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‘Well, yes.’ He nods firmly. ‘I had to come and see for myself that you were all right. You see, I like to consider myself a gentleman, Miss Fagan.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. Of course. What respectable man in Athenry would not?’
My nose twitches, and I can smell my father’s hot breath dance across the air.
‘I’m so very sorry I splashed you as I drove by earlier. I ruined your lovely dress with my careless driving,’ Sketch babbles effortlessly.
‘Oh,’ I manage, slowly catching on and following his lead.
‘I just had to come and check you’re okay,’ Sketch smiles. ‘And apologise, of course.’
‘Thank you,’ I mumble, a heat building in my cheeks.
‘Here,’ he says, offering me the brown paper parcel. ‘I picked you up some fresh bits and pieces from my father’s farm. I hope they’re to your liking.’
I gather the parcel into my arms and peek inside, recognising my bag of goodies that I left in his car.Sketch Talbot is an impressive liar, I think.
‘I’m sure the mucky water that I splashed all over your vegetables can’t be very appetising. The least I can do is replace the damaged goods.’
‘Thank you,’ I beam. ‘Your kindness is much appreciated.’
Silence hangs in the air between us, and all I can do is smile at the boy who seems determined to be my friend. I really would like a friend again after all these years.
‘Hello,’ my father says, suddenly appearing at my side before I have time to notice he has moved.
‘Hello.’ Sketch nods, conceding politely to his senior.
‘I’m John Fagan,’ my father says, extending his hand.
Sketch’s bottom lip drops ever so slightly, and I wonder if he’s thinking that my father looks like a normal man – not a monster. Sketch stretches out his arm and shakes my father’s hand.
‘Sketch. Sketch Talbot,’ Sketch says confidently. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’
‘To what do we owe the pleasure, young Mr Talbot?’ my father says, standing much too close to me.
I can feel the heat jump from his skin and cling to mine like sticky treacle.
‘I owe your daughter an apology, sir,’ Sketch begins.
‘Oh, really now?’ My father raises a sceptical eyebrow.
‘Yes, indeed. I nearly got her in some terrible trouble earlier,’ Sketch says, nodding. ‘You see, Mr Fagan, I have a new car, but the steering is heavy, and I’m no expert driver. I wasn’t expecting to see a young girl out walking that dangerous stretch of road with a storm brewing. I nearly ran her clean over.’
I swallow roughly.
‘Foolish girl,’ my father snorts. ‘I’ll warn her to be more careful in the future.’
Sketch lowers his head, sighs, and then takes a moment before he looks back up. ‘The mistake was mine, Mr Fagan. Not your daughter’s. Mine. Luckily, I was able to swerve away in time. But if it was dark? Well, that could have been another story.’
‘And what would you suggest I do, Mr Talbot? Tie her to the leg of the table to stop her from sneaking out unsupervised?’
Sketch snorts and laughs as if my father is the funniest man in the world. ‘Oh, if only our problems were that easy to solve, eh, Mr Fagan? Not at all. But I could give your daughter a lift into town. It’d be a lot safer. How does once a week sound? Twice a week if you’re needing fresh meat.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with Annie’s walking legs,’ my father snorts, slapping me on the back roughly enough to force a throaty grunt to spill out of my parted lips.
‘It’s a dangerous road, Mr Fagan, with some very blind bends. Horses and carts have been known to turn over plenty o’ times along that stretch.’ Sketch’s eyes fix on my father’s face, and he doesn’t so much as blink. ‘I’m sure if anything happened to Annie, you’d never forgive yourself.’
