Girls Who Travel (19 page)

40

“W
HAT
IS
YOUR
funny face about?” Celestynka asked, drumming her glittery nails over the financial plan she was trying to explain to me.

Lochlon was finally arriving today, but I shook my head and tried to focus on the spreadsheet of monthly expenses that Celestynka had created for me. After hours of questioning, she was able to extract a budget for me and my website.

“This is so exciting,” I said, spreading out my hands over the papers. There it was: 390 days until Gypsies & Boxcars would go live again—if I kept saving as I had been since I arrived in London.

Celestynka was more than just good with numbers; she had good business sense and she helped me get the steps in the right order.

With the money I'd save in a little over a year, I would be
able to hire a web administrator and relaunch the site starting with the British contacts I had been cultivating. After the relaunch, I would start taking mini trips for scouting purposes. I could afford two of these a month. My aim for these trips would be to find artisans with unique goods and photograph the items for the site. Though this was over a year away, I hoped I could work out a way to take these trips while still keeping my job as an au pair, since it was a guaranteed source of income.

But either way, with Celestynka's guidance, I had a concrete strategy to follow!

Celestynka clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “I know you are excited about this, but maybe you are more thinking of Lochlon's arrival today.”

I couldn't help stealing another quick glance at the clock. Throughout the whole discussion, I couldn't help but watch the clock every two seconds, thinking:
Lochlon's plane just landed. Lochlon is on the Tube right now. Lochlon is at his hotel now.

I had felt a prickling heat spread over my skin when he had told me he booked a hotel. We were both hardcore backpackers and knew exactly what hotels meant: splurge, decadence, and, most of all—privacy. What is it about big white hotel beds that makes you want to have copious amounts of sex in them?

Everything was set. Immediately after Lochlon left, I would leave to meet the Darlings in the south of Italy. I had spent the morning packing so that once Lochlon departed, all I'd have to do was grab my bag and go to the airport.

“Okay, okay. I see. You cannot concentrate today.” Celestynka smiled and collected the papers.

I couldn't even protest, so I just smiled dopily. “Thanks for everything,” I told her. “This is exactly what I needed.”

“You need something else, I think. Have a wonderful time. We will talk of this later.” Celestynka left the house, and I filed away the papers and took a long, soothing breath.

This is it. After a whole year apart, it's really happening!
I wiped my sweaty palms down my thighs and started making my way out the door. I was meeting Lochlon at Gordon's Wine Bar, and I wanted to be early. I locked the door behind me, wondering:
Will it be any different? God, I hope it won't be.

41

I
RODE
THE
humming Circle Line to the Embankment Tube stop, and I arrived at Gordon's Wine Bar with plenty of time to spare. The whole time my heart fluttered against my ribs like a jittery bird in a too-small cage.

I slipped into the slender alley called Watergate Walk, where little café tables were arranged in the shade just outside the cavelike candlelit bar. It was still early, and the sun hadn't set yet, so I chose a rickety table in a wedge of sunlight.

My nerve endings felt like a nest of activity. Whenever anyone entered the alley, I perked my head up like an impatient cocker spaniel.

Finally, I saw him approaching. From the distance, I recognized his posture, his height, his assured gait—the abstracts of him. He got closer and closer and started filling in with more detail.

We locked eyes and—
oh, he doesn't look the same!
I held my breath at the realization.
He's changed.

From this distance, I wasn't sure how he was different, but I felt like a spell had been lifted from me. I swallowed down the feeling and quickly rearranged my face into a joyful expression before he got close enough to notice.

But it was too late. Something behind Lochlon's eyes shifted by the time he looked at me again.

Before anything else could happen, I jumped up from the table and dove into his arms.

“Lochlon,” I called out, my mouth muffled into his shoulder as I rode out the emotions.

“Gorgeous.” He lifted me off the ground and swung me in the air until I was giddy from the closeness of him: the smell of mineral soap and musk, the feel of his slept-in hair and lived-in denim—it cut right through the rotten, dissatisfied sensation I felt only moments ago.

Now I remember! He smells the same. Thank God he smells the same.
I instantly felt better.
So what if he looks a little different? He is still my same Lochlon.

“So good to see you,” I said into his jacket, breathing him in, unable to pull away just yet.

“And how's yourself?” He peeled me off him and held me at arm's length, yo-yoing his eyes up and down. “You're looking very well.”

I threaded a fidgety strand of hair behind my ear. “Was the flight okay?”

“Aw, you know,” he said, batting the air. “I could do with a drink in me; that'll set me right,” he said, striking his hands
together. He hesitated before sitting. “Will I get the sauce so we can have a proper catch-up?”

I nodded, and Lochlon ducked inside.

Whirly and woozy, I felt like I had just come off a circling baggage carousel, and I took the opportunity to reset myself.
Come on, Kika. This is going to be great.

A moment later, Lochlon returned with a bottle of red wine and a tight smile—lips pushed together in a line. I beamed back at him, pledging to make this weekend wonderful.
I know this man
, I reminded myself.
He's seen me naked.

“Thought I'd go for the whole bottle and save us the trouble, so.” He gestured with the wine bottle. “It's lovely out here. Grand weather.”

The last of the day's sun spotlighted the alley as he poured the wine into the glasses up to the brims. He stopped to take a gulp before waterfalling more into his glass. While one hand rested possessively on the stem of his wineglass, he clasped his other hand atop mine in a quick smack.

Still uneasy, I dragged my hand from his and started rattling on to distract him from the gesture. “So I thought we'd go for a walk along the embankment after this, maybe see some sites or—”

I stopped talking when I noticed Lochlon steadily shaking his head. He downed the rest of his wine in one gulp. The action reminded me of a snake unhinging its jaw. I gagged.

“No chance, babes. I'm knackered. We're going back to the guesthouse, and that's all there is to it.”

He spoke in that authoritative gruff that I normally found so sexy, but now it made me feel apprehensive.

“We'll have a bit of a lie-down,” he said, and I searched for an underlying meaning in his tone. I don't know why, but it felt too sudden to be alone with him.

I ran my finger over the chip in my wineglass before lifting it. I cushioned the glass on my bottom lip and drank it all.

“Pour me another?” I managed with a light-headed, halfhearted smile.

42

W
E
TUMBLED
INTO
the stale guesthouse, both of us in hysterics at memories of Spain. I had just then recalled that the bartender in the hostel hated Lochlon with unbridled passion.

“Everyone adores me, got that whole Irish charm thing. What do you suppose his problem was?” Lochlon asked.

“Maybe it was because you used to throw lemon wedges at the back of his head whenever he went to mix a drink,” I reminded him with another burst of laughter.

“I was only messing. But I did nick his phone. We had great craic that night, didn't we?”

I had forgotten about Lochlon's sticky fingers. I wondered why I never gave him a hard time about it.

Somehow, the alcohol sweet-talked us into a comfortable familiarity. Lochlon had drunk most of the bottle of wine at
Gordon's and then stopped off at a corner store to get a few pints to take into the guesthouse.

I had also forgotten how much Lochlon liked to drink, but he was doing his very best to remind me. I closed the door of the guest room behind us. He had already finished a beer on the walk over and held the next one in his hand.

“Slow down, tiger,” I said playfully as he hurtled on the bed and popped open the Carlsberg. The beer hissed and erupted all over the bedsheets.

“Shite!” he stormed, launching himself off the bed, but his rapid activity only caused the beer to spill on his shirt in a foamy stream.

“Shite. Shite. Shite,” he seethed in overreaction.

I felt a bump on my back and realized that I had reversed into the door.

“Feckin' spilled all over me shirt. Eejit!” He flicked the suds off his hand onto the dull, thin carpet.

“It's fine,” I said softly, trying to distract him. I took a small step forward.
It's fine
, I cooed to myself, still not moving too far away from my spot near the door. But somehow I couldn't shake that initial feeling that it wasn't fine.

Now, below the harsh overhead light of the slightly seedy guesthouse, I could finally gauge just how much Lochlon had aged since I last saw him. He tugged the wet shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons. It had only been a year, but his face was more wrinkled. His flesh was strangely puffy, and he had a small pooch on his stomach, which used to be flat. He abandoned the shirt on the floor and lay down on the bed. His pale skin and pink nipples looked strangely lewd. I looked down.

He looked hardened, I realized, like someone who had
been through a lot. But these observations still didn't satisfy me. He had changed in a way that I could not identify. Whatever it was, it made me sad.

Lochlon squeezed the empty beer can with his fist and then set it down on the bedside table. His mood had changed. He laid his head back on the old-lady bedspread looking wearied.

I crept over and perched pin-straight on the smallest corner of the bed, taking up as little space as possible. I tried to make myself reach out and touch him, to put my hand on his ankle as a comfort. But I couldn't do it.

It's just nerves
, I concluded. My feelings hadn't shifted overnight. I dragged my sleeves down over my hands and looked him over.

As he lay there with his eyes closed, I looked at the white scar on his chin, a memento from a bar fight. It then dawned on me what it was that made him look so different to me:
He didn't smile anymore! He had barely even smiled when he saw me.

When we were abroad, there was always a massive grin on his face, even when he tried to be a temperamental artiste. He had an endearing smile that could charm the meanest of taxi drivers and an impish half smirk that made just about anything sound like a great idea.

The realization snaked up my body until it reached my throat, where it squeezed tight.
Does this mean he is no longer happy?

“Hey,” I said softly. “Is everything okay, Lochlon?”

My mouth collapsed into a worried frown. I wasn't sure I had any more fake enthusiasm in me to adjust it.

Lochlon had only been in Ireland for about a month.
Did being home make him like this?

“You seem a bit faraway,” I continued, my tone petal soft and nonthreatening.

“Yeah, sure, grand. I just don't like you telling me to slow down with the drinking,” he said, picking up another beer in protest. “Sounds just like Bernie, always giving out,” he added before taking a long pull then brusquely wiping his lips with his knuckles.

Everything went silent for me then.

But Lochlon didn't seem aware of this. He fixed his gaze on my chest and then ran his eyes down me. I gripped my elbows.

“Jaysus, I missed you, you fit thing.” He sat up and tried to slink an arm around my waist. The gesture had a predatory edge to it. “Take off them boots and get into bed with me.”

I sprouted to my feet so that he couldn't reach me.

“Bernie?” The second syllable of her name came out in a whisper.

He flicked his eyes toward the window covered by dated frilly curtains. “A mate from home,” he said casually, meeting my eyes for an instant before resuming staring at the window again, though there was obviously nothing to look at.

“You mean Bernadine, your ex-girlfriend, don't you?”

I turned away and moved toward the window that he couldn't stop staring at. I felt motion sick.

“You're back with her, aren't you?” I sprung open the ugly curtains. The view was just as bad as I expected, all concrete, wire fences, bare trees, and pigeon shit. I knew it then. He didn't have to answer; he had slept with her.

He rubbed the stubble on his face and blinked hard a few times, as if he had just woken up from a long nap. I expected some sort of violent protest, but he just traced the pattern
on the faded bedspread with his eyes. Overhead, the lightbulb produced a subtle, tinny din like a single, stationary mosquito.

Lochlon reached into his jeans pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“You smoke now?” I asked incredulously.

Lochlon stood, hiked up his jeans, and began to circle like a dog before sitting down.

“She's nothing to me. I don't even
like
her. She's just available. You know how it is when you go home after your travel . . .” He trailed off and held the cigarette against the flame.

“No, Lochlon. Tell me how it is.” I snatched his cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it into his fresh beer, where it sizzled like a mean snake.

Lochlon pursed his lips angrily, and for a moment I was worried he was about to strike me. But instead he continued babbling about Bernadine. “She's mad. It was only a few times, after a session at the pub . . .”

Instead of concentrating, my brain insisted on reminding me that I had expected this on some deep, inaccessible level. There were slips and hints and red flags and dead-of-night trepidation that I had stoically brushed aside in the light of day. God, I hated myself in this moment for never asking him about Bernadine before.

Lochlon kept talking. “Then she got herself up the duff. She always was broody, that girl. I'd not be surprised if she lied about being on the pill—pulled the goalie and all that.”

“Lochlon,
what
?”

My lips moved, but no further sound came out.

Finally, I wetted my lips to speak. “You got her pregnant?”
I asked. My words sounded subdued and faraway, as if this was some scene playing from a TV left on in another room.

“Kika, listen to me, gorgeous—” He charged toward me, but I raised my forearms to block him. This wasn't some prime-time drama—this was my life.

“Do not call me that!” I exploded. I finally managed to raise my voice over the roaring din in my ears. The boom in my voice even startled me.
No, no, no. This isn't right at all. This isn't what's supposed to be happening!

“How could you do this?” I cried. My shrill whine made Lochlon freeze in place. “Why didn't you tell me, Lochlon? This isn't like being in a shitty band—
this
is a deal-breaker. What the hell are you even doing here if you've been sleeping with her? Why did you even come to see me?”

He looked wretched. “Because I'm a total gobshite. She only just told me right before I left, right after Da passed. At first, I thought she was having a go,” he said slowly. “But then Bernie says she'll name it after me da if it's a boy,” he added quietly.

My joints buckled under the weight of this statement, and I dumped myself into an armchair, expelling a puff of ancient dust into the stuffy room. “Your dad died? Why didn't you . . .”

Defenseless, he flew over to me and knelt down in front of the chair, hands raised like a beggar. He didn't touch me, but this was still too close. I retracted my legs into the chair, my whole body recoiling from him like a turtle turning into its shell.

He recklessly shoved his hands into his greasy hair. “Kika, it just happened. I came right from the funeral to see you.”

From my voice box came an unnatural sound. My mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to breathe out of water.

“Pay no mind, my da was a bastard piss artist—I told you
how he was—but me mam and me brothers and sisters are all torn up, like. I would've told you sooner. Kika, believe me, I wanted to confide in someone, in
you
. And then, right after it happened, I heard from Bernie, and—Jaysus, please, look at me. What am I to say?”

I lifted my eyes to see his face of violent, crimson shame. My attention was enough for him to keep talking.

Hurriedly, he added: “This isn't to change things between us, Kika. As soon as my da's estate is sussed, I'm going back on the road. I can't stay in Ireland. And I won't be staying with her!”

I realized I hadn't blinked in a long time. I tried to sort out the erratic and fidgety language overcrowding my brain. My eyes felt papery and dry; it was so stifling in this room—like there wasn't enough air for the both of us. I looked at the window, but somehow I knew that it was sealed shut.

“And Kika, I want you to come with me.”

I wasn't sure I heard him correctly. I wasn't sure that any of this was really happening. My teeth filed against one another like in a nightmare. “I . . .” I started, but I couldn't yet speak.

“Come with me, Kika, please. In a few weeks, once I get everything sorted. Please, Kika. We'll go anywhere you want. Anywhere.”

Is he really asking me to run away with him?

“You got a girl pregnant,” I managed in a whisper.

“I promise you, Bernie and I aren't even a couple. I broke it off with her before I left Ireland to travel. I've told you that. She knows I won't stay with her, and this is just her way of trying to make me.”

“But what about . . . the baby?”

I couldn't say “your baby.”

He twitched his head to the side like a mule kicking. “I wish she wouldn't have the thing, but I've no say in the matter,” he said. “She's after raising it on her own. I'm leaving again, Kika. And I've told her this. Won't you come with me? Please, Kika. We can finally be together again.”

The insane thing was that before I heard this news, I was
just dying
for him to ask me something like this.

“Say you'll come?”

But now Mina's and Gwen's faces flashed in my mind.
I can't leave them.

“I can't. I have to work—” I began with the most basic of problems. Then surprisingly, for reasons not readily known to me, my neurons flashed Aston's face across my mind's eye as well. I took to my feet, my pulse drumming in double time.

“Forget all that.” He waved. “You don't have to work for those brats any longer. I know you hate being trapped in one place. I have an inheritance now, my shares of the farm. I'll mind after you. Please, just think—”

But I couldn't just forget it: I was so close to getting Gypsies & Boxcars off the ground again. I couldn't give it up now for this, whatever
this
was.