Another man’s voice comes from behind me. “I believe the word is Boo-chawl. Written B-U-A-C-H-A-I-L-L. It means ‘boy’ as gaeilge, Ms. O’Neill. And Gaeilge is the Irish word for yer mother tongue.”
I can feel the speaker’s breath on my neck.
“That’s right!” exclaims Barry, beaming at the stranger over my shoulder. “Bag Yourself a Buachaill Night! All the men have to do something sexy to prove they’re Irish, and we have a kind of speed-dating event. Then the girls choose the sexiest, most convincingly Irish men. Modern day matchmaking!” Barry’s grinning from ear to ear, but I can hardly breathe. I know that voice behind me. Intimately.
I turn around slowly in my stool to face the man behind me. Micheál. I am literally struck dumb.
“Hello, Erin. Fancy seeing ye here. I thought I’d just pop over and check in on my investment.” He looks around the bar, nodding his head appreciatively. “I like the leprechaun motif.” He smiles at the neon character above the pool tables. “Ye should capitalise on that a bit more.”
“That’s what I said!” exclaims Barry.
I find my voice at last. “Okay, Barry, thanks for that. Let’s talk some more later. Try to come up with a few details.”
Barry bounds back round the other side of the bar.
I get up from the table and put my hands in my bar apron pockets. “Micheál! Wow! What a surprise! What are you doing here?”
“Happy to see me?”
“Of course! I mean, I was the one who told you to drop by if you were ever in the States. Fancy you being here so soon! Awesome! Who’s looking after the shop?” I’m babbling but I can’t help it.
“Siobhán’s minding things. I came into a bit of money, so I thought, what the hell, I think I’ll go see my old friend Erin in Boston.” He says this happily, arms outstretched for a hug.
I embrace him, even though this whole thing is crazy. It’s hard to catch my breath and my heart is racing. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? When I can’t help but drink in his smell and my knees threaten to give way, I pull back abruptly. He’s mocking me with his fake cheer, I know that. This is a new side to Micheál and all my instincts tell me to tread carefully.
“When did you arrive? Have you got somewhere to stay?” I ask, as I would anyone who had just turned up on my doorstep out of the blue.
“This morning, and no. I was hoping ye might have space. There’s an apartment attached to the bar, right?” He’s frowning, as though he can’t quite remember, but I get the feeling that Micheál knows a lot more about the bar than he’s letting on and he remembers everything.
“Sure! You can stay with me for a couple of nights. I have a spare room.” My voice is shaky. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I have no idea what to do, other than I need to get him out of the bar. “Have you had lunch? Let’s go upstairs. Do you have a bag or a suitcase or something?” I stare hopefully at the small holdall on his back. Maybe he’s only staying a night or two. The thought calms me somewhat.
“I left my suitcase at the door,” he says walking back to the main entrance.
With utter dismay I watch as he rolls a large suitcase toward me. “Wow! That must have cost a lot in excess charges,” I say more to myself than him. I start heading toward the stairs and the apartment.
“Well, I’m not sure exactly how long I’ll be here, so…” He’s gritting his teeth with the effort of hauling his bag up the stairs.
My mind is racing and there is a surreal quality to everything as I quickly show Micheál round the apartment. Clearly, my brain has left the building, but somehow I find myself behaving as though it is the most natural thing in the world to have him here, walking from room to room, taking in my discarded nighty and unmade bed.
After showing him the spare room, I toss him a towel and point him toward the bathroom so he can shower and freshen up. I try not to dwell on that image. Closing the door to the hall, I go to the farthest corner of the sitting room and pull out my phone.
I punch Favourites, R.
“Ridlee Taylor, attorney at law.”
“He’s here!” I hiss into the phone.
“Who is this?” asks Ridlee, clearly irritated.
“It’s me,” I hiss more, trying to keep my voice down.
“Erin?”
“Yes! It’s Micheál! He’s here! What do I do?” I’m begging.
“Riiiight, okaaaay. Welllll, hmmm, I’ll … um … courier the documents over to you later this afternoon. I’m just in a meeting now, so leave your details with my assistant and she’ll pass them on to me. Thank you. Bye now.”
The line goes dead. I stare at the phone screen.
SOS! I text just as the door opens and Micheál is standing there wearing nothing but the peach colored towel I gave him. And it’s not a very big one at that.
“Did I hear ye talking to someone?” he asks pleasantly.
“Orpheus!” I say shoving my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and scooping up the old cat who has been sleeping peacefully on the sofa. Orpheus meows loudly, jumps out of my arms, and stalks off toward the door, but not before throwing a dirty look at me over his shoulder.
“Oh, that’s what the hissing was,” says Micheál laughing. Orpheus, the traitor, thinks better of his escape and pauses to weave in and out of Micheál’s legs purring happily.
“Listen, do ye have any shampoo? I forgot to pack any.”
“Yeah, there should be some in the bathroom.” I’m distracted, keen to get back to getting a hold of Ridlee.
“I couldn’t see any,” he says, still hovering on the threshold.
“Huh…” I walk past him and into the bathroom. Opening the shower, I can see the shampoo up on one of the higher shelves. I step onto the ledge, holding the shower door for balance and stand on tippy-toes trying to reach it.
“Here, let me,” says Micheál, leaning in too. There’s not much room, and his chest is against my shoulders. My heart begins to race. I try to control it but I can’t. His fingers brush mine as he gets hold of the shampoo bottle. He takes it down from the shelf and steps back down. As he passes me, I feel his breath on my lips. I close my eyes in anticipation of…
“Huh, we have this in Ireland too. That’s globalisation for ye,” he says reading the label.
I open my eyes. My cheeks redden. “That’s where I bought it,” I mumble before turning quickly and leaving.
“Thaaanks!” he calls after me.
The shower starts running, and I pace the room sending text after text to Ridlee.
Finally she answers.
What does he want?
I don’t know!!!
Find out! DISCRETELY…
I put on the kettle and make tea, for want of something better to do. Making tea calms me, allowing me to marshal my thoughts. Ok Erin, get your shit together. What do you know? Well, you know that he knows that you ripped him off, or at the very least tricked him. Ok, good. Now, what does he want?
Not you, obviously. I shake my head to rid myself of nonsense thoughts like that one. I have to be smart. I know that. He’s probably angry. He may even want revenge. I just have to be patient and bide my time. In the meantime, I’ll be a gracious host. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right? Micheál’s not your enemy, you goose! says the angel, or is it the devil again?
When he emerges from the bathroom, fresh and more handsome than ever, I pour him a cup of tea and offer him one of the toasties I’ve made. He sits down at the breakfast bar that divides the kitchen and sitting room and eyes me warily. No doubt he’s wondering what I’m up to. I smile my most honest smile and sit down opposite him.