Page 95 of Dark Ink

“Rian,” Liam said, his usually calm voice now hurried, desperate, his eyes darting over my shoulder like he could focus on me. “I know things aren’t great between us right now and that kills me and I hope it can change—”

“I don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late. So kindly fuck off.”

I slammed the door shut behind me and crossed my arms as we stood almost toe to toe.

He’d been glancing past my shoulder, through the door before I’d slammed it.

“What are you looking at?” I demanded.

His eyes snapped back to mine. “I’m, um, no one…”

I frowned. No one?

The image on Ryleigh’s art book floated into my vision, overlaying across Liam’s face.

Liam’s fucking face.

My Liam. Was her Liam.

Rage, red and blinding, overtook me and I stepped right up into Liam’s face. My finger was shaking for entirely different reasons now as I pointed it at my brother.

“You go near Ryleigh again and I’ll kill you,” I said, voice trembling. “Do you hear me? I’ll fucking kill you. You will not ruin her life! Like you ruined my life.”

Liam stumbled back. I shook like I was in the throes of a deadly fever. My fists balled so tightly my nails pierced my skin. I wanted to hurt him, to rail on him until he bled out. But Eithne’s face in my mind stopped me. She was waiting for me. I wouldn’t be late for her. I wouldn’t let her down. I wouldn’t trade an afternoon drinking coffee with her for an evening in a cell.

So I packed up my rage and satisfied myself with shouldering past the brother I hated so much.

I’m not sure if he called after me or not. The blood rushing in my ears was so all-encompassing that I couldn’t even hear the blare of the car horn as I pulled my car out into the intersection. The short drive to the cafe where Eithne was waiting was torturous. I chewed at my lower lip, wiping sweat off my brow with my sleeve, driving erratically. It was a wonder I wasn’t pulled over.

I needed to get to Eithne. I needed to drag her into my arms. I needed to throw whatever drink she’d ordered across the room and take her right there on the table. I needed the softness of her skin, the warmth between her legs. I needed her heavy pants in my ears. I needed to see in her face as she came that there was still pleasure in this world, still beauty, still hope. I needed Eithne. I needed, needed, needed my little Raglan Road girl.

I stumbled out of my parked car, tripping and nearly falling like a drunk. I’d scraped my palm and I didn’t even care that I swiped it mindlessly across my tweed jacket. The throng of people at the intersection was the only thing that kept me from running across it straight into traffic, straight into her.

I saw her, saw her like I was always destined to see her, there across the road. She sat in a sunny window nook inside the cafe, a small, cosy place I picked because of its view of the park, of the trees, of the colours from the very first day I saw her…

The pedestrian signal turned green and I was jostled side to side as the crowd surged forward. People passed this way and that, but I remained where I was. The red man flashed once more and cars passed, Eithne moving in and out of view. I kept my eyes on her as I leaned against the street pole. It was one of my favourite things, to watch her without her knowing. And I needed a few minutes alone, a few minutes of just enjoying the sight of her being to let the last of my rage bleed out.

Leaves of ruby and amber and gold twisted and pirouetted on the breeze. They seemed to dance for her, there in the window, sipping sweetly from a sky-blue mug. I smiled as I remembered her from that first day. She had more colour in her cheeks now. Her hair didn’t whip across her face, changing direction with every whim of the wind, but hung in a thick braid down her back. When she looked out the window, there was a peace, I thought, in the steadiness of her gaze as she watched the spinning leaves fall. A strength. No longer a little girl. But a woman.

I felt a great weight lift as I watched her. Like I was returning to a place I’d never realised till then was my true home, my one home.

I studied her hands as she brushed a wayward strand of hair from in front of her face. I imagined the art she’d create in her lifetime. I could practically see it ready to burst from her, beauty, wonderful, lovely things. I imagined her talent, raw and wild, something fierce and magnificent to behold. I saw her as a flower, ready to bloom, to unfold, to brush this cruel, sinister world with colour, with fragrance. I could not wait to see it, every last piece. Even if she never gave me another chance, even if coffee just stayed coffee, I’d be her greatest fan. Always. Forever.

With steady hands, I undid my tie. I tucked it into my back pocket. I folded the tweed jacket and set it beside me on the bench. Someone would find a use for it. I joined the crowd waiting for the crossing signal across the busy intersection.

This wasn’t a funeral. I would not wear a jacket. I would not wear a tie. As much as I wanted to bury who I’d been, he was alive and well, as Liam’s visit had shown me. A beginning and an end, Eithne had said. Both. This wasn’t a funeral. This wasn’t a birth. It was life. It was difficult, it was mean and unfair and brutal. But it was a little easier with love.

There would be no magic healing for me. Each day would be hard. But I loved a girl I’d spotted amongst falling leaves and there she was, waiting for me a year later behind a curtain of them. That would be my reason. That would be enough. She would be my beginning. She would be my end. She would be my life.

I entered the café, and Eithne smiled when she spotted me. The radiance of her filled my chest with warmth. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, then sat across from her.

“Are you okay?” she asked, frowning as she studied my face. I could never hide anything from her. And from now on, I never would.

“I am now,” I told her, taking her hand across the table.

I squeezed it, she squeezed back. I liked that I couldn’t tell where her fingers ended and mine began.

“Well, my little Raglan Road girl,” I said, breathing deeply and letting go of Liam…for now, “tell me what you’ve been painting.”

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