At door, thanked Tessie again, and as walked toward gate, she called after me, in surprisingly loud voice: Mind how you go, now. Suddenly got that feeling again. The one where if I was able to feel fear, fear would have been what I’d felt.
I looked back. Tessie was still standing in lit hall and something about way porch light glinted on her glasses made me think of Josef Mengele.
At bottom of drive, I went outside and gates began to close behind me. Waited until very last second, then slipped back in, threw down rucksack in spot where the two gates would close, to break electronic beam and keep gate open for my escape. Cunning.
Cut back across grass toward sitting room. Curtains drawn but didn’t meet fully in middle—lazy—so had good gawk in. Detta and Racey sitting shoulder to shoulder, still drinking tea and still watching Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em. People have oddest tastes.
Took good few photos, then heard something behind me: growling.
I turned around. Dogs. Two. Stinky, big, black yokes with red eyes and war-crime breath. Like Claire with hangover. Tessie must have whistled them off when she let me in, but now I was “gone,” they were back patrolling garden. Hate everyone and everything in life, but hate dogs more than most.
They growled softly and quick as flash, I growled back. There! Weren’t expecting that, stupid, smelly yokes.
You are dogs, I said, But I have a gun. Look.
Slowly took gun out of shoulder holster to give them closer look. A gun, I said. Very dangerous. You might have seen them on telly. I’ve had training in a bunker with funny militia men. I will shoot you and I will kill you. Understand? Now I’m going to back away slowly, with my gun trained on you and you will stay where you are, confused but obedient.
They did. I kept circling gun on them, and repeating: Gun. To kill you with. Gun. Highly dangerous.
Kept backing away, across endless fucking lawn, finally almost at gate. That’s when made my mistake: Started to run. So did dogs. Hey! They were thinking. So she was scared, after all. Let’s get her.
Barking heads off, they raced across grass and were nearly on me when I found that the fucking gate had closed on rucksack, slicing everything inside in two: eyeliners, lip glosses (discovered this later). I was tugging at gate, hoping fecky thing wasn’t fully closed because then was trapped with these…beasts.
But too late, one of them got me. Had half my bottom between teeth. Gate gave slightly—poor sliced rucksack had kept lock from fully closing—got myself through, pulled gate behind me, clanged it shut.
Through the bars the dogs kept barking.
I yelled: Which one of you bit me, you fuckers?
Neither fessed up, so decided to shoot them both, but in enough trouble and thought better skedaddle because O’Gradys would hear barking and be straight out to investigate. (If they could tear themselves away from Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em.)
Arse killing me, could hardly sit down to drive, but had to. Drove to Dalkey, parked outside chipper, rang Colin.
I gave short account. Said: There’s nothing to connect me to Harry Fear, but the O’Gradys will be suspicious. Also the dogs bit me in the bum. I think I need stitches. Do you know where the nearest hospital is?
Him: St. Vincent’s in Booterstown. I’ll come to keep you company.
By time he arrived I’d been examined.
Me: I’ve to get stitches and a tetanus injection.
Seeing as I couldn’t sit down, he also stood. Solidarity.
Me: If I get lockjaw, Harry Fear will pay.
Him: You’ll never get lockjaw.
He smiled and suddenly I thought, Cor! Really fancy him. Ding-dong!
After I’d got my arse patched back together (eight stitches; apparently if dog destroyed in fire, you could use imprint on my bum as dental records to identify him), we went back to Colin’s flat. We-hay!
I stared at the screen: this wasn’t funny. Helen messing around with guns and getting bitten by guard dogs was no joke—assuming it was true; and if she’d had to get stitches, I presumed it was. Fretfully, I wondered what to do; the problem was that Helen was so contrary that if I asked her to be careful, she might do the opposite. Maybe I should talk to Mum? But the way Mum was treating the whole business—offering to ring in sick for Helen, etc.—made me think she wasn’t taking it terribly seriously either.
Because I couldn’t fix on the best course of action, I decided to do nothing, at least for the moment. But I remained riddled with anxiety; I didn’t want anything bad to happen to anyone else I loved.
Great news!” Franklin was giddy with triumph. “Ariella picked your pitch! We’re going to use Wendell’s, too, for insurance, but she liked yours the best.” He chuckled. “I have to say…at the start…I’m like, oh my God, she’s wacko, what have I done! But your pitch is great. Totally great. Mommy is very happy.”
72
Hey, Nicholas,” I called down the corridor. “Thanks for your funny Buddhist goose advice. It got me the gig.”
I got close enough to see him coloring with pride. “You really did nothing?”
“Not exactly. But I made a big thing of doing almost nothing.”
“Oh, wow. That’s so cool. So tell me.”
“Okay.” But I was distracted by his T-shirt. Today’s said THE GEEK SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH.
“Nicholas, I’ve never seen you with the same T-shirt twice. How do you do it? Do you wear a different T-shirt with a different message every day of your life or just on Sundays?”
He grinned. “Hey, you’ll just have to meet me during the week to find out!”
The mood turned suddenly awkward, his grin faded to nothing, and a blush inched its way up his face.
“Oh, wow; sorry, Anna.” He bowed his tomato-colored head. “Flirting with you. Totally inappropriate.”
“Were you? Look, don’t worry…”
“I mean, you and Mitch…”
“What! Mitch? Oh my God, no, Nicholas. It’s not like that with Mitch. Not at all!”
Do you mind me spending so much time with Mitch? I mean, you know it’s just as friends, don’t you? You know we’re just helping each other?
I’d been so thrown by Nicholas’s comment that, after the channeling, I told Mitch I couldn’t go on today’s outing. I felt filthy with guilt and I couldn’t escape fast enough; I set off walking in the direction of home. Though I’d have preferred not to face it, I saw how easy it would be to get the wrong idea about him and me. Why else had I been so mortified when Ornesto saw us together at the quiz? And why hadn’t I told Rachel or Jacqui about him? I mean, I knew the truth and Mitch knew the truth—but did Aidan?