Sweet Days (Four Days Book 2) Page 2

  that. I miss her, of course I do, but my father never

  had me want for anything and we have so many

  things in common.

  Nate and I met at university. He’s getting his

  doctorate in biology. We fell in love, spending

  nights at the library studying, and going to

  conventions. Ours is an intellectual love, if you

  want to know the plain truth. I went to live in his

  apartment when my dad decided to leave. We

  rented our house in Malahide and I went to live in

  Whitehall, just a few steps from my building, but I

  continued working here three nights a week,

  despite the inconvenience of having to travel. It’s

  partly because I like being independent, having an

  income and showing my father I’m not the spoiled

  child he thinks I am, and also because I guess I’ve

  grown to like this place, the guys, Rain,

  everything.

  I open the pub door when I realize I’ve only got

  last night’s socks on my feet. Brrr, I hope

  somebody cleaned up after I left. I try not to think

  about it and take a few steps towards the counter

  where the coffee machine is calling me. I grab a

  filter off the top shelf and prepare the coffee when

  I hear something banging against the back door. I

  jump and the coffee pot drops to the ground,

  shattering and making an awful noise.

  Perfect. If I had wanted to hide, at this point it

  would be impossible.

  I take a deep breath and grab the first thing that

  I can, which happens to be an empty bottle of

  Jameson which was left on the counter. I slowly

  creep towards the door leading to the back with the

  bottle raised over my head, when I hear someone

  cursing. I peek out just as far as necessary to see a

  figure with his back to me. He’s wearing a leather

  jacket and has a shaved head and he’s rubbing the

  back of his neck. I let out my sigh and lower the

  bottle.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, coming out

  of the shadows with my hands on my hips.

  Patrick jumps in the air and lands with his hand

  on his heart, afraid.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he yells

  with a sleepy, drunk, and who knows what else

  kind of voice.

  “A bit early to open, isn’t it?” I ask pointedly.

  “And don’t you have a house?” he retorts,

  eyebrow raised in challenge.

  It’s always like this between us. We always bait

  each other and say the worst things, but working

  here with him is nice and can even be relaxing

  somehow. When he’s working here the nights go

  by quickly and my head is free from heavy

  thoughts.

  “I slept here,” I say, crossing my arms over my

  chest. “Rain said I could stay.”

  He relaxes his glance just slightly.

  “I came to get my keys. Last night I went home

  with … well, I was out and I forgot my keys here

  and I didn’t want to go home and wake everyone

  up. It’s only six o’clock for God’s sake.”

  “And you couldn’t stay where you were and

  sleep a little more?”

  “I never stay the whole night,” he says,

  winking.

  “Well, I was about to make the coffee, but I was

  so scared I dropped the coffee pot…”

  “There’s another one in the back.”

  “I’ll buy another one.”

  “Bullshit,” he says, moving his hand as if to say

  ‘it’s nothing’. “Who gives a shit about a stupid

  coffee pot?”

  “Are you always so pleasant in the morning or

  are you only vulgar and base…”

  “Gimme a break, I didn’t have an easy night.”

  “Oh, I can imagine,” I reply, feeling a bit hurt

  for no particular reason.

  “It’s just I have a headache and I should have

  come in a taxi because I drank a lot last night and I

  didn’t feel like riding my motorcycle.”

  I nod in approval of his choice. We all know

  how things ended up the last time after one of the

  brothers got behind the wheel after drinking too

  much. Neil died because of it.

  “I’ll go in back and get the pot and make some

  coffee for both of us.”

  He tilts his head slightly, giving me a dubious

  look.

  “What?” I ask. “You have this look like you’ve

  got a jackhammer in your head. I almost feel sorry

  for you.”

  “Thanks,” he says, looking at me suspiciously.

  “Sit down, I’ll make the coffee and try to round

  up those two aspirins I saw somewhere. They

  should be in the emergency kit in the employee

  bathroom.”

  He nods and takes a seat at the bar, letting his

  head fall as I go back to find that coffee pot.

  The last thing I need this morning is dealing

  with a nasty, hungover Patrick.

  Patrick

  “Did he dump you?” I ask, while Erin’s back is

  turned to me as she makes the coffee.

  Last night I really exaggerated. I do it often, but

  last night … I don’t know, maybe I needed to blow

  off steam after my mom’s phone call. I just wanted

  to forget about my problems for one night. And I

  did.

  I drank with that little blonde that spent the

  whole night shooting me elusive glances to which

  I promptly responded by biting the piercing in my

  lip. I’ve come to understand it drives the ladies

  crazy, and rightly so because they can’t even

  imagine with that little piece of metal can do in

  certain moments.

  And I drank more than a little to tell the truth.

  So much that I can’t remember leaving here, going

  to her house—how did we get there? I certainly

  don’t remember sleeping with her. I think I passed

  out as soon as I hit the mattress. This morning just

  after six, I woke up with a splitting headache and

  some nasty nausea.

  I left without even telling her. Outside her place

  I was lucky to find a solitary taxi. I realized I

  didn’t have my keys with me and so I came here

  where, fortunately, I had also left my motorcycle.

  I didn’t plan on meeting daddy’s little girl.

  “Jesus, Patrick, do you always have to be such

  an asshole?” she yells without even turning to look

  at me.

  What’d I say? I always talk shit, but she should

  be used to it by now.

  I won’t deny being an asshole, it’s true. Erin is

  completely right. I always have been and I don’t

  hide it. I want people to know what they’re getting,

  especially women, because I can’t be an asshole to

  my friends.

  Me and the guys have been living here for just

  over two years since Rain lost her memory in a

  terrible accident in which her boyfriend, Neil,

  died. She’s doing better now and is happy. It’s all

  thanks to that asshole Liam.

  Whoever would have thought that after ten

  years he would have
finally confessed to be in love

  with her?

  Liam is Neil’s brother. Rain and Neil were

  together practically their whole lives, since they

  were kids, but Liam was always in love with her,

  from the first day he saw her, it’s just … well, it

  took him a while to man up and tell her and even

  longer to come home and take care of her.

  I was angry with him for a long time. After the

  accident our band’s musical prospects stopped

  dead, but he struck out on his own, signing a

  record contract that was originally offered to us

  and making a success of it.

  But then it happened. He came back. He found a

  way to get forgiveness and we’re finally all

  together again, without Neil of course. We’ll

  always miss him, but we’re still here and it’s right

  that we keep going down our road while never

  forgetting him.

  I try to guide them but fuck … no one ever

  listens to me. I think if people stopped torturing

  themselves about the past and just lived in the

  present, thinking about what they feel now,

  everything would be a lot simpler.

  See, I’m an outsider, if I can define myself as

  such. I have zero sentimental tendencies. I am able

  to see over their noses and to understand before

  they do what it is they are feeling, what they are

  afraid of and what they’re running from. Call it my

  sixth sense. And it’s thanks to this gift I have that

  I’m able to avoid a noose around my neck or a

  spike in my tire: I’m free and I’m happy.

  I’m doing great and nothing and no one could

  ever take away this feeling of being able to do

  anything I want.

  Is that what makes me an asshole?

  Depends on your point of view, but in all

  sincerity, I don’t really care what people think of

  me. I have my family and this ‘acquired’ family of

  mine, with Aaron, Jay, Liam and Rain.

  And I’m fine.

  Nothing could ever upset me; nothing could

  ever make me change my ideas.

  Nothing and no one.

  My parents had six kids. My father decided to

  take off when my little brother Danny was just two

  years old. I was fifteen at the time and I remember

  very well what life was like with him. He never

  had a stable job. He wasn’t able to hold one down

  for more than two months at a time and so we

  never had enough of anything at home, whether it

  was food or clothes, and not to mention other

  things that aren’t strictly necessary to get along.

  Six children, for Christ’s sakes, what the hell

  were they thinking? Don’t misunderstand me; I

  wouldn’t want to put any one of my siblings back

  where they came from. I love all the members of

  my family and I thank my mother every day for

  what she did for us, but I’d never make that kind

  of choice.

  My parents got married really young because of

  me. My mother was pregnant and they got married

  thinking they were doing the right thing. Then the

  others arrived, one after the other, and with them

  came money problems and everything went to hell.

  My father was a womanizer, unable to think of

  anyone else but himself. That’s where I got my

  moral principles from.

  Luckily, two years after he walked out, my mom

  met Carl, a good man who is divorced and

  childless who was able to make her happy and give

  back a bit of normal living to us all.

  We always lived in the same house on Pearse

  Street, four boys sharing one room with two bunk

  beds in a few square meters and the two girls

  sharing the only other room available.

  My mom and Carl have slept on the couch for at

  least six years. They gave up their room for my

  sisters and could not afford a bigger and more

  expensive house.

  Carl works at the Guinness Storehouse and my

  mom works part-time in a bakery on Mary Street

  because she still has children to raise.

  So basically, it was a shit sandwich. We were

  never without anything, especially since Carl has

  been with us but I have to be honest: at Christmas,

  when we got one gift for all of us to share, it’s not

  the greatest. It’s not that we didn’t understand, we

  k n e w a l l t o o w e l l w h a t t h e e c o n o m i c

  circumstances were and we weren’t upset because

  we didn’t have more. What really sucked was

  seeing Mom and Carl’s faces, their expressions of

  worry and humiliation because they couldn’t give

  us any more than that.

  Carl is a simple man, but strong and reassuring,

  and with him at home life certainly wasn’t bad.

  My younger brothers who didn’t know my father

  well, call him Dad. It’s a bit more complicated

  than that for me. I was already an angry child

  when he came to our house, but with patience and

  respect he was able to gain my trust and my

  affection.

  On the other hand, he’s a man who was willing

  to load up six kids that weren’t his on his back and

  carry them all. How many guys would have done

  something like that? He’s got all my respect. He’s

  a man to be admired, someone you can always rely

  on.

  I left home at an early age to lighten the burden

  and make space for the others, but I miss them. I

  miss the chaos at dinnertime. I miss sitting on the

  carpet, us all watching a film together. I miss my

  mother’s hugs.

  I’m a thirty-year-old man by now, but that

  doesn’t mean I can’t miss the affection of my

  family, even if at dinnertime I frequently, and

  happily, told them that I had already eaten out

  because I didn’t want them to eat less on my

  account.

  I’ve always worked, in the pub, in a factory or a

  café. I left school early and took care of myself the

  best I could and of the rest of my family whenever

  it was possible. I’m proud of all of them, and if it’s

  not too much to add, I’m proud of myself too. I’ve

  understood, thanks to experience, that I absolutely

  do not want to make that kind of choice for myself,

  being tied to someone forever and putting yourself

  in a position to have to be selfless, renouncing

  everything to make the person next to you happy.

  Am I selfish? No, I’m realistic.

  I am myself, in all of my raw truth.

  Love destroys everything.

  Love destroys you.

  Relationships are destined to wear out and break

  down, leaving you with no money, no soul and

  without a fucking heart. And I’ll tell you one thing:

  I don’t want to know what that feels like.

  Erin turns to me and sets down a steaming cup

  of coffee, keeping her eyes cast downward. It’s

  then that I realize that she’s crying.

  Okay, I hate this kind of thing, women crying. I

  know they need to vent their feelings
and that

  you’re supposed to console them. What am I

  supposed to do here? Pretend I don’t notice?

  I clear my throat and give it a shot.

  “Do you want to…”

  And by means of an answer she runs in the

  opposite direction, taking refuge in the upstairs

  apartment.

  Am I supposed to run after her?

  Nah, it’s not like me. I do what I’m best at.

  Minding my own business.

  I drink my coffee and then go home and sleep

  and forget about this strange morning, her tears

  and her scared eyes.

  2

  Erin

  “Three more pints at table twelve, Erin!”

  “I’m on my way,” I reply, annoyed at Jay’s

  request although it isn’t his fault I’m in a bad

  mood.

  “Is everything alright?” he asks right away.

  Jay always worries about everyone.

  “Yeah, I’m just tired.”

  “Take a break.”

  “It’s not necessary, really.”

  “Take ten minutes. It’s not some advice I’m

  giving you, it’s an order.” His tone does not allow

  me to refuse.

  I set down the tray that I was about to bring to

  the table and head for the exit. I need a breath of

  fresh air. I feel exhausted and my thoughts are so

  far from here.

  I open the door and a wave of frigid air strikes

  me full-on. I forgot to bring my jacket. I hug

  myself and turn to go back in when a voice I just

  am not in the mood to hear calls out:

  “Erin.”

  I let out a sigh and unwillingly turn around.

  “What are you doing here, Nate?” I ask him.

  “We have to talk and you’re not taking my

  calls.”

  “We don’t have anything to say.”

  “You took off into thin air without giving me

  time to explain.”

  “And what would you like to explain? Let’s

  hear it!” I challenge him, raising my voice.

  “Try to understand, it all happened so fast, I

  wasn’t expecting anything like that to happen.”

  “And you think perhaps that I was expecting

  it?”

  “That’s not what I’m trying to say … shoot. It

  seems like I always say the wrong thing.”

  “Maybe it’s better not to talk.”

  “Erin…”

  “Nate, our relationship was already coming to a

  head and you know it. We hardly spoke anymore.”

  Nate lets out a deep sigh and moves towards

  me, resting his back against the wall of the pub.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to happen.”