Valerie would be the solution to at least some of it.
I thought that if I brought her to Shambles, my father could see that I was going to be okay. But that’s just the surface reason, the shallow reason. I’m not worried about my father’s peace of mind in that respect because I don’t think he really cares much about what happens to me. I don’t think he actually spends his nights worrying about me and wishing that I’d end up in a kind and loving relationship, get married, be a good father, continue the family name and legacy. I don’t think that’s the case at all, no matter how many times he or my nan try to spin it that way or bring up my mother’s wishes.
The bigger reason, the pettier reason, for bringing Valerie to Shambles and putting on a charade of happiness, is that I don’t want him to think that I failed in life. He may not worry about me, but he does judge me. He thinks I should have done more with my life, even though I’ve done more than he ever has.
Now, with everything hanging in the balance, with my future so uncertain, it struck me as the only thing that made any sense. Bring her to Shambles. Pretend that I’ve been hiding our relationship from the public and family until I was certain. Tell him we’re engaged to be married but with no rush to plan the wedding. Let him see that I’m worth something to someone. And, if it does give him peace of mind after all, let him know that I’m going to be okay after he’s gone.
The idea was ridiculous and I knew it was a mistake the moment it came out of my mouth. I’ve had countless one-night stands and hook-ups and I wouldn’t have had that thought with any of them.
But the redhead is different. I know I don’t know her in the conventional way, but I know all the parts that count. I know that when she looks at me she doesn’t see some unstoppable rugby star. She sees something else, and even though I don’t know what that is, I know she likes it.
And I see a woman who has been ravaged and spit out by life. Dealing with a disability at such a young age couldn’t have been easy, and every perceived weakness she has, I just see someone who has had to turn inwards when life got too hard. I see someone who seems to be running to life for once, instead of away from it.
I’m not sure what that says about me. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two.
But you can’t, you eejit, I tell myself as I pull a bottle of beer from my fridge to help with the hangover. She’s gone. You scared her off. She couldn’t run out of this place fast enough.
It’s just as well. She’s just passing through. She’s got her own problems to deal with. Selfish and foolish of me to think I could rope her into mine.
The thoughts rattle around in my head as I take my first sip of beer and then I’m pondering if I can just keep drinking all day long so I don’t have to face anything, when there’s a knock at my door.
It’s not unusual to have neighbors drop by. I don’t really know any of them personally, but a lot of families ask for favors, like could I give some words of rugby encouragement to their son or would I say hello to someone’s die-hard Leinster fan grandpa. I put the beer away and sigh, gathering whatever strength I have to put on my game face that I wear to deal with the public, and open the door.
To my surprise it’s not a family but Valerie, with her sisters flanked on either side of her.
“Hi,” she says with her big blue eyes. I know only a few hours have passed since I last saw her, but to see her back when I thought I’d never see her again, to see her fresh-faced on my steps, with the white snow framing her crimson hair and her crimson hair framing her pale face, it’s like an angel has landed on my stoop by mistake.
“Hi.” I eye her sisters. They don’t seem like they’re here for sinister purposes, but you never know with girls. Though I was more or less an only child, our neighbors growing up had five girls and they