Page 165 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

He pauses. “Someone once told me that the eyes are the windows to the soul. That I should ask the woman that I was in love with face to face if she loved me too. I came here that night to do just that.”

I stare at him. It was me who told Dylan to do that. Padraig, when he was pretending to be Dylan. We were talking about his cliché blonde Disney Princess. Me. My voice breaks as I look up at him. “You were here?”

He nods. “I was, darlin’.”

“I could feel you,” I sob-whisper. And now I know exactly where he was. “Did you see me from behind the glass?”

“I saw you. You were all I saw.”

“And did you hear it?” Tears stream down my face.

Kiss me.

He tilts my face up and presses his lips gently to mine. “I heard it.”

“Why didn’t you come out?”

“Because I didn’t want anything to happen to you. My coming out would have put you at risk. I needed to keep you safe.”

A pause.

“They would have touched, Jaine.”

“What would have?”

“Our fingers. If the glass hadn’t been there, they would have touched.” He strokes my back as he starts to hum our song. I can hear the roof slowly starting to cave in. I watch the flames dance until the acrid smell of the smoke burns my nostrils, and I can’t see anything anymore. I’m going to die, but it doesn’t matter because I’m with Irish.

“I love you, Irish.”

“I love you too, darlin’.”

He gave them back. Or is this now just an end-of-life dream?

I feel myself being lifted.

Smoke. Can’t breathe.

I want to shout out, but I have no oxygen.

Arms. Strong. Familiar.

“I’ve got you, Jaine.”

Eoin. I love him.

All he ever wanted was to keep me safe. I spurned him. Spurned his protection. How many times has he since had to save me?

I inhale enough oxygen to scream out one word. “Irish!”

“I’ll go back for him, Jaine.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

And then there’s nothing but blackness. When I wake, I’m lying on the grass outside the church. The whole building is on fire.

Where’s Eoin? Where’s Irish?

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