Twisted Love and Money (2 page)

With nervous
energy Jeremy stood up and walked towards Earlsford Terrace. Then
made his way back north of the Green towards number eighty-six, the
student’s house beside the church.

“Jasus, it’s
converted into a restaurant,” he cursed sotto voce when he
arrived.

He went into
the church, which was the next building along the square. No change
here, dark, candle smell, comfortable silence. Strange it was
twenty years since he went to church. He eased himself into a
pew.

He glanced at
his watch, half eleven, fifteen minutes, then back to Bewley’s for
his appointment. The Mezzanine floor at twelve.

He closed his
eyes in the silence. Slowly he relaxed his muscles to ease the
tension. First he balled his fist tight and then let go to feel the
tension ease. He screwed up his face and then let it ease out.
Thankfully he was alone and unobserved.

An Irish Tweed
merchant had asked Jeremy to a party. They had met there,
introduced by the Tweed Merchant. They had fallen into
conversation, about horses. His new friend liked horses, horses and
dogs, and also confided with a hearty laugh, to liking men. Drinks
followed drinks and the party was lively and atmospheric. They had
rolled out at well past midnight.

Jeremy was
enjoying the company, they were having a good laugh and the
conversation flowed with ease. “I’m staying in a hotel,” he’d said,
“like to come back for a coffee?”

“No, come to my
flat, I’ll do the coffee. It’s not far. Hotels are so
impersonal.”

So he had gone
to the flat.

Odd flat, three
glass dogs and a couple of saddles, bridles on the sideboard.
Everything horsy and outdoor.

“You do like
horses,” Jeremy had remarked as he removed a saddle to sit on the
couch

His new friend
was short and stocky with a bluff open manner and expression,
masculine and tweedy but not sexual, almost hale and hearty
neutral. Jeremy found himself relaxed, unthreatened, enjoying the
company after a week of business in Dublin.

“Stay the
night, don’t go back to a miserable old hotel. Sleep on the couch
with the saddles or if you like we can share the bed.”

The offer had
come after the coffee and further chat.

“The bed?”
Jeremy had asked, abashed, curious.

“The bed, don’t
be squeamish. I won’t lay a finger on you. It’s just somewhere to
sleep. Two are warmer than one.”

Jeremy was a
bit drunk. He certainly did not feel like sex. The idea of a bed
with someone other than David intrigued him, the novelty. Why not,
he would enjoy the company.

Later in bed, a
gentle hand touched him. He was shock still, not knowing how to
react.

“Please” Jeremy
replied, “I don’t know what I am doing here.”

“Let me try,
just my fingers. I don’t do this with everyone, but I find you very
attractive Jeremy. You have a lost boy, stray dog appeal about you.
I like to gather strays.”

He couldn’t
explain why he let it happen. Away from David he felt free, loose.
He’d been ready for an adventure, an encounter, without realizing
it.

Funny thing
was, as he reached his forties he had found himself easing out,
wondering how the other half lived, wanting to see into other
lives. He and David lived in their own special world, their friends
and their business.

It was all so
comfortable and so stable and predictable. The AIDS crisis had
quieted them down. Promiscuity was high risk and stable
relationships were in. All was well with his world. And he was
discontented, restless.

Jeremy could
not pray, not even in that church where he had spent many hours in
his youth. He sat and tried to relax. Then he decided. He would go
to the Mezzanine in Bewley’s. He would go and wait and keep his
date. How he would cope with David? That would be another day’s,
work. He stood up and left the church and strode purposefully back
towards Grafton Street.

The little
round tables had high stools and in the centre of the tables the
condiments were raised up on a mini table. He could see the area at
the entrance to the Cafe. He would see his new friend before he
would be seen.

Then it was
twelve and there was no sign. The entrance to the cafe through the
shop was busy thronged with comers and goers. But not the face he
waited to see. He began to feel anxious.

“More tea
sir?”

The young
waiter had a fey voice. Jeremy could see at a glance that he was
Gay. Did the lad know it, he wondered.

“Yes please,
tea for two and two sticky buns, I’m expecting a friend.”

Then he saw the
hat, tweed with a feather. And the tweeds, God, if David saw the
style he would just die.

“Jeremy,” she
gushed. “Sorry I’m a bit late. I wondered would you be here. I’m so
happy you came.”

“Me too
Dorothy, me too. I guess it’s your fatal charm.”

Dorothy O’Byrne
laughed heartily and slapped him on the back. Then she sat down.
His heart was racing. Cynic that he was, he wondered, at least for
the moment, if he was madly in love. He was fascinated by the
phenomenon she was. Something about her was different from other
women. She was plain and not the fashion model he was more
accustomed to meet. He sensed something about her, solidity,
reliability, that was making him trust and like her.

“Nice to see
you Jeremy “ she said quietly, looking into his eyes.

He took her
hand.

Then he smiled
at a thought. Maybe they would go and see his mother together.

Chapter
Two

Ann-Marie felt
embarrassed. Her mother leaned backwards one leg in the air, the
knee bent, as she strained to pull something out from under the
canopy.

Ann, her
mother, straightened up with a silver whiskey flask in her hand and
a smile on her face.

“Mother, you
are not to get drunk,” Ann-Marie hissed.

“Relax,
Ann-Marie,” her mother instructed. “It’s cold up here half naked,
the whiskey will warm my bones. Do you want some?”

“No
thanks.”

The Lorry had a
long trailer made up with mushrooms, flowers, carrots and cabbages,
apples and so on, some false and plastic, some real.

Along the side
the sign in green and yellow read ‘O’BYRNE FRESH FOODS.’

They had been
waiting over two hours at the start point for the St. Patrick’s Day
Parade. Various gaily decorated floats intermingled with assorted
bands from America, the U.K. and various parts of Ireland, plus
antique cars, clowns and trick bicycles.

There was a
general festive atmosphere and crowds of onlookers lined the
planned Parade route. Others less patient walked back along the
queue of floats waiting to depart. Generally there were people
everywhere, children in tow and good-humoured smiles on faces.

The driver
gunned the lorry engine into life as the Parade began to slowly
move out. They would be off soon and it was time to get into
position. On the trailer, resplendent in costume, Ann O’Byrne and
her seventeen year old daughter Ann-Marie both smiled at each other
with excitement as the lorry moved, signalling to them that the
parade was underway.

They were
wearing ankle length cloaks over their scanty costumes and had been
sitting huddled together at the top end of the open trailer,
keeping warm in the chilly March weather. Ann was pleased with the
weather as more often than not it rained on St. Patrick’s day, but
today was bright and chilly, a perfect spring day.

Ann-Marie
picked up one of the baskets from which it was intended they would
throw fruit to the onlookers as the Parade progressed. As she
walked to the back of the trailer she threw the cloak back over her
shoulders to reveal her long legs and her young lithe, well-endowed
figure. There was a cheer from behind the trailer and a loud
revving of motorbike engines. Ann-Marie had forgotten that her
float was to be followed by the ‘O’Donoghue’s Express Delivery
Service’ and this company had entered a squad of motorcycle
couriers in the Parade.

Blushing red,
embarrassed, Ann-Marie stopped and turned her back to the
motorcyclists. Her mother grinned at her and threw back her own
cloak to reveal a more mature fuller figure with equally long legs.
This was greeted with more cheers and more revving of engines. Ann
smiled at her daughter.

“Sure they are
harmless,” she said, “throw them a few bananas.”

Ann-Marie
recovered herself and took a large bunch of bananas from the float.
She turned to face the couriers. There were six of them, all young
lads in leather gear astride their motor bicycles. Aged between
sixteen and nineteen, they were grinning hugely at Ann-Marie’s
embarrassment.

“For the
monkeys in the Zoo,” she shouted and threw them a banana each. Four
of them caught the bananas but two had to dismount to gather up
their prize. They were delighted. The wait for the start of the
Parade had left them hungry. To be thrown fruit by a beautiful girl
in a skimpy costume, this was heaven.

Then the Parade
was under way.

Ann-Marie
O’Byrne had heard her father was to enter the float in the Parade
to advertise the business. She persuaded by her mother to come for
fun, ‘a bit of gas’ as she put it. Laughing her father Michael
O’Byrne had agreed to let them both go on the float. But Dorothy,
her older sister had refused to join them.

Their business
was a large one by Irish standards, dealing in fruit and vegetables
including organic foods, mushrooms and exotic fruit. The business
had grown rapidly in recent years and dealt directly with retail
and supermarkets, but was little known in household terms.

Michael O’Byrne
had decided that a little more public profile would be no harm. As
one step towards this he had put a float in the Dublin St.
Patrick’s Day Parade.

The centre of
the float was lined with straw baskets filled with apples, oranges
and various other fruits. As the Parade progressed Ann and
Ann-Marie would throw fruit to the crowds who thronged the route. A
public address system attached to the lorry played loud music,
interspersed with half-minute commercials on healthy eating and
organic food.

In front of the
O’Byrne float Guinness Brewery had a Jazz Band on their float and
the music blared out. Behind, the Couriers weaved and dodged on
their motor bicycles in practised formations as they followed in
the Parade.

The boys on the
motorcycles called, “give us some more fruit Miss…”

The leader of
the couriers was Seamus O’Donoghue. Seamus worked for his
Grandfathers firm. He was to go to University in the autumn, but
this was after a year with the family firm to ‘get a few corners
knocked off’ as his Grandfather had put it, and to learn something
about that part of the business.

Seamus was
broad shouldered and had dark hair and intelligent brown eyes. Like
the rest of the lads his eyes constantly flashed to Ann and
Ann-Marie. This they achieved as they manoeuvred their motor
bicycles in and out.

Laughing,
Ann-Marie threw them a morsel from time to time. They whooped
joyously, what really pleased them was her smile and the fullness
of her bosom as she bent closer to throw them the fruit in a way
that would not result in them falling off their bicycles as they
caught it.

The rest of the
lads just enjoyed the outing, and saw being in the Parade as a bit
of fun. But Seamus was much taken by Ann-Marie’s spirited
performance and resolved to approach the O’Byrne float after the
parade. He had a knot in his stomach at the thought of making an
approach, but the sight of the two women in their costumes had
warmed his blood and he knew he had to talk to them even at the
risk of rejection.

The Parade
lasted nearly three hours and some of the earlier sparkle had to be
pumped up for the Reviewing Stand at the end of the Parade. They
gunned their bikes past the Reviewing Stand and then they were
free.

Seamus gave
each of his team an envelope, compliments of the company, a cash
bonus for their attendance at the Parade. The group immediately
decided on a few jars out the Firhouse road in Delaney’s Bar on the
Southside of the city.

“I’ll follow
later,” Seamus promised, “I want to talk to that girl on the
O’Byrne float before she disappears.”

This was
greeted with hoots of laughter and the lads zoomed away on their
bikes. Seamus caught up on the O’Byrne lorry and followed. It drove
slowly off O’Connell Street, out of the crowds watching the Parade
and circulated back towards the south east side of the city.

When they had
come to the end of the Parade Ann and Ann-Marie had climbed down
and joined the driver in the cab.

“Drop us off at
the back of Trinity College,” Ann had instructed. They intended to
walk from their to their car, a large expensive BMW, which was
parked in the Underground Car Park in the Setanta centre off
Kildare Street.

The lorry
driver pulled in past Trinity College, along Merrion Square. The
city centre was thronged with people and traffic and this was the
nearest the driver could get to their car without getting clogged
up in traffic. He pulled in, indicators flashing.

“I’ll just tie
down the loose stuff on the float,” he said getting out of the cab.
“You ladies can get changed,” he added discretely.

He got out of
the cab and then began to tie a large tarpaulin over the trailer.
Seamus pulled in behind. Joe, the lorry driver saw him and
remembering him from their pre-parade conversation, he looked
surprised, but then smiled. “Hello Seamus, did you follow us from
the Parade. Where are the rest of your lads?”