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I pull a face, and then blush when I realise how rude my obvious distaste must seem.
Sketch laughs. ‘Bridget is a good soul. She’s just not good with people who intimidate her.’
It’s my turn to laugh, but mine is more of a nervous giggle. There’s no way I intimidate anyone, but I appreciate his efforts to defend her. He’s as good a friend to Bridget as he once was to me.
The parcel under my arm pinches my skin when I’m carrying it with just one hand and the sharp sting of its weight reminds me of where I should be.
‘It was nice to see you again, Sketch,’ I say, taking a step backwards. ‘But I really should be on my way.’
‘You really are in a hurry?’ He exhales.
‘Actually, yes.’
‘Let me give you a lift.’
I turn to look at his car, hating myself for noticing how shiny it is. I shake my head to politely decline his offer.
‘I won’t try any funny business, Annie. I’ve delayed you; I really would like to make up for disrupting your day. Please allow me to drop you to wherever you need to be.’ He rummages in his pants pocket and pulls out car keys, spinning them round his index finger with a confidence that’s hard not to venerate.
I clear my throat with a dry cough and try to think of something plausible to say. He’s got this all wrong. I’m not refusing his lift because I’m afraid of him. It’s quite the opposite. He’s well-spoken and neatly dressed. He looks more like he belongs on a movie screen than cleaning out a pigsty. He smells divine, a distinct combination of citrus and sandalwood, and he has money. Family money. The Talbots are one of the most well-known and respected families in Athenry.
‘Don’t be fooled by their broad shoulders, mucky boots, and pants that smell of cow dung,’ my mother once told me. ‘There’s money in cow shit, Annie. There’s no such thing as a poor farmer.’
I run my eyes over every inch of his new and expensive car. The Talbots have lots of money. My mother has warned me about men like Sketch. Men like my father. If the package appears too good to be true, that’s because, usually, it is. Sketch Talbot is a gentleman and way out of my league. Even just talking to him, I’m playing with fire. We’ve grown up and grown apart. I knew the boy I sat beside in school, but time has rolled on. I don’t know the man standing in front of me.
‘Thank you, but it’s a lovely day,’ I mumble. ‘I’d rather walk.’
Sketch throws a lazy eye to the sky, and I can’t help but copy him. Dark, black clouds circle overhead.
‘Lovely day, eh?’ He smirks, his eyes falling back and settling on mine.
‘There’s nothing wrong with a little rain,’ I say defiantly.
‘True…’ He nods. ‘If you’re a duck.’
I shrug. I want to get in his car. I desperately do. I’m cold and lonely, and the prospect of rekindling a friendship that I once cherished fills me to the brim with excitement. But then I look at the Blackwell Tavern. At three stories high, it towers dramatically over all the other shops and cottages along the road. It’s the dominant premises of the town, and a not-so-subtle metaphor for the type of men who frequent it day in and day out. Men who drink until they fall, men who beat their wives, and men who don’t tolerate their daughters travelling in cars with once-upon-a-time friends.
‘Please, Annie. What are you afraid of?’
I’m certain Sketch thinks the answer is him.
‘Wait here.’ Sketch shuffles as if he’s worried that the moment he takes his eyes off me, I’ll run away. He races around the front of the car and opens the driver’s door. ‘You still there, Annie?’ he shouts, and I follow the sound of his voice to look across the cream soft-top roof to find him gazing at me.
We stand on the opposite side of the green car with our eyes meeting and my heart racing.
‘I have something for you,’ he says triumphantly.
His smile is warm and contagious, and my lips twist and mirror his expression. My pulse is pounding so furiously I can hear the blood in my veins as it courses past my ears. My knees suddenly feel independent of the rest of my legs as they wobble like jelly. I know this feeling. It rips through my body every time I hear the stomping of my father’s boots late at night on the front porch. But, this time is different. This time, my racing heart is because I’m the opposite of afraid. Sketch’s eyes feel like home. A home I’ve never known. They feel safe.
‘Well, say something, Annie,’ he quivers. ‘Gosh, you don’t half know how to make a guy nervous.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, blushing. ‘What is it?’
Sketch’s shoulder twists, and I guess he’s reaching around his back for something. Hot, excited air rushes past my gaping lips as Sketch pulls a rosy apple out from behind his back and holds it high enough for me to see.
‘An apple. A r-red apple,’ I stutter as if he doesn’t know what’s in his hand. ‘Is it from your father’s orchard?’
Sketch nods. ‘They taste just as good as ever, Annie.’
