Алекс Баркли - I Confess

‘Fuck.’ He got up, slowly. ‘Fuck.’

He paused at the mirror, ran his hand through his hair a few times, and steadied his gaze. His eyes were pinched from tiredness. His jaw twitched. He scraped a fingernail down the corners of his mouth, and wiped it on his jeans. The doorbell rang again. He tucked in his shirt and walked into the hall, as his mother was sticking her head out of the kitchen.

‘It’s only Laura’s dad,’ he said. ‘It’s grand.’

‘OK, so.’

He waited until she went back into the kitchen to open the door.

‘Johnny,’ said Colm. ‘Would you mind if I had a word with you?’

‘No, no,’ said Johnny. ‘Not at all. But... could you maybe come back around eight? I’m in the middle of something.’

‘I’m kind of in the middle of something myself,’ said Colm.

‘Oh,’ said Johnny. ‘Well, can we talk outside? The mother’s got a migraine.’

‘I don’t mind where we talk, boy.’

The hairs on the back of Johnny’s neck stood up. ‘Good, good. Right.’

Colm stepped off the porch, and gave Johnny room to come out. Johnny floundered.

‘Will we sit on the bench, so?’ said Colm.

Johnny glanced at the white iron bench in front of the living-room window that his mother had got the previous summer, and that, for some reason embarrassed him. ‘OK, so.’

‘How did last weekend go?’ said Colm.

Johnny glanced briefly towards him.

‘The Final Trial,’ said Colm. ‘I heard you were up in Dublin. You made the probables, I’m told. Within a hair’s breadth of making the Ireland team. And then...’ He paused.

Johnny were on a gnome he had never noticed in the front garden, whose expression looked like how he felt: uh-oh.

‘Do you know why I might be here talking to you about a game I no more give a damn about than...’

Johnny rubbed his jaw. ‘No, Sergeant. I don’t.’

Colm nodded. ‘Of course, you don’t. So, here’s how it went. The Friday, I’m guessing, you headed up to Dublin, you had your team meeting, went off for the couple of pints afterwards to settle the nerves... The plan was to go back to The Shelbourne at around ten o’clock, maybe, to get a good night’s sleep before taking advantage of an opportunity that most boys could only dream of.’

Johnny’s heart was pounding. He started to smile at the gnome.

‘Did something funny happen next?’ said Colm. ‘Was it funny what happened next? When you bumped into my daughter up above to do her Christmas shopping? Seventeen years of age.’

Johnny went very still.

‘And before I go any further,’ said Colm, ‘if you let on to Laura that we had this little chat, I will give you the land of your life. And you won’t see it coming, you prick.’

Johnny swallowed.

‘And you’re thinking: But why would Laura tell her dad she was with me in Dublin? No one was supposed to know! That was a secret! Do you want to know how I know? Well, while you’re out gallivanting around Dublin, I’m fast asleep in my bed, hundreds of miles away, and I get a phone call. From Kevin Street Garda Station. And I’m thinking to myself: Why, now, would I be getting a phone call from a garda station in Dublin in the middle of the night?’

Johnny glanced at him and Colm was expecting it, so they locked eyes. Johnny broke away fast.

‘Oh, it turns out they’d brought in some local lad I might know from Castletownbere,’ said Colm. ‘From a very respectable family, a fine rugby player, plays for Munster, apparently... because he was caught, buckled drunk, throwing punches around Leeson Street at three in the morning.’

Johnny frowned.

‘Can you remember a bit of it?’ said Colm.

Johnny let out a breath.

‘Well, you obviously don’t remember the part where my daughter, at seventeen years of age, asks a guard to call her daddy: “We have your daughter here with us, Sergeant.”’ Colm turned to Johnny, grabbed a handful of his shirt, yanked him to his feet. Johnny was broader, three inches taller. Christmas lights from the tree in the living room flashed green and red on their faces.

‘How fucking dare you?’ said Colm. ‘I don’t know which made me sicker — having to hear that or having to hear myself say what a fine young man Johnny Weston is.’

‘I didn’t ask her to—’

‘Of course you didn’t!’ said Colm. ‘Do you think I don’t know that? You didn’t know your own name is what I heard. Laura was frightened out of her wits. Do you know what it must have took for her to have a guard make a phone call like that to me in the middle of the night? And to save your skin?’

Johnny shook his head. ‘Honestly, I wouldn’t have—’

‘Honesty doesn’t come into it with you,’ said Colm. ‘Could you look me in the eye right now and honestly tell me that that wasn’t you I saw climbing out my daughter’s bedroom window the Bank Holiday weekend?’

‘Last Bank Holiday?’ said Johnny. ‘Laura was away with Edie that weekend.’

Colm erupted. ‘Do you think I came down in the last shower? Jesus Christ, you have some neck, boy. Some neck. You haven’t an ounce of respect in you. Not an ounce.’

‘I don’t know what you want me to—’

‘Do you think I came down in the last shower? I’m asking you,’ said Colm.

‘No. No. I don’t.’ said Johnny.

‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand — it’s a lad like you — wanting for nothing, his father working hand over fist to send him off to boarding school to put manners on him, and he swans back home like he owns the place. How in the name of God you got a lovely girl like Edie Kerr to go out with you is beyond me.’

He grabbed Johnny’s shirt, and shook him hard. ‘Have you anything at all to say for yourself?’

Johnny thought about it. ‘Thanks for... thanks for sorting that out.’

‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my girls,’ said Colm.

Johnny nodded. ‘I know, I know.’

‘So if I was you,’ said Colm, stabbing a finger at him. ‘I’d stay the fuck away from both of them. Stay the fuck away from Laura, and stay the fuck away from Miriam.’

Edie and Clare stood in the stable yard arch watching the rain pouring down.

‘I’m not looking forward to this,’ said Clare, pulling up her hood.

‘Can I keep the guest jacket, though?’

‘Yes!’ said Edie, pulling up her own hood. ‘And the Hunter short wellies.’

‘The suites are beautiful,’ said Clare.

‘Do you think she enjoyed the night?’ said Edie.

‘Helen? She had a ball,’ said Clare. ‘You do know she’s gone to bed by choice and not because she was having a bad time.’

Edie laughed. ‘True, but there’s something about someone going to bed early.’ She turned to Clare. ‘Are you enjoying the night?’

‘Yes,’ said Clare.

‘Right,’ said Edie, gesturing ahead. ‘Let’s brave this.’ They walked down the path to the inn.

‘I still can’t get over Patrick,’ said Clare.

Edie laughed.

‘Seriously,’ said Clare. ‘Money and power. They’re like Spanx for men.’ she paused. ‘Tiny dick, probably.’

Edie leaned away from her. ‘Clare Brogan!’

‘Edie Kerr!’

‘You brat!’

They exchanged glances. ‘You’re actually blushing,’ said Clare. ‘And we both just used our maiden names. Is that the night that’s in it or are we about to be doomed? To... the singles scene.’

They laughed.

‘Though I’m sure Patrick’s having the time of his life,’ said Clare.

‘Probably,’ said Edie.

‘I think we can all take some credit for how well he turned out,’ said Clare. ‘He had no life until he started hanging out with us.’