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‘I have plenty of room for a passenger, Annie,’ Mr Talbot says, pointing towards his horse and cart.
His horse is tied beside us, munching on some long grass growing up through the cracks in the concrete street. There are some warm, colourful blankets folded in the back of the cart, and they look wonderfully cosy. I strongly consider Mr Talbot’s offer as the carrier bag bites into the flesh just above the bony part of my hip. I could ask him to drop me at the top of my road, and I could walk the rest of the way; my father would never know.
‘If you can wait an hour or so while I finish tidying up, I’d be glad for the company,’ Mr Talbot finishes.
I groan inwardly. Unfortunately, I can’t wait in the square for that long. Someone might see me and unknowingly mention it to my father in passing.
‘Thank you, Mr Talbot, but I’d best get going. I’d like to get home to check on my mother as soon as I can.’ I smile, confident that I’m telling a half-truth.
‘All right, Annie. You take care of yourself. There’s enough good food in that bag for you too. Make sure you have something to eat now too, won’t you.’
My smile widens as I walk away. ‘Goodbye, Mr Talbot. See you next week.’
A vicious wind brushes past me and bites at my ankles. It’s definitely a couple of degrees cooler than when I set out this morning, and I know by the time I make it home the cold will have made its way right through my blue satin dress and into my bones. I should have brought a cardigan, but my mother and I only have one between us, and I draped it around her shoulders this morning before I left, hoping to warm the shock out of her.
I walk as fast as the heavy brown bag will allow. Its troublesome shape forces my stride to sway and waddle.
A bunch of teenagers sit on the low wall outside the post office. I recognise most of their faces from primary school. Of course, they’ve changed somewhat as they’ve grown into young adults but not enough to become strangers. I lost touch with them all over the years. Most left school by the time they were ten or eleven, and my father warned me that the ones who went on to second level were not appropriate company for me to keep.
One face catches my attention amongst the others. Arthur Talbot. Mr Talbot’s son.He’s as handsome as ever, I think reluctantly. He doesn’t sit on the wall like everyone else. He stands with his back leaning against the stony surface; his elbows are bent and tucked by his side as they rest on top of the wall. It can’t be comfortable, but he makes the pose look effortless. His dark hair is slicked back off his face, and he wears the collar of his black, leather jacket up, framing his neck. A cigarette dangles between his lips, and his eyes are locked on me. I can feel the tiny hairs on the back of my neck tingle.
He moves swiftly as I approach, positioning himself mid-centre between his car and the wall. I’ll have to brush against him, or ask him to move as I pass. I know he does it on purpose. I slow, pretending to yield to the weight of the brown paper bag. He waits perched with one foot firmly on the footpath, and the other resting on the bumper of the bottle-green Morris with a cream soft-top roof that’s parked in front of him. I guess most girls are impressed by a guy with a car. I’m not like most girls, but I wish I was.
‘In a hurry, Annie?’ one of the girls shouts at me as I decide to step off the footpath and walk around the parked car with my head down.
I nod, but I don’t look up.
‘Oh, Annie. C’mon. Loosen up, will you? We’re only having a laugh,’ she jars.
My grip of the paper bag in my arms tightens, and I speed up. I just want to get home. My father will be awake soon, and last night’s whiskey will have left its mark on his mood. Lamb chops will be a good antidote, I think.
I keep my head down, but my eyes strain to look up at the Blackwell Tavern that takes pride of place at the top of the town. I’ve never been inside – most respectable women in Athenry haven’t – but I hate the place nonetheless. It’s just after midday and already the bicycles of many good men are littered outside. Men walk inside good people with their heads held high but they stagger out with wobbly legs, slurred words and the temper of a monster. I sometimes wonder how many girls, like me, have felt the back of their father’s hand because he spent too long drinking the day away in the Blackwell Tavern. I can’t be the only one.
‘Annie. Stop and talk to us for a while,’ the pretty girl says as she eyes me up and swings her legs from side to side on the wall.
‘Don’t bother trying to talk to her,’ someone else shouts. ‘She’s strange.’
The insult slides off me as if my skin is made of wax. It’s grown thick and impenetrable after all these years of name-calling and taunting from the local kids.
‘Don’t you want friends?’ the girl continues, flicking some of her light-blonde hair that falls in heavy curls around her shoulders.
The teenagers on the wall snigger. Some cover their mouth with their hand or drop their head, but most don’t bother to hide their amusement. They stare at me as if I’m crazy. Some even look a little afraid of me. Their searing glares hurt more than their silly words ever could.
Arthur distances himself from his friends and walks around the front of his car to stand directly in my path again. His eyes burn into me the most. I scan the road for a way past him, but he’s too close to the car for me to squeeze between him and the passenger’s door, and there’s a huge, mucky puddle on the other side if I go around him. I’d ruin my shoes if I went through it. Mucky shoes would almost certainly earn a black eye from my father this afternoon. I’ll just have to stand here and take whatever cruel words this bunch throw at me. I begin to sing silently in my head. ‘Mack the Knife’, my favourite. The chorus plays on a loop, and I know I will be able to block out their words if I just keep singing.
Arthur doesn’t say anything. He stands and watches me. What does he think I will do?And they said I’m the strange one.
Two rounds of the chorus later, I finally snap. I can’t afford to fritter away a Saturday afternoon on their silly teenage games.
‘Can I help you?’ I snort.
‘Actually, I think you’re the one who needs help,’ Arthur says.
‘Me?’ I say, tilting my head to one side to look past him.
The road stretches out to infinity behind him, and the sky is angrier than ever. This delay is almost certain to catch me out in the rain. I look back, expecting to see him laughing, or at least glancing back at his giggling friends. But he’s not doing either. He’s simply watching me. His eyes are still burning into me, but it feels different now. Like hereallysees me. The me inside that I try so hard to hide from everyone. No one has ever looked at me this way before – not even my mother. This look scares me.
The girl who’d been teasing me lowers herself carefully off the wall and slowly makes her way over to stand next to him.
