The Geary Series Boxed Set (59 page)

A few hours later, Mickey had found a home for all the files, folders and books that were on the floor. He had returned to the lumpy seat some time ago, swinging left and right in the swivel seat. The whites of his knuckles screamed for relief while he clutched the round edge of the arms of the chair.

“Are you ok?” Angie called from her spot, she stood in the centre of the worn and faded Turkish carpet. She had asked for directions to the house after a few hours and Mickey hadn’t returned to collect her. Siobhan drew her a map on a napkin to find Mickey’s house.

She didn’t get any recognition from Mickey, his head bowed as he swayed in the chair. Moving slowly forward, step by step, she stood in front of Mickey with the desk between them.

“Mickey?” she asked again.

He looked up at her second mention of his name and his blank stare, penetrated her heart. She rounded the table and hauled her body onto the table top. Hooking the heel of her shoe into the handle of the third drawer down, pulled the drawer out and rested her feet. Mickey watched with fascination at her ingenuity and the edges of his lips morphed into a smile. Reaching out his left arm, he circled her waist and pulled her across the table to sit directed in front of him.

“Open your legs.” He commanded.

Angie placed her hands on her jean clad knees and pushed her legs apart. Mickey scooted forward and wrapped both his arms around her tiny body and rested his head against her body. Angie kicked off her flip flops and wrapped her legs around his body and held him tight. She combed her fingers through his hair, tidying the wayward strands into place. Smoothing her hand down to the nape of neck she repeated the action until Mickey moved.

“Mickey, why are we here?” She asked after planting a kiss in his hair.

“We’re here for my father’s funeral.” He said and then buried his head against the safety of Angie’s body once more.

He squeezed her once and wheeled backwards. Her legs dropped back and swung into the empty space under the desk. Once the momentum had finished, she jumped down from the desk and sought out a chair to sit on the opposite side of the desk.

“Tell me about him, Mickey.” She said.

He took his time to start, opening and closing his mouth, trying to formulate the words to reveal. He scratched his head and stood, circling around the desk he took Angie’s hand.

“I need a distraction while I talk about him, let’s go and bake a cake.” He said.

Angie dutifully followed Mickey to the kitchen in the basement of the house, they trooped down the staircase and entered Beverly’s pantry. The floor to ceiling shelves was empty and dusty. A fridge freezer stood in the corner of the square, whitewashed room. The spotless room next door housed the kitchen, a large work surface table graced the centre of the kitchen.

Mickey opened up the cupboards and systematically put the dry ingredients on the table. He took the lemons from the nearby fruit bowl with the other items and searched through the fridge for some butter.

“Can you bake Angie?” He asked while his head was still in the refrigerator.

“No, not in any way, I can’t cook either.” She answered as she wandered around the room inspecting the implements and cupboards.

“That’s scandalous Angie, you should know how to look after yourself.”

“I have Lilly, she cooks for me or I eat out.” She shrugged at her reply, it was obvious to her.

Mickey mumbled a few words about Lilly now being married and Angie suffering from malnutrition and beckoned her over to where he stood. He tied the apron around her waist and positioned her so that she faced the mixing bowl sitting on the table. Mickey chopped up the butter and put it in the bowl and then weighed the sugar and sifted it into the bowl.

“You mix and I’ll talk, deal?” Mickey suggested.

“Deal,” Angie answered she would’ve agreed to anything if it meant that she got to know more about Mickey. Siobhan had spoken about their childhood but spoke mainly about her experiences and not very much about Mickey. Angie had asked questions about Mickey, but Siobhan steered the conversation away to other subjects.

Mickey watched with amusement as Angie struggled to stir the butter and the sugar. The white grains spilled over the side of the bowl, scattering across the table in all directions. The wooden spoon in her hand had butter all the way up the handle, sprinkled with sugar. Beverly chuckled from the sidelines, Mickey put an arm around Beverly’s body while they observed. The determination etched on Angie’s face caused frown lines between her eyes. The butter had begun to soften and her stirring became easier. The smile that formed on her face warmed Mickey’s heart, she was a keeper.

“You promised me a story, I’m stirring, and getting blisters from this wooden spoon and arm ache. Get talking.” She demanded.

“I’ll leave you both to it. I’ll see you tomorrow Michael. Would it be ok if I rode in the car with you?” Beverly asked. She had been a widow for many years and lived in the attic of the house she looked after. Mickey’s dad had been the last person to live in the house and now it was empty. She only had the gardener to prepare lunch for on Wednesdays.

“Of course, you can come in the car with Angie, Siobhan and me, we’re leaving at 9am,” Mickey told her and kissed her forehead. Leaving the kitchen via the back door, Beverly waved her goodbyes to Angie and Mickey.

“Tell me about your life?” Angie asked once they were alone.

“Once you have softened the butter and sugar, break the three eggs in one by one and stir again,” Mickey instructed, giving him a little more time before he talked about his life.

“Ok.” She said.

“I have always known that I have two sets of parents. I don’t know how they managed this, I have always known that they adopted me. I don’t remember being sat down and talked to about it, I’ve always known. I loved them both very much, my father and I never really showed that love physically. My mum was a hugging kind of person, but father was reserved. My mother died when I was ten, and he did the best he could to raise me. He joined the Navy when he was eighteen and married my mum when he was nineteen on shore leave. They married in Brighton when he had a few days off. They had friends in the town and they spent their time catching up with them as well as enjoying their honeymoon. On their tenth wedding anniversary, they returned to Brighton for a weekend. They were in the cafe he had proposed when they overheard a woman talking about giving up her baby. She was younger than them, much younger.”

Mickey paused to hand her the flour and baking powder.

“Carry on,” she said.

“Anyway, the friends that they knew were also in contact with the young girl and they adopted me, the young girl was never heard of since. I don’t know who she is, why she had to give me up or who my real father is. The man who raised me was a good person, but we didn’t have a close relationship. As soon as I turned twenty-two I also joined the Navy. My dad had been promoted high up in the ranks by that stage. On my first day, I met Elijah and we have been best friends ever since. I treat him like a brother and Siobhan like a sister as I didn’t have siblings of my own. My mum couldn’t have children of her own. Once I joined the forces I didn’t come back here every often, my dad had a desk job in the Navy and Beverly cooked and cleaned for him. This is the first time I’ve been back to Dublin for five years. I resigned from the Navy as I didn’t want to carry on, he wasn’t happy with this decision. I moved to Edinburgh, near Elijah, he opened his bar and I opened my security business. That’s my life.” Mickey said and shrugged, getting up from his seat at the kitchen table.

Angie had stopped stirring a while ago after she had stirred in the flour, and she had begun to enjoy making the cake. She also liked to listen to Mickey talk, the regret poured out of his voice as he reminisced. He took the bowl from her and spooned in lemon curd and lemon juice. Finishing stirring, he poured the contents into a large square baking tin. He opened the oven door and placed the tin on the middle shelf.

After setting the timer for forty-five minutes, he moved back to Angie, pinning her to the table. His thumbs smoothed over her cheeks, wiping away the stray flour until her face had no traces of white left. He stared at her lips and inched nearer and nearer until he kissed her lips. Hungry kisses took Angie by surprise, she caught up quickly and kissed him back, hooking her hands into his back pocket jeans. She pulled him closer and broke the kiss.

“I’m sorry about your dad, Mickey, I’m glad I’m here for you.”

“I’m happy that you're here too, now stop talking, we have another thirty minutes to kill until the next part of your cooking education.” He said and continued kissing her, lifting her under her arms to place her on the table. He pulled off her t-shirt and admired her frilly black bra holding her small breasts in place.

“No Mickey, not like this, I’ve not showered and I don’t want to have sex on a kitchen table.” She begged.

“We have thirty minutes left, what else can we do?” Mickey said and pouted.

“You can still kiss me, you idiot,” Angie said and pulled him back between her legs by his waistband.

Mickey wasted no time in continuing kissing Angie until the timer beeped loudly from the cooker. Mickey pulled away and invited her to jump down from the table. He talked and guided her through the next stage of sticking holes into the cake and then pouring on the lemon, water and sugar mixture. Satisfied that she had done a good job he continued with his story. They moved to the kitchen table and sat down facing each other.

“My father knew who my mother was, he knew her name and where she lived. He knew her sister and her aunt. He would never reveal the details, always changed the subject when I asked. I guess now I will never know who she was, never get to meet the woman who didn’t have the guts to raise me herself.” Mickey’s bitterness showed through. He shoved away from the table and filled the kettle with water for tea. Placing the mugs and milk on the table, he made two cups of tea and sat back down. Angie watched quietly from her seat and stayed quiet. This was a different Mickey to the one she met in the bar weeks ago. She had met the happy go lucky version and not the serious, bitter man that sat before her. She touched her tender lips, she had been kissed fiercely for half an hour. The passion he poured into their kiss, boarded on abuse. His relentless nipping and biting, with hard lips against hers, overpowered her. Her desire to rip his clothes off and have rough sex on the kitchen table passed through her mind on more than one occasion. Each time he worked his fingers inside her jeans, she pushed his hand away. When she heard the timer, go off, a sense of relief filtered through her body. Having sex with him when she had travelled for so long and his urgent need to release his pent up grief was not a healthy way to proceed with their relationship.

“Did you ever try and contact the adoption services to gain some information?” Angie asked behind her mug of steaming coffee.

“I didn’t. Upsetting the old man wasn’t something I actively did. He completely retracted when mum died and I didn’t want him to think that I would leave him too. Anyway, if my mum wanted to see me she could. She knew where I lived, mum and dad have lived in this house since they married. She had her chance and didn’t bother.”

Mickey’s dad had loved him as much as he could, his attention peaked when Mickey talked about his Navy life. It was the only thing they had in common, although their military lives never crossed. When he told his father that he was leaving the Navy, the only thing that calmed him down was the fact that he was going to live in Edinburgh near Elijah. Mickey’s dad had welcomed Elijah into this home many times, had taken an interest in his career as much as Mickey’s.

When Mickey had driven away from his childhood home five years ago to start up his security business, his dad waved him goodbye from the door. It was the last time he had seen him alive. They had spoken on the phone often, but he had never managed to find the time to return, there was always a stack of cases to work through. Regret ate away at his heart for not making more of an effort to see his dad, at Christmas or his birthday.

“Do you think you will try and find her now?” Angie asked.

“No, that’s all in the past, I’d rather remember the parents I had rather than the ones who donated their genes.”

Angie didn’t have any reply and hugged him instead.

They spent the rest of the day resting from the travelling and having an early dinner before heading to bed. Angie slept in the guest room Beverly had prepared for her and Mickey slept in his old room. He lay on top of the duvet fully clothed thinking about the letter that was waiting for him in his father’s desk drawer. It called to him to open it and reveal the secrets and truths that he had wanted to know for many years. He had lied to Angie, he had wanted to know who his mother was, he barely remembered his own. When she passed away, he spent several years grieving. The hood of his coat remained up day and night, winter and summer. It wasn’t until he met Elijah that he started to come out of his shell. He didn’t make any friends in school or college. He had academically achieved high grades and scholarships, studying law at university. Once he had graduated he was lost, knowing that he didn’t want to become a lawyer. His father had suggested the Navy as a solution to what he needed. Someone else to make the decisions for him, someone else to do his thinking until he had decided what it was he wanted to do with his life.

His father hadn’t expected him to spend so many years in the Navy, he expected him to stay five years and then start a career away from an action. When he met Elijah, he found a friend he could trust. They were inseparable from day one at boot camp. Mickey’s dad had pulled some strings to have him coached to pass the stages to be accepted on an intake at an accelerated rate. 

His dad didn’t want him to change his mind and back out, he rushed through the paperwork and Mickey was accepted with flying colours. That was Mickey’s efforts and not his dad’s, his father made the opportunity, but Mickey had done the rest. The only other thing Mickey’s dad had done was to pick the course for Mickey to do his initial training. After that, he left him alone to rise or fall on his own.

Mickey resigned himself to a sleepless night and stripped to his boxer shorts and walked down the hallway to Angie’s bedroom. Opening the door quietly, he tiptoed to the bed and crawled on the empty side and cuddled into the back of Angie. She briefly opened her eyes and tucked Mickey’s hand into hers when he wrapped it around her body. She fell back to sleep straight away.