to say to this. He can’t tell whether he’s angry at Lena, or whether his anger at Sheila and whoever got to her is so high that it’s spilling over onto her.
Lena says, “She’s got used to doing whatever needs to be done. Right or wrong. She hasn’t had much choice.”
“Maybe,” Cal says. He doesn’t find that reassuring. If Sheila felt her best or only option tonight was to beat the living shit out of Trey, she might feel that way again sometime. “I might see if I can get a few things done before I send the kid back there.”
Lena glances up from her tea. “Like what?”
“The stuff I shoulda been doing tonight.”
“Man business,” Lena says, mock-awed. “Too serious for a lady’s delicate ears.”
“Just business.”
The firewood pops and shoots a spray of sparks upwards. Lena stretches out a toe to nudge the screen more snugly into place.
“I can’t stop you doing something stupid,” she says. “But I’m hoping if you have to leave it till morning, you might think better of it.”
It takes Cal a minute or two to figure out why this comment startles him so much. He was assuming that the reason Lena made him stick around—apart from not wanting his business dumped in her lap, which is fair enough—was because the kid wanted him there. Instead, she sounds like her aim was to prevent Cal from getting his ass kicked, or something similar. Cal finds this unexpectedly moving. Mart has put considerable effort into the same goal, but it’s different coming from a woman. It’s been a while since a woman gave that much of a damn about Cal either way.
“Well, I appreciate that,” he says. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Lena makes a wry pfft noise, which leaves Cal slightly chagrined even though he agrees that it’s warranted. “I’m going asleep,” she says, leaning to put her mug on the table. “Will we turn out the light?”
Cal switches it off, leaving only the firelight. He goes into the spare bedroom and brings out his heavy winter duvet—he hasn’t got around to buying a cover for it, but it is at least clean. “I apologize for this,” he says. “I’d like to be a better host, but this is all I’ve got.”
“I’ve slept in worse,” Lena says, taking out her ponytail and snapping the hair band around her wrist. “I wish I’d brought my toothbrush, is all.” She curls sideways in the chair and tucks the duvet around herself.
“Sorry,” Cal says, getting both his coats from their hook. “Can’t help you there.”
“I’ll go down to Mart Lavin and ask if he has a spare, will I?”
Cal is so off-kilter that he spins around horrified. When he sees her grin, he’s startled into a crack of laughter loud enough that he claps a hand over his mouth, glancing at the bedroom door.
“You’d make Ardnakelty’s day,” he says.
“I would, all right. It’d almost be worth it, only Noreen’d pat herself on the back so hard she’d do herself an injury.”
“So would Mart.”
“Jesus. Is he on this too?”
“Oh yeah. He’s already decided that Malachy Dwyer’s gonna cater the bachelor party.”
“Ah well, feck the toothbrush, so,” Lena says. “We can’t let those two think they’re right every time. ’Twouldn’t be good for them.”
Cal arranges himself in front of the fireplace and wraps both coats around him. By firelight the room is all warm gold flickers and pulses of shadow. It makes the situation bloom with a seductive, ephemeral intimacy, like they’re the last people left awake at a house party, caught up in a conversation that won’t count tomorrow morning.
“I don’t know that we’ve got much choice,” he says. “Unless you leave before dawn, someone’s gonna see your car.”
Lena thinks that over. “Mightn’t be a bad idea,” she says. “Give people something to talk about, keep their minds away from the other thing.” She nods at the bedroom door.
“Are you gonna get hassle, though?”
“What, for being a loose woman, like?” She grins again. “Nah. The aul’ ones’ll talk, but I don’t mind them. It’s not the eighties; it’s not like they can throw me in a Magdalen laundry. They’ll get over it.”
“How ’bout me? Is Noreen gonna show up with a shotgun if I don’t marry you after this?”
“God, no. She’ll blame me for letting you slip through my fingers. You’re grand. The lads in Seán Óg’s might even buy you a pint, to congratulate you.”
“Win-win,” Cal says. He stretches out on his back, with his hands behind his head, and