artwork by Evvie Kyrozie

ENGLISH men like Andrew. He’d have a woman for a week, maybe two, have a bit of fun, then she’d be gone and he’d be on to the next one. He didn’t think, after the way Andrew had hurt her, that she’d be at all interested in his own adventures. That much was a big relief to him. They were now in the yard of the house where she was staying in Caherboshina. They were parting ways for the night. ‘Andrew scared me,’ she said, ‘that day. He left the day after and I haven’t seen him since. I’m kind of reluctant to start another relationship as quickly again. I don’t think it’s right for me to do that, because it wouldn’t be fair on you.’ ‘If you like. You’re probably right,’ he said, his voice catching in his throat. ‘It can’t be helped.’ He kissed her. That changed her. ‘Oh! Why on earth did I bring up that story? It’s ruined the night on us. What was I thinking? But it was on my mind and I had to say it to you.’ ‘I understand, darling. Don’t worry about it. I suppose I’d better go.’ ‘Oh, don’t go now. Stay. Put your arms around me – I like that.’ He did. ‘Like this?’ ‘Yeah, like that.’ There were tears in her eyes now. She took out a handkerchief and dried the tears. ‘You probably don’t want to see me ever again.’ She was now like a child who had done something wrong, asking for forgiveness. His heart opened up to her. ‘I’d love to see you again tomorrow night.’ She put her arms around him, placed her head against his chest. ‘Oh,’ she said, trembling as she cried, as if pained by regret about O’Sullivan… Tom… and Andrew. ‘I know!’ he said to himself.