I throw off my cap, fall onto the bed and cry some more, this time loudly, frustrated, angry. It’s not pretty. At some stage I fall asleep.
I wake to knocking on the door. I’m momentarily disoriented as I wake, expecting to be in my room in Valentia, and then in Pauline’s B&B and then finally realise where I am. It’s still bright outside so it’s not that late, it doesn’t get dark until 9.30 or 10 now. I look at my phone. Eight missed calls from Becky. And the knocking starts up again.
Allegra, it’s Donnacha.
I push my hair back from my face, its wild mane like the weird creepy girl I am, and pull the door open. He stares at me, my face, then a quick glance at my uniform then at the bed behind me. He looks smart, like he’s going somewhere fancy, and then I realise.
Oh shit. Shit. Donnacha, shit. I’m sorry.
I was supposed to babysit. I let go of the door, spring into action, grabbing my shoes, feeling woozy and having to steady myself.
What time is it, I ask. I look around for my phone.
It’s 8.45.
I was due to babysit at eight.
Oh my God. Shit. I’m so sorry. Okay just give me a minute.
I start to close the door and he holds his hand out.
It’s okay, don’t worry, he says, Becky went ahead of me, she couldn’t wait longer. It’s some do at a friend’s house. Her friends, not mine. I’m honestly happy to be delayed.
I’m not happy to delay you.
It’s okay. I saw you earlier. You seemed upset. I thought I’d give you some time.
Oh yeah. I’m looking down because I feel my eyes spring with tears again.
Is everything okay, he asks. Dumb question, he corrects himself. Is there anything I can do. We can do.
No, no, thanks though.
Okay. Is fifteen minutes from now good for you, he asks. I should miss the awkward chats over drinks and if I’m lucky, the starters.
Okay I’ll be quick.
Take your time, his voice drifts back to me as he makes his way down the spiral staircase.
I dive in the shower then change into loungewear, and with wet hair and flip flops, I make my way through the garden. For the privacy of the family. The boys are dressed for bed and drinking milk at the TV.
Donnacha looks at me caringly and I suddenly warm to him, feel bad for him. I don’t know what he’s like as a husband but Donnacha is a good dad. He doesn’t deserve what Becky did to him. But I would never tell. It’s not my business.
Right. He looks around and then at me, as if he picks up on what I’m thinking and wants to say something. Maybe there’s something to artistic antennae after all. But whatever it is, he changes his mind and says, Help yourself as usual to the fridge. Boys, I’ll see you in the morning. He kisses the kids, and he’s gone.
I sit with the kids for a while, feeling cosy with them in their winding-down mood. Cillín likes a cuddle and his warm body and soft breathing warms my soul.
At eleven thirty, much earlier than I thought, Becky and Donnacha return. Becky gives me an accusing look then goes upstairs without a word, there’s that air of tension again. The bit before an argument. Donnacha saunters in to me as I gather my things.
The boys went straight to bed, I say nervously. Cillín came downstairs twice, once for water and the second time to ask about what would happen if you flushed a Pokémon card down the toilet. Don’t worry, I fished it out.
He doesn’t smile.
Okay thanks, Allegra. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he looks behind him as if checking to see if the coast is clear. I can’t have this conversation with him.
I quickly gather my things and move. Goodnight, Donnacha.
I go to the flat, drop off my things, get the soft fleecy blanket that Becky had wrapped her sweaty sex body in and go back outside with some left-over steak. I place it on the lawn, in the area I’m allowed to be in, hidden from view. I sit down on a bench and light a cigarette. A few minutes later, Donnacha’s figure appears at the secret garden entranceway. I light up another cigarette. He walks over to me. Maybe the fight is over. Maybe it hasn’t begun yet.
I didn’t know you smoked, he says.
I don’t.
He sits down beside me but far enough away to be okay. Me too. Any spare, he asks.
I hand him the packet and the lighter.
He lights up, inhales, prepares to say something, to fill the silence, but then maybe picks up on the mood, my mood or else just couldn’t be bothered himself and doesn’t bother saying anything. Unusual for him. I appreciate this. He settles into the silence, something I wasn’t sure he could do. I keep watching the lawn.