or anything.
Look, I want to be better than knowingly sabotaging their relationship.
Actually…no. That’s not true. It sounds like something honorable to say, but the truth is, I don’t want to be honorable about this duel. I would kick and bite and break every man-rule to have Rory. Throw sand in his eyes. Anything to win.
’Tis the truth, and the worst part is, I still sleep at night like a baby. (Though I don’t know why they say that. Babies are horrible sleepers. Sleeping like a knocked-out drunken sod sounds more accurate.)
Once Ryner and I come to agreement, I slide Rory a napkin with the news under my bedroom door and slip out of the house to say my goodbyes before I leave Tolka, even if it’s just for twenty-four hours.
When I’m back, Rory is all packed, sullen and ready to go. It looks like she’s been crying the entire time since I fucked her with a candy bar.
I feel awful, but I’ll feel worse if she ends up with Prince Preppy Pants. He will bore her to death, and I don’t want her death on my conscience.
I drive us to the airport in complete silence. It’s only when we get comfortable in our first-class seats on the plane that Rory opens her mouth again. I think she is about to tell me I’m a cunt, but she surprises me.
“How did I get my scar?”
I spit my soda all over my lap. A sincere burn in hell would have been nicer than this loaded question. I frown to buy time, but my heart rate accelerates.
“You’re asking me?”
She nods, staring me down.
“Didn’t you say you were born with it?” In my head, I envision myself running with a cart through aisles in the supermarket, desperately shopping for more time.
“That’s my mother’s version, and I’m starting to doubt it. Ms. Patel from the newsagents told me there’s a horrible story behind my scar. Your grandfather walked in before she had a chance to tell me.”
“Ms. Patel also believes in ghosts and that people with blue eyes see everything in a blue hue.”
That’s a flat-out lie, actually, but I’d rather jump off this plane using Rory’s knickers as a parachute than hurt her the way the truth would.
It is not that I don’t want to tell her the truth, but when so much of it is about to be unveiled, it is best to wait, to ease her into a situation, then sit her down properly.
“I still want to know what the rumor is,” she insists.
“Yes, of course, I suppose. Thing is, I’m not exactly attuned to small-town gossip.”
I don’t add that most of the gossip in Tolka relates to me.
“But your grandfather knows,” she persists. “Why would he keep that from me?”
“To protect you?” I pick up a travel magazine and pretend to flip through it.
In my head, there are red sirens blaring everywhere. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. Mini Mals are running around, yanking their hair out.
She’s onto us! Somebody do something!
“I’m going to ask him.” She taps her knee with her fingers, munching on her lip.
“You do that.”
She stares at me skeptically. I think she knows I know, and it’s killing me not to be completely honest with her. I wish I could telepathize to her that I will explain, soon. That there are stages. That she doesn’t know everything about me yet, and before she makes up her mind, she needs to really understand.
We all pitied the American girl with the backpack and the camera and the broken dream.
I screwed her and kissed her and promised her marriage and took all her secrets, while not giving her the only truth she ever cared about and came all the way to Ireland for.
Rory clamps her mouth shut, then opens it again.
“You won’t tell me whose birthday it was, and you refuse to tell me about the rumors surrounding me. You won’t talk about Kath’s death. Can you at least show me a song so I can take a picture of it for my project? It’s coming together well, by the way. Thanks for asking.”
I know it must be a nightmare for her to live in Tolka.
People either hate her for being the girl Kathleen was forsaken for or pity her for being the girl who made that thing with Glen happen. Between me being a massive, purple dick and Richards being Richards, Rory—the only person who takes this project seriously—is helpless.
I lift my arse from the seat and take my notebook out of