Chapter 22
Bayne
The Hobgoblin is our home away from home. Unlike the small pub on the main street in town, Hobgoblin is set away. You have to drive to get there or if you’re drinking that night, you might take a horse and surrey. There’re hitching posts out front, troughs of fresh water for the horses to drink.
Crank’s dad put them out for us when we were finally old enough to properly tie one on.
It’s just the right amount of brooding, dim light in here, cozy, despite its size. Two stories with a balcony overlooking the large, open dance floor. All stained wood and red leather, the walls covered in thick evergreen paper, textured with emblems of crowns.
The place is packed tonight. Everyone loves Eamon. As they should.
He has, after all, a golden heart.
I favor the gleaming wood bar that stretches over the entire back wall of the first floor, but right now I’m stuck in an uncomfortable, too-small wooden chair, sitting across the booth table from the cushy half-circle red leather bench, the favored seating of the women where they can squeeze in to whisper their gossip.
Like a man on death row facing a sentence, I stare into three pairs of steely eyes, my jury, demanding information.
“The girls and I want to know.” Kitt folds her hands on the top of the table, leaning in as she interrogates me. “What exactly happened with Clive.” Carol Ann with her purple hair and punk-rock dress sits to her right, Fiona in her soft pink to her left.
“We know what happened at the facility,” Carol Ann says. “We happen to have an in with the only witness to the crime. We want to know why the charges were dropped.”
“And what did they say about Clive?” Kitt asks.
I know she’s not told anyone what I told her in bed that night, about Clive using the research facility computer for his dirty deeds. Fiona, the only tame one of their groups in my opinion, sits quietly, hands folded neatly in her lap, giving me a polite look as she awaits my answer.
“DI Collins asked to speak with me, as you all know. He told me any islanders were cleared of the crime. Apparently, evidence was found that the fire was set by a gang from Glasgow.” Their emblem, rings of crop circles in a field, pop into my head. “They call themselves the Hoax.”
Hoax. Like the joke of all those crop circles being made by humans and not aliens. This time, the joke is on them, they’ll be the ones paying for our crimes.
The girls lean in, hanging on my every word. I draw out the story, taking a long, slow sip of my pint. Kitt knows what I’m doing, offering me a look of admonishment.
“Clive was helping them. They wanted to use our waterways to transport people.”
Fiona gasps, a hand to her chest. “Islanders?”
“Aye. Maybe.” We suspected as much but there was no way in hell we were going to wait around to find out. “Could have been one of you girls.”
As the information sinks in, settling into their bellies, their brows go up.
I keep sharing. “They heard that word got out, that Clive was talking, bragging to people in his online hermit world about the money he’d soon be making. He wasn’t discreet though. They didn’t want him involved anymore. He wasn’t quiet enough. They had a problem on their hands, didn’t they?”
Carol Ann nods, a sly smile coming over her face as she catches on. “They had to get rid of him.”
“Four men from the gang, one just happening to own a Toyota truck,” I cut my eyes to Kitt, “as reported by the only witness to the crime, have been detained. They’ll be charged both for the fire and the death of Clive Smith.”
“Detective Collins made it all go away,” Kitt breathes. “Didn’t he?”
“Aye,” I say, lifting a fist in the air, opening and spreading my fingers like fireworks gone off. “Poof.”
Fiona looks near tears. “Thank God you boys stopped him before he could hurt...” She can’t finish her thought, it’s too dark for her sweet nature. Kitt wraps her arm around her for a reassuring hug.
They ask a few more questions. I offer a bit more information, shielding them from the darker details. I sit with them till their mood lightens and they move on to arguing over which pub has the better chips.
I leave the table, letting the girls be for the moment. I head over to the end of the bar, getting a fresh pint. I keep my distance, but I never take my eyes off her.
She’s a good girl. Ignoring the boys. Laughing with her friends.
Callum Burnes struts over, tugging the end of a lock of Fiona’s hair. Her face goes as red as the hair he’s twirling around his thick, tattooed finger. He asks her for a dance, I assume. All she can do is shake her shy head no.
He leaves, a grin plastered to his face.
Carol Ann falls into a fit of laughter at Fiona’s modesty, saying something, and knowing Carol Ann, it’s something cutting. Kitt gives her a look, telling her to stop, then offers a soft word to Fiona with a smile. Kitt must say something funny because now the moment passes, and the girls fall into another round of easy giggles.
The next hour of the night is filled with drinks and cheers and talks of relief. Once everyone has a pretty good buzz on, the boys pull out their instruments. Fiddle, flute, tin whistle, accordion, bagpipes, guitar, and a frame-drum. More people head to the dance floor; it’s turning into a right ceilidh.
Eamon comes up to me, his face flush with Guinness, talking over the loud music. “Brother! Long time no see. How are you enjoying the party?”
“It’s great. Happy birthday.” I pull him in for a quick hug. Apparently, it’s okay to hug the people you care about. Even if you are a man. Something I’ve been learning from Kitt.
“Whoa! You getting’ all emotional on me now that your baby brother is a full-grown man?” He pats my shoulder. Before I can answer, a mate of his comes up to pull him away to the dance floor.
“Hey, Eamon!” I call out.
“Yeah?” He turns his head over his shoulder with a grin.
“I’m proud of you,” I say.
His smile holds for a moment, his eyes going soft. “Thanks.” I watch him go off with the lads, each one asking a pretty girl for a dance.
He asks Carol Ann, a year older than him, and she accepts. They’re friends from back in school. I don’t think much of it.
Now, just Fiona and Kitt are at the table, smiling as they watch Eamon and Carol Ann join in the fast-paced traditional dance, the man playing the cello calling out the next steps for the couples.
Callum decides to have another try at a dance.
Poor Fiona. Should I save her? She does love these dances. I’ve seen her do them for hours at weddings, never turning down a partner. I take a sip of beer as I watch him walk over to the girls’ table.
But it’s not Fiona he’s after this time. He slides into Carol Ann’s empty seat, wrapping an arm around Kitt’s shoulder. An arm he’s obviously not too attached to.
‘Cause he’s about to lose it.
Remembering Eamon’s words about Cal wanting a dance with my girl, I waste no time moving in to claim my turf.
“Touch her and die,” I say, eyeing his heavy arm. Straightening up with a slow grin, he slides his arm away from Kitt. She scoots closer to Fiona.
“Just trying to make Fiona jealous. She’s the one I’m after.” He leans over the table, green eyes twinkling at Fiona. “Isn’t that right, wee Fi?”
“The girl already turned you down once, Burnes. Move along so you don’t make a fool out of yourself.”
Palms flat against the tabletop, he pushes himself up from his seat. “I’ll give you my seat, Bayne. I know how badly you want it.”
“Off you go.” I widen my shoulders, anticipating the hard brush he gives me as he goes by.
The peppy tune slows, falling into something soft and sultry, the boys singing in Gaelic. I look down at Kitt. “I don’t want to sit. I want to dance.” I’ve seen her eyeing the floor all night, I know she wants to. We’ve come to read one another like an old married couple in the short time we’ve been together.
“Really?” Her eyes flutter wide in deep surprise.
“Yeah.” I offer her my hand. She takes it, joining my side. “Come on.”
She turns to her friend. “Fiona, will you be alright here?”
“Sure, I think Bayne scared Callum off. I’ll be okay.” She gives a giddy schoolgirl grin. “Have fun!”
I pull Kitt into my arms, take her right to the center of the dance floor where every Bayne and Burnes male eye can see me holding her against my chest.
Mine.
I rest my chin on her head, inhaling the sweet, clean scent that belongs only to her, so familiar to me now, our orbits closing in on one another. She gives a happy sigh as she rests her face against my chest, wanting to be as close to me as I do to her.
I can feel it.
Smoothing my hand over her hair down her back, we sway to the music. And in this moment, all is right in my world.
I’m happy.
We dance like that for three more dances. She looking up at me with stars in her eyes, smiling, so happy to be with me. “I love this,” she says. “The way this feels.”
Finally, I say, “So do I.”
When the song ends, she pulls away, offering me a smile of apology. “I need to get back to Fiona.” I watch her walk away, realizing I was wrong.
That dress of hers is the absolute perfect length.
Going back to the bar I sit with Hammer, cheers-ing him on the baby that’s soon to join his family. I keep an eye on the girls but they’re safe enough, having found the corner table where sweet vanilla cream birthday cake is being served. I laugh openly with the men, so free in my happiness.
Until Kitt returns to the dance floor.
Everything changes.
She’s dancing with Eamon. Innocently. The two of them a respectful distance away from each other, laughing at one another’s jokes as he teaches her the high-stepping moves.
Perfectly innocent.
And I’m fuming. Jealousy rages. Mistrust brews.
I’m thrown back to that night. The one that ruined me. Her glassy eyes. Then the next night when my father gasped for his last breath and I watched, not a single ounce of regret in my heart.
A monster.
Let’s be honest, my father’s abuse ruined me way before then. There’s something deeply troubled with me. Something that can never be fixed. She’s goodness and light. Just like Eamon.
It’s not the island I want Eamon away from. It’s me. And her too. I’m not good enough for either of them, too damaged by my past to be good enough for them.
What kind of man has the capacity to kill his own father?