19 July 2006
It was a Wednesday evening, and as such the pub was not particularly crowded. Oh, there were a few folks, come for a bit of supper and a drink or two, but the clientele on weeknights was always a much more subdued bunch, and Maren was grateful for it. The last few days had been strange, and she wanted a bit of peace, a bit of quiet, one blessed night without a single Kelly making an appearance, without Mr. Harrison hovering in the corner and watching her mother with hungry eyes.
Just the thought of him, and the trouble that seemed to follow in his wake, made Maren uncomfortable. Her mother had always been such a steady presence, dispensing gentle wisdom and managing the pub's operations with a quiet practicality; she was not prone to outbursts of emotion, and she rarely spoke of her troubles. Just the thought of her having been involved in some sort of passionate affair with the gruff, hulking Mr. Harrison, however many years before, left Maren feeling ill at ease, as if she'd never known her mother at all. Until that man turned up on their doorstep, Maren had always believed that her parents' marriage was a happy one, that they had loved one another deeply, but now she found a barrage of questions had taken the place of that certainty. She had tried to ask Mr. Harrison about it the other morning, but he had dodged her neatly, and Maren had yet to work up the courage to speak to her mother directly. Somewhere deep in her heart she was forced to admit that she was terribly afraid of the answers she might find, should she continue on this path. For all her attempts to appear worldly and knowing, she was still quite young, and still unprepared to consider the all too human desires that ruled her mother's heart.
And, to be fair, she was also quite cross about the whole Connor business. She'd not seen him since yesterday morning, when he'd come by to ask if she was all right following their disastrous evening together. The public nature of the dining room had prevented her from giving voice to her frustrations, to the galling nature of the knowledge that while her mother counselled prudence she had been involved in an ill-fated affair of her own when she was Maren's age. Though Maren knew that her mother was speaking as the voice of experience, no doubt trying to prevent Maren experiencing the same sort of grief she must have endured herself, she found no comfort in the thought. She felt petulant and out of sorts, and she found herself in an altogether unpleasant mood when her mother came sweeping into the room around 7:30 that evening.
The sight of her mother piqued her curiosity; despite her aggravation, Maren couldn't help but notice that Ruth had taken the time to dress rather more carefully than she ordinarily would have done, and she couldn't help but wonder at the motivation behind it. Maren watched her mother make her way across the room, stopping occasionally to chat to her customers, and took stock of her appearance. Ruth wore a lovely dress, deep navy in color, cut rather lower and rather shorter than her usual ensembles, though it had hardly qualified as daring. Her silver necklace sparkled at her throat, and she had forgone her boots for a more delicate pair of sandals. Oh Christ, Maren thought, all bemused, she's even painted her toenails.
By the time Ruth arrived at the bar, her hair curling artfully around her face and a high rosy blush staining her cheeks, Maren was practically bursting with inquisitiveness.
"Cup of tea?" Maren asked, though she made no attempt to go and fetch one. Usually when Ruth came to the pub on her evenings off - which were few and far between - she liked to take a cup of tea and sit at the end of the bar and read her book, smiling through the constant interruptions of her friends and neighbors, always inevitably ending up behind the bar serving drinks. She just couldn't help herself, Maren knew; the pub was her whole life. On this particular evening, though, Ruth didn't look like she'd come for a cup of tea, and she did not carry a book.
"Oh no, love, I can't," Ruth answered softly.
"What's the matter? Have you got a date?" Maren asked, not realizing until she'd spoken that the words she'd said in jest might well have hit the mark.
Across the bar Ruth dropped her gaze down to her toes as her blush deepend, and Maren's heart sank like a stone.
"Oh my god, you do, don't you? Who is it?" she asked in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning towards her mother and raising her eyebrows in disbelief. "Is it Sean?" she added before she could stop herself, unable to keep the anger out of her voice. For all Ruth's many lectures about the ills of the Kelly clan and all her efforts to be discreet Maren had long ago noticed that the nights when Sean Kelly came to the pub were the nights when her mother didn't come home until the wee hours of the morning, if indeed she returned at all before resuming her post at the pub. The hypocrisy of it stung Maren to the quick, and left her waspish and unable to hold her tongue. But then, the expression of shock and horror that danced across Ruth's face following Maren's harsh question gave her pause; perhaps she had misread the situation altogether.
"What? No," Ruth said in a rush, "absolutely not. Maren-"
"Who, then? Mr. Harrison?"
Though Ruth shook her head as if to deny it Maren had seen the answer writ large across her mother's face. A deep sense of foreboding filled her at the thought, but before she could speak, Ruth cut her off.
"It doesn't matter, Maren. I'm going out. I have my mobile, so you can ring me if you need me. I won't be far away."
"Just upstairs, most like," Maren grumbled. That particular comment was pushing things too far, and she knew it; her mother reached out, and caught her gently by the wrist.
"Maren," she said sharply. "I know you're angry with me about Connor. Don't try to deny it," she added when Maren opened her mouth to protest. "But please, please, try not to take things so personally. Not everything is about you, darling. I'm having a meal with a friend, I'm not deliberately trying to upset you."
Maren sighed and slumped her shoulders, and her mother released her wrist, smiling at her fondly. "I love you," Ruth said quietly. "We'll talk later, yes?"
"All right," Maren nodded. "Have a good time." She didn't mean it, really; she rather hoped the date would not go well and that Mr. Harrison would go ahead and leave them alone already, but she dared not speak such an unkind thought aloud. If anyone deserved a bit of fun, it was Ruth, regardless of Maren's feelings about the company she kept.
"Thank you," Ruth said, and the way she practically glowed nearly turned Maren's stomach. Ever since Mr. Harrison had arrived, Ruth had seemed to become another person altogether, laughing merrily at his jokes and sneaking away from the pub and delivering dire warnings about the Kellys. Maren hated it; she hated feeling as if she'd lost her sense of equilibrium, as if everything were falling apart around her. She just wanted things to go back to the way they were before, when her mother was quiet and a bit repressed, when she and Connor could spend a few minutes together without feeling as if they were doing something illegal, when she gave no thought to the private lives of her mother or the pub's guests. The sooner Mr. Harrison left, she thought, the better.
Ruth had elected to meet Harry at the restaurant instead of driving over together; their dinner was set for 8:00, and there were still entirely too many people in the pub for Ruth to risk being seen with him. The restaurant he'd chosen was intimidatingly posh, and served a very different caliber of customer from Ruth's usual guests; there would be very little risk of them being spotted there by anyone who knew her well. As it was a fine evening Ruth decided to walk, savoring the fresh air and the chance to sort through her scattered thoughts. She was worried about Maren, who had been moody and out of sorts since Ruth had discovered Connor in her bedroom, and Ruth was worried too about the conversation she knew they would have to have before this business with Harry was through. Always before she had tried to shield Maren from the unpleasantness of the world, from the bitter truth of her mother's humanity, had taken a great deal of comfort in offering her daughter guidance while keeping her own fractured personal life hidden from her daughter's prying eyes. Now, though, the time had come for Maren to learn the truth, or at least some of it, and Ruth was dreading it.
She was anxious, too, about what this night would bring; though she had tried very hard not to think about it, Harry had set her ablaze with need of him, and her body cried out for his touch, desperate for another chance to fall into bed with him. Could they carve out some time tonight? she wondered. Could she be so brave, so bold as to go home with him, walking along the pavement in the darkness hand in hand, to ascend the stairs together and go tumbling into bed in that room that had borne witness to so many of their previous assignations? Just the thought of it set her heart to racing, her hands to shaking; she wanted him with a fierceness that stunned her. The memory of him, of what he could do, had done to her with his hands, his lips, his cock left her hungry for more, and she reminded herself as she walked that she was a grown woman, unfettered by other entanglements. Surely there was nothing wrong with taking the pleasure he offered her, this man who loved her so unreservedly, despite the many changes they had both undergone during their long separation. Surely it could not be wrong to return that love, when it had survived through so much grief and pain. So why then did she feel as if she were doing something wrong?
By the time she arrived at the restaurant she was no nearer a solution for her quandary, and in fact quite forgot her confusion when she spotted Harry waiting for her near the entrance. He looked quite smart, in his dark shirt and dark trousers, his skin gently tanned by the days he'd spent walking down by the water's edge. For all the changes cruel time had wrought in his body he was still devastatingly handsome to her eyes, with his full lips and his warm gaze and his broad, powerful shoulders, and the soft smile that he shone at her when he caught sight of her lifted her spirits enormously.
"Hello," he said in that quiet voice of his when she drew near; before she could respond, he snaked one arm around her waist, pulling her close to kiss her gently on the cheek in greeting before he released her, her senses reeling and full of him, his heat, his scent, his very presence.
"Hello," she answered in a voice that quivered, just a little, with poorly disguised longing. He saw the need in her, she knew, answered it with a need of his own as his eyes grew dark, traveling over her figure for a moment.
"You look lovely," he told her, stepping smoothly to the side to open the door for her, his hand at the small of her back guiding her inside.
This was quite a new experience for Ruth; she'd married young, to a kind man with very little money to his name, and she had rarely been on a proper, grown-up date, rarely had the opportunity to sit in a tastefully decorated room across the table from a man who watched her with lust in his eyes while they drank fine wine and the candlelight flickered across their faces. Dinner in the pub was her stage, the place she felt most at ease, and it had been in her mind to worry that he might find her lacking, might think her too simple for his tastes. The doubts faded in the warmth of Harry's company, however, as he kept his hand pressed to her body, pulling her in close to him as they made their way to their table. There was no telling what this night might bring, but Ruth was determined to enjoy it to the fullest.
Across the city, Samuel Burns and five armed agents sat waiting in an abandoned warehouse near the dock, each keeping one eye on the horizon and the other on their watches. They were waiting for sundown, waiting for the darkness to fall and give them the cover they would need to infiltrate the docks, and hopefully put a stop to this gun running business once and for all. John Walsh wanted results, and Samuel Burns was bound and determined to deliver them. This was his moment, he was sure; he would never get another chance as good as this one, to catch Ryan Kelly in the act and shower himself and his team in glory. That Sir Harry, the irascible anti-terrorism spook from London, had warned against it was not quite sufficient to put a stop to his plans. Sir Harry had his own motives, Burns knew, most likely having to do with the pretty little woman behind the bar in Shaw's pub and her pretty little daughter, and Burns was not about to be waylaid by the paranoia of an old spook caught up in the memory of a long-ago love affair. That Sean Kelly had offered a warning to Sir Harry's mistress only served to solidify Burns's resolve; there was something set to happen on the docks tonight, and by God, he was going to be a part of it.