Chapter 9 An Experiment in Being Attacked by a Snarling Devil with Fleas
I set my alarm and woke up early just two days later, excited to start out on the adventure that I had eventually decided to like the idea of.
Jackie had really sold it. The two of us were going to travel around Ireland, seeing the sights, going on dates, and staying with his friends, sharing meals with them, letting Jackie lead the charge until the ice had been soundly broken and I could then interview the couples merrily over a glass of wine.
Three weeks of travel, constant dates, and lots of strangers sounded like a lot to take on, but Jackie would be by my side, pepping me up, as he always did.
I had a shower, twirled my hair, repacked my bag, downloaded twelve audiobooks just in case, and said goodbye to Fearghal the cat, who finally let me scratch him behind the ears as a going-away present.
We had planned to leave at eight a.m., and I trotted down the stairs at seven forty-five, expecting Jackie to be fussing around the kitchen in an old pink apron, as was his custom.
But he wasn’t there. There was, however, some homemade soda bread that had been nicely laid out for me with jam and butter, next to an empty mug with a dry tea bag in it. I called out for him, but no answer.
I looked out the front but didn’t see him there in the garden or even over by the chicken coop. He had mentioned something vague about another car because he wasn’t sure his was up to the trip.
Perhaps he’d gone to sort that out and would soon return with our shining new chariot.
I left my suitcase by the door and settled down on the bench by the big kitchen window to have my tea and soda bread.
The bread weighed as much as a sandbag, and it was sweet and filling and seemed like just the sort of breakfast one would need at the start of an epic adventure. Bilbo would approve.
I checked my phone: eight and still no Jackie. I sent him a text.
Are you kicking around somewhere? Is this hide-and-seek?
Another several minutes passed with no response, so I decided to have a walk around the property. He was probably sorting out the pygmy goats or the ponies or the chickens with some tasty snack to tide them over until his daughter Sharron came to feed them.
I slid into some wellies, but when I opened the door this time, there was a Jeep at the end of the drive. Cool! It was a little bit beat up and muddy—built for adventure!
I stuffed my sneakers in my duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder, deciding that having a pair of wellies for what was sure to be a rainy Irish tour was probably a good idea, and then I walked the lavender-lined path down the hill.
Jackie wasn’t anywhere to be found, so I decided to throw my bag in the Jeep and give him a call. I put my hand on the passenger door handle and jumped back. Ahhh! Holy shit! A terrifying beast on the other side of the door was barking wildly. It wanted to rip my face off! I nearly fell backward.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I put my hand to my throat and tried to slow my racing pulse. That car window just saved my fucking life.
“Good dog, Finn.”
A rumble of a voice broke through the noise, and the barking stopped. I heard the crunch of gravel from the other side of the Jeep.
Good dog? That monster wanted to tear my throat out!
I picked up my bag from where I’d dropped it and moved around the car until I could see whomever this Jackie impersonator was. And . . .
Shit almighty!
No.
What in the absolute hell is he doing here?
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Oops! I didn’t really mean to say that. Or for it to sound accusatory. To be honest, I owed him for getting rid of Racist Randall, or whatever his name was. But it just sort of . . . popped out before my brain had time to filter it into something more polite.
“What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing here?” A frown deepened between his brows. Because apparently, that was what his brows were made for. Why does he have to be like this? Is he just perpetually angry?
He walked a few steps closer and scowled down at me. My stomach gave a traitorous little flutter. Damn his angry sizzle!
I could try to be nice, I suppose. Thank him for his help the other night. Try to smooth things over. Try to ratchet down the animosity. That seemed like a good idea. Let’s try it.
I looked him in the eyes and felt my pulse rush all over again. I panicked. “Not that it’s any of your damn business, but I’m staying here with Jackie Kelly.”
Okay, so that didn’t work. But at least being annoyed didn’t give me time to get awkward and stuttery in the face of his overwhelming sexpotitude.
My voice, I was happy to hear, had come out relaxed and even.
That wasn’t unusual—my voice usually came out relaxed and even (when I wasn’t on a date, at least), but this man did something weird to my insides.
I wish he’d do something weird to my insides!
No! You shut up, vagina!
“Well, not that it’s any of your damn business, but I’m here to pick someone up. And that someone is definitely not you. So you can go ahead and step away from my vehicle and go back to tormenting the locals.”
So much for trying to be civil. If he was going to be a massive asshole, I could asshole right back! I had a protocol for assholes:
Objective: screw this jerk!
1. If rectum in question will not desist, match their level of assholery. When they go low, you go lower.
2. Always get in the last word, and do it with a smug smile.
3. Have fun and be creative!
“Not that you bothered to ask, because you’re clearly too busy howling at the moon and scratching fleas, but I’m waiting here for Jackie. We’re going on a trip. I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear this, as you won’t have to worry about whether or not someone sees me saying hi to you in public.”
“What sort of trip?”
I stopped. Did I have to tell him that we were traveling across the length and breadth of Ireland to try to find me a date?
Because I really, really did not want to have to tell him that.
I frowned. “Just a trip. I don’t know. Jackie has it all planned out.
He’s organizing some interviews for me, and some sightseeing, and some—”
“Some dates? And some dates?” His voice was getting louder. Angrier. Like his stupid face.
What does he care?
“Well, yeah. Okay. Some dates. So what, asshat?”
“Oh, this is fucking unbelievable.” He drew out that last word into a full sentence, to squeeze every little bit of juice out of it. Then he grabbed a fistful of his hair and started pacing. “Un-fucking-believable. You have got to be kidding me!”
“How is this any of your business?”
He whirled around and stalked toward me. “You? You’re the American spinster?”
I laughed. “Yep. That’s me! The American spinster.” I laid on the sass and gave my hair a little one-handed fluff like a 1950s housewife, just to see what would happen. I stoutly refused to question the uncomfortable foreshadowing roiling in my tummy.
“What? Feck off. I mean . . . you can’t be more than what? Forty? Forty-five? Why would he call you a spinster?”
“Um! Thirty-eight, thank you very much!”
“I figured it was some old rich lady looking for someone to do the crossword with. Who even uses that word anymore? Why would he tell me that?”
“I use that word. In fact, I think it has a bad reputation historically. I think if we examine—”
“No. I’m not doing this.”
My face scrunched itself up. “Doing what? Frankly, it’s none of your damn business where I travel to, how many dates I go on, or which antiquated words I use to describe my marital status.”
“I’m not going. The trip is canceled. So you can just grab your bag, turn your little red wellies around, and march your arse right back to the house.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, all right? There’s no chance.
Don’t even try to convince me.”
He couldn’t possibly be implying that he—volcano incarnate—was supposed to join us across Ireland . . . for THREE WHOLE WEEKS!
“Convince you? Of what? For you to invite yourself on my all-Ireland date-athon with Jackie? Why the hell would I want you there?”
He didn’t seem to be hearing me. “In case I wasn’t clear enough before, I’d be perfectly happy never seeing you again. And yet you keep popping up like an itchy rash. And this is two times now. Two times too many!”
“Okay. First of all, you should probably see a doctor, it sounds like you have a fungal problem. Secondly, let’s back up just a minute.
I happen to be staying in your village—population twelve.
We were statistically fated to awkwardly bump into each other at least once or twice.
It’s not like you caught me climbing your trellis with a pair of binoculars. ”
“This is every bit as chilling.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t overdo it.”
He leaned in. “I’m underdoing it. Did you two plan this together, you weasels?”
“Plan this? As in plan to see you again? Why would I want to see you again? Get over yourself! Okay, sure, so you’re not completely hideous to look at, but you act like you have a wasps’ nest crammed up your backside and you’re charging rent.”
“If I act like that every time I see you, that’s because you’re the wasp up my arse, you wagon! I think you’re the rudest person I’ve ever met. You told me, on our first meeting, that I was a sheep fucker and my dick needed vitamins.”
“I thought we were flirting! I’ve already explained this and apologized, but you can’t get over it. That makes you the asshole here, not me!”
His eyes went wide as if he’d never heard anything stupider in all his life, and in the sun, I noticed that his eyes were green, actually—a dark green with little gold flecks that glittered with loathing.
“How in the bleeding hell could you have thought—All right. You know what? I’m not doing this. We’re done here. Go back to the cottage, this is officially over. I’m calling the trip off.”
He dug around in his pocket, pulled out a phone, and dialed.
“What the hell is this?” he shouted down the phone. “What was your plan here, eh? Well, you can forget about it. No. No, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what favors I owe you, you old bastard. You can find somebody else to take her.”
“Is that Jackie? Where is he?” He was at least an hour late now.
“No. I won’t.” A pause. “You take her, then.” I frowned, suddenly uneasy.
“You told me she was a sweet old lady, not . . . her, of all people! Yes, you did! You implied it. I can’t even believe you!
You’ve gone too far this time, old man .
. .” What was that? Is he speaking Irish?
And then he flipped right back to English.
“No. You can feck right off, you troublemaking wee hellion! I’ll throttle you for this! ”
“Hey! Cool it! Don’t talk to Jackie like that.”
He spun around in the gravel to glare at me, and his face stopped me in my tracks.
His voice was a low growl, almost a whisper.
“Oh, I’ll talk to him however I goddamn please, and thank you to keep your nose out of it.
” Then he went back to his phone call. “No. She doesn’t want it either.
She thinks you’re taking her!” He sighed.
“No. It’s a no!” He paced a bit more and listened.
“Ugh. Fine. Here.” He took a big step toward me, and I stepped back in case he should have a shank, but he only held the phone out. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Yeah, okay.” I took the phone from his big angry paw. “It might be nice to talk to someone who doesn’t act like they started their morning with a Tabasco enema.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be all charm and smiles for ye.”
I turned my back on him. “Hey, Jackie? You okay? What’s going on?”
“Well, hulloo, Maya.” He crooned this, as if it were just the loveliest coincidence to hear my voice. It was nice to hear his voice too. His sugar-sweet Irish lilt settled my trepidation right down.
“Jackie. Where are you?”
“Oh, well, not to worry, but I just got held up here with some things. There’s been a little change of plan. Nothing to worry over.”
“What do you mean, a little change of plan?”
Alarm bells. I had been hoping, with every ounce of hope that I could scrape from the very pit of my soul, that this maladjusted Minotaur was somehow mistaken. That certainly no one did—or ever could—expect me to travel with him. It would be like locking myself in a portapotty with a cocaine bear.
“Well, there’s so much going on here with the festival and all, and I just can’t wriggle free, as much as I’ve tried. So Tadhg is going to take you on your little trip instead. Won’t that be nice?”
“What? No, Jackie. That would not be nice! That’s not what we planned. I want to travel with you.”
“I’m sorry, Maya. I would love that, I really would. But I’m just too tied up here.”
“But . . . I can’t go on a road trip with . . . this guy.” I lowered my voice but knew Tadhg could still hear me. “I told you how the date went, remember?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s all but forgotten that by now. That was days ago—water under the bridge, as they say.”
“It’s the opposite of that. He really hates me. Don’t you ever listen to true-crime podcasts? They’re going to find my pulverized body in his basement, crammed into eighty-seven pickle jars.”
“No, no. Don’t you worry, dear. He’s a little bit rough around the edges sometimes, but he’s a good boy. A wee lamb, really. You’ll see.”
“No, I will not see, Jackie. I’m not going to do that to myself. I value my life and sanity too much.”
“Well, I hate to say this, but you have already paid, and it’s all booked.
I’ve canceled all your interviews here, I’m afraid, and everything’s all arranged for the trip.
So, just relax. Go have an adventure, just like you said you wanted to.
It’ll be a grand adventure! You’ll make great travel companions. ”
“It will not be a grand adventure, it will be my ultimate nightmare! We would be disastrous travel companions. Like if Milo and Otis had rabies, or if Thelma and Louise synced their periods.”
“You’re going to have fun!”
“This guy is about as fun as the bubonic plague. He literally just congratulated his dog for trying to bite me.”
“Oh, Finn is going? How lovely! She’s a wee dote. That’ll be fun for you. You love animals.”
“Jackie.” I began to realize that I was losing the fight.
“It’s going to be grand, just hop on in. You’ll be in good hands, I promise.”
I shot a glance down at Tadhg’s hands. Huge. And balled into fists.
“Jackie, you obviously don’t know this guy very well.”
I mean. I was sure everyone in the county knew everyone else, and this hulking ox of a man had probably been hired to move a barn single-handedly at some point, or castrate Jackie’s horses with his bare hands, but still.
There was no way Jackie had seen him angry and still thought it was a good idea for us to be stuck in a Jeep together for three weeks.
I knew Jackie would be quick with some story or excuse. But then he answered. And you could have knocked me over with a feather.
First he laughed, like this was all such good fun.
“ ’Course I know him, Maya! Tadhg is my son.”