Once a Gypsy Read online

  “Gra a mo gris, you know what I always said… Loneliness is better than bad company.”

  When they turned to walk to the car, Graham was nowhere in sight.

  Chapter Two

  The street lamp flickered, spreading dangerous waves of shadows over the front seat of Graham’s car. Hidden in the twisting darkness, he waited for the band of wayward gypsies to arrive.

  If he hadn’t let Helena’s sweet, loving eyes break through the ice of his resolve, he could have handled the necessary business at the prison, but Graham had missed the opportunity, and now what he needed to say couldn’t wait any longer—tonight might be his last chance to have a quick meeting with Helena’s father. And maybe, if everything played right, he could get Seamus to listen to his offer.

  His phone rang. It was the manor.

  “Aye, this is Graham.”

  “Graham? I’m sorry to call and bother you, sir, but I thought you needed to know that Herb went missing this afternoon,” the nurse said.

  “Has he been found?”

  “Yes, sir. He was up in the kitchens again. He was talking nonsense. However, we’ve gotten him back and have given him some sedatives to make him more comfortable.”

  “Is everyone else okay? Danny? Rose?”

  “The rest of them are fine. Rose is just now doing a little physical therapy. And Danny… well… you know how Danny is.”

  He cringed. “Good. And good job finding Herb.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. And don’t worry, we won’t let him out of our sight again.”

  “I’m sure you won’t,” he said in a warning tone. He hung up the phone.

  Everything rested on this. Danny waited.

  A car pulled up to the side of the bar, and Helena and her father stepped out.

  Nine o’clock. Right on time.

  Travellers were notorious for being undependable, but Helena had done exactly what he had expected. If she continued being this malleable, every pound he’d given the warden to get Seamus O’Driscoll released had been well spent.

  The emerald green sequins of her dress glistened, sending shards of light across the tarmac like broken glass. Her rainbow-colored aura radiated from her as several men poured out of the bar and waved at the guest of honor and the beautiful woman at his side.

  It was hard to believe that this Helena was the clairsentient they’d been looking for, but unlike people, auras never lied.

  The door clicked as Graham pushed it open and stepped out of the car. He held onto the cold steel edge of the door and watched as a bevy of Travellers, all wanting to receive Seamus O’Driscoll, flooded from the bar’s doorway. The noise of the gypsy mob echoed out into the street, filling the quiet night with their loud Gaelic jargon and laughter as they welcomed the old man. Graham held no hope they would treat him with even a degree of the same acceptance.

  • • •

  Moments like these were one of the reasons Helena loved being a Pavee. Live music bounced off the walls and reverberated through her body as she sat at the head table and watched Da perform a jig in the middle of the pub’s small dance floor. The sight brought a smile to her lips—a smile she hadn’t had in what, five, six years? This was how it should be—families, friends, and her people together. Always.

  She couldn’t imagine being alone—without this… huge, all-encompassing family and way of life.

  Mam flopped down in the chair a few down from her, her eyes glassy with drink. “Why aren’t ya out there dancin’? Are ya too good for it?” She hiccupped.

  “Just takin’ a break, Mam.”

  “If ya knew what was good for ya, ya’d be out there lookin’ for a good man. Ya need to start thinkin’ about movin’ on. Now that your da’s back, you’re only another mouth to feed.” Mam took a long drink from her plastic champagne flute. “It’s time you were somebody else’s problem.”

  She tried to ignore Mam’s drunken rambling and turned away from the ruddy-faced wolf. Tonight wasn’t the night to have a row. Nothing good would come of a fight.

  There was a flash of red out of the corner of her eye—nothing more than a swirling skirt as her aunt danced over toward their table—and her mind jumped to the Manchester-United-loving Graham. He had acted so cocky, so headstrong, and yet—Helena glanced around the room—none of the men were anything compared to the brown-eyed gorger who had smiled at her earlier that day.

  “Your da is a right fine man,” her aunt said as she drew near. “You’re one lucky lass to have such a man to protect you.”

  “Aye, I’m mighty lucky,” Helena answered only half paying attention.

  “I can’t believe how many came out to support your da…”

  “Everyone used to think the world revolved around him.” Helena gave her a weak smile.

  “It must be real tough on you all now that it’s all changed.” The skinny woman pulled at the strapless red evening dress, raising it dangerously close to her nether regions.

  Helena didn’t hear anything beyond the pitch of her words as her aunt continued prattling. After a moment of chatter, her aunt stopped, looking for a response. Helena gave her a numb nod. With a disgruntled sigh, almost as if she were upset she wasn’t going to get any fresh gossip, her aunt spun on her spiked heel and pranced away into the bustling crowd.

  Across the room, a group of her cousins sat around visiting. A man in a mud-brown suit leaned over and said something behind a cupped hand. The man he was speaking to looked over toward Helena and started laughing.

  She didn’t have to hear their words—they were passing judgment on her fam. They were probably telling each other they would never let one of their daughters do as Helena’s sister Angel had done as they drank the booze and ate the food she and Rionna had prepared.

  Most of the people in this room might have been family, but not all were their friends. Some had only come to see what had become of her da and to laugh at the disastrous mess that was their family. Many of the guests were friends, but when the liquor ran dry and the food grew cold, the rest would fall away like dying flies and only their true allies would remain.

  A new song blared from the big black speakers that stood at the front of the room. A line of women filed through the dance floor, their arms in the air. The group looked like a picture she had seen of women at the Carnival in Rio de Janeiro, with their gold, sequins, and tight-fitting corsets. The queen of them all had to be her cousin, Lydia—who wore a dress that was a perfect replica of a flamingo, pink feathers and all. The crown atop her head was shaped like a diamond-encrusted beak. The effect was breathtaking.

  Rionna twirled with a few of her friends amidst the women while the crowds of unmarried boys stood around and whispered. The night had the feeling of a wedding; the only thing missing was the tall wedding cake and the happy couple.

  Da’s laughter floated around her as he slipped into the chair beside her. “Mighty fine night, gra. Mighty fine,” he said, breathless from his dancing.

  Helena relaxed into her unyielding chair. At least she didn’t have to dance. The matching heels she had picked for Rionna and herself were beautiful, with red beads and diamonds on them, but they pinched the bejeezus out of her toes. It even hurt to watch as Rionna jiggled out on the dance floor, teetering precariously on her six-inch spikes.

  Concealed by the long white tablecloth that adorned the head table, Helena wiggled a foot out of its shoe and stretched her sore toes. She sighed with relief as it escaped its confinement.

  “Maa’ths, Mr. O’Driscoll.” A young man, whom Helena recognized as another of her many cousins, stepped up to pay his respects. Swaying a bit, his hand firmly clutching a pint of dark ale, he continued. “I can’t thank ye enough. Ya had every right to belt that ball-of-shite gorger. Angel had no business shacking up with him… And then getting knocked up.” He laughed like a braying mule. “I hope other Traveller women will learn from what happened. They go to messing around, they gotta pay.”

  Da’s smile disappeared and he cleared h
is throat. “That was an awful hard lesson for everybody. And Angel paid a real high price.”

  “Where’s the brasser anyway? I told me boys she wouldn’t have the guts to show her face.”

  Helena bristled. “Shut your mouth, you damned eejit. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Her cousin reddened, and he raised his hand as if he were going to pummel her for her outburst.

  “Now, now, Helena,” Da said as he patted her hand. “He didn’t mean nothin’. It’s only the booze talking.” He turned back to the young man, his voice taking a dangerous edge. “Isn’t that right, boy? And there ain’t no sense in bringin’ up the past, is there?”

  The boy looked over and glared at Helena with his tiny black eyes, but she felt nothing but the desire to slug the bugger in the face. He was the kind of man who gave Travellers a nasty image.

  “The past and our fam makes us who we are.” The boy paused to take a sip of his ale. “If we go against our fam… we might as well not even call ourselves Pavee. Don’t forget it—you don’t want to end up alone, like your sister.” He turned and stomped away.

  Mam reached over and grabbed Helena’s hand with her bony fingers. “What do ya think you’re doin’? You have no business talkin’ back to your cousin like that.” She squeezed Helena’s fingers together so hard they began to throb, but Helena didn’t budge. “What’s wrong with ye, girl? Don’t you know we’re tryin’ to look better, not worse?”

  She wanted to yell at Mam that she was the only thing making them look like shite—Mam was the one who had brought this all upon them. She only cared about herself and what was best for her reputation—regardless of the effect on their family. But nothing was ever going to change. There was no point in being upset. Helena dropped her gaze to the crisp white tablecloth. “Sorry, Mam. I know.”

  “Where is Angel tonight? Did you tell her about your da’s release?” Mam released her grip on Helena’s fingers.

  “She sends her best.”

  Mam tsked. They both knew the truth: Angel, her gorger husband, and her half-gorger baby weren’t welcome—and Angel knew it.

  It had been a month since Helena had spoken with her sister. Last she heard Angel had moved out into a house in Rathkeale, close to other Travellers. But no matter where she went, her scarlet letter followed her. She’d never truly be welcome in either culture.

  Sadness tugged at Helena’s heart, but Angel had chosen her path. There was no point dwelling on it. Pavee girls were expected to marry and get out from under their parents’ care. For Angel, that choice had entailed leaving her people behind, while she started a life with a gorger. And for Helena… for Helena it meant that, at twenty, she should have been married years ago. The thought gripped her. She didn’t want to be married, but she didn’t want to be a burden either. Reaching into her purse, she felt the smooth cover of her studier. Education was her only way out of a forced marriage. If she did well on her tests, she wouldn’t need a man. She could make her own living and get her own trailer. She wouldn’t have to be some man’s slave—or worse, be stuck in a marriage like her parents’.

  In that way, she was different than the rest of the Traveller girls. For many of them, their biggest goal was to find a man as soon as they could. Perhaps they were on to something; if they got married, they got to escape.

  Yet some prices were too high. No matter how angry she was at her mam, flying into the arms of a man who might hold her back was just running from one bad life to the next.

  A shadow passed over her, and she looked up to see a stocky man in a blue button-up shirt and white collar standing before her. His hair was slicked back with too much gel, and in his hand was a half-empty pint.

  “Ya wanna dance?” He directed his pint toward Helena.

  Mam smiled. The edge of her red lipstick was smeared slightly. “Answer him, girl.”

  “Um, well, I…” Helena stammered. She hadn’t planned on dancing, or even being invited to.

  In her culture, it was fine for a woman to dance amongst their friends, but if a man and a woman danced together it would be scandalous if they didn’t get married. It was all part of the strict rules everyone followed when it came to courting, the most important rule being that Traveller girls didn’t date around. They were expected to date one and only one man—the man they would marry.

  Helena’s stomach clenched tight and sweat pooled in her fisted hands. “I was just about to go for a stroll. I need some fresh air.” She stood up, forgetting about the shoe that rested on the floor next to her bare foot.

  Mam covered her face in embarrassment as Helena teetered on one heel.

  “Sorry. I just gotta…” Helena leaned over and slipped her foot into her shoe.

  Mam huffed.

  “Ya want me to go with ya?” the man grumbled. “I can get my cousin to tag along.”

  At least he wasn’t completely oblivious to the custom—which also meant he must’ve known what he was asking her. Her stomach dropped. This wasn’t what she wanted, some rat-arsed man to pick her up. Nothing good would come from it except marriage, which was exactly what Mam wanted.

  Feeling her mother’s glare, Helena turned her decision over in her head. Going for a stroll was dangerous, but it was also the best way to get out of an uncomfortable situation without disgracing her family by rejecting the poor drunk. And maybe she would get a chance to steer the man away from her once they were out of sight. Mam wouldn’t be any the wiser.

  Helena scanned the room until she saw her cousin, Lydia, on the dance floor. Waving until she got her attention, Helena motioned her over, and then turned to her potential suitor. “Lydia’ll come with us. Aye?”

  The man lifted his chin slightly as he looked over to the hot pink bird fluttering their way.

  Helena held her breath. If there were two girls, the chances of not being grabbed were a little more in her favor.

  Grabbing was an infamous tradition. If a man really wanted a girl, he could make himself known by pulling the girl into the shadows and going in for a kiss. When it worked, it was a guarantee that the boy would have the girl as his wife, but if the girl got away, the boy would have to go after another. It was a ridiculous game, though Helena often heard Rionna talking excitedly about it. All Helena could think of were the stories of the boys who had gone too far, leaving the girls with rips in their fancy dresses and tears in their eyes. Helena looked down at her emerald green dress, covered in drifter’s diamonds. That was no way to start a life together, with tears and broken things.

  “Hiya, Helena. Who’s this fine-looking stranger?” Lydia appeared at the table, eying the stocky brunette.

  “I’m James, but you fine ladies can call me Jimmy.” The man straightened his posture and smiled for the first time since Helena had seen him. He stuck his thumb under the edge of one of the buttons that ran up the center of his shirt.

  Maybe the problem would go about handling itself.

  Helena followed the two out the door as the boy rambled on and on about football and family and how much money he was going to make working for his family’s tarmac business. Lydia’s eyes gleamed, and her teeth reflected the blue light from the pub’s sign. At least someone was enjoying herself.

  “Helena?”

  She recognized the brusque voice. Graham.

  “What?” She glanced around frantically for the man who wouldn’t get out of her thoughts, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Ya all right?” Lydia asked, sounding annoyed that Helena had interrupted her chat.

  Helena nodded as she gazed down the sidewalk, but saw no one except a few men who looked to be up to no good as they lurked beneath the flickering light of a lamppost. Following Lydia and the boy in the opposite direction, Helena glanced over at the pub across the street. A golden neon sign in the shape of a horseshoe hung in the window next to a set of black wooden doors, and parked in front was a white Mercedes with its windows tinted an inky black.

  The car’s door opened, and a
brunette man stepped out. Even from across the street Helena could make out the handsome grin on his lips. Graham was still wearing his red Manchester United jersey, and it looked even gaudier and out-of-place than it had at the prison. He dipped his head in acknowledgment, but his eyes never strayed from hers.

  “Whatcha doin’, Helena? You comin’ with us?” Jimmy asked.

  She turned, afraid that if she kept looking she wouldn’t be able to walk away. “Aye, I’m comin’.”

  Lydia pulled on Jimmy’s arm, giggling as they made their way to the end of the block. As they turned the corner, Helena let herself look back in Graham’s direction. In a secret compartment of her soul she held hope that he had followed, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Helena trudged behind the gabbing couple, but she couldn’t stop thinking of Graham and why he had once again shown up at the edge of her life. She tried to push away her thoughts.

  “A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walk into a bar…” Jimmy’s voice droned on and on as Lydia’s laughter grew louder with each of his asinine jokes.

  Helena’s thoughts went back to Graham’s reappearance. There were hundreds of pubs in Limerick. It had to be more than a simple coincidence that Graham had been at this one, at this time.

  They made their way around the block and back to the front entrance of the bar. The white Mercedes was still parked in front of the bar across the street. Graham was close.

  Almost as if on cue, the pub doors flew open and a pair of men tumbled out onto the sidewalk. Helena gasped as the other man’s arm drew back and his fist smashed into Graham’s chin. Men poured from the bar’s entrance, cheering and rooting for a victor, as Graham and his opponent rolled around on the ground, their limbs a blur of movement.

  “No! Stop, don’t hit Graham!” Helena screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the roar of the onlookers.

  Lydia turned and gave her a questioning stare.

  Blue and red flashing lights illuminated the scene as the guards arrived in their squad cars. The gypsies grouped together, a force united against the guards. The men with records silently drifted to the back and away from the crowd, careful to remain unseen.