And Blue Skies From Pain (53 page)

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Authors: Stina Leicht

BOOK: And Blue Skies From Pain
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He didn’t know what it was she was on about. Largely, it didn’t matter. She could be worse than his mother with the worry sometimes.
He glanced down at her. She was so bloody beautiful. She could be with anyone. He didn’t understand what she saw in him—even for the short time they’d been together. He’d quit school, being too stupid to finish. Her, she was brilliant. She’d go on to Uni one day. She was still wearing her school uniform—black blazer, white blouse and black pleated skirt, but she’d taken off the striped tie and unbuttoned her blouse to the fourth button in spite of the cold. Such a thing was a simple rebellion and one common enough. Some girls were known to roll up the waistbands of their skirts so that the hem ended above the knee.
All at once, it occurred to him that if he tilted his head just so, he could see underneath Mary Kate’s blouse without her noticing. It was a nice view. The wind picked up, and opened her collar wide. He caught a glimpse of dark pink cresting the top of her left breast beneath the semitransparent lace of her bra.
She pulled her coat shut.
His jeans suddenly felt tighter. It never took much to get him going when it came to Mary Kate. It never had. One glimpse and more than anything he wished she’d let him reach inside her shirt to touch that breast. She’d let him do it before Long Kesh. He remembered it well. The memory had practically been seared onto his brain. It was one of those moments he’d played over and over in his mind during his stay at the internment camp. But now—
They’ll know you for a fairy.
“Are you listening to me?” she asked.
“Aye.”
She turned her head to look up at him; a faint smile played on her lips. “No, you’re not listening. You were staring down my blouse.”
He blushed and pulled his gaze up to her forehead. He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye. “I am not.”
“You were too,” she said, placing a hand on her hip. “How many times have I told you? I’m not that kind of girl.”
He dropped her hand. She’d tell him now. Any second she’d take off that cheap bracelet he’d given her, and that’d be the end.
“I’m so sorry,” she said and lowered her voice. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He swallowed and lifted his chin. “You didn’t.”
“Something is wrong,” she said. “You’re different.”
I can see it in you. Anyone can. It’s easy enough.
He shut the sights, smells and sounds from Long Kesh out of his mind. His stomach did a sickening flip.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.
He shook his head. He couldn’t say a word, or it’d all come spilling out, and if he went and did that she’d leave him for sure. Worse, she might tell someone else. He felt her tug his arm.
Monster. It’s a monster, I am. Unnatural.
“Stop it,” she said.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“It’s cold,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s go inside for a bit. Here. This place will do.”
Stunned, he let her lead him through the half-boarded-up doorway of one of the derelict houses. Their feet crunched on broken glass and grit in the gloom. She took him to one of the back rooms. He could see the remains of a weed-choked garden through the broken window. It was a bit warmer but not by much.
At least the walls keep the wind off.
He looked around for a place to sit. His heart sped up a few more notches. He wasn’t sure why she’d taken him here. It was the sort of place kids went when they wanted to sniff glue or have sex.
She’s not that kind of girl.
“Stay right there,” she said. “Just for a moment.”
He did as she asked, struggling with his rising blood and galloping imagination. When she returned he saw she was carrying a folded blanket, and his heart suffered a jolt. He was shaking and prayed she couldn’t see it.
She’s not that kind of girl.
“I—I thought we might like something to sit on,” she said. “I brought this here yesterday. When I heard you were back.”
“Oh.”
She’s been planning this?
He watched her spread the blanket on the dirty floor. Then she sat down and patted the space next to her. “Come. Lay down for a moment. It’ll be nice.”
His heart drummed a rapid tattoo against his sternum, and his stomach felt cold. Afraid she’d take hesitation as an insult, he threw himself down and winced as he landed harder than he’d intended. He sorted himself out into a more comfortable position and accidentally kicked her. “I’m sorry. I—”
She leaned over and kissed him long and hard. Her hair made a curtain around his face, blocking out the shabby room. Her lips were soft and warm. After a while her tongue brushed against his.
Christ, that’s wonderful,
he thought.
Better than I remembered.
His hand was inside her blouse before he knew it. She moaned with her mouth on his. Then he pulled her closer and kissed her throat, edging lower.
“Liam.”
Oh, please don’t make me stop,
he thought. His face was an inch from the edge of her bra. She smelled wonderful—soap and salt and some sort of spice he couldn’t place. He waited, not moving.
Please. Let me go on this time. Please. Just a wee bit more.
If he could kiss that breast just once, he knew it’d be the most wonderful thing that’d ever happened to him. What would it taste like? How would her nipple feel against his tongue? He paused. “Aye?”
“I want to do something. With you. I want it more than anything in the world, but—” She paused and moved back. “I don’t want you to think badly of me.”
“Oh, Mary Kate. I’d never—”
She placed a finger on his lips. He resisted an urge to kiss it.
“I’m going to let you… I want you to….” She looked away, bit her lip and then started to unbutton her blouse.
Paralysed, he couldn’t do anything but watch. He was afraid to breathe or move lest she come to her senses.
This can’t be happening. I’m fucking dreaming.
He blinked and swallowed. She untucked her blouse and pulled it open so that he could see her chest. She was wearing a white lace bra. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have said it was new.
Oh, Jesus. Oh, Christ. It’s happening. She’s going to let me—
“You won’t tell anyone will you?” she asked. “I’m not, you know, like that. It’s just I want to be with you. No one else. Only you. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“Swear you’ll not tell.”
“I swear, Mary Kate. Not a soul. I swear on my Gran’s grave.”
“Your Grandma? She’s not dead.”
“The other one.”
“Oh.” Mary Kate took off her blouse and then her bra, and he saw her bare breasts for the first time. She looked nothing like the women in the magazine photos that Hugh and Tom had sold. Her breasts were more round and set apart, not as big, and her nipples were small and pink. She sat there, topless and blushing while he stared. Her gaze was fixed to the blanket. “Well? Am I… am I all right, you think?”
“You’re beautiful.” It sounded so stupid gushing out of him like that. Beautiful wasn’t anywhere close to describing what she was, but he was stupid and slow, and he didn’t have the words. He never did and never would.
“I am?” She smiled at the blanket, pleased. She caught her lower lip in her teeth again. “I’m cold. Will you… will you hold me?”
He got up his courage, wrapped his arms around her and then kissed her. Finally, he risked letting his hand drift to her bare breast, reveling in the texture of her skin under his palm. She didn’t stop him or pull away. Before long they were lying on the blanket together. Hesitant, he let his hand drift lower. She laughed.
He withdrew his hand. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Not at all.”
Then she did something he never expected. She unbuttoned the top of his jeans and plunged her hand inside. He stopped breathing at once. A bolt of terror pinned him to the broken floor. He grabbed her hand and pushed her away. “Don’t.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. The fear was terrible. He wanted to run.
Have to.
The knowledge that he’d never touch her again if he did was the only thing anchoring him to the floor.
She said, “I thought you’d wanted me to—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she asked.
“Don’t touch me. Not like that.”
She blinked and sat up. “Why not? I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”
I’m doing it wrong,
he thought.
Jesus Christ, I’m ruining everything.
I can’t do this. There’s something wrong with me. She’ll know. She’ll see. There’s—
“I shouldn’t have,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
He sat up. “No. I’m the one who’s sorry, Mary Kate. I don’t want to make a mess of this. I want this. I want you. But—”
“Shhh.” She sat on his lap and then snuggled in closer, hugging him. “It’s all right. But we have to talk about this.”
He didn’t know what to do. The fear was back, and it was overwhelming. He was afraid that Saunders, the things that—
There. Open that sweet mouth. Slowly. Don’t—
—happened would intrude. He felt sick and angry.
It’s always going to fucking be like this.
There’s something wrong with me. There always will be.
“It’s all right. You’re all right,” she said again, smoothing her hand through his hair. “I’m here.”
Liam’s breath hitched.
I’ll not cry. I’ll not shame myself.
It was at that moment that he knew something wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it had been that first time. They’d made love with their clothes on that day—well, as much as they could manage—and with the blanket covering them. It’d been too cold and uncomfortable to do it any other way. And the truth of it was, he’d been too frightened of what she’d see.
“You’re dreaming you know.” Her face was warm against his chest.
“I am?”
“You are,” she said. “And you need to talk to me. Now.”
“I do?”
“Tell me what happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“Long Kesh,” she said, hugging him tighter as if to trap him. “I want you to tell me about Long Kesh.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You must.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t it will unravel you. You’ll go mad,” she said.
And Bran will do for me. He’ll have to, or I’ll murder everyone.
“I can’t let that happen,” she said. “You have to tell someone. So tell me.”
“No, Mary Kate. I’ll not speak of it.”
“Whatever it is they did to you. It’s something terrible. I can tell.” She pressed closer, if that were possible. “But it’ll be all right, you know. It won’t matter. Not to me. It never did. I love you exactly as you are. I always will. You never understood that, did you?”
His chest began to ache and his vision blurred. “Why did you have to die?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“I know. Shhhh.” He touched her face.
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry about the baby.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Oh, Christ, that wasn’t how I wanted to say it at all.”
He smoothed the tears away and that’s when he noticed the scars on her face, around her mouth. “It’s all right, love.”
“You hate me. I killed our baby.”
“I could never hate you.”
She sniffed. “Never?”
“Never. The babe… well… you did what you thought you had to. I understand that now.”
She began to sob. “I was so scared.”
“I know. I was too.”
She blinked up at him. “You were?”
“You were so sick. Was terrified you were going to die,” he said. “And there was nothing I could do to help.” Ultimately, that’s exactly what had happened, but he pushed away the thought.
“You were angry with me,” she said. “I don’t blame you. You’ll never forgive me. How could you? I—”
“I forgive you, Mary Kate. I do. With my whole heart. I do. I swear it.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I was angry, but I’m not anymore. You did what you thought was right. You didn’t know. Father Murray didn’t know. He told you I was a demon, a monster. It doesn’t matter.”
They weren’t in that derelict building anymore. They were in their flat in West Belfast. They were warm and safe and in bed together. He’d taken a day off from the taxi driving to be with her.
No. This is a dream,
he thought.
“Yes,” she said. “A dream. I told you. But we’ve still got time yet.” She pressed her wet face against his bare chest. “I miss you so.”

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