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Authors: Mary Carter

BOOK: The Pub Across the Pond
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“Aw, but he still comes here, doesn't he?”
“A bartender never tells,” Carlene said. They looked at each other and laughed.
“You'll give him a message,” one said.
“I told you—”
“Tell him Robbie says hi. Asked specifically how his lovely mother is doing,” the man finished. They smiled, turned, and walked away. Carlene felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She'd heard the friendly banter of the Irish before, asking after one another, lamenting the weather, catching up on news. This wasn't the same. They weren't really asking after Mary McBride, they were laying down a threat. Carlene picked up her phone and stared at it. If she called now, would he even answer? Would he just think she was jealous?
If everything had gone as planned, he'd be with her now, exploring the souterrain under a full moon. He'd be able to reassure her that the men were harmless and she'd misread the situation. He'd laugh when she told him she was worried they were fashion-challenged loan sharks. Where were Sally and Ronan right now? There weren't even any restaurants open this late. Carlene looked at the full moon and flipped it the bird. Then, knowing it had to be done, she picked up the phone and called Ronan, even though it meant he would probably think she was a jealous man-chaser.
C
HAPTER
27
The Nice Guy
Carlene was delighted to hear that Collin was taking her to dinner in Salthill. Just a few miles from Galway's city center, Salthill was a beachside haven, with a promenade, restaurants, bars, and plenty of B&Bs. Carlene needed to get out of Ballybeog, put some distance between her and the pub. Declan agreed to bartend, Sally was MIA. Given that Carlene heard Sally had been discouraging everyone from coming to the Half Tree, Carlene took it that she'd quit. It bothered her that she didn't get a chance to personally fire Sally.
Unlike Ronan, Collin was a cautious driver, maybe because his little car didn't even look like it could go very fast without falling apart. After a while, Carlene realized it was just as scary, if not worse, to have cars beeping at them, then hurling past effing and blinding at them. Collin didn't react—in fact, nothing at all ever seemed to bother him, and Carlene reluctantly admitted that was one of the things that bothered her about sweet Collin. Was she doomed to fall in love with dark, brooding, complicated men? Could she admit to herself that Collin was just too clean-cut, too sweet, too nice? Just like Ronan basically accused her of being.
They're going to walk all over you.
And were they? Someone was stealing kegs and cheese, and slapping up walls, and who knows what else they had in store? Could it have been the men in tweed? What she needed was an official investigation, some kind of Nancy Drew/MacGyver type effort. Would the folks of Ballybeog hate her even more if she morphed into some kind of Sherlock Holmes?
I mean, really, what kind of person steals a block of cheese?
Collin took her to a little Mexican restaurant. It was cozy, painted bright orange, and had Mexican blankets hanging on the walls, along with an Irish flag. Little shamrocks were painted on the margarita glasses. The menu was typical Mexican, but also included chips. Carlene devoured her burrito and margarita, then noticed Collin had barely touched his enchilada.
“Do you not like it?” Carlene asked.
“I'm more of a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy,” Collin admitted.
“Then why did you bring me here?” There were plenty of restaurants in the city, and Carlene would have been happy with any of them.
“I heard you say you liked Mexican,” Collin said. A blush radiated from his cheeks, flooding his face with red.
“Shit,” Carlene said. She ordered another margarita, Collin ordered a beer.
“What's wrong?” he said.
“You,” Carlene said. “We've got to do something about you.”
Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it.
“I don't follow,” Collin said.
You're too nice, you're too nice, you're too nice
.
“You're in love with Sally, aren't you?” Carlene said instead. Collin's cheeks burned brighter. “I thought so,” she said.
“Ah, but I reckon I could get to like you too, so. I really do.” Carlene burst out laughing. After a minute he laughed with her.
“I do grow on people,” Carlene said. “But why settle for that?”
“Sally is in love with Ronan,” Collin said. “As is a slightly kooky American girl I know.”
“So fight for her,” Carlene said, ignoring the slightly kooky American bit.
“It won't work. I'm invisible to her. Unless she needs something.”
“Told you. Too nice.”
Collin's groan was that of a man who'd heard this before. “What the feck do women want? A man who beats them?”
“Of course not. But—we do want a man with confidence. With a touch of mystery and a dab of danger.”
“Danger?” Collin sounded alarmed.
“You are a very good-looking guy. But you act like an ugly guy.” There was something about being in another country that made Carlene feel free to say whatever came into her head.
“I act like an ugly guy?” He sounded angry. The red was gone. Carlene pointed at him.
“There,” she said. “That's much better.”
“Fuck,” Collin said.
“It's very simple. Just play a little hard to get. Just don't try so hard to please them. Just . . . hold a little back.” Collin looked totally confused. She wasn't explaining this right. What did she know about teaching a nice guy to be a bad boy? Besides, maybe there was some mousy girl out there who would love his sweet, shy, doormat routine. But he wasn't in love with a mousy girl, he was in love with Sally Collins. And she would not fall for a doormat. Carlene told herself that she was being altruistic, that this had absolutely nothing to do with jealousy, the gnawing images in her head of Sally and Ronan together. She'd left that message on his phone warning him about the mysterious men in tweed, and he hadn't even called her back! Was he lying in a ditch somewhere with broken legs, or was he just too heartless to call her back and thank her for potentially saving his life? Had anything happened between him and Sally when they left the pub? She couldn't think about it, she wouldn't, it was torture.
When the check came, Collin reached for it, then looked at Carlene. With a slow smile, he slid it over to her. She laughed.
“I should've started the lesson after the check,” she said. She reached into her purse. He grabbed the check back.
“I can't feckin' do it,” he said.
“Baby steps,” she said.
They took a walk on the beach. Carlene tried to put everything out of her mind and enjoy the night sand between her toes, even though it was absolutely freezing. Collin wanted to know all about Ohio, and she told him all the good parts, without getting into anything too personal. Collin still lived with his parents, something Carlene realized was very common in Ballybeog. He had a sister who was married and lived in the next town, and two brothers in Australia.
“Have you been to visit them?” Carlene asked.
“Not yet,” Collin said.
“Why not?” His eyes narrowed slightly and he looked away.
“Ah, the oul wan and the oul fella don't get around as good as they used to. I think they need me.”
“Ah,” Carlene said. “I've been there.”
“You have?”
“Yes.” She didn't offer anything more, and he didn't ask. “Eventually,” she said, “you come to a point where you realize that it's your life. And as much as you think they can't, they can manage without you.”
“You're filling me head with all sorts of things tonight,” Collin said. “Whatdda ye say we go get a wee drink?”
 
She was home before midnight. Declan was alone at the bar, playing with Columbus. Carlene hadn't expected Collin to try to kiss her good night, so she was startled when he grabbed her and crushed his lips over hers, even tried to pry her lips open with his tongue. She pulled away. He gave her a sly smile.
“Just practicing my bad-boy routine,” he said. And then he walked away with a bit of a swagger, leaving Carlene to wonder if she should have kept her mouth shut once again.
“Would ye like a drink?” Declan asked.
“Cup of tea?” Carlene said. She realized, she really wanted one too. Maybe Ireland was growing on her. She'd be ordering chips at the Chinese restaurant next. Declan fixed them both a mug.
“Did you have anyone in at all?” Carlene asked. Declan shook his head. Carlene wondered what Sally had done to lure Riley somewhere else. Free drinks, most likely.
“Don't worry, petal,” he said. “It will all blow over.”
“Or blow up,” Carlene said. She sipped her tea. Declan sipped his tea. Without drink, the conversation stalled. “What's the name of the woman who works in the Ballybeog Museum?” Carlene asked.
Declan frowned. “Nobody works in the Ballybeog Museum.”
“I was there. I saw her. Real skinny? Anorexic looking, to be honest. Short dark hair?”
Declan shook his head. “The Ballybeog Musuem's been closed for years.”
“But I was just there. I stayed for a good half hour, then as I was leaving she nearly gave me a heart attack. She was standing in the corner. I thought she was a mannequin.”
“Ah,” Declan said as if that solved it. “Maybe she was.”
“Nope. She walked and talked. At least—she talked.”
“Sounds like someone was messing with ye. Maybe a tinker? That museum has been closed for years.”
“I think they prefer to be called travelers,” Carlene said. Declan sipped his tea, Carlene sipped her tea. “Who used to run the museum?” Carlene asked.
“Gerald Murphy. He's retired now. You'll find him at Dally's Pub most days.”
“Oh. That definitely wasn't him.” Declan sipped his tea, Carlene sipped her tea.
“I'm interested in secret underground spaces,” Carlene said. “Do you know if there's anything like that around here?”
“Could be,” Declan said. “Hit and miss with all the bog land.” Carlene thought about it. The underground space was close to Joe's property line, and his side was drier than hers. Was the tunnel built simply to help drain the water from the property? Obviously, Declan, who'd worked here for the past twenty years, knew nothing about it. Or was he purposefully keeping it a secret?
“Would ye like more tea?” Declan asked.
“Of course,” Carlene lied.
C
HAPTER
28
Her One and Only
Sheep grazed just outside the backdoor of the McBrides' modest two-story farmhouse. Carlene was pleasantly surprised to see all six of the McBride women and their young ones at mass, and thrilled when Mary McBride invited her back to the house for a fry. Ronan was nowhere in sight, which was not a surprise, although Carlene kept hoping he would appear at any moment or that she'd at least get to hear some mention of him. As Mary cooked, the women all congregated in the kitchen while the children played happily underfoot. The smell of the fry was so tantalizing, Carlene had trouble focusing on the chatter around her. Siobhan and Clare were helping their mother with the breakfast, although Mary seemed quite capable of doing it herself, and once in a while she would shoo a daughter away with the flip of her hand, then use the same hand to pat stray hairs off her face. Liz and Sarah were at the table poring over a bridal magazine. Carlene wished she knew them well enough to ask them who was getting married. Anne was out on the front porch with a little girl, and Katie—well, Katie was glued to Carlene's side, practically holding her hand. For once in her life, Carlene felt like the popular girl in school.
“Does your mother like to cook, Carlene?” Mary McBride asked her.
“Or do you like to cook?” Siobhan added.
“My mother doesn't cook,” Carlene said.
It's hard to cook when you're dead,
she wanted to add. Carlene didn't plan on withholding the truth, she just didn't want to ruin such a happy family moment, and she wanted them to like her. Family was important in Ireland, and Carlene was suddenly embarrassed of her dead mother. “I used to cook for my dad,” Carlene said.
He kept to an unwavering schedule, the precursor to his macrobiotic diet. Monday was pot roast. Tuesday boiled chicken. Wednesday lasagna. Thursday boiled chicken because both days of the week started with a “T,” and Friday was whitefish. The side dishes were always green beans boiled exactly twelve minutes and little boiled red potatoes.
“Ah, lovely,” Mary McBride said.
“Are you sure there isn't anything I can do to help?” Carlene asked.
“Not a thing, not a thing,” Mary McBride said. “Would you like another cup of tea?” No, no, no, no.
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
“Come with me,” Katie said, linking arms and steering Carlene out of the kitchen.
“Don't disappear too far, hear?” Mary said. “Her fry is almost ready.” Carlene smiled to herself, loving how she said “her fry” as if she were a guest of honor.
“No worries,” Katie sang. She pulled Carlene into an adjacent hallway where a wall of pictures accosted her. Picture after picture showed a dark-haired boy with the eyes of a reptile and a lethal smile. In one—he couldn't have been more than five years old—he was sporting glasses with black frames. They swallowed his face, yet he was grinning ear to ear.
“He loved those glasses,” Katie said. “He never took them off.” Carlene felt a twinge of love for him and silently chastised herself to stop it. Another picture showed Ronan as a baby—a chubby infant wearing what looked to Carlene like a little white dress. He probably wouldn't want the lads at the pub to see that.
“His christening,” Katie said. “That's what they dressed them all in,” she added as if she could read Carlene's mind.
“Can I get a copy of that for the pub?” Carlene asked.
“And here he is on the hurling team. Just when he was changing from cute to heartbreaker.”
“He's my one and only,” Mary yelled from the kitchen. Carlene laughed. Katie rolled her eyes and shook her head, but all with a loving smile of her own. Whereas Carlene had grown up without any females, Ronan had grown up surrounded and loved by them. Then why was he such a mess? Had they just spoiled him too much? No, he was a grown man, and the responsibility for his behavior was his alone. Just like Carlene had always blamed her father. He was the reason she didn't pursue veterinarian school, he was the reason she never traveled, he was the reason she hadn't fallen in love and married. Now she knew it had been her responsibility to take charge of her life all along. It sounded so simple, as if she should have figured that out by now, but it had been difficult to figure out her own life through the webs of her father's rituals. She had finally left, and he was still alive. Her own guilt and beliefs had been holding her back, not her father.
“Aren't there any pictures of you girls?” Carlene asked.
“We're over here,” Katie said. She pointed to the wall directly across from them in the hall. Carlene couldn't believe it. One lonely group picture of the girls. Katie laughed. “You should see your face,” she said. “Brilliant. Yanks are such gas.” She linked arms with Carlene again. “There's loads of pictures of us upstairs,” she explained. “We've got an entire wall stuffed with our faces as well, like.”
“Oh thank God,” Carlene said.
“He's still my one and only,” Mary yelled from the kitchen.
 
It was more food than Carlene normally ate in a week. One fried egg, with the promise of more. Toast with butter and jam. Bacon, which was really ham. Sausages, as if the bacon needed a friend. Black and white pudding, which Carlene hated but ate out of respect. Baked beans. A fried tomato. Potatoes. Orange juice. A pot of tea. Carlene happily stuffed herself as the table buzzed with conversation. She would have joined in but she didn't want to speak with her mouth full, and her mouth was always full. She didn't even care to pry secrets out of them—secrets, say, about a certain golden boy—but in fact, after this meal, all she wanted was a place to lie down, where she and her whale of a stomach could die in peace. And perhaps that was their plan, for they waited until the meal was over, when she was too full to run. A silence fell over the table that Carlene mistook for happy satiation. Mary McBride fussed with her hair. The three of the half dozen who had children fussed with them. Only Katie looked directly at her, but her smile looked as if it had been played by a remote control and accidentally put on mute. For a second Carlene was convinced they knew about the soutterrain.
Were they furious with her for hiding it from them? Who told them? The famine victim?
That's awful, Carlene, you have to stop calling her that even inside your head.
Why did she have these constant horrible thoughts that she couldn't drive out?
“We thought you should hear this from us,” Katie said.
“If you haven't already,” Siobhan said.
“Girls, we should not do this, it isn't our place,” Mary said. Clare reached over and took her hand.
“Ma,” she said. “You won't be saying that when she tries to bedazzle yer Christmas tree next year.”
Mary McBride put her hand on her heart. “O sacred heart of Jesus,” she said. Clare patted her hand again.
“Sally?” Carlene said.
“So she knows, then,” Liz said. “Right, that's sorted.” Liz pushed back from the table and stood.
“Knows what?” Carlene said. “I don't know anything.” Anne yanked Liz back down.
“Sally and Ronan are getting married,” Clare said. Carlene felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach.
“No, they're not,” she said. It wasn't possible. Yes, they went on a date, yes, she could even believe it if they fooled around, but married? Ronan?
“Do you want some more tea, luv?” Mary said.
“No,” Carlene said. She stood up. “I have to go.” Katie sprang to her feet and grabbed Carlene's hands.
“We know he doesn't love her,” Katie said.
“Katie,” Mary said.
“He's my brother and I'm allowed to speak. Something is still going on with him,” Kate said.
“She's right,” Siobhan said. “We thought losing the pub would be the end of his gambling—but he's been acting strange.”
“What does that have to do with Sally?” Carlene added.
“Sally has money,” Liz said. “Loads of it.”
“You think Ronan is the type who would marry for money?” Carlene said. Maybe she didn't know him at all. Of course she didn't, wasn't that one of the things she said she loved about him? The excitement, the danger, the unpredictability? Suddenly what once seemed sexy just seemed like a waste. An impossible mess to clean up. If he wanted to marry Sally for her money, who was she to stop him? It meant he wasn't the type of man she wanted to spend her life with. She'd rather count and boil green beans exactly twelve minutes. “I have to go,” Carlene said. “I can't do anything about this.”
“He loves you,” Katie said. “We know he's not perfect—”
“He's absolutely perfect,” Mary said.
“But we know he loves you,” Katie said. “You should have seen the change in him when you came into town. He's been in the dark for so long, and it was like a light suddenly came on. He loves you.”
“It's true,” Siobhan said. “We all know it.” The girls nodded. “He wouldn't be doing this unless there was a serious problem. And before you start feeling sorry for Sally Collins, she's hardly a wallflower. If he's marrying her out of some warped need to pay off a debt or protect us—she's masterminding the whole thing, you can bet your last love. No pun intended.”
“I wonder if it has something to do with those men who came to the pub the other night,” Carlene said.
“Men?” Mary said. “What men?”
“A couple of scrappy-lookin' fellas in tweed,” Carlene said.
“O sacred heart of Jesus,” Mary said.
“Calm down, Mam,” Siobhan said. “What did they say?” she asked Carlene.
“They just asked if Ronan was around,” Carlene said. “Wanted me to tell him they were looking for him.” Carlene couldn't very well say they'd mentioned Mary McBride, could she? Why didn't Ronan call her back so she didn't have to sit here with all the McBride women's ears perked up, and debate what to mention and what to leave out? “They didn't really say much,” Carlene said. “But they seemed kind of—serious.” She was going to say “sinister,” but stopped herself at the last minute.
“Sacred heart of Jesus,” Mary said. “They're murderers. They're going to murder my baby. My one and only.” Carlene didn't say it, but she was thinking the same thing. Thugs, loan sharks.
“And what did you tell them?” Clare said.
“Nothing,” Carlene said. “Just that he didn't work at the pub anymore. I swear.” If Ronan was in deep debt and was being threatened by loan sharks, was that reason enough for him to go running to Sally?
“We have to call the guards,” Mary said.
“And tell them what? We're scared of a couple of men in tweed?” Anne said.
“Maybe if he marries Sally and pays off his debt, they'll go away,” Carlene said. “Maybe it's for the best.”
“My arse it's for the best,” Mary McBride said. There was a collective gasp at the table. Then the half dozen broke out into laughter. Carlene wanted to laugh with them but she felt greasy and sick. She told herself it had nothing to do with picturing Sally in a wedding dress.
“You have to talk to him,” Katie said. She took Carlene's hand across the table.
“I don't know what I could say,” Carlene said.
“Tell him how you feel,” Katie said. “But only if he makes a light go on in you too.”

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