Love and Other Drama-Ramas! (13 page)

I can’t hide anything from Clover. That’s exactly what’s been going through my head since the moment I discovered the Bailey-Finn connection. “But how, Clover?” I ask. “Bailey won’t talk to him. Finn’s tried loads of times.”

“But they haven’t ever seen each other face-to-face, right?”

“Correct. By the sound of it, Finn’s rung the house, but they’ve never met.”

She thinks for a second and then says, “What does Bailey look like?”

“What’s that got to do with anything? Besides, you’ve seen him — at the gig in the Olympia.”

“In the distance. Bear with me for a second: does he look anything like Finn?”

I consider this. Bailey has jet-black hair; Finn’s is sandy brown, but they both have piercing green eyes, stellar cheekbones, and strong, full lips you can’t help but stare at.

“Come to think of it,” I say, “apart from the hair, then yes, they look very alike.”

“So if they were to meet in person, it would be pretty overwhelming, right? Because they look so much alike, I mean. And Finn seems like a cool guy, sincere, very likable, loads of charisma, and he seems to genuinely want to make it up to Bailey from what you’ve said. What if we managed to trick the two of them into the same room — would their shared chemistry kick in? Would Bailey be able to overlook the past, swallow his pride, and actually talk to Finn?”

“Engineer a meeting without telling either of them? Is that what you mean?”

“Precisely.” Her eyes are twinkling. “What do you think? Would it work?”

“I have no idea, but it’s got to be worth a shot.”

“Good. Is there anything that links them apart from genetics? We need to hang their meeting on something.”

I begin to smile. “I think I’ve got it. Clover, you’re a genius!”

“I don’t know about you, Beanie,” Clover says as we crunch along Killiney Beach, “but I’m really nervous. What if Bailey refuses to speak to Finn? It’s going to get us both in a whole heap of trouble.”

“As long as we can keep Mum’s name out of it, I don’t really care, to be honest. Anyway, it can hardly make things worse, can it?”

“I suppose not.” Clover sounds doubtful, though. I don’t blame her. She’s put herself on the line for this. She rang Finn’s agent, Britta, and set up a
Goss
interview with Finn. She also promised a big photo shoot on the beach to tie in with his whole Irish Surfing Chef persona. Since it’s Saturday, we’re hoping Bailey will show up soon to give his usual surfing lessons.

When we reach the sand dunes to the right of the Martello Tower, Finn’s already there, looking like a rock star in his battered brown leather jacket and wraparound shades. “Hi, girls.” He grins. “Nice to see you again.” He rubs his hands together. “So where’s this photographer, then? I want to catch the rugby game later, yeah? It would be great to wrap things up quickly.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be here in a jiffy,” Clover says, her eyes flitting away from Finn’s to study the water.

“Surf’s up,” Finn says, following her gaze. “Wish I had my board with me. East coast’s not usually the best for surfing, but the wind’s coming from the perfect direction today for some board action.”

And right on cue, a couple of boys of about ten or eleven run onto the beach, surfboards under their arms. Ramming their boards into the sand near the shore, they quickly strip down, and within seconds they’re racing toward the waves in sleek black wet suits.

Finn laughs. “They’re keen.”

Soon the water is filled with black bodies, flicking water at one another, laughing, trying to catch waves, and toppling off boards. And then the atmosphere suddenly changes: the boys stop horsing around, and one of them gestures toward a tall boy who has just appeared on the shore. He’s wearing a beanie and sunglasses, but there’s no mistaking who it is: Bailey.

I grab Clover’s arm, just as one of the surfers yells,“Hi, Bailey, we’ve been waiting for you.”

Bailey thrusts his board into the sand, walks toward the water’s edge, black rucksack bobbing on his back, and starts chatting with them.

Finn is frozen to the spot, the color draining from his cheeks. Pulling off his sunglasses, he stares at Bailey, his eyes dark and intense. Then he looks at us. “What’s going on? Who’s that older lad with the board?”

“Do you recognize him?” Clover asks.

Finn’s quiet for a few agonizing seconds, then eventually he says slowly, “I think so.”

“His name is Bailey Otis,” I say. “Would you like to meet him?” I can’t keep the hopeful, excited tone out of my voice, and Finn recognizes it.

He stares at me, looking utterly confused. “Bailey? I don’t understand. What’s he doing here?” He looks around frantically. “Is this some kind of weird setup? Are there cameras?”

“No!” Clover says. “Of course not. We just thought you might like to talk to him, face-to-face.”

“Bailey’s in my class in school,” I explain, feeling sorry for Finn. I can’t begin to imagine how overwhelmed he must be feeling right now. “We’re friends.”

“Did he tell you about me?” Finn asks, his eyes boring into mine.

Yikes! “Not exactly.”

“I think you’d better spill the beans right now,” Finn says, his tone serious. “The truth, please, Amy.”

I gulp. He seems really angry. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t this. I’d thought he’d be grateful, having clearly been dying to meet his son in person.

“It was me,” Clover says quickly, taking the bullet. “I was digging around, doing some research before this interview. I talked to a couple of people and found out about your son. Amy’s best friend was going out with a Bailey Otis, and as it’s a very unusual name, I put two and two together—”

“And came up with five.” Finn runs his hands through his hair. He seems very out of sorts. “And it’s none of anyone’s business — especially not yours.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” I pipe up. “Bailey
is
your son.”

I must have spoken too loudly, because at that moment Bailey swings round and stares at us. His gaze moves from me, glances over Clover, and rests directly on Finn. And he does not look happy. Their eyes lock. Bailey’s left cheek is distorted; he must be chewing it savagely. For a second, his eyes are soft, almost misty — and then it’s like someone has flicked a switch, and they go hard and steely.

“How dare you?” he spits out at Finn as he marches up the sand toward us. “Did you have me followed or something? And what’s
she
doing here?” He glares at me.

“Bailey,” Finn says, his voice quivering a little. “Bailey, please, can’t we just talk?”

“NO! Not now, not ever. Stop trying to contact me. I don’t want anything to do with you, understand. If I see you here again I’ll . . . I’ll call the cops. Have you up for harassment and sell the story to the papers. The mighty Finn Hunter stalking a teenage boy! That would look just great in the headlines.”

Finn’s face crumples. “It wasn’t my idea. I thought I was doing a photo shoot for a magazine. These girls—”

“Are idiots,” Bailey snaps. He looks at me, his eyes full of pain. “Amy Green, you’re some piece of work. Who told you I come here? Polly? Seth? Are you trying to get back at me for hurting Mills, is that it?”

“What?” I say. “No! I was trying to
help
. I thought if you saw your dad in the flesh—”

“Dad?” Bailey says angrily. “The man doesn’t deserve that name. Now leave me alone, all of you. Especially you, Amy.” He turns to Finn again. “And what are you still doing here?”

“Bailey, please listen—”

But before he gets a chance to finish his sentence, Bailey swings his arm and punches Finn hard, his fist impacting just above Finn’s jaw.

Finn stumbles backward onto the sand, clutching his face, while Bailey runs toward the sea and shouts, “Surfing’s off today, lads, sorry.” Then he grabs his board and storms across the sand dunes, away from us, away from Finn — without a backward look.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell Finn, who looks as shell-shocked as I feel. His lip is bleeding, and he’s pressing his fingers against it to try to stem the flow. I can hear Bailey’s voice in my head: “Are idiots.”

Idiots . . . idiots . . . idiots.

I’m so stupid and ashamed. What was I thinking? Did I really think Bailey would yell, “Daddy, I forgive you,” and run into Finn’s arms like in a Disney movie? Life isn’t like that.

Clover puts her arm around my shoulder. “It’s OK, Beanie. It’s not your fault. You were trying to help.”

“But it
is
my fault. I should never have interfered. Bailey’s right: I am an idiot. And he
hit
Finn.”

“I’m all right,” Finn says. “It looks worse than it is.” He’s staring out at the boys, still playing in the waves: happily oblivious of what has just happened. “I’m the fool,” he continues. “I’ve made a right mess of everything. I should never have run off on Lane like that. Man, it was unforgivable. I don’t deserve a son.” He looks at me and Clover, his eyes glistening with tears. “I know you were only trying to fix things, but there’s nothing any of us can do now. We all have to respect the dude’s wishes and leave him alone.”

Alone? I feel a wave of sadness. Finn’s right, though; it’s beyond our control. And to top it all, now I’m going to have to tell Mum what I’ve done before Finn does. She’s going to kill me!

I was wrong: Mum doesn’t kill me.

After the Killiney Beach incident, Clover took me for hot chocolate in Mugs café in Dalkey to try to cheer me up before dropping me off at home.

“I’ll tell Sylvie what happened with Finn and Bailey,” she said as we drove toward the house. “It was my fault too, Beanie. You shouldn’t have to take the rap alone.”

So now we’re sitting around the kitchen table, me, Mum, and Clover, all staring at one another. Clover has just finished telling Mum the whole story.

“Poor Bailey,” Mum is saying. “He’s had such a sad life. It’s such a shame he won’t talk to Finn. Personally, I think they both need each other.”

“You’re not annoyed with me for reading your notes?” I ask, surprised. I bite my lip and then, guessing it’s probably best to come completely clean, add: “I listened to the tape too and read Bailey’s letters to Finn.”

Mum smiles gently. “Why do you think I left everything on the kitchen table, Amy? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist a little peek. And I had this really strong feeling that the boy who has been causing Mills all the grief was Finn’s son. It was just too much of a coincidence otherwise.”

I stare at Clover. “What have you been telling Mum?”

Clover shrugs. “Nothing, Beanie. Your secrets are my secrets. How do you know about the Mills and Bailey drama-rama, Sylvie?”

“Sue was very worried,” Mum says. “Mills wasn’t eating properly — or sleeping. So Sue had a little chat with her and found out about Bailey Otis. She asked my advice as to how to help her, mum to mum. After that, I put two and two together. There can’t be many boys with that name in Dublin.”

“Mills’s mum was asking you for advice?” Clover asks. Clover and I both give a laugh at the same time.

“What?” Mum demands. “I give great advice!”

“That’s right, Sylvie,” Clover says, her lips curling into a smile. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“So let’s get this straight, Mum,” I say. “You left the stuff on the table knowing you couldn’t say anything to me directly?”

“Exactly. I felt I had to do something. Get them together somehow. I couldn’t come up with anything, so I thought of you, Amy. You’re always so good at fixing things. Of course, it doesn’t always go as planned, does it, pet? Sometimes, like today, it’s a complete disaster. But at least you try.”

“I think that’s what they call damning with faint praise,” Clover says. “I thought you took a gobbledygook parenting course once, Sylvie. Maybe you should think about going back.”

Mum scowls at her. “I have exemplary parenting skills, thank you very much. And when you have your own family, you’ll realize just how difficult raising children is, Miss High-and-Mighty.”

I put up my hands to interrupt them. “Hello? Why are you two fighting? Calm down, people. We have other things to worry about at the moment.” Suddenly something occurs to me. “Mum, Bailey lives with his grandpa, Mac. Does Finn talk about him much?”