Freckles(68)

Take your time, his voice drifts back to me as he makes his way down the spiral staircase.

I dive in the shower then change into loungewear, and with wet hair and flip flops, I make my way through the garden. For the privacy of the family. The boys are dressed for bed and drinking milk at the TV.

Donnacha looks at me caringly and I suddenly warm to him, feel bad for him. I don’t know what he’s like as a husband but Donnacha is a good dad. He doesn’t deserve what Becky did to him. But I would never tell. It’s not my business.

Right. He looks around and then at me, as if he picks up on what I’m thinking and wants to say something. Maybe there’s something to artistic antennae after all. But whatever it is, he changes his mind and says, Help yourself as usual to the fridge. Boys, I’ll see you in the morning. He kisses the kids, and he’s gone.

I sit with the kids for a while, feeling cosy with them in their winding-down mood. Cillín likes a cuddle and his warm body and soft breathing warms my soul.

At eleven thirty, much earlier than I thought, Becky and Donnacha return. Becky gives me an accusing look then goes upstairs without a word, there’s that air of tension again. The bit before an argument. Donnacha saunters in to me as I gather my things.

The boys went straight to bed, I say nervously. Cillín came downstairs twice, once for water and the second time to ask about what would happen if you flushed a Pokémon card down the toilet. Don’t worry, I fished it out.

He doesn’t smile.

Okay thanks, Allegra. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he looks behind him as if checking to see if the coast is clear. I can’t have this conversation with him.

I quickly gather my things and move. Goodnight, Donnacha.

I go to the flat, drop off my things, get the soft fleecy blanket that Becky had wrapped her sweaty sex body in and go back outside with some left-over steak. I place it on the lawn, in the area I’m allowed to be in, hidden from view. I sit down on a bench and light a cigarette. A few minutes later, Donnacha’s figure appears at the secret garden entranceway. I light up another cigarette. He walks over to me. Maybe the fight is over. Maybe it hasn’t begun yet.

I didn’t know you smoked, he says.

I don’t.

He sits down beside me but far enough away to be okay. Me too. Any spare, he asks.

I hand him the packet and the lighter.

He lights up, inhales, prepares to say something, to fill the silence, but then maybe picks up on the mood, my mood or else just couldn’t be bothered himself and doesn’t bother saying anything. Unusual for him. I appreciate this. He settles into the silence, something I wasn’t sure he could do. I keep watching the lawn.

What’s that, he asks.

Left-over steak. It’s for the fox.

You saw it, he asks. Becky thinks I was seeing things.

I think it’s a female. She comes most nights. I think she’s coming out from behind the shed.

He looks in the direction of the shed even though it’s too dark to see. How do you know it’s a vixen, he asks.

Her teats. She’s lactating. I googled it, but I could be wrong. I think she set your alarm off when you were away, I explain.

He inhales his cigarette. I’ll be honest with you, he says, the gardaí said they saw you walking around when they arrived. Found you suspicious.

What, I shriek. I was checking your studio. For you. Becky called me to see if everything was okay.

She said you were out of breath.

I was outside with the fox. I had to run back in to get my phone.

I wondered if maybe you’d fallen over, against the bins and set it off …

That happened once.

You’ve had a couple of wild nights lately.

It won’t happen again. Did the guards seriously say it was me.

They told us to check the cameras.

Why don’t you.

He doesn’t reply.

I think back over my conversation with Garda Laura in the garden and then again when I met her outside the station. I had been trying to be friendly, to actually befriend her, and she had been suspicious of me. Hurt again by people. Deceiving, misunderstanding fuckers. Everything upside down and inside out. I don’t get humans.

They came over again yesterday. They suggested it might be you. They didn’t know for sure.

I groan. Yesterday was Daisy, I say. A kind of friend who’s no longer a friend. I’m sorry. I told her not to walk past the sensor, but she has mental problems. Jesus, I sigh. I wanted her to be my friend, I say aloud even though I didn’t mean to. I wanted Garda Laura to be my friend.

He studies me. There’s better ways of meeting people than triggering alarms, he says.

I didn’t, I splutter, so frustrated.

He laughs a little. Just kidding, Allegra, I believe you.

So you checked the cameras.

I did.

And.

Someone had wiped them. Odd, because they usually last a few months before recording back over themselves.

Well it wasn’t me, I say, and then it dawns on me. It must have been Becky. To stop anyone from seeing her hairy-arsed guest’s comings and goings. But as a result I’ve lost my proof.

I watch the steak, he watches me.

What are you staring at.

Your profile.

Please don’t, I say, shuffling away from him a little. Weirdo.

He smiles and looks away.