Chapter Seventeen
I think you’re scared of liking me.
That was true.
My eyes stung, not because of those words but because of his assessment of me.
Lorcan’s words from last night kept repeating in my head.
I’d often doubted myself over the years.
Finn had seen me cry more than once. A couple of times, I lost my temper and screamed at him, only to burst into tears right after.
I didn’t feel like I took the best care of him.
Hearing Lorcan’s take on things eased some of my worries.
Maybe it was ridiculous to believe a criminal’s judgement of my character, but he was the first person to tell me I hadn’t failed.
Mum never said I failed but she never praised me either.
I didn’t blame her. She had too many worries.
I wanted children one day, when my life wasn’t quite a mess anymore, and when I had a partner at my side who’d be willing to take care of them too.
It was ludicrous to imagine Lorcan as that person.
Could a criminal be a good father? Maybe.
I didn’t know. There were plenty of people who weren’t criminals that were very bad parents.
I tossed and turned in bed. I’d been awake since four in the morning, when Lorcan left for the docks.
I hadn’t slept much that night, not because of the sex.
It just felt strange to fall asleep next to Lorcan.
I had never slept next to anyone, except for Imogen or Finn.
Lorcan didn’t seem to be bothered by my presence in the slightest. He was sound asleep soon after we’d gone to bed.
The darkness in the room was interrupted by the light on my phone.
As soon as I saw Mum’s name flash across the screen, I reached for it.
I hadn’t found the time to call her since the wedding.
Maybe I just don’t know what to tell her.
Guilt twisted my belly. What if Finn thought I had forgotten about him because of my—albeit brief—radio silence?
“Mum?”
“Aislinn! I’m sick with worry! Why didn’t you call?”
“Mum, I married only two days ago, and Lorcan has kept me busy.” My face burned. My sleep-deprived mind had spewed words I really didn’t want to say to my mum.
“Don’t you dare act like Imogen. You are the responsible one. I can’t lose you too.”
“Mum, I’m fine. I’m safe. You don’t have to worry. I simply didn’t have time to call you yet. Are you just getting home from work?”
“I was working the day and evening shift. I’m working more shifts, in case I need to come to New York to save you and Imogen.”
I shook my head. “What about Finn?”
“Old Sinead is sleeping on our couch so he won’t be alone at night. If he wakes and calls for you or me and doesn’t calm down, she gets me and I end my shift. It’s better than nothing.”
Sinead was our neighbor. She was nice enough, but she wasn’t family. “I feel so bad for Finn. He’s already lost too much in his short life.”
“Indeed, so make sure he doesn’t lose you, Aislinn. Be careful.”
My belly twisted even tighter. I missed Finn so much. “I am, Mum. Promise. I’m going to call again in the afternoon so I can chat with Finn.”
We talked a couple more minutes, but I could hear the exhaustion in Mum’s voice, the fear and worry. “Promise not to worry about me. I am fine. I can handle Lorcan, Mum. Focus on yourself and Finn. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Mum sighed. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
“That’s just how our lives are.”
“Indeed.”
We hung up and I got out of bed, no longer capable of resting. I needed to do something, anything that would allow me to return to Ireland, to Finn and Mum .
I grabbed a quick shower, taking extra time to wash between my legs, but it didn’t change how I felt. It was as if Lorcan had imprinted himself into me. I could still feel him. I’d probably be sore for weeks to come, especially if Lorcan kept jumping me any chance he got.
It wasn’t even eight o’clock when I left the apartment with an old wicker basket filled with a plastic container of stew and half of the bread.
I’d left a big portion of stew and a slice of bread for Lorcan.
The street was busy with people heading to work and delivery trucks providing the local shops and restaurants with goods. Many people nodded a greeting at me.
My phone beeped, and I fumbled it out of my pocket, surprised to see Lorcan’s name pop up.
Don’t take any detours on your way to Mildread.
I gritted my teeth. Are you watching me?
I have eyes and ears everywhere.
I looked around, and suddenly the friendly greetings seemed hostile. I sped up, hating this feeling of being watched.
When I arrived on Mrs. Byrne’s doorstep, it was only 8:30, definitely too early for stew, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go and I was eager to talk to someone who knew everything about the local community and Lorcan.
I rang the bell. Immediately a loud barking rang out, followed by scratching and yowls. Someone wasn’t happy about visitors.
Mrs. Byrne scolded her dog for what felt like half an hour before the door finally opened and she appeared in the narrow opening. She glared at me. “You?”
“Me,” I said with a pleasant smile. I’d worn my church dress and put my hair up in a chaste hairdo, all to win Mrs. Byrne over. I held up the basket. “I made lamb stew and soda bread for you.”
Mrs. Byrne opened the door a bit wider and harrumphed. “You did?” She regarded me as if she couldn’t imagine a young thing like me knew anything about cooking. “I thought girls like you wanted equal rights. No cooking, cleaning or laundry. Only makes the shops richer and the people unhappier.”
I nodded as if I agreed. That was usually a tale spun by the old gents who visited Merchant’s Arch, so I was familiar with the narrative. “I like cooking.”
Like yesterday, she was impeccably dressed in a long skirt and blouse, and had makeup on, even apricot lipstick. “Well, you’re here. Come on in. But you can’t stay long. I had to lock Uggie in the bedroom so he doesn’t work himself up too much. He hasn’t had his heart medication yet.”
Judging by the barks and scratching going on behind the bedroom door, he was working himself up anyway.
I followed Mrs. Byrne down a narrow corridor, which displayed dozens of photos of her and her husband and their children—five in total if I counted right.
We arrived in a cozy eat-in kitchen. There was a sofa draped with a white crocheted blanket, and a small very old TV.
I could see a splendid room through the door across from the kitchen that had a plush flowery couch and a colorful carpet.
I bet she never used it. It was the nice living room, the one reserved for special guests and feasts, both of which were probably now a rarity in Mrs. Byrne’s life.
Though, I bet Lorcan got to sit in the living room when he visited.
I placed the basket on the wooden table and unpacked the bread and stew container.
Mrs. Byrne didn’t ask me to sit down on the sofa, so I stood awkwardly beside the table while she took out a spoon and knife.
She opened the lid and took a sniff. She pursed her lips, then dipped the spoon inside the stew.
She tasted only the stew, her eyes narrowing.
Still not saying a word, she cut off a slice of the bread and took a bite.
Her blue eyes settled on me. I forced a smile as I awaited her judgment.
I knew it was tasty, but Mrs. Byrne was determined not to like me, so I was up against more than her taste buds.
“You can cook,” she said. “Why are you still standing around as if you’re on the run? Sit down. Don’t be rude.”
I blinked then quickly sat on the sofa, feeling a spring dig into my left ass cheek. Mrs. Byrne put the rest of the stew into a pot and warmed it while she cut the bread into slices. “Have you had breakfast?”
“No.”
“Then, we’ll eat.” She pointed a finger at me. “A good stew can be eaten at any time.”
I nodded, not wanting to argue.
“Sit down at the table, child. You can’t eat on the sofa! Haven’t they taught you manners? ”
I got up with a tight smile and slinked over to the table where I sat in an uncomfortable chair.
Mrs. Byrne set down a bowl of stew in front of me before taking a seat across from me with a generous portion for herself.
A board with sliced bread and a ceramic butter dish created a border between us.
We ate in silence, and I was glad that I was busy slathering the bread with butter.
When I took a bite, I moaned. “What is this?”
“Homemade butter. When I have time, I take a bus to a farm just outside the city where they have good cows, not Irish cows, but good cows, and I make my own butter as my mother taught me.”
“It’s unbelievable. If I ever get a chance to open my own restaurant, I want to serve butter like that as a starter with warm homemade sodabread.”
I flushed at the curious look on Mrs. Byrne’s face. “A restaurant?”
I nodded and took another bite. “It’s a silly dream.”
She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Silly is who silly does.”
I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, so I focused on the stew.
“Lorcan is a resourceful man. He could open a restaurant for you.”
“I don’t want to rely on his money and power.”
She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Marriage is about unity. What’s his is yours. What’s yours is his. Together you can do what can’t be done alone.”
Maybe in an honest marriage, but not in ours. If I took something from Lorcan, he’d expect something in return. I’d be indebted. “We haven’t been married for long.”
“It’s not a matter of time but willingness. I can tell you don’t trust Lorcan.”
I swallowed. “I don’t know him very well yet. I need to get to know him. Maybe you can help me? You know him better than I do. You’ve known him since he was a little boy, after all.”
“Indeed, but I don’t know if it’s my story to share.”
“You know how men are. They want to impress but talking about their childhood makes them feel silly.”