Where the Streets Have No Name(14)

“Oh?” The man smiled. “Well, good then.”

“Aye.” Daniel shifted his weight. “Erm, I was wondering if you knew of a place we could stay for the night. Don’t want to be driving in this downpour. Is there a B&B about? Or something similar?”

“Eh…” The man rubbed his chin with thick, sausage-like fingers, aiming dark eyes to the ceiling. “I dunno if the pub’s still got letting rooms or not. Moira!” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Aye?”

“Fella here’s lookin’ for a room for the night!”

Heavy footsteps slammed. Annoyed grumbling followed. An overly large woman ambled into view. If not for the stringy hair and her weight, he’d guess her to be close to his thirty-two, but she looked so much older.

“Who’s wantin’ a place?” she wheezed, dabbing her brow with a greying scrap of cloth.

The man indicated Daniel with his chin. “Lad here and his girl. Don’t want to be drivin’ through this mess.” He motioned out the front window.

“Well there’s the one little cottage down the end of the street…” She sighed. Annoyance oozed from the woman’s pores. She eyed Daniel with distaste at first. Then a flash of something crossed her cold, dark eyes.

Recognition.

“Eh! It’s that baby killer!” She shoved a fat finger through the air. “You’re not stayin’ anywhere in my town, you hear me? We’ll have you run out!”

“Baby killer? Moira, what are you on about?”

Daniel was already backing up to the door. Snakes of fear slithered around him. His hands fumbled for the door, hoping to make a hasty exit.

“The one that bombed that café fifteen years ago, Da!” Moira shouted, jabbing her finger in the air still. Hatred seethed from her words. She worked up a sweat ambling towards him.

“You?” The man snarled. “You dare come in my shop?”

The man who was sitting at the table now stood blocking the door. The same hate-filled glare Daniel saw on everyone who recognised him was on this man’s face too.

“I-I…I don’t want any trouble,” Daniel said, hands held up in surrender.

“Bloody bastard,” Moira spat from behind him.

Daniel swore he’d never do it, but he hadn’t a choice in the matter. He needed to get out of here and back to Amelia. The man at the door was shorter by a full head, and Daniel had at least two stone (about twenty-eight pounds) over the man, mostly muscle. He wasn’t a violent person, but this situation called for a little self-defence.

Pain radiated through the back of his head. Someone struck him!

Daniel winced, turning, and saw Moira holding a bain marie pan, swinging her thick, wobbly arms back to strike again. He wasted no time. Facing the door again, he shoved the other man out of his way and pushed the door open, running across the street without checking for cars. One swerved and nearly hit him, but carried on with a few curses called out the window after him.

He didn’t stop until he got into Amelia’s car, and even then, he switched the engine on and sped away from the scene, paying no mind to his seatbelt or the cracking pain shooting through his skull.

Amelia was saying something. Asking questions no doubt. But he had to get further away. All he needed now was for one of them in the shop to ring up the Gardaí and send them after him.





Since he returned from the take-out place, running like a maniac was hot on his heels and driving like he had to escape the scene of a crime, Daniel barely spoke two words to her. The difference between needing space and hiding things had been clear to her for many years, and right now, Daniel was hiding something.

But what?

They couldn’t find anywhere in the little town they stopped at for lunch. The rain fell too hard and Daniel wouldn’t answer her when she asked if they’d given him some options. They were lucky to come across this little caravan park, as Daniel called it, with fully stocked caravans to stay in for the night.

Daniel bought a few frozen pizzas from the little on-site store, bread and peanut butter and honey for breakfast, and some snacks for later. They settled in for the night, the sound of lashing rain battering the roof.

Amelia sat propped up on the converted table/bed, watching him stare blankly through the rain. What happened in there? Something happened. She knew it did. He was a different guy when he came back out.

Oh no, had someone recognised him?

Damn, she’d thought he’d be all right. Fifteen years was a long time and he didn’t look too much like his younger self. Unless an over-zealous reporter caught wind and snapped his picture recently. She decided to take his mind off everything by pestering him. It worked with her parents, she mused, grinning.