The Hunter

Lena looks at him. He still has that smile, the wide impish crinkle that woke your reckless side and lured you into thinking the stakes were low. Lena kept them that way, except for that speeding Cortina. She had a laugh with Johnny, but even though he was the finest thing and the biggest charmer within miles of Ardnakelty, he never stirred enough in her to get him beyond the outside of her bra. He had no substance; there was nothing in him to hold her. But Sheila Brady, who was Lena’s friend back then, kept believing the stakes were low and the substance was in there somewhere, till she came up pregnant. From there the momentum just kept on rolling her downhill.

Sheila was big enough and smart enough to make her own decisions, but Johnny’s momentum took their kids along too. Lena has got fonder of Trey Reddy than she is of just about any other human being.

“You know who’d only love to skive off for the day?” she says. “Sheila. She used to be great at it, too.”

“She’s at home with the kiddies, sure. Theresa went off somewhere—she’s a chip off the old block, that one, got itchy feet. The rest are too small to mind each other.”

“Then away you go and mind them, and Sheila can go for a walk.”

Johnny laughs. He’s not putting it on; he’s genuinely not shamed, or even annoyed. This was one of the things that stopped Lena from ever getting drawn in by Johnny: you could see right through him, and let him know you had, and he wouldn’t be one bit bothered. If you didn’t fall for his shite, there were plenty of others who would.

“Sheila must be sick of the sight of these fields. I’m the one that’s been missing them for years. Come on and help me enjoy them.” He waggles the gate invitingly. “You can tell me what you’ve been at all this time, and I’ll tell you how I got on in London. The aul’ lad upstairs from me was from the Philippines, and he had a parrot that could swear in their lingo. You wouldn’t get that in Ardnakelty. I’ll teach you how to call anyone that annoys you a son of a grasshopper.”

“I’ve sold that land you’re standing on to Ciaran Maloney,” Lena says, “is what I’ve been at. If he sees you there, he’ll run you off it. You can call him a son of a grasshopper.” She picks up her wash basket and goes inside.

She watches from her kitchen window, staying well back, as Johnny moseys off across the field to find someone else to smile at. His accent hasn’t changed, anyway; she has to give him that. She’d have bet on him coming back talking like Guy Ritchie, but he still sounds like a mountain lad.

Something that was nudging at her mind has made it to the surface, now that her anger is fading and leaving room. Johnny always liked to make a fine entrance. When he turned up outside her window, he came smelling of expensive aftershave—robbed, probably—with his jeans ironed, every hair in place, and the Cortina waxed to a sparkle. He was the only fella Lena knew who never had broken fingernails. Today, his clothes are shiny-new right down to the shoes, and not cheap shite either, but his hair is straggling over his ears and flopping in his eyes. He’s tried to slick it into place, but it’s too overgrown to behave. If Johnny Reddy has come home in too much of a hurry to get a haircut, it’s because he’s got trouble following close behind.

—

By the time Trey and Banjo head to Lena’s, it’s gone ten o’clock, and the long summer evening has run itself out. In the vast stretch of darkness, moths and bats are whirling; as Trey passes between fields, she can hear the slow shifting of cows settling themselves to sleep. The air still has the day’s heat left in it, coming up off the earth. The sky is clear, packed with stars: tomorrow is going to be another hot one.

Trey is going over the things she remembers about her dad. She hasn’t used up a lot of thought on him since he left, so it takes her a while to find things to go over. He liked to distract their mam, grab her when she was scrubbing the cooker and dance her around the kitchen floor. Occasionally, when he had drink taken and something had gone wrong, he hit them. Other times he would play with them like another kid. He and Trey’s big brother, Brendan, would take the little ones on their backs to be cowboys and chase Trey and Maeve around the yard, trying to capture them. He liked to promise them things; he loved to see their faces light up when he said he’d bring them to the circus in Galway, or buy them a toy car that climbed up walls. He didn’t seem to feel any need to follow through on his promises; in fact, he always seemed a little bit surprised and aggrieved when they asked. After a while Trey stopped playing the cowboy games.