1999 by Morgan Llywelyn Read Free Book Online Page B

consciousness in an appalling way.
    They probably think we’ve gone mad, McCoy thought. Wonder if Barbara will stay here now? She could so easily go home to America.
    From time to time McCoy had dreamed of emigrating as so many thousands of Irish men and women had done before him, beguiled by the extravagance of optimism and opportunity that they believed America personified. In his heart he knew he would never go; not while Ireland was partitioned and the battle was yet to be won…and courage came out of a bottle. The Army was here and here he would remain.
    The sound of male voices sidelined his train of thought. The first boarders were coming down the stairs, asking if the morning papers were in.
    Barry slept until midafternoon. Several times Barbara went to the closed door of his room and raised her hand to knock, then turned away. While Barry slept she channelled her anger into window washing and floor scrubbing, then carried the rugs from the front hall out to the clothesline and gave them a thorough beating. That’s for you, Barry Halloran. And that, and that, and that!
    When Barry finally appeared she was wearing a fresh blouse and her best skirt. She pouted her lips for a kiss but he brushed past her. She could feel the tension he gave off like heat waves. Assuming the smile of a housewife in a television commercial, she said sweetly, “Do you want something to eat now, or shall I unpack for you?”
    â€œThere’s no unpacking to do. All I had with me was a change of underwear and my shaving gear, and I brought them in last night. If you want to do something for me, how about a fry-up? I could murder a couple of eggs and some sausage.”
    Barbara put an apron over her clothes and made his favourite toasted ham and cheese sandwiches, then sat across the table from him while he ate. She arranged her hands on the table so he could admire her rose pink fingernails. When he did not appear to notice, she folded her hands in her lap and sat watching him. Expectantly.
    Barry knew what she wanted. Barbara pleaded for compliments like a dog pleading for bones, but he would not respond with the effusiveness she craved. A man’s feelings were best kept under control. He habitually compartmentalised the elements of his life. Saltpetre and sulphur should be kept away from coal dust; fuel oil and ammonium nitrate must be stored separately; if exposed to too much heat, kieselguhr decomposed.
    The volatile Barbara Kavanagh was capable of unleashing powerful emotions Barry was not willing to risk when his focus was—must be—elsewhere. As soon as he finished eating he left the house.
    Barbara found McCoy in the cubbyhole under the stairs that he called his office. He was lettering a new “Room and Board Available” sign. Black crayon on white pasteboard, with the word “available” underlined in red. “How’s this?” he asked, holding it up for her inspection. “Jackson’s leaving on the fifteenth so we need to replace him.”
    She scarcely glanced at the sign. “Where’s Barry gone, Séamus?”
    â€œReckon he wanted to be by himself for a while. Walking, probably. He’ll come back in his own good time.”
    â€œHe could have asked me to go with him. He hardly spoke a word to me this afternoon.”
    â€œDon’t let it bother you. Seventeen’s a bit of a lone wolf, he’s had to be…” McCoy’s jaws abruptly snapped shut.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause that’s his nature, I guess,” McCoy finished lamely. “Anyway, give him a wee bit of time. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.” He began putting his crayons back into an old cigar box.
    Barbara lingered in the doorway. “Why do you call him ‘Seventeen,’ Séamus? Is it a private joke?”
    â€œAye.” He smiled reminiscently. “First time I laid eyes on Barry was in 1956. He claimed to be eighteen and was hot