The Searcher(105)

It takes Cal a minute or two to figure out why this comment startles him so much. He was assuming that the reason Lena made him stick around—apart from not wanting his business dumped in her lap, which is fair enough—was because the kid wanted him there. Instead, she sounds like her aim was to prevent Cal from getting his ass kicked, or something similar. Cal finds this unexpectedly moving. Mart has put considerable effort into the same goal, but it’s different coming from a woman. It’s been a while since a woman gave that much of a damn about Cal either way.

“Well, I appreciate that,” he says. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Lena makes a wry pfft noise, which leaves Cal slightly chagrined even though he agrees that it’s warranted. “I’m going asleep,” she says, leaning to put her mug on the table. “Will we turn out the light?”

Cal switches it off, leaving only the firelight. He goes into the spare bedroom and brings out his heavy winter duvet—he hasn’t got around to buying a cover for it, but it is at least clean. “I apologize for this,” he says. “I’d like to be a better host, but this is all I’ve got.”

“I’ve slept in worse,” Lena says, taking out her ponytail and snapping the hair band around her wrist. “I wish I’d brought my toothbrush, is all.” She curls sideways in the chair and tucks the duvet around herself.

“Sorry,” Cal says, getting both his coats from their hook. “Can’t help you there.”

“I’ll go down to Mart Lavin and ask if he has a spare, will I?”

Cal is so off-kilter that he spins around horrified. When he sees her grin, he’s startled into a crack of laughter loud enough that he claps a hand over his mouth, glancing at the bedroom door.

“You’d make Ardnakelty’s day,” he says.

“I would, all right. It’d almost be worth it, only Noreen’d pat herself on the back so hard she’d do herself an injury.”

“So would Mart.”

“Jesus. Is he on this too?”

“Oh yeah. He’s already decided that Malachy Dwyer’s gonna cater the bachelor party.”

“Ah well, feck the toothbrush, so,” Lena says. “We can’t let those two think they’re right every time. ’Twouldn’t be good for them.”

Cal arranges himself in front of the fireplace and wraps both coats around him. By firelight the room is all warm gold flickers and pulses of shadow. It makes the situation bloom with a seductive, ephemeral intimacy, like they’re the last people left awake at a house party, caught up in a conversation that won’t count tomorrow morning.

“I don’t know that we’ve got much choice,” he says. “Unless you leave before dawn, someone’s gonna see your car.”

Lena thinks that over. “Mightn’t be a bad idea,” she says. “Give people something to talk about, keep their minds away from the other thing.” She nods at the bedroom door.

“Are you gonna get hassle, though?”

“What, for being a loose woman, like?” She grins again. “Nah. The aul’ ones’ll talk, but I don’t mind them. It’s not the eighties; it’s not like they can throw me in a Magdalen laundry. They’ll get over it.”

“How ’bout me? Is Noreen gonna show up with a shotgun if I don’t marry you after this?”

“God, no. She’ll blame me for letting you slip through my fingers. You’re grand. The lads in Seán óg’s might even buy you a pint, to congratulate you.”

“Win-win,” Cal says. He stretches out on his back, with his hands behind his head, and wishes he’d thought to bring his extra clothes out of his bedroom. He’s not planning to sleep if he can help it, in case of the various situations that might arise, but after a night on this floor he’s going to be walking like Mart.

“Tell me something,” Lena says. The firelight moves across her eyes. “Why aren’t you going to take that pup?”

“Because,” Cal says, “I’d want to guarantee that I’d take care of it right, and no harm would come to it. And it doesn’t seem like I can do that.”

Lena’s eyebrows go up. “Huh,” she says. “Here I thought you just didn’t want anything tying you down.”

“Nope,” Cal says. He watches the fire. “Seems like I’m always looking for something to hold me down. It just never works out that way.”

Lena nods. Wind, wearying to halfhearted gusts, ruffles the fire. It’s burning low again, the heart of it darkening to a deep orange glow.

From the bedroom comes a thrashing of bedclothes and a hoarse, inarticulate cry. By the time Cal’s mind works out that a homicidal intruder is unlikely, he’s at the bedroom door.

He stops and looks over at Lena. “You’re up already,” she says. “I’ll go next time.” Then she turns her shoulder to him, settling herself more comfortably in the chair, and pulls the duvet up to her chin.

Cal stands there, at the door. Another strangled cry comes from the bedroom. Lena doesn’t move.

After a moment he opens the bedroom door. Trey is up on her elbow, head turning wildly, whimpering through gritted teeth.

“Hey,” Cal says. “It’s OK.”

The kid jumps and whips round to stare at him. It takes her a few seconds to see him.