5
189 Words
5
Mrs Bailey handed me a fat envelope, said,
“That young girl, Cathy? … She left it for you.”
“Thanks.”
I hefted the envelope in my palm, figuring this was a lot of cash. Mrs Bailey was staring at me and I snapped, “What?”
Probably a little sharper than I intended. She took a step back, then,
“That girl Cathy … she’s not one of our own, not Irish I mean?”
“No, she’s from London.”
“She has a breed of an Irish accent.”
“Yes, she went native.”
She clucked her tongue, shook her head, dismissing such nonsense, said,
“They think if they buy a Claddagh ring and use the Lord’s name, it makes them one of us, as if that could ever happen.”
I gave a tight smile, turned to go, said,
“Sorry if I was a bit sharp.”
She assessed me, then,
“You were sharp, and I don’t think you’re sorry. I think you regret the action as you’re fond of that control. ’Tis the guard in you.”
I didn’t think there was a whole lot to be gained in debating the point so I said,
“I’ll be in Dublin for two days.”
“Oh, are you working again?”
“No, it’s to visit someone.”
“Are they sick?”
“As a parrot.”
- Writer
