He swung around and found a woman staring at his penis. He was holding it while continuing to relieve himself. She remained staring at him her eyes fixed, appraising him in a way which left him not only embarrassed but also dominated by her close presence. In his haste to button up, he pissed down inside his trouser leg.
It was none other than BoBo Doorley, she who had spent a good deal of time lately in the Mental hospital in Portlaoise, and who had the reputation of being a wilful and mischievous girl. She was also said to be vicious at times. Both her mother and father, simple people in their own right, were regularly assaulted by her. On the last occasion, when Mary Boyle had called the Gardaí, it took the strength of three men to hold her down whilst waiting their arrival and that of the doctor. That was some months back. Perhaps, she had just been released and was making her way home.
She had periods, Donal knew well, when she could enjoy lucid good health and reasonable contentment. Some neighbours believed that it was during these times she was at her most dangerous and malevolent. The advice locally was that she was a girl to be avoided at any time. As soon as the attacks on her parents would start up again, she would have to be recommitted without delay to the psychiatric hospital.
Although she was pale and dressed unflatteringly, she possessed an unusual sexual attractiveness, one which could not be explained entirely by the sheer beauty of her youth and pubescence. She was an attractive girl though untidy and looked unclean.
She walked over to where he was standing reservedly after being spied on. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she asked him directly, “What were you doing there?”
She showed not the slightest surprise that she had been standing close behind him whilst he had been pissing, not the slightest awareness of the delicacy of his or even her own situation. It seemed she was not bothered at all by what she had just witnessed.
Donal hesitated, at a loss at how to answer best what he had been doing.
“Sure, you saw what I was doing.”
“I did,” she rejoined quite impassively. She was now standing so close to him that her presence made him feel uneasy. He didn’t know what he should do or whether he should do or say anything.
“If you’re going my way, I can give you a lift.”
The moment he spoke the words he realised he had said the wrong thing. He was afraid she would interpret the invitation as something more than the mere offer of a lift in the car.
“Oh, that’s nice of you. I’d say you’re a nice man. Are you? Aren’t you separated from your wife?”
“I am. Yes.”
“Do you have a girl?”
It took him a while to reply, becoming cautious as to how he should respond.
“No. Not at the moment.”
“Do you like girls? Do you like doing things to girls? You know what I mean.”
She looked to him for an answer and when none was forthcoming, she pressed on.
“A male nurse tried to have it off with me. Said he’d do it to me whether I wanted it or not. What do you think of that? He’s one of the Condrons from over there, the far side of Baileix. You know them. John Paul Condron. What do you think of that?”
Again, Donal was lost for words. He felt uptight. Other men in this position, he realised, would have engaged her in some appropriate, trite conversation and encouraged her. They would have seen an opportunity which could be turned to their advantage – but not Donal Moran. He lacked the self-confidence to begin let alone follow up. He felt unsure in the company of women – especially in a situation like this.
“Well, did he …?”
He found himself pausing unable to get his tongue around the right words.
Did he have it off with you was what he wanted to say? He wasn’t able to be that direct, so, tongue-tied, he put the question awkwardly to her.
“Well did he … um … carry out his threat?”
She threw her head back and laughed out loud.
“What do you mean by his threat? Do you mean did he pull the knickers off me? No, he didn’t. He was auld talk. He got his chance. He wasn’t fit to. He wasn’t any good. Some men aren’t any good when it comes to a girl. Did you know that? Did you know some men are afraid of a girl? I pulled a young lad once but he upped and bolted off down the road with the fright.”
She was now staring unashamedly at him in a way he knew she was sizing him up, trying to gauge his worth as a man, trying to decide if he, too, like the young nurse would pass up the opportunity.
“Are you any good with a girl? Are you shy? There’s no need to be. You see you’re a nice looking man.”
He felt an uncomfortable wetness inside his trouser leg where he had pissed into it minutes earlier, but he was too embarrassed to look down to inspect the offending area. Every so often, she sought out that very spot on his trousers and then would avert her gaze again to his face.
BoBo was about seventeen years old and Donal knew she might be highly dangerous, he told himself the best thing for him would be to disengage from her immediately.
He opened the passenger door and let her in. On walking around the back of the car, he surreptitiously pulled at the opened zip of his pants, and was amazed at the expanse of the watermark which was so clearly visible on his trousers front.
From the moment she sat into the car, she talked incessantly. It reminded him of his wife. Perhaps they were two of a kind. Certainly, this girl by reputation was sick, highly volatile and dangerous.
She leaned over beside him, her hand touching his thigh as she placed her arm along the seat beside him.
“I often come up this road at night.”
She turned around and faced him as she added, “Late. When its dark.”
His hand on the wheel began to tremble and he knew it was because he was unable to overcome his fear of accepting the sexual challenge being thrown down to him. Even his breathing was becoming a problem. To his relief, the small cottage where she lived appeared just a short distance up ahead.
As he pulled up outside the entrance, she placed her hand very deliberately on his arm and turning fully around as before looked directly into his eyes and put it to him again.
“Remember what I said. I’ll be up this road tonight when it’s dark. I love the dark. I’ll be at the field gate where I saw you just now.”
Suddenly, she put her hand across and flattened out her palm over the wet patch on his trouser leg. Holding it there for the briefest of moments, she pressed her hand firmly against his inner thigh and rubbed her flat palm along the wet watermark. Next, she turned away and fumbled around the instruments on the side panel endeavouring to open the door. As he leaned across and undid the catch, she put her hand up to her nostrils and then rubbed it along her lips, and flicked her tongue along her palm.
As he drove away, it surprised him he was shaking and he began to breathe in and exhale large mouthfuls of air slowly to try and relieve the tension. What was wrong with him? Why was he so disturbed? Was it because he was lacking in some way? Was it the fear of a challenge, a sexual challenge, and he was admitting to himself there was a hint of male inadequacy? Oh, sweet Jesus! He just didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to admit to himself that he had backed down. Definitely, she had propositioned him. That in itself should not have left him so tense and nervous.
He punched the steering wheel of his car with the soft heel of his fist and swore loudly. He scratched at a bead of sweat coursing down under his vest. Jesus. That girl had upset him more that he cared to admit. It was his inadequacy in handling the encounter even though it was totally unexpected, which had shattered him. There again, he had done the right thing. There again. There again what? There again, with hindsight, to admit he could have dallied with her for a while longer. Then he recalled another girl years before in somewhat similar circumstances. She had been standing or rather leaning against him at the far end of a dancehall car park. They had been only partly hidden from the throng emerging at the end of the dance when suddenly, with her back against the car standing facing him, she pulled up her skirts. He had stood in hesitation, with one eye on the people exiting from the dancehall. She just dropped her skirts and walked away, muttering something. What was it she had said? Oh, yes. He remembered now. She ridiculed him and said, “What’s this now? Were you afraid it wouldn’t stand up?” That’s what she had said to him, “Were you afraid it wouldn’t stand up?”
Then as now, for some reason which he just could not explain, the episode left him shaking like a leaf.
Suppose, though, with hindsight, the same opportunity presented itself again. Possibly, he would react in the same uncertain, frustrated way all over again and that was the reason he was shaking. No other reason. No other explanation.
That loathsome girl was coming at six, and it was now after five. For heaven’s sake! Clear the mind! Rid it of the disturbing effects of that encounter with BoBo!
The moment he drove into the yard his elder son, Richard, appeared as if by chance.
“Don’t forget that girl is coming to see you this evening at six.”
Richard hadn’t one feature or mannerism which resembled himself, his mother or Joe. That sometimes bothered him. Richard’s hair, light yellow in colour, had none of the richness and fullness of his or Joe’s tousled dark mops, rather he was going bald at an early age. His physique, too, was the opposite of his own, not exactly puny but nonetheless a kind of a weakling. They just had nothing whatever in common, and when he considered the tricks which devious woman who had spawned him might have been up to, then Richard sometimes bothered him, but he never allowed himself to dwell too long on the subject.
Richard’s wife, Priscilla, was small and had sharp beady eyes, a pointed nose and mousey hair. Richard and Priscilla would have been waiting and watching to waylay him all evening in order to ascertain what his attitude would be towards Joe, and this girl. What was the reason for her visit? Would it in any way concern them?
“I hadn’t forgotten.” Donal ventured nothing further.
It wasn’t the answer Richard had been expecting. So, he changed course and fell into step alongside. Donal noticed Richard raise his gaze momentarily towards the kitchen window. No doubt, Priscilla was ensconced behind the curtain watching their every movement.
“What do you expect she wants?”
“I haven’t an idea, Richard. Not a clue.”
He went in through the back door without further communication. Priscilla was crossing over the kitchen as he entered. She gave the appearance of someone busy doing nothing. She won’t refer at all to Joe’s intrusion, Donal thought, but she will dictate to her husband what questions he should ask. Of the two, Priscilla might just shade it on a test of ingenuity. There again, it could happen that when that button was pressed nothing might appear on either screen. The register measuring ingenuity and enterprise might well read zero.
As a couple, they delighted in one another’s company, posting cards to each other at Christmas, Easter and the New Year. On birthdays, they sent one another parcels through the post. In summertime, they went cycling and camping every other weekend. One never went into town without the other. Everything was done in tandem. It would be unfair to say they lived dull, commonplace lives, for they were extremely contented and happy with their lot.
The moment he entered, she searched his face for some trace or sign which might tell her something she didn’t already know – something which he was holding back from them. However, Donal’s inscrutable weather-beaten features told her nothing.
“Have you eaten, Dad?”
“No. I didn’t have time, Priscilla.”
“Could I get you something? A snack, maybe? Or something more substantial if you like?”
“A snack would be fine. Could I have it in the drawing room?”
He always tried his best to appear interested in what Priscilla was saying, at least, to be seen to approve of what she was doing. It was important to her. God knows, but she could do with a bit of praise now and then.
Try as he did there was awkwardness between them which he simply couldn’t breach, as though he had some reservations about her competence.
He turned on the television in the corner of the drawing room. A soccer match, a European game, was showing on Sky.
In a matter of minutes, Priscilla came into the room carrying some newspapers.
“There’s an English one here as well.”
“You’re very kind.”
Then as usual, they ran out of talk. She remained standing by the door looking directly at him, not saying anything, not intending to say anything. She just stood there looking at him with a vacant expression expecting him to do the talking. He searched his mind but there was nothing to say. What he really wanted was to be left alone so he could go over in his mind the possible attitudes he might adopt with this girl who would be along in a short while.
“I think I’ll have a glass of wine.”
He pulled himself out of the easy chair and then had to walk by her where she had remained standing in the doorway. The wine was in the dining room on the other side of the hall.
Priscilla went to the kitchen and, in a short time, she returned to serve up a tasty light meal of smoked salmon on a bed of lettuce with a sprinkling of scallions and some sliced tomatoes, the whole accompanied by freshly baked brown bread.
“Richard and I have to go out for a while. Um … that girl Sharon. She should be here shortly. You’ll be all right, won’t you?”
“Oh, I’m fine. This couldn’t be nicer.”
He indicated the meal as he was speaking, but he was thinking along other lines. Sharon. Sharon. How did Priscilla know her name? Why were she and Richard going out at the same time as the girl was due to arrive? Both of them had shown an inordinate interest in her visit. Now they were leaving. It didn’t make sense. How did she know the girl’s name?
“Sharon.”
He tried to make it sound as if he wasn’t too concerned. It came awkwardly off his tongue.
“Sharon,” he repeated. “How did you know that was her name?”
“That’s the name she gave when she phoned this morning,” she said. “Cheerio.”
With that, she was gone.
He walked over to the bay windows and watched the progress of their car down the avenue. It turned left and was immediately lost behind the shrubs and trees which skirted the roadside lawns, except for occasional glimpses, as it passed open spaces above the white wooden paling.
Another car, a dull red Ford, turned into the driveway and approached the house.