Sandra was allowing him to do this for her. She eventually showed him a simple gold tennis bracelet.

  “It’s yours,” he said.

  When he put it on her wrist, she burst into tears. “That was the loveliest thing anyone has ever done for me. Truly.”

  “You deserve lovely things, even if you are an old bag. You can help me figure out where to pop the question on the ride back.”

  26

  “I can’t believe what a great football player you’ve turned into, LJ. Truly.” Rory and the boy were sitting together beneath a tree a few yards from the football pitch. It was the last day of camp, and Rory was delaying packing up the equipment for as long as possible. To him, the end of camp had always meant summer was truly coming to a close.

  Rory tousled LJ’s hair. The morning and afternoon sessions had been combined earlier in the day, playing a match against each other. The afternoon team won, but there were no hard feelings. Still, LJ looked gloomy.

  “You’re gonna try out for the school football team, right? You’re certainly good enough.”

  “You think so?”

  “What did I just tell you? You’re brilliant, LJ.”

  “I kinda wish my dad had seen me play,” he replied sadly.

  “Maybe one day he will.”

  LJ shrugged. “Maybe.” He traced a finger in the dirt. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  “I know. But I’ve got to go back to work.”

  LJ looked thoughtful. “That’s why I want to play professional football.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because being an athlete—it’s not really work.”

  Rory near killed himself laughing. “Not work, eh? I think you’d be surprised at just how much work it is.”

  “I’d like to see you play,” LJ offered shyly.

  “You can see me playing on YouTube, you know.”

  “Yeah, but those are old games.”

  “Well, I’ll see if I can’t work something out so you can watch some of them right while they’re happening.”

  LJ’s mouth fell open. “Stop the lights!”

  Rory just smiled. Stop the lights? That was a new one.

  “Can I come visit you?”

  “Sure, you can all come over whenever you’d like.”

  “Mam’s dead sad Aunt Erin is leaving.”

  “It’s hard to leave a good mate behind. How’s it goin’ round your place?” Rory casually asked.

  “All right, I guess. Sometimes Jake is there. He’s okay.”

  “Hey, he’s more than okay. He’s my best mate, remember? So you better be dead nice to him.”

  LJ’s expression turned dramatic. “He saved Lucy’s life!”

  “Did he?” Rory had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

  “Yeah. You know how Lucy, like, gets pissed out of her skull sometimes with her mates and then pukes and pukes?”

  “Eh, right,” Rory replied carefully. Twelve? She and her mates get pissed and they’re twelve?

  “Well, loads of ’em end up puking in the High Street. They just lie there in their sick and sometimes their mates just leave ’em there.

  “Well, Lucy did too many alcopops with her mates, and she was stumbling in all drunk and that, and she fell and was just lying there on the sidewalk.”

  “Back up: who gets the girls alcopops?”

  “Older girls and guys.”

  Fuckin’ great, thought Rory.

  “Jake was coming out of the pub and he picked her up off the ground. And she puked in his car. And she was crying and moanin’, ‘Oh, don’t tell me mam,’ and all that. And Jake told her, ‘My lips are zipped if you stop doing this shite, because you’re breakin’ your mam’s heart and I don’t like it one bit.’ And he took her to Gran’s till she stopped pukin’ and then she took a shower at Gran’s and then Jake drove her home. Mam was asleep and Lucy went up to bed and Mam never knew.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Gran told me, and she told me not to tell anyone else. She says she likes Jake and he’s a good sort. So Lucy didn’t die because of Jake.”

  “That is one amazing story!” Rory marveled, going wide-eyed with admiration for LJ’s benefit. “And how’s Lucy been since then?”

  “Good, I think.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Yeah.”

  Rory flashed an impish smile. “I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you. You might not like it, though,” he teased.

  “Oh, I’m sure I will,” LJ replied eagerly.

  “Right, then hang on a mo’. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Rory jogged to his car, grabbing LJ’s present from the passenger seat. He had a feeling LJ would go mad over it, but you never knew with kids.

  He sat back down next to LJ and handed him the plain white box. LJ’s cheeks were flushed as he hastily tore the top off, pulling out the garment inside. Rory could tell by LJ’s awed expression that the boy was overwhelmed by the New York Blades jersey that had his own name on it.


  “Feckin’ hell!” LJ exclaimed, then quickly corrected himself. “I mean, wow!”

  “‘Wow’ is right. If your mam heard you using that language, she’d send you back to the dark ages to punish ya, with no phones or computer or anything.”

  “I won’t. I won’t say it again,” LJ promised fervently. He stood up, slipping the jersey over his head, waiting for Rory’s approval.

  “Fierce,” Rory said. “No one’ll mess you about when you’re wearing that, believe me.”

  “It’s the best gift I ever got, honest. I’m gonna wear it home. I’m gonna wear it every day.”

  “You better wash it now and then.”

  LJ’s unabated enthusiasm struck a sentimental chord. Suddenly Rory was back in tenth grade in Boston. He was playing on the third line for his school’s hockey team, but he didn’t care. He had his first hockey jersey, with his name on it. It was as wonderful as when he’d gotten his first football jersey as a small boy, maybe even better. He remembered feeling invincible, and that was what he wanted for LJ: an unshakable sense of self-confidence. If Jake wound up with Sandra, the kid couldn’t lose.

  “All right, sport, we’ve got to make tracks.”

  LJ wrinkled his nose confusedly. “What?”

  “It’s some kind of old American slang for ‘Okay, we’ve got to hit the road.’”

  LJ looked crestfallen. “I wish we didn’t have to.”

  “Look, you’ll be seeing me again before I leave to go back to America, LJ! It’s not like this is the last time!”

  “Good,” LJ said, relieved. They both stood. LJ seemed anxious.

  “What is it?”

  He couldn’t make eye contact. “Can I give you a hug, Rory?”

  “’Course you can. Why would you ever ask me a silly thing like that?”

  LJ lifted his eyes to him. “Da always said men don’t hug each other. Except when they win football matches.”

  “That’s the biggest load of buggery bollocks I’ve ever heard in my feckin’ life, son.”

  LJ laughed delightedly hearing Rory’s bad language. Then he threw his arms around him. “I’m gonna miss you, Rory.”

  “I’ll miss you too, mate.” Rory was getting choked up. “But we can Skype, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” LJ broke the embrace, his grin wide as he held his arms out in front of him, admiring his jersey. “All right, Rory,” he declared. “Let’s make tracks.”

  * * *

  Rory was surprised by how sad it felt saying good-bye to all the kids at camp. He couldn’t help but wonder what would fill the hole in their lives now that the school term was looming. His hope was that they’d all have a go at trying out for the school football team, even though he knew they wouldn’t all make it.

  Rory made a mental note to congratulate Jake on getting Lucy in hand. Sure, he was blackmailing her, but as long as it didn’t hurt anyone, Rory saw little harm in it. He just hoped Lucy kept to it.

  The bells above the front door of Erin’s da’s shop jingled as Rory stepped inside. When her father came out from the back, he looked surprised to see Rory, but not unpleasantly so.

  “Hey, Mr. O’Brien. I was wondering if you had a minute.”

  “Sure, sure.” He called to his apprentice to mind the shop for a few minutes. The minute they got outside, Erin’s da made a beeline to Rory’s car, walking around it, admiring it, kicking the tires. It was as if he couldn’t help himself.

  “Nice.”

  “You want to drive it?”

  Erin’s father waved the suggestion off. “No, no, I couldn’t possibly.”

  “Why not? I know you like fine cars. One spin around town, c’mon.”

  “All right.”

  Rory tossed him the keys, and after making the necessary adjustments, Erin’s da pulled away from the curb, steering the car slowly up the street.

  He was silent for a few moments. “Rides like a dream.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “And these seats—smooth as a baby’s arse.”

  “Yup.”

  “I like the tinted windows. No one knows who you are.”

  Rory got great pleasure seeing how happy Erin’s da looked driving around in the car. It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to buy one for him, but he thought better of it. That would look like sheer bribery.

  They took four or five spins round before Erin’s da pulled up in front of his shop.

  “Don’t suppose you have time for a pint?” Rory asked.

  “I wish I did.” There was a small, awkward pause. “What can I do for you?”

  Rory cleared his throat. “A few things.” He’d been memorizing a script in his head, though he didn’t know why: rehearsed words always flew right out of his mind when the time came for a face-to-face chat.

  “First off, I want to apologize for how I treated your daughter. I was a total prick.”

  “Go on.”

  “I was all dazzled by being in Manhattan, and I lost my way for a bit.”

  Erin’s da looked skeptical. “And now you’ve found it?”

  “Yes, sir, I have.” Rory felt like he was standing in front of his old headmaster, defending himself against one stupidity or another he’d committed.

  “I’ve always liked you, Rory. Surely you know that.”

  “I do. I mean, I did.”

  “But I’m not going to lie to you: when you ripped my girl’s heart out, I was ready to hop the next plane to the States, get a gun, and shoot you square in the head. That’s how angry I was.”

  Rory’s shame felt like a poisonous snake, wrapping round and squeezing the life out of him. “I can imagine.”

  “I’m not sure you can, actually.”

  Rory bowed his head.

  “Now, here’s the thing. Erin is a smart girl. And she’s gotten tough, too. I trust her instincts. So if her gut is telling her you’re worth a second chance after all you’ve put her through, then I stand behind her decision.”

  “Thank you, Mr. O’Brien,” Rory said humbly.

  “But I want to make one thing perfectly clear: if you dare hurt her again, I will break your feckin’ neck like a twig. Are we clear?”

  “Totally. Absolutely, sir.”

  He nodded approvingly. “I’m glad you came and talked to me.”

  “Me, too.” Rory swallowed. Who was this nervous twit who’d invaded his body? “There was one more thing I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. O’Brien.”

  “Mmmm?”

  “This is totally arse backwards, I know. But with your permission, I’d like to marry your daughter.”

  Erin’s dad cleared his throat, looking like he didn’t know what to say. Rory knew he wouldn’t say no, having already told him he trusted his daughter’s instincts. But Rory still wondered what was running through his mind as they sat there in silence.

  “Rory.” Mr. O’Brien’s voice was shaky. “I can’t tell you what it means to me that you’ve come to ask me that question.”

  “I swear to you, I will love Erin the way she deserves to be loved, and I will never, ever hurt her. She will always be safe with me; I will always take care of her. You have my word.”

  “Then, yes, of course, you may marry my daughter.”

  “Thank you, Mr. O’Brien. Thank you so much.”

  Erin’s father’s eyes glistened as he tossed Rory’s keys back to him. “Welcome back to the family, Rory.”

  * * *

  Rory racked his brains all night, trying to decide where he should do it. The next morning he asked his gran over pancakes. “Where did Grandda propose to you?”

  “Propose to me? He never proposed to me. After we’d been seeing each other for a while, he just said, ‘I suppose we should do it, then.’ And I agreed.”

  Rory felt bad for her. “That’s not very romantic.”

  His grandmother looked puzzled. “It was fine. No one in his family or mine had a pot to piss in.”

  “Well, let’s say we’ve got a time machine, and you can go back in ti
me and have Grandda propose to you in a proper way. Where would you want him to do it?”

  His grandmother shrugged. “Anywhere would do.”

  “Gran.” Rory kneaded the back of his neck in frustration. “I’m asking for help here. Pretend you’re twenty or whatever age you were when you and Grandda got married. You love this man. Where do you want him to ask you the most important question of your life?”

  His gran actually went starry-eyed for a few moments. “At the end of Mass. We’d go to Mass together the way we always did, and then in my fantasy everyone would leave, and it would just be me ’n’ him in that lovely, quiet place, with the light flooding in through the stained glass windows.”

  “What would be your second choice?”

  “What, my first isn’t good enough?”

  “Gran, I haven’t been to Mass in ages, in case you hadn’t noticed. I can’t just walk in there like a hypocrite and ask her to marry me.” Not that that’s where I’d even think of popping the question, anyway.

  “Why not? Erin still goes to Mass sometimes. Not a lot. Not as much as she should. As long as one of you still does, I don’t think God would mind you lingering there.”

  “Second choice, Gran. Please.”

  “Honestly, is your head filled with rocks or what? What about that old rowan tree on the edge of the Purcells’ property? That’s romantic.”

  “I broke my collarbone there.”

  “You’re trying, son, did you know that? Very, very trying.”

  Rory winked at her as he put a piece of pancake in his mouth. “Must be why you love me so much.”

  His grandmother playfully lashed his shoulder with a tea towel. “Go on with yourself.”

  “Thanks, Gran.”

  “You’re welcome. Now hurry up and finish your breakfast so you can hang that new shower curtain for me, please. I’ve been begging for a month.”

  It’d been three days.

  “I’m on it.”

  27

  “God, it’s been ages since I’ve been here.” Erin settled down on the ground under the huge rowan tree a few miles out of town. It was impressive, close to fifty feet tall, with a broad trunk and sturdy spreading branches. The tree seemed to have its own gentle soul, which was why generations of Ballycraig children had been taught that if you sheltered beneath its branches, it would be protection from faeries.