Allegiance: A Dublin Novella (13 page)

William landed on top; he yanked Adam’s shirt apart and groped for his trousers. The stubborn wool refused to cooperate until there was a sudden ripping sound and Adam sprang into his hands, impossibly hard and twitching with his racing pulse. Adam grunted and clutched at William’s back, grabbed a handful of his arse to pull him closer while William got his own trousers open and thrust forward to meet him, tight and sliding and perfect.

They tore at each other with drunken urgency, unable to get close enough no matter how hard they pushed or how fiercely they clung. It was skin and salt and heat, the thick smell of sex rising until William couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond his need to move faster and harder until Adam cried out and went taught beneath him, their bellies wet with sudden, burning moisture. He grew pliant in William’s arms, and the sound he made sent William over the edge, yelling between his teeth as his body shuddered with the force of it. He gave a final thrust, sticky skin squelching obscenely, and then his arms gave out and he collapsed in a heap on Adam’s chest.

He waited until he could breathe, until the mad spinning in his brain began to slow, and then he lifted his head. Adam’s lower lip was already darkening with a purple bruise, his sweaty hair sticking out at ridiculous angles when he looked up at William as they lay in tatters on the chilly basement floor – and then his eyes flashed and his mouth turned up into a smug, victorious grin.

William felt sick. Abruptly he drew back and separated their bodies with a sticky, peeling sound. Adam’s grin disappeared, but William was already scrambling to his feet; his shins hit the crate and he tripped, skidding through broken glass before sitting down hard on the top. The bottles rattled inside, tinkling glass and creaking wood, and William heard the sigh of a high-pitched voice.

Adam…

Adam rose onto his elbows, confused, but before he could open his mouth William stumbled up the stairs and into the darkness, slamming the door shut behind him.

16.

March 30, 1922

William sat at the end of the kitchen table, ankles hooked around the legs of his stool. In front of him was an enormous wooden bowl into which he was steadily peeling potatoes. He had already done enough to feed a small army, but he found that at the right pace, the repetitive chopping rhythm almost managed to distract him from the constant, all-encompassing pounding in his head. At his elbow sat a cup of chamomile tea long since gone cold and cloudy; he had a go at actually drinking it, but after four sips he decided it was wiser not to tempt fate. He was just beginning to feel like he might remain upright when the front door clanged open and he put a hand to his head to keep it from rolling into the pile of potato peels.

Mary and Gerald burst into the kitchen in a flurry of raindrops and church bells, their arms full of boxes and brown grocery bags. Ruan followed behind them, barking at their heels. Gerald set his packages on the counter while Mary took off her coat and kerchief. She caught sight of William and beamed.

“William! Hello! We brought you some lunch!”

William pressed his lips together into what he hoped resembled a smile. “Thank you.”

Gerald shooed Ruan away and began rummaging through the bags. “Mary, do you have the rolls?” he cried, and William winced and dropped his potato.

“No, Da,” Mary said, “I’ve only got the tripe and garlic.”

William swallowed thickly, blanching; he set his focus on his next unsuspecting victim. “I’ve got them,” called a voice, and his knife stuttered and hit the chopping block.

Adam strode into the kitchen, fresh-faced and chipper, raindrops on his collar and three wrapped parcels in his arms. The kitchen door banged shut behind him while Ruan leapt at his knees. Adam set the bags down next to the chopping block; William twisted to avoid his elbow and kept his eyes on his work.

“Daniel sent you some of that braided bread, William,” said Mary. “He said it was your favorite.”

Adam glanced at the tottering mountain of potato peels and the cup of cold tea. “He’s got lunch already, I’d say.” He picked up a small sack – white paper printed with
Fisher’s Fine Grocery and Baked Goods
in black script – and held it in front of William’s face. “Hungry, then, Glasgow?”

Mary turned from the pantry and frowned. “William, love, are you alright? You look a bit pale.”

William snatched the bag from Adam’s fingers and gave her a thin smile. “I’m fine.”

But it was too late – she had already rolled up the sleeve of her Sunday dress and was pressing her wrist to William’s forehead, peering into his eyes. “You’re not ill, are you? Is it your head?”

Adam pulled a roll apart with his long fingers; he shoved half of it in his mouth and spoke around puffed cheeks.

“You do look a bit ill-used, to be sure. Rough night, was it?”

If William had been running a temperature, it would have cooled instantly under the glare he leveled at Adam. Adam grinned merrily, chewing with his mouth open, and William’s hand tightened on the paring knife.

“Leave him be, the both of you,” said Gerald. “He likely just went a bit heavy last night, as half the pub did. Don’t be fussing over him, Mary.”

Adam tilted his head. “Aye, I do seem to remember you going a bit heavy there at the end. Got into the wine, didn’t you?”

The half-memory lingering in William’s head, blurred from sleep and hangover, flared into fresh and violent life at Adam’s words with the smell of sweat and the sound of glass crunching beneath his feet. His stomach churned and he choked back a lump of bile; he placed his palms on the table and took a breath until it passed. He felt Mary’s hands on his shoulders and stood abruptly, sending the wooden bowl clattering into the teacup.

“I don’t feel well. I think I ought to lie down.”

Gerald turned from the sink. Mary’s face was pinched with worry. Adam’s smile vanished, his eyebrows first rising then drawing down and in. Finally Gerald spoke.

“Aye, lad, you go on. I’ll send up some tea in a bit. You just get some rest and you’ll be fine. And don’t you trouble yourself over last night – we’ve all taken a bit more than we should have, in our time.”

William looked at the faded bruise on Adam’s lower lip. His head gave a sick throb.

“Aye,” he said. “More than I should have.”

He set his stool neatly in place, took the back stairs to his room, and vomited up four sips of chamomile tea before he went back to bed.

17.

April 4, 1922

William took the stairs two at a time, reading over the list in his hands. He had the whole day to himself, and he didn’t mean to spend it cooped up in his room – not when there was a market full of people to observe, conversations to hear, and a wallet full of last week’s pay to divest himself of. It was already Thursday, and he was behind on the week’s newspapers. He could squander no more time on distractions. He reached the bottom of the staircase and stepped over Ruan without looking; the setter, stretched full-length in a bar of sunlight, looked up briefly and then went back to sleep. William tossed the end of his scarf over his shoulder and began whistling the first verse of “Jenny with the Auburn Hair”.

Mary had been hard at the spring cleaning all week. She stood near the mantle at the top of a rickety ladder, her hair bound up in a kerchief and the cuffs of her boy’s trousers rolled above her ankles, making sure no dusty nook or cranny escaped the reach of her cloth. She looked down when William entered and smiled.

“Are you off to the market?”

“Aye, I’ve a few errands to run. Gerald gave me the day off so I thought I’d best use it.”

“Right, well, have fun then.” As he reached for the doorknob she called after him, “Oi, William, hang on a bit.”

He turned and she was hopping down from the ladder, dusting off her hands. “Could you be a love and drop off a package for me while you’re out?” Before he could answer she disappeared into the kitchen, then emerged with a small bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

“I did some mending for Adam, but I’ve not seen him in a few days. His flat’s not far from the market – would you mind at all taking it to him?”

William rubbed the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t, Mary, but I do have a lot to do, and
—
”

“Can I ask you a question, William?”

“Of course.”

“Have you and Adam quarreled? I’ve not seen the two of you talk in nearly a week. It’s just not like either of you, and – well, it’s none of my business, I reckon. You can tell me to bugger off if you like.”

William almost smiled. “No, we’ve not quarreled. It’s nothing, I’m sure. Maybe he’s been busy lately. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I should really get going, I don’t want to
—
”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mary said. “It just seemed queer to me, is all. I thought maybe you’d taken a lass he had his eye on or something.”

William chuckled. “No, it’s not that, I assure you.”

“Good. A shame it’d be to let one indiscretion come between you.” She reached over with her free hand and picked a bit of lint off his shoulder. “A true friend doesn’t come along every day, you know. You’re good together, you and Adam.”

“I know,” William said.

She straightened the knot of his scarf, then dusted off his collar and smiled. “Right. I’ll just take these to him myself, then, shall I? Or save them for the next time he comes round the pub. I’m sure you need to get on with your busy day.”

William sighed and slid his shopping list into his back pocket. The butcher paper crinkled in his arms when he took the package from her.

“Twelve St. Stephen Street,” Mary said. “Flat 4E.” Her smile unchanged, she turned to grab her cloth and climb back up the ancient ladder.

“And tell him to be more careful next time. How he lost four buttons off a single shirt is beyond me. Likely I don’t want to know.”

William looked down at the parcel in his hands, smelling faintly of starch and mothballs. Mary was scrubbing once more at the faded brick, her bare feet on tiptoe and her hair falling from its kerchief, humming the chorus of “Jenny with the Auburn Hair” as she worked in the sunlight.

“Likely you don’t,” William said.

Twelve St. Stephen Street was a tenement house. It stood in a row of identical buildings, all propped against each other on the crowded street. William checked the sign on the post again, though he knew he had made no wrong turns. The neighborhood seemed decent enough, and children played jacks on the steps in front of him, but most of the windows were covered with blankets and some with bars. William looked up at the paint peeling over the entryway. He knew exactly what the rent on a room like this would be. He thought of Adam’s taste for fancy clothes – clothes that Mary was mending two and three times over. He really was sending all his money to America. William frowned and walked up the steps, stepping around the game of jacks to make his way up three flights of stairs.

Flat 4E was at the end of a long narrow hall; in front of the door lay a braided rug fraying at the edges and two empty milk bottles. William stared at the brass plate on the door.

God’s sake, Young. You’ve never hesitated before a doorway in all your life.
You can head the raid on Robbie Fraser but you can’t face a boy of two-and-twenty? Get on with it, you wee girl.

He raised his fist to knock but the door opened before he could. Adam blinked at him, holding the door with one hand and pulling his braces up with the other; he had no shirt on over his vest, barefooted and bareheaded, wet hair still dripping onto his freckled shoulders.

“Glasgow.”

“Adam.”

A dog began barking outside in the street; a woman’s voice yelled something and the barking ceased. To replace it, a baby began to wail somewhere downstairs.

“Mary asked me to bring you this,” William said, holding out the package. “Your mending.”

“Oh, aye.” Adam took the bundle and looked down at it with a little grin. “Reckon she’d give her right eye to know how I damaged it.”