Mermaid in a Bowl of Tears (Exit Unicorns Series) (108 page)

They ran for what seemed a small eternity, crashing through brush and blundering through a stream that made them both gasp with the freezing wet that splashed up on their clothes, and in Robin’s case, bare skin. Casey no longer had any notion where they might be, when suddenly Robin stopped abruptly ahead of him. The woods ended on the edge of a moonlit field that opened out under the night.

Behind them, the outraged shouts had died away; the only noise that of the wind ruffling the leafy tree crowns and small twitters of birds disturbed in their precipitous wake.

Casey bent over his knees and drew in one deep shaky breath after another. When he stood upright again, Robin was still half winded but already patting his pockets down for cigarettes.

“Christ, I haven’t had that much fun in years,” Robin said. Finding no cigarettes, he pulled his pants back on and shrugged his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons.

Casey flopped in the grass beside him, laughing. “The expression on the man’s face, he looked like a bloody gargoyle that’d swallowed a lime pickle. Here take mine; I think ye dropped yers when we ran.” He tossed his cigarettes over and Robin caught them neatly out of the air.

“Well I owe the bastard, I was thinkin’ I was really goin’ to have to bed the old goose did somethin’ not intervene soon.”

“I don’t suppose they’ll consider sellin’ to Mr. Gillivray now,” Casey said, feeling a fizzing elation in his veins now that the danger to their lives was past.

Robin laughed, rubbing his hands hard through his hair and releasing a shower of fragrant pine needles. “No, I think we’ll have to make ourselves exceeding scarce in that neighborhood from now on. How accurate do ye think the sisters will be in their descriptions to the police?”

“Very,” Casey said, “yon Miss Edwina was lookin’ me over as though I were the prize pig at the autumn fair an’ she the head judge on pork flesh.”

The two of them were silent for a bit after that, regaining their breath and equilibrium, finishing off their cigarettes. The silence was punctuated by the occasional chuckle as each of them remembered some small detail of the recent fiasco. Casey imagined how he’d tell Pamela, which details to share and which to spare, and then, remembering that he wasn’t likely to be talking to her about anything in the near future, felt a sudden deflation of the dark fizzing in his blood. He sighed heavily, expelling the last of the smoke from his lungs.

Robin, correctly interpreting the nature of his sigh, said, “Go home an’ apologize, ye wee fool.” He blew out a perfect smoke ring that wobbled in the air before dissipating into the night.

“Would that it were that simple. I’d crawl over a mile of broken glass if I thought she’d take me back an’ that be an end to it.”

“An’ why shouldn’t it be an end to it?”

Casey paused, but the need to tell someone, to relieve for a minute the itch that had ridden under his skin for the last two years, overcame his normal reserve. “I wish I knew. I can only tell ye that somethin’ lies between Pamela an’ I, that I’ve felt for some time an’ yet I don’t know what it is. Ye’d have to understand, when we first met, I’d never known anyone like her. She just came into my life as though she’d been meant for me from the day she was born. It’s been that natural all along, an’ she’d only ever kept the one secret from me, an’ that to protect me. But I always felt as if I had all of her, despite Jamie bein’ in her life. Then somethin’ shifted, I’m not even sure when I noticed it, an’ I’ve felt like I’ve not got all of her anymore.”

“D’ye not think,” Robin flipped over onto his stomach, propped himself on his elbows and looked Casey in the face, “that yer askin’ a wee bit much? She loves ye man, an’ ye love her. It can’t be a fairytale all the time.”

“That’s just it, ‘twas never a fairytale. It’s more real than anything I’ve known in my life.”

Robin cocked a brow at him. “It’ll be yer own business I suppose, but I don’t see the sense of sleepin’ cold every night an’ mopin’ about like a worm without a puddle when ye could just go home an’ say yer sorry.”

“’Tisn’t that simple,” Casey repeated stubbornly.

“Christ, there are times I think yer the biggest fockin’ eejit this side of the Lagan. Yer a lucky bastard an’ make no mistake of it. I’ve seen the two of yez, yer daft for one another. I’ve never had that, never loved a woman that way and sure as fock have never had one love me that way either.”

“Never?” Casey asked, turning his head to the side. Robin was gazing far out over the dark fields, bones arcing shadows against the white skin.

“Never,” Robin echoed, a hollow reverberation at the core of the one word that hurt Casey to hear.

“I’m sorry to hear it, man. Still,” his voice wobbled the slightest bit, “I think I’m not ready to go home just yet.”

Robin eyed him speculatively. “A week or two on the road might go some ways toward curin’ ye.”

“Playin’ ye mean?” Casey asked, feeling a sudden tingle in his fingers for the bodhran, an instrument he’d scarce picked up in the last five years.

“Aye, playin’ an’ singin’. Unless ye’ve not the lungs for it anymore.” There was a glint in Robin’s eyes that made Casey feel sixteen again for one fleeting second.

“Oh I’ve the lungs for it, question is can
you
still seduce a room?”

Robin grinned, teeth a flash in the night. “Ye just watch me boyo, an’ I’ll show ye how it’s done.”

THE GARDEN HAD BECOME A PLACE of refuge since Casey’s abrupt departure. It was one of the few things that gave her peace; to work amongst the bee-laden lavender and the musty thyme, to weed and hoe and carefully dig up the first new potatoes, to water and tend to each plant, to deadhead the flowers and keep the waterweed from damming up the stream. Paudeen often joined her there, broad woolly back and sober black face a comfort, as he munched placidly on the grass at the edge of the plot of furrowed earth.

Finbar was in high dudgeon, as Lawrence had felt he should stay behind for protective reasons on the nights he was in town with Casey. The dog had taken up residence in the shed, refusing all overtures and admonitions to come in at night.

She was employed in pulling up garlic sets when Lawrence’s bright ginger head appeared like a small sun under the branches of the ash tree. She stood, back stiff and hands pungent with garlic. Lawrence had become a real diplomat these last few weeks, making every effort to repair relations between her and Casey.

She watched him walk down the winding road. The boy looked as though he’d stretched another two inches in the short time since she’d last seen him. He was hovering about the top of Casey’s ear as it was. She sighed. The hems on his pants would have to come down again. And he’d need new shirts; his knobby wrists were sticking out of all his jerseys and sweaters. A new coat too, she thought, as he walked across the yard.

Finbar had emerged from his hidey-hole, bulbous nose high up in the air, sniffing. If joy could be said to infuse the entire being of a dog, then joy did just that to Finbar. He put his head back and emitted an unearthly howl, and then flew across the yard, looking like a bundle of gray rags that had been shot from the mouth of a cannon. He knocked Lawrence flat on his back, and then proceeded to lick his face madly, wriggling with canine ecstasy the entire time.

Lawrence hugged the dog fiercely in an effort to subdue him somewhat. Finbar, however, had added a high-pitched whine to his mad wriggling, and Lawrence was forced to crawl away and grasp the garden gate to get back on his feet.

“Jaysus Murphy,” he gasped, as Finbar jumped up and put his front paws on his shoulders. “Down boy, down I say!”

Finbar finally sat, leaning his bony frame into Lawrence’s leg, the great brown eyes fixed in adoration to the boy’s face.

“You ought to take him back with you,” she said. “He’s mourning your absence something fierce. I’ll be fine here. Paudeen will let me know if someone’s about who oughtn’t to be.”

“Has someone been about? Have ye felt as though someone’s watchin’ the house again?” Lawrence gave her a sharp look, trying to assess her for untruths.

“No. For heaven’s sake, do you really think I wouldn’t tell you if that was the case?”

“Hmmph,” was the doubt-filled response. Then he dug in his pocket, the long hand emerging with a fistful of crumpled bills which he held out toward her.

“What,” she raised her eyebrows, “is that for?”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, pale skin flushing scarlet. “He said ‘twas for the hay, an’ to make certain that Mr. Guderson has put enough aside for ye.”

“Got you doing his dirty work, has he then?”

“No, he’s not. He told me that he’d not stand in the way of my visitin’ ye, as what had taken place wasn’t to be my concern. Doesn’t mean I can’t bring ye a bit of money; he’s only tryin’ to make certain things stay on keel here.”

She sighed, feeling suddenly tired and frustrated all at once. “I’m sorry, Lawrence. Come in the house, I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Oh no, don’t trouble yerself, I just ate.”

She merely raised a doubtful eyebrow at him. The child was never full.

“Do ye mind if I take a few of my things while I’m here?”

“Of course not,” she said, though the question made her slightly sick, as though the split were of a more permanent nature than she’d thought. Had Casey said something to make the boy think that was the case? She fought back the urge to ask Lawrence about Casey’s state of mind. She wasn’t quite desperate enough for that, though admittedly, given another day or two she might be willing to sink to that low.

She followed Lawrence into the house, Finbar trailing on his feet and Paudeen bleating loudly as he gamboled after them all. Lawrence paused on the porch to rub Rusty’s head. The cat miaowed loudly several times and she wondered irritably why every one of them had to make their disconsolation so desperately clear.

“Ye’ve changed the lock,” Lawrence said with a frown, noting the shiny brass deadlock that glowed brightly against the dark green door. “Why?”

“You know the old one stuck all the time, it needed changing. I just finally got around to having it done.”

Lawrence treated her to a narrow look and then stepped through the door.

She stayed in the kitchen while he rustled about in his bedroom, occupying herself with packing up a bag of things she thought he and Casey might need.

Lawrence emerged with a mess of clothes, bedding and records, the strong smell of Polo mints hovering about him.

“Were you smoking in there?”

“No, I swear I wasn’t. I think I’ve just exchanged one addiction for another. Can’t do without these bloody mints now.”

“Do you want me to run you back into town?” she asked, taking the clothes from him and folding them neatly in a stack.

“No ‘tisn’t necessary. I got a ride out with Owen, an’ Gert says she’s got business in town an’ will run me back if I meet her up head the lane within the hour.”

“Oh, so you’re not staying. I thought you could have supper here with me.” She knew the disappointment was palpable in her voice, but couldn’t quite find it in herself to regret it just now.

He looked miserable. “I can’t, I’ve made plans with a few of the lads from school tonight.”

“It’s alright,” she smiled brightly, though her throat felt unaccountably prickly. “I hope you know none of this is anything to do with you, Lawrence. I’m sorry that you’ve got caught in the middle of our problems.”

He gave her an apologetic look, narrow frame all but invisible behind the roll of clothes and bedding that he held against his chest. “’Tisn’t that I think yer in the wrong, I don’t know exactly what the two of ye have fallen out over, but it’s only that he needs my help at the center an’ all. An’ if I’m stayin’ here at night an’ spendin’ all day there...” he shrugged helplessly, face the picture of misery.

“I appreciate that you’re in an awkward position, Lawrence. If you want to stay with him, I won’t be offended or upset. It won’t,” she tied a length of twine around the neat roll of blankets she’d sorted for him, “hurt for someone to keep an eye on him.”

“If ye’d just let him come home, I’m sure he could explain himself.”

“I’m sure,” she replied tartly, getting up off her knees, “he could. But until he’s got something different to say for himself than he did last time, I don’t want to hear it.”

There had been a rather spectacularly unsuccessful phone call mid-week between the two of them, when she had ostensibly called him to ask a rather stiff question about the amount of hay needed for the oncoming fall and winter.

“It’s hard for him too, ye know,” Lawrence said, one foot over the doorstep. “He misses ye somethin’ awful an’ he’s lost half a stone in weight already. The man cooks like he’s expectin’ a small army to tea each day, but he never eats any of it.”

“Lawrence, I love him too,” she said softly, “but it’s not that simple. It’s a matter of trust, and I—”

Lawrence put a thin hand up. “I don’t think I should hear this, it’s hard enough dealin’ between the two of ye not knowin’ what’s goin’ on. If I do know, though, I’ll have to start takin’ sides an’ I’m not goin’ to do that. The two of ye are difficult enough when I don’t have a clue, it’ll be right impossible if ye start to make some sort of sense.”

She handed him a travel bag, grimly refusing to meet his eyes. “His shaving kit’s in there and a couple of sweaters, it’s chilly in the evenings and he’s been prone to colds since he had bronchitis.”

Lawrence took the case and said in an uncommonly gentle tone, “The two of you are mad, ye know that don’t ye?”

“Aye,” she sighed, “I know it.”

“He and Robin are goin’ on a bit of a run down the west coast, playin’ the pubs.” Lawrence rummaged in his left hand pocket, “I’ve written down the towns they’ll be in, ye’ll note they’re playin’ Davy O’Brien’s.”

“I’ll note it,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

Lawrence shrugged, a faint flush staining the bridge of his nose. “He said he’d taken ye there once. It seemed a good memory, he’d a smile when he spoke of it.”

“Did he then?”

“I figure yer angry now, but that date’s a week an’ more away, ye might feel differently when the time comes.”