TOO LATE - a Pride's Children prequel short story

St. Paddy's Day, Grafton Street, Dublin

I made sure I bumped into her St. Paddy's Day. In the harsh broad daylight, middle of Grafton Street with the Dublin shoppers and tourists out in full force.

She shimmered, rosy-cheeked, kissed me softly on the cheek. "Hello, Andy." She's the only one, other than the lads and me ma, I ever let call me 'Andy.' None of the other girls. But I was so sure she was the one. I'd met her our first film acting together, and grabbed her up. Even ma, back on the farm I couldn't wait to leave, liked her. "Don't let this one go," ma said. But I was bloody stupid.

"Something's different," I said. Her copper hair was cropped short, modern, pixyish. It glinted, reflected the sun crooked. Ten long years with me it'd been breast-length, silky. My fingers ached at the memory.

"Right you are." Her smile was ever the best part of her, a smile you could get lost in and not come out for days. Toward the acrimonious end of us I had seen little enough of it.

"I heard you'd hooked up again." I shot the words deliberately, telling her it was too soon, much too soon. The shaft found its mark, and right there in the middle of the bricked-over street, her aura seemed to dim. A successful solicitor in the city, for chrissake. "Didn't make it a month, did ya?"

"It was over long before I walked out on ya."

"Could 'a fooled me." And kicked myself. I could never keep me mouth shut. Then I made it worse. "Bloody short skirt."

"Like it?" She twirled, her ivory sweater-coat held billowing-wide like a spinnaker, forced her confidence back.

"I bet everyone on the street, everyone in the whole of Dublin city likes it." Except me. Except me.

"Aye, there's the rub." She sighed, re-wrapped and belted against the chill. She knew I'd never liked sharing her.

She fixed that deep honey-colored gaze on my face, checking round my eyes. Pinned like a dart on the board. I never did hide anything from her. "You're looking terrible anxious, Andy."

"It's a big gig, this film." I was buried in process: pages of dialogue, a character to be. Scoping out the other actors filling the holes round me in the script, making 'em react the way I wanted... She could 'a waited, run lines with me, had faith. "It'll make or break me."

Her laugh kicked me in the stomach. "That's what you always say, no small roles. I'm happy for you, Andy. I hope it's the big one."

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