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Mount Clements is the biggest ballroom in all of Galway, and it’s in our town. It’stheplace to be every Friday night. There’s a stage and a live band. It’s wonderful, or so everyone says. I’ve never been. My father says girls like me don’t belong in a place like that, which is ironic, considering Mount Clements is where my father met my mother almost twenty-two years ago.
Sketch waits for me to turn back and takes his eyes off the road briefly to catch mine. ‘Maybe you’ll come with me sometime, Annie?’
‘We’re nearly at my house,’ I choke. ‘Just a couple more miles.’
‘Say you’ll come, Annie. Say you’ll dance with me. Please?’
‘I’d like to, really.’
‘I can pick you up,’ Sketch offers. ‘If that’s the concern?’
‘Concern?’ I repeat.
‘I just thought maybe your folks don’t have a car,’ Sketch says. ‘That’s why you walk so much, isn’t it? And it’s why I haven’t seen you at the ballroom before. Young girls can’t walk alone at night. It’s too dangerous to cycle that winding road in the dark. Even if you have a light on your bicycle. I understand.’
I sigh. In the absence of an explanation from me, Sketch has made up his own.Thank God.
My bottom lip falls on one side as I grudgingly agree. ‘Yes. You’ve got me. We don’t have a car. Pity because, as I said, I love to dance.’
‘Well, that’s settled then,’ Sketch says with a grin. ‘I’ll come pick you up. Shall we say next Friday?’
‘Next Friday?’ I repeat.
‘Well, yes. Unless you have other plans.’ Sketch’s smile becomes uncertain. ‘We can postpone until the following week if you’re busy, but just so you know, the wait might kill me.’
Oh my God. Oh my God.My mind races like a runaway freight train. I want to go. I desperately want to dance but I’ve no idea how I’d pull it off without my father finding out. He’d never allow it, and going without his say-so would carry harsh consequences if he ever got a whiff of it.
‘Um, let me sit on the idea,’ I say, my legs beginning to shake as I stare out the windscreen racking my brain for a reasonable excuse.
‘Annie Fagan. You do like to play hard to get, don’t you?’ Sketch says, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice
I want to explain. I’m oddly desperate to let him know that I’m not rejecting him or making him jump through hoops for the sake of it. I’d be his guest at the ballroom in a heartbeat. If only it were that simple. I change the subject.
‘Sketch,’ I mutter.
‘Mmmhmm,’ he replies, half humming along to the radio.
‘So your friends call you Sketch for short, then?’
‘Yup. For a few years now. I’ve never really fancied myself as an Arthur. Arthur is an aul fella’s name really, isn’t it? I think my mother felt obliged to call me after my father and his father before. Being the firstborn boy and all that.’
‘An aul fella’s name?’ I giggle. ‘I think there’s plenty of young Arthurs too, you know. Anyway, I think it suits you. It’s… erm… smart.’
Sketch raises an eyebrow and shakes his head as if I’ve just insulted him. ‘Nah. I’m not the smart type.’
Sketch’s dapper appearance is almost flawless, so he can’t be talking about his looks. I guess he means intellectually, and his self-doubt smacks of familiarity. Athenry is a town renowned for believing people belong in boxes. Like apples and pears. Sketch’s box isSketch,the farmer’s son.Just as mine isAnnie, the alcoholic’s daughter.
‘I’m definitely more Sketch than Arthur,’ Sketch reiterates. ‘Anyway, it has a double meaning, so I extra like it.’
‘Oh, really?’ I say. ‘A double meaning, eh? What’s that?’
‘I draw,’ he admits without hesitation. ‘A little. Nothing very good. But my friends tell me I should try to sell some.’
‘You draw? That’s fantastic.’
My first thought, of course, is,Do his parents know? I can’t imagine his father would be too happy to see Sketch with a pencil in his hand where a shovel should belong. I shake my head and mentally scold myself. I’ve spent too long in this town; I’m starting to think like everyone else. I wish I could be so brave as to choose my own path.
‘I’d love to see some of your drawings,’ I say.
