Breakaway (9 page)

It was Jackson Bell who’d rung her. For a split second, all she heard were the words
football camp
and her heart lurched. She promised she’d be there for Larry Jr.—or LJ, as he was now insisting on being called—in a few minutes.

Her intentions were admirable until she remembered, with some embarrassment, that she couldn’t drive. She’d been meaning to call for driving lessons for months but hadn’t gotten around to it, swamped in studies and housework. She remembered Rory trying to teach her to drive when they were fifteen, because her father wouldn’t. The lesson with Rory had turned out to be a minor nightmare: he barked commands at her like a military officer, making her more and more nervous until she burst into tears.

She’d been an idiot to tell Sandra she’d be the emergency contact. What was she thinking? She felt badly for LJ, but she had no choice but to take the bus or to hire a
cab, which would cost a ton. She couldn’t run to the auto shop and ask her dad to give her a lift and back. Her father treated his Ford Fiesta like it was a Maserati: only he was allowed to drive it, not that he did much of that. He didn’t drive it so much as admire it as it sat there parked in the sun, gleaming. She could plead it was an emergency, but all her dad would have to hear were the words “sick child,” and that would be it.

Right. No time to waste. She started out the door, running smack into her mother.

“Where are you off to, looking like the Devil’s on your heels?”

“Larry Jr. is sick. He needs someone to pick him up at football camp.”

Her mother looked confused. “Why can’t Sandra do it?”

“She’s ill herself. Plus, she can’t drive.”

“May I point out that you can’t drive, either?”

Erin was getting restless. “I was going to get a taxi.”

“Are you out of your skull? Do you know how much that will cost?”

“But—”

“Ladies, ladies.” Erin and her mother turned. Mr. Russell, the dapper, elderly permanent boarder, was right behind them, all dressed and ready for whatever it was he did all day since he retired from the Royal Mail. “Why raised voices on this cloudy morning?”

“I’ll tell you why,” Erin’s mother said, fixing her daughter with a black look. “Erin has to go pick up Sandra’s boy from football camp. He’s ill. Unfortunately, my daughter seems to have forgotten she doesn’t have a license to operate a motor vehicle.”

“I can give you a lift.”

Erin’s face lit up. “Really? Oh, that would be wonderful, Mr. Russell. I’d pay you for the petrol.”

“Don’t be daft. It’d be my pleasure.”

Erin’s mother pasted a smile on her face. “That’s really very generous of you, Mr. Russell.” She turned to Erin. “When do you think you might be back?”

Translation: surely you can’t expect me to do your chores.

“Don’t know. Why does it matter?”

They locked eyes until her mother looked away. “No matter,” she said, affecting a nonchalant tone. She regarded Mr. Russell. “Thank you again for chauffeuring my daughter.”

“Think of it as payment for all those years you never moaned about the post being late.” He offered his arm to Erin. “Shall we?”

*   *   *

Given that he was seventy-eight, Mr. Russell was quite a good driver. He could be a bit forgetful, and he did bang on a bit about working for the Royal Mail, but he’d had a hard life, what with his wife dying early and him never remarrying. He still managed to keep his sunny disposition, though. There was something to be learned from that.

No clear skies today; it was gray and drizzly. Larry Jr. was probably caked in mud; with this weather, the football pitch had to be dirt soup.

Erin knew she’d be seeing Rory. They hadn’t crossed paths since their encounter on the High Street, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of his every move. Everyone in town felt compelled to give her a Rory update, no matter how many times she politely informed them she didn’t give a goat’s arse. Even if she did want to keep track of Rory Brady’s whereabouts—which she didn’t—she certainly wouldn’t let them know.

Mr. Russell turned into the dirt parking lot. Erin’s eyes were immediately drawn to the shiny black Range Rover looking very out of place. Rory. What an idiot, rubbing his wealth and success in the noses of everyone who wanted his head on a pike.

“I can’t thank you enough for the lift. I promise I won’t be long fetching Larry Jr.”

The old man looked a bit shamefaced. “A bit of a problem there. It totally slipped my mind I have an appointment in Crosshaven that I’m already late for. I won’t be able to drive you back.”

“No worries,” Erin assured him, pretty certain she had enough cab fare to get herself and poor little Larry back to town. If not, Jackson would give her a lift. She got out of the car. “See you back home.”

“Yes, I’ll be home for tea.”

Erin waved good-bye as he drove out of the parking lot, and started for the camp.

It hadn’t changed much at all, except that the concrete building that housed the locker room/office “complex” had been given a fresh coat of blue paint. Two groups of boys were out on the muddy pitch with Jackson Bell and some unidentified teenage assistant. Which meant Rory was the one waiting inside with Larry Jr. Shite. Erin felt like a trespasser as she walked past the gaggle of boys, their heads’ swiveling in unison to watch her before returning to their game. Jackson gave her a big wave. Erin remembered when it was Jackson himself who was a camper. Felt like it was a lifetime ago. It
was
a lifetime ago.

Erin pushed open the complex door, unable to stop a small smile of recognition as it squeaked as loudly as a mouse getting its tail stomped on. At least some things never changed.

She’d been right: it was Rory minding Larry Jr. in the office. He looked surprised to see her. Erin bypassed him and went directly to San’s son, who was lying on a sort of makeshift futon. He was the color of milk.

“What’s up, Larry?” Erin asked gently as she crouched beside him. “I hear you’ve been ill.”

“My name is LJ now,” he insisted weakly.

“Right. LJ. What’s going on, love?”

“I’ve been puking.”

“I’ve been giving him sips of water so he doesn’t dehydrate,” Rory put in.

Erin still wouldn’t look at him. “Thank you.”

She put her palm to Larry—LJ’s—forehead. No fever. “What did you have for breakfast?”

Larry groaned. “Don’t remember.”

“I’m sure you can if you try hard enough,” Erin coaxed.

“You promise you won’t get mad at me?”

“Why on earth would I get mad at you?”

“Mam will when she hears.” He looked at her pitifully. “Promise you won’t tell her.”

“I can’t promise that. But tell me anyway. I have a feeling you’re not the one behind this.”

“It’s Lucy’s fault.”

’Course it is,
Erin thought.
Jesus, that girl.

Erin steeled herself. “What did Lucy give you for breakfast?”

“Leftover fish pie, some ice cream, and a tin of peas.”

“Oh, God.” Erin covered her mouth so she wouldn’t gag. “Did she feed that to Oona as well?”

“No. Oona told her she felt ill and went back to bed.”

“Smart girl.”

Rory came over, crouching on LJ’s other side, where he began stroking the sick child’s head tenderly. Erin looked away. It conjured up too many hours spent in conversation about having kids. She was unnerved by the tenderness of Rory’s gesture. It was hard to completely hate a man who was kind to a child, even if that man was a prick when it came to women.

Rory’s hand stopped moving but remained atop LJ’s head as he addressed Erin.

“He felt ill when he came to camp, but he didn’t want to tell anyone because he didn’t want to miss out on practice.” He looked down at LJ. “That was a silly thing to do,” Rory chided softly. “Missing a day, even missing a few days, is no big deal. What if you had the flu? You would have gotten everyone else sick.”

“But I was afraid if I didn’t come, you’d put Frankie Dunlop in goal and you’d see he’s better than me and I’d never be in goal again.”

“Now that is pure madness,” Rory assured him. “Haven’t Jackson and I been rotating you all?”

“Yes, but I’m best in goal. My dad, he always said so.”

Rory flashed Erin a quick look as if to say,
That feck is still around?
Erin gave a small shrug. She was not about to get into Sandra’s business with Rory if she could avoid it.

Erin looked down at her patient. “Are you well enough to let me take you home, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” LJ said piteously. “I might need to have a good rest here for a little while longer. I’d hate to upchuck in your da’s Fiesta, Erin.”

Erin pressed her lips together to avoid laughing. The whole town knew about her father’s obsession with his car.

“Guess what? We’re going to have a big adventure in that department.”

Some color leapt into LJ’s cheeks. “What?”

Erin lowered her voice. “We’re going home in a cab.”

“A cab!” LJ exclaimed. “I’ve never been in a cab.”

Erin smiled weakly. “Well, it’ll be fun.” She rose. “I’ll just ring for it, shall I? Will you be all right for a few minutes?”

LJ nodded his head.

Erin walked into the hall and took out her mobile. Rory followed.

“Erin, don’t call a cab.”

She ignored him as she flipped open her phone.

“Don’t call a cab,” he repeated more emphatically.

“Why on earth would you think this is any concern of yours?”

“I have a perfectly good car sitting in the parking lot. I could run you and Larry—LJ—home, no problem.”

Erin looked at him a moment before chortling with disbelief. “Sod off, Rory. I’d rather pluck my own eyes out of my head than get in a car with you.”

“Yeah? What about LJ? You want him puking in a cab?”

Erin scowled. “No.”

“So then let me do this for him.”

“No. Not only do I not want our lives to intersect in any way, but I remember how you drive.”

“I drive fine,” Rory protested.

“Oh, yes, you drive great. I seem to remember a certain
someone nearly wrapping us around a tree after swerving to avoid some sheep.”

“That was a long time ago. I’d forgotten about it. I’m surprised you remember.”

“I remember lots of things. Like you wrecking my life. Did that one slip out of the ole memory box after too many pucks to the head?”

“Erin, I swear to God—”

“Spare me.” She started toward the complex door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to ask Jackson to bring me home.”

“Jackson is in the middle of coaching.”

“You two can just switch places.”

“Erin,” said Rory, raising his voice, “would you stop being bullheaded and just let me take you and LJ home? Do it for him, yeah?”

“Fine,” Erin said grumpily. “As long as it’s just for LJ. And I don’t want you to say a word to me between here and Sandra’s house. AND I’m sitting in the back with La—LJ.”

Rory looked amused.

“This isn’t amusing.”

Rory held up his hands in surrender. “I know.”

“Let’s get this poor child home. And remember—”

“I’m nothing but your chauffeur. Got it.”

*   *   *

“Thank you for the lift. I can walk from here, thank you.”

LJ had looked a bit green when they’d started out from the camp, but then Rory engaged him in football chat and told him stories about New York, and he perked up a bit. What lad wouldn’t, having a private audience with the great Rory Brady and getting a ride in his Range Rover?

A few times, Erin caught Rory looking at her in the rearview mirror, and she’d frown. What did he think? One potent look from his famous blue eyes and she’d come undone? Arrogant twit.

After thanking Rory for the lift, she took LJ inside. Lucy was there, legs dangling over the side of the sofa while she
watched a repeat of
Father Ted
. She barely looked up as Erin gave her a piece of her mind about feeding her siblings. But then Erin spoke the magic words: “You do know that if I tell your mother about this, she’ll take away some of your privileges, don’t you?” The lackadaisical teen pretended not to care, but Erin caught the unsettled look that flickered across her face.

Erin wondered if she should stay until Sandra got home, but LJ seemed recovered enough to hop on to the computer. Erin rustled his hair, told him to ring her if he needed her, and left.

Rory’s Range Rover was idling outside Sandra’s house, the passenger-side window rolled down. “I’ll run you home. Hop in.”

“Hop yourself.”

“C’mon, Erin; you’re being ridiculous.”

Erin refused to look at him as she started to walk away, Rory’s car crawling along beside her.

“Get in. I’m going to keep shadowing you till you do.”

“Really?” She pointed to a small rusted Toyota two blocks up. “How are you going to explain it to the owner when you just keep going and you smash into the back of his car?”

“I’ll pay for repairs.”

“God!” Erin spat out disgustedly. “Do you hear yourself? ‘Look at me, I’m Mr. Smoothie. I’ve got money. I don’t care whose property I destroy’”—she looked at him pointedly—“‘or who I hurt, because I’m the great Rory Brady.’”

“It was a joke.”

“Right.” She couldn’t believe his car was continuing to crawl beside her.

“D’you want me to beg? I will. Erin, please, please—”

“Shut up!” Erin snapped. Embarrassed, she hopped into the passenger seat and slunk down. “Happy now?”

“Yes.” Rory stopped the car and looked at her. “Why’re you sinking down like you’ve got no spine?”

“I don’t want to be seen with you!”

Rory hit a button and the passenger-side window silently closed. “Suit yourself,” he said, easing away from the curb. “But the windows are tinted. No one can see you anyway.”

Erin reluctantly sat up straight. She hadn’t really had a chance to take in the car while riding back from the camp, being more concerned with LJ. But it was beautiful. Leather seats, a GPS, and all that…and it didn’t make a sound, just purred along. A rich man’s car. She could just imagine what Old Jack and that lot were saying about it. The sheer jealousy of it must be choking them.

She hadn’t really taken in Rory, either. As soon as she’d stupidly agreed to let him drive her and LJ, they’d gone directly to the car. He was in football gear: jersey and shorts. It showed off his physique, his muscled legs…and contrary to what she’d said, he was a good driver. Confident in everything. Erin used to wish some of it would rub off on her.