Page 64 of Two Wrongs
‘What?’ I’m in the middle of hefting myself up onto the high stool behind the counter. Actually, I’m laying it on a little thick and pulling thepoor mepregnancy card, hoping to distract the pair from the window when the meaning in Nat’s words snag.
Boabie = dick.
And dick + my mother’s sofa = my brother. I think.
At least, it does after a mortifying incident a few months ago whereby Nat, Fin, and myself inadvertently stumbled in on Mac watching porn and masturbating in my childhood home.
‘Who? Who got caught with his boabie in his hand?’ June squints through the glass, like she’s worried she’s missing something, or rather some boabie, out there.
My shoesthumpagainst the wood floor as I slide down from the high stool.
‘It had better not be him,’ I gripe. Wasted words as I recognise his voice even if he is yelling like a common hooligan.
The bells chime as I yank open the door, and sure enough, my brother stands there out in the street. His arms are held wide as though waiting for a sign from the Almighty. Unfortunately, God isn’t present. Just a few fellow shop owners and the odd passing car. Oh, and the object of Fin’s desire and misery, Rory Tremaine.
‘What was that?’ Rory scoffs. ‘You hit like a girl.’
‘I will’nae miss next time. Last warning, just piss off, hame.’
‘This is myhomenow, fuckwit, but I’ll make you a deal. You tell me where Fin is, and I’ll move out of the fuckin’ place—out of your hair forever. That is ifshetells me to, I mean.’
‘Don’t you fucking understand? She’s no’ here, and she doesn’t want tae’ see you!’
‘Aye, well, she can tell me that. To my face. Fuck it; I’ll even take the message by phone call I’m so desperate!’ Rory digs both hands into his hair as he looks around; his angry words meant for me as much as Mac. And not for the first time when seeing his pain, my heart twists. I know we’re doing this to protect Fin, but the way he looks—his desperation—is hard to see and not be affected.
‘You can take the message from us,’ Mac responds fiercely. ‘We’re her friends.’
The fire drains from Rory’s gaze, his chest expanding deeply. ‘More like her fuckin’ keepers. What you don’t seem to understand—’
‘Don’t tell me I don’t understand!’ Mac bellows suddenly. ‘ ‘Cause I ‘ken plenty. I held that girl while she sobbed in my arms!’
‘Will I call the polis, hen?’ Mr. Poletti, the barber, asks as I step closer to the pair. ‘I’m no’ a young man these days, and I know how these things can turn.’
I answer with a shake of my head. ‘No police needed, Mr. P. I’ll sort the pair of them.’
‘Where were you then, eh, while she was in bits? Keeping some other lassie’s bed warm?’ My brother yells.
Rory drops his head, his chin almost to his chest. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if you were dropped on your head as a child.’ His head snaps up again, and he steps into Mac, slowly raising his hand.
‘Come on then,’ Mac goads.
‘Beginning to wonder ‘cause it doesn’t seem to be computing in that thick heid!’
As the pair square up like a couple of angry cockerels, I hurry closer I’m anxious for this not to come to blows when, with emphasis, Rory pokes my brother in the forehead, right between his brows.
‘Right, that’s it—’ Mac roars, right as I squeeze between the pair like a referee at a boxing match.
‘Yeah, thatisit,’ I hiss. ‘Can you not hear yourselves, brawling in the street like a couple of Jerry Springer rejects? And you both, supposed businessmen.’
‘Nah, not Jerry,’ Nat interjects from somewhere off to the side. ‘They’ve both got their own teeth..’
‘What are you doin’?’ This time, Mac’s ire is directed at me. He stumbles back, his eyes flared, as he points both hands in the direction of my belly, completely ignoring Nat. ‘At least have a care for the bairn.’
And then Rory’s stepping back, too.
‘Relax, it’s hardly catching,’ I scoff, as accusations bubble up in my throat; the things Fin told me about his old girlfriend falling pregnant. The reason for her heartbreak. Our motive for hiding her away. I purse my lips against them spilling. Against fanning the flames.
‘No, sure. Congratulations. Where’s Fin?’
