Page 79 of Road Trip
Suddenly, they saw a man emerge from the pickup truck. His gray hair was askew, and he wore a sweater wrapped around his neck like a scarf. He stepped out of the truck, stretched, rubbed his hands in his hair, and proceeded to unzip his fly and relieve himself in full view of the three astonished women.
“Gross,” Therese said.
Esme got out of the rental car and stomped over to the truck. “Reggie!” she yelled as she approached. In one swift motion she removed her hat and swatted him in the head with it.
The man tried to shield his head with his arms. “Stop, Esme, ya daft old coot.”
She swatted him again and his knees buckled and he fell to the pavement.
Maeve pulled up alongside the pair. “Miss Esme, is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” Reggie said, struggling to stand but falling helplessly back to the ground. “Go on with you.”
Esme gave a heavy sigh. “This useless gobshite is still drunk. I can’t have him driving like this.”
“I can drive you back to your place,” Maeve offered.
“And I’ll follow with your friend in the truck,” Therese said, emerging from the back seat of the rental.
“Put him in the bed of the truck,” Esme said. “I’ll not have him vomiting in my nice new vehicle.”
“In the rain?” Therese said. “Have a heart.”
She grabbed the man under his armpits. He weighed maybe 150 pounds, soaking wet, which he was, she estimated. She loaded him into the passenger seat of the truck, where she found the keys still in the ignition.
Her passenger mumbled something incoherent.
“You okay?” Therese asked.
“Feck off.” He said nothing else during the short ride to the gardener’s cottage, just rode with his head lolled to one side, eyes closed, softly snoring.
Therese had to breathe through her nose to avoid the stench he emitted.
Esme Rossington wasstudying Maeve’s face as though it were a road map. Maeve tried not to let it fluster her, but she felt unnerved.
“You friend looks like he’s in a bad way,” she said, trying to make conversation.
“Lately, that’s how he always looks,” Esme said, her expression sour. “He’s of no use to me like this. I’ve a mind to put him out.”
“He lives at your cottage?”
“In the shed round back.”
“How long has he worked for you?”
“Eight or ten years now, off and on. He worked at the pub, ’til Rodney got fed up with him. He’d no place to go, so out of kindness, I took Reggie in.”
She unwrapped another candy and popped it in her mouth. “But charity only goes so far, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose. What will you do for a helper if he leaves?”
“What I’ve always done. Look after myself. You know what that’s like, do you?”
“Yes.”
“Not married then?”
“No.”
