Borderlands by Brian McGilloway Read Free Book Online Page A

than the cigarette butt she flicked onto the
driveway.
    Three
nights later, at a local dance that my brothers had forced me to attend, I
watched her dance close to Thomas Powell with an ease that only intimacy can
achieve. She pressed her stomach against him while they swayed under the
flashing lights, and I watched her hand slide into his pocket as his slid onto
her buttocks. She whispered something to Powell and he looked over at me
watching them. Then, the two of them laughed at a shared secret, which I was
sure involved me and the incident in the back seat of the car. Consequently, I
can never meet Powell without seeing his smiling face in my memory. Likewise,
I can never see his wife without the same, overshadowed by the memory of the
urgency of her breath, hot against my neck, and the scent of coconut from
sun-kissed skin.
    Burgess
pointed to me and I watched her now walk down towards our storeroom office,
deftly swaying from side to side to avoid the corners of desks and filing
cabinets which cluttered up th e main working area
of the station. She wore a linen suit to accentuate a tan achieved despite the
fact that it would be Christmas in two days. Her brown hair was cut short and
slightly spiked. She held a small handbag under her arm and held out a perfectly
manicured hand to me. Unsure whether to kiss it or shake it, I opted for the
latter and invited her to sit. She did so and crossed her legs in a languid
manner, straightening the right leg of her trousers to ensure the crease fell
properly. She wore sandals even though it was freezing outside. I noticed she
had a tiny gold ring on her little toe.
    "Benedict.
Lovely to see you. How's ... your wife?" Miriam had attended college with
Debbie and they had lived together for a year, around the time when Debbie and
I started dating. Although she still invited us for drinks every so often and
sincerely promised to meet soon for dinner when we bumped into each other
coming out of Mass on an occasional Sunday morning, we all knew that the polite
invitations were just that, formalities which both sides hoped the other would
not insist upon honouring. "Deborah, that's right."
    "Debbie's
great, Miriam. It's good to see you, too. How can I help you?" I tried to
avoid eye contact, but I believe that Miriam sensed my discomfort.
    "Thomas
told me that he saw you at Mass yesterday. I believe he behaved deplorably
towards you, Benedict, and I wish to apologise. He's very upset about his
father, you see. Sometimes Thomas has difficulty in telling his friends from
..." She faltered mid-sentence, flicking open her handbag as though it
might contain the words she wanted.
    "His
enemies?"
    She
laughed gaily, dismissing the word with the slightest wave of her hand.
"We're all terribly worried about Tommy Senior, Benedict. Especially after
this scare, when he saw someone in his room."
    "What
do you want from me, Miriam?"
    "Thomas
is afraid that, after his behaviour yesterday, there might be some... animosity
between you that would hamper your willingness to investigate what happened
with his father. That's a ll." She paused, but
when it became clear that I was not going to speak, she continued. "Tommy
Senior did a lot for this county. He was a great TD in his time. A great
advocate for this area. Thomas wants to ensure that his father is afforded the
best treatment he can get. In all things."
    Tommy
Powell Sr had indeed been a TD, a member of the Dail, the Irish government,
right through the worst of the Troubles. He had remained resolutely independent,
switching allegiances between Fianna Fail and Fine Gael, depending on which
promised him most for Donegal. He had secured a number of large textile
lactones for the area, bringing with them several hundred jobs and a boost to
the economy. On the negative side, most of them set up along rivers and pumped
effluent into the water, leading to some high-profile environmental protests.
In every case Tommy Powell Sr appeared in the local media and