Born & Bred (24 page)

They often spoke openly but when they spoke about the night in the church, Deirdre was surprised by how much Miriam knew until she realized that she and Fr. Reilly often got together.

That didn’t strike her as odd. Instead it made her happy to know that Fr. Reilly had a friend he could talk to. He’d always seemed so lost. Sometimes, she wondered if anything else went on between the two of them but she didn’t dwell on that; it wasn’t her business.

Besides, everyone needed someone like Miriam in their lives. Deirdre never missed an opportunity to bump into her on campus so that they could go for coffee. Miriam was like having Grainne around again, but she had been away since the beginning of summer, off in Rome, of all places, visiting with an old friend from America. Deirdre was excited about seeing her again. She would have so much to talk about. But first she had to take the chance to set things right with Danny.

When he finished his song, he beckoned her closer and knelt to pick the money from his case. When it was empty he slung his guitar off and gently placed it inside.

“How are ya?” he asked her knees, like he was afraid to look her in the face.

“I’m very well, thank you. And how have you been?” She hoped she didn’t look flustered as she tried to recall some of the things she had planned to say, but, when he stood up, he just shrugged.

“Can’t complain, ya know?”

She had seen him do this so often, wrap himself in that cloak that men wore against their feelings. She used to be able to get him to open up, but that was before. The cloak was probably so much thicker now—like a wall between them.

“How’s university going?” he asked after they had stood in silence for a while.

“It’s great. Thanks for asking. I can’t wait until classes start again.”

She had rehearsed so many better things to talk about but now that he was standing right in front of her she couldn’t remember any of them. And when she didn’t say anything else, he lowered his eyes.

She had to say something.

“Danny. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened, you know, in the church.”

“Oh that.” He rose again and looked her straight in the eye. “Don’t be worrying about that. It’s all water under the bridge now.” He looked like he wanted her to reach out to him to touch him but she couldn’t just dive back in.

She had changed and so had he. They’d have to spend some time getting to know each other again before they could do anything else.

She was looking for a way of saying all that but couldn’t find it as they both stood awkwardly and tried to understand each other’s signals.

“I don’t suppose you’d ever consider going out for a drink, or coffee, or something?” He stood back a little, to wait for her answer.

After their night in the church, she became like a nun. And not just for the sake of her parents. She had shocked herself. Sometimes she went too far.

Miriam assured her that it was just part of growing up. “You have to push things and sometimes you will break through—for better or for worse.”

She wasn’t sure which this was but she did owe him something. But he’d have to become the Danny she once knew before she could consider being anything with him again.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He looked embarrassed, like he regretted imposing on her.

He had misunderstood. It wasn’t him; it was the whole seedy reality he was mixed up with. Miriam had talked to her about that, too. About all the suffering and pain drugs were causing in the poorer parts of town. She would probably think that it was judgemental to shun Danny for that.

But was it guilt, or pity?

Miriam would probably say that sympathy and pity had as much to do with love as passion and attraction. “Love,” she often said, “is our greatest strength and our greatest weakness.”

Deirdre knew exactly what she meant. “No Danny, I would like that. I would like to have a chance to sit down and talk with you again.”

He looked like she had thrown him a lifeline but she couldn’t be sure; he smirked a lot more now than he used to. It was understandable; life had never really played fair with Danny. But she could do something about that now, with Miriam’s help. “I am just on my way to meet a friend in Bewley’s. Drop in later, if you like.”

*

As she walked away, Danny lowered his head. He didn’t want to get all blubbery about it but he felt like he might be finally getting one of those second chances that Fr. Reilly was always going on about.

But everything that he had been through only proved that good stuff never happened to him. He didn’t deserve somebody like Deirdre in his life. He wasn’t, and it made him smirk to realize, good enough.

Inside, he was full of lies and deceit.

He didn’t want to be but it was the only way he could handle things. He couldn’t tell Anto to go and fuck himself—and all of his heavies, too. And he couldn’t tell the cops anything. Sometimes he thought of telling Fr. Reilly but he didn’t really trust him. The Church would condemn his soul—after the cops had beaten the life out of him. Then they’d probably lock him in St. Pat’s.

Fr. Reilly said God would forgive him, that He was always happy to welcome a sinner back.

But God knew all of his little secrets. He knew when Danny lied—little fibs at first but getting bigger as he grew.

He knew when Danny stole apples from an orchard and chocolate bars when Mrs. Monaghan’s head was turned.

She always said that he looked just like his uncle and that made Danny feel worse. Everybody always talked about how “good” Martin was; what an angel he was and how well behaved he was. They never talked about Danny that way. “Poor little Danny,” they’d say when they thought he wasn’t listening. “God love him.” And, as he grew, it sounded less like pity and more like derision.

Other kids picked up on that and shunned him from the start. They picked on him when his mother was in the hospital and his father was off in England. And they picked on him when his grandmother complained to their parents about them. That was why he had gotten involved in the game. He just wanted to be respected and important but it had all gone so terribly wrong and he was back where he began.

He wanted to believe Fr. Reilly when he told him that if he reached out—if he had a little faith—that things would get better. People who wanted to help would show up when they were most needed. “That,” he explained, “is how God’s miracles work—through others.”

Danny couldn’t be sure. Part of him had a bit of a tendency to use people, too.

Being involved with the stuff made you like that. You had to see all the angles. You had to see other people’s motives, as well as their intentions. It was how he had learned to survive, only he wanted to change all of that now. He wanted to get back to where people tried to be nice to each other because that’s how they believed they should be.

Fr. Reilly had talked about that, the day they walked around Rathfarnham Castle. He told him that, no matter how low a person had fallen, there was always hope. And that God celebrated the return of every sinner, no matter how prodigal they had become. All he had to do was want it—and to not do all the stuff that had led him astray.

But all of that just reminded him of his granny and her angels. It was all very well for the priest to talk about God’s forgiveness but the people around him would never forget what he had done.

Deirdre’s father would probably not be too happy about him seeing Deirdre again. His views on Danny were well known down in the pub where men gathered to gossip—only they called it something else. They all agreed with him that Danny was a bad seed, only not when Jerry was around. Then they turned their outrage on the drug dealers who were turning their own children against them. Some nights, when enough drink was taken, they still threatened that, one of these days, they would grab their pitchforks and burning torches and drive the devil from them.

Jerry always kept Danny up to date with the current mood in the mistaken hope that it might prod him toward reformation. Danny understood that, but the chasm between him and his parents was too wide.

He strummed a few chords as he searched for a song about getting lost. He had never intended for things to end up like this and in his mind, he joined in with Joe Cocker and began to sing
Lord Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood
.

He sang to the roof, so that no one would notice the little tears that formed in the corners of his eyes and didn’t see Maguire slink through the shadows.

He had been there all along and couldn’t wait to report back to Anto, who had asked him to keep an eye on Danny.

*

Miriam kissed Deirdre on both cheeks before she sat back and took a little package from her purse.

“I saw this in the Campo D’Fiori and thought of you.”

It was a hand-carved dolphin, gleaming white in the sheet of dark blue paper.

“I love it. Thank you so much but please, tell me all about Rome.”

“What’s to tell? It’s full of old relics glorifying past glories—and that’s just the Vatican.”

They both laughed too loud as the people sitting around them stopped whatever they were doing, sipping their tea or nibbling on their sticky buns. Their laughter the only sound in the little circle of silence spreading around them until it was lost in the swirling cacophony that was Bewley’s on a Saturday afternoon, when the older ladies, who shopped on Grafton Street, paused for refreshment.

They were still laughing as the waitress left to fetch their order.

Miriam wanted tea. She had had so much coffee in Rome that she was sure she’d never sleep again. “Now tell me how your summer was. Did anything exciting happen while I was away?”

Deirdre wanted to know more about Rome and the mysterious old friend that Miriam had often referred to as her mentor and guide when she was a nun, but instead they talked about Danny and all that happened.

Miriam absorbed the news without comment, nodding to encourage Deirdre, and seemed very interested in how their meeting went.

She was always asking after Deirdre’s love life, which felt strange at first until Deirdre realized;
it must be so hard for her. Almost forty and having to start out again.

“Do you think that you will see him again?”

“That’s entirely up to him. I told him that I would like to meet up with him again—just to talk.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?”

“I do. I’m just not sure what those feelings are?”

“Well, I hope you are not expecting me to help you sort them out. That kind of love is not my speciality.”

They both laughed and sat back and smiled at each other. This was how they discussed things, laughing at each other while exchanging heartfelt love and kindness—and support.

“Is one of those feelings love–as in man and woman kind of love?”

Miriam had hit the nail on the head. It had been so nice before, when they were younger.

Being in love made everything better. She and Danny could talk about the things they hated and the things they loved. They could share the music that defined them, individually and together, and when they touched, hands, fingers, or even when they brushed their hips together, little sparks ran through them, causing them to shiver. Most of all Deirdre liked closing her eyes and kissing him while they wound their bodies together. Their lips, soft against each other, moist and inviting, fanning flames inside them.

Until he would go too far and try to reach up her skirt, or unzip her jeans. That’s when the mood was broken and she would unwrap herself and draw a few breaths while she composed herself.

“Go on. Let me,” he’d pester, but she had her boundaries. She wasn’t ready to share what lay beyond. He’d plead some more, getting coarser as her shyness grew. He was shy, too, and that was how she knew that they weren’t ready. But they were older now.

“Okay. I won’t ask.” Miriam smiled and poured more tea. She raised the little jug and filled her cup to them brim with creamy white milk. “This is the best thing about being back in Ireland. The milk . . . and the cream . . . and the chocolate. I can’t get enough chocolate . . . only now I don’t have a habit to hide in anymore.”

They were still laughing when Danny approached.

“Oh!” Deirdre was surprised that he came—and a little annoyed that he had come so soon. She still had so many things to talk with Miriam about.

“I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all,” Miriam offered into the awkward silence. “And I presume that you are the notorious Danny Boyle I have heard so much about. Sit down and have tea with us, or do you prefer coffee?” Miriam signaled to the waitress to bring another cup, and another pot of tea, and more milk.

Deirdre was flustered and knew she was getting a moment to compose herself. “This,” she gestured toward Miriam, “is my friend Miriam and this,” she almost blushed, “is Danny.”

He looked furtive as Deirdre sat back and tried to see him through Miriam’s eyes. He fumbled to put his guitar out of the way and then struggled to fold his legs under the table. He’d probably had a few hits on the way over and more than likely regretted them now. Miriam had very penetrating eyes and was probably trying to look all the way inside of him.

“So,” he asked and began to smirk a little. “Do the pair of you come here often?”

Deirdre almost groaned but Miriam just laughed. “Yes, this is where Deirdre and I get together to plan for when women take over the world.”

“I’m all for that,” Danny enthused, looking grateful for Miriam’s show of friendship.

“Good! Because when Deirdre and I are finished it will be a much better place. Won’t it, Dee?”

Deirdre just smiled as she tried to figure out her part in what was unfolding. She wanted Miriam to meet him but now that it was happening, she wasn’t ready. Danny, however, seemed at ease and reached for his cigarettes.

“Would you mind not smoking?” Miriam asked and smiled to get her way.

“No problem,” Danny flustered as he put his pack away.

“I don’t mean to be such a bitch but I can’t tolerate the smell. You should think about quitting, you know? There are so many studies that say how bad they are for you.”