Once a Gypsy Page 7

  “I’m sorry about today, gra a mo gris. ’Twas a bit of a bugger, but you did real fine with that boy. You did me proud. But ’tis not what I came to ask you about.” Da moved to the table and sat down. “Is there somethin’ ya need to tell me, gra?”

  “What do ya mean, Da?”

  “I mean…” He ran his hands over his chin. “That Graham… He seems to know ya real well. And when he touched ya… You didn’t look right. Did he do somethin’… somethin’ ya need to tell me ’bout? You’ve been a little chilly with him. Did somethin’ happen outside the prison?”

  “What? No.” Helena stopped stirring. That wasn’t entirely true. She had thought he was making a pass at her, but something more had happened… Something she had forgotten to tell Da. “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “The day ya were released, I met a woman. She told me to send you her regards…”

  “Who was she?” Da frowned.

  Helena let the wooden spoon drop against the side of the pot as she turned to face Da. “She said her name was Ogak Beoir.”

  Da stood up and grabbed her by the arms. “How in the bloody hell did ya meet her? What did she say t’ya?”

  “Not much… She just said to tell you ’ello. She laughed when I met Graham and told me that things weren’t as they seemed.”

  “Not as they seemed? Did she tell ya what in the bloody hell that meant?” Da asked, so rapidly that the sentence sounded like a single word.

  She shook her head. “She said something about how great it was to be Pavee, and that I—” She paused. Based on the way Da was taking the news of the woman, the last thing she needed to tell him was that the woman had said she had the forshaw. “I think she was off her rocker, Da. Don’t worry. Really…”

  Da let go of her arms and stepped back, but he looked troubled. “Have you seen her again?”

  “Nah, Da.”

  “Stay away from her. We don’t need none of her black magic in our house. Why didn’t ya tell me about her earlier?” Da asked. “You shoulda never been around that fecking woman. Did she tell you anything else?”

  “I don’t remember,” she lied. “I’m sorry Da, I… I didn’t know that you didn’t like her. She seemed to know ya.”

  “Ya did nothin’ wrong, gra, but I don’t want you to be talkin’ to the likes of her. You need to stay away from that kind of trouble.” His face grew a shade lighter as he turned and walked out of the door.

  It was already too late. She couldn’t avoid that kind of trouble—she was that kind of trouble.

  The woman had been right.

  She had the forshaw.

  Helena turned off the stove and leaned against the counter as the full impact of the realization hit her.

  Dropping her hands to the sharp edge of the counter, Helena forced herself to breathe.

  If she had the forshaw… that meant everything she saw would come true. Or not. The man she’d seen in the kitchens, the bushy-haired man, hadn’t died. That had to mean her visions weren’t always accurate, didn’t it?

  Maybe her vision was flawed. Maybe something had happened to change the future. Maybe the man had escaped his fate.

  • • •

  The night was long and filled with dark thoughts, but when Helena rose the next morning, she knew what she needed to do. She needed to pass her tests. The sooner she did, the sooner she could run away. If she ran, no one would know about her forshaw. There would be no one to judge her… no one to condemn her for a curse that she couldn’t control.

  She looked in her purse. Her book wasn’t there. She rushed to her drawer and pulled it open. Aside from her clothes, there was nothing.

  Helena stepped to the thin door that ran between the living area and her parents’ room. “Mam?” she called quietly, so as not to wake Rionna and Gav.

  Mam pulled open the door. She wore a baggy pair of sweats and a white shirt dotted with ash. “Whatcha want?”

  “Have ya seen my studier? I can’t find it.” Helena pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen from her band. “I need to work.”

  “Girls don’t need to be studying. Ya need ta get married and get outta me and your da’s hair.”

  Helena turned back to her open drawer and started to dig through her clothes. “What happened to my book? Was Gavin playin’ with it?”

  “Nah, girl.” Mam walked out to the counter and stopped by the window. “I burned it. Needed something to start this morning’s fire.” Mam pointed toward the fire pit. “Ya left the damn thing out. I thought ya didn’t need it no more.”

  Helena slid her drawer shut and sank to the ground.

  There was no way she could buy a new one, or even a used one—not until she got paid from the manor. That would be at least another week, which would leave her with less than a week to study. She would lose so much time.

  Helena stood up and faced Mam. She wanted to yell, to tell the world what a god-forsaken creature her wretched mother was, but she glanced over at her sleeping brother. His thumb was in his mouth and his sweet ginger curls hung down in his face.

  A tear threatened to spill down her cheek, but she blinked it away. She turned her back so Mam wouldn’t see.

  “I thought now that you were done wit your teenage demons you’d be done with this daydreaming, but no… Won’t you just get it through your thick skull that ya shouldn’t be wantin’ for things that ain’t ever going to come to pass?” Mam picked up a packet of ciggys and pulled one out. “You’re about as dumb as that cubby if you think you’ve got a chance of passin’ that damned test.” She pushed a ciggy into her mouth, letting it dangle from her lip. “You shoulda gotten married years ago. But no—you were too good for that.”

  Helena bit her lip in an attempt to stop the tears. Her teeth sank into her flesh until the bitter taste of blood filled her mouth. Maybe Mam was right. Maybe marriage would have been smarter than sticking around here—maybe it still could be. She could finally escape this place and the rancid temper of the beast who had borne her—but she’d never give in that easily. Mam could throw all the fits she wanted, but Helena couldn’t throw herself on the mercy of a man.

  Mam’s hands lifted like two vultures coming down on their prey. “It must be daughters. Ya can never do nothing right by ’em. I’m just tryin’ to take care of the fam, clean up the clutter, but no. Some fecking book is more important.”

  Helena turned her back to Mam. “Do ya want me to get the kids ready for school?”

  “Those fecking kids don’t need no school. Look at me.” She jabbed her thumb against her chest. “I turned out just fine. Just give ’em a whippin’. That’ll learn ’em.” Mam walked over to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and twisted the lid off. She took a long draw from the bottle. “Look at ya. Thinkin’ you’re all high and mighty. Betcha think just cause ya got some schoolin’ that you’re better than your mam, don’t ya?”

  Helena shook her head.

  Mam took another long pull from the bottle. “You and your da are nothing. Ya ain’t no better than me.”

  Mam stumbled out the door and stood by the fire.

  Helena reached into her purse and fished out her mobile. Only one other person knew how to escape this place, this life, and that woman. Her fingers found the number for her sister, Angel. Helena moved to the front of the trailer and cupped her hand over her mouth.

  She waited as the phone rang.

  It was early; maybe Angel was asleep.

  The phone rang again.

  “What the craic?” Angel’s foggy voice answered.

  Helena smiled. She forgot how much she missed her sister’s voice. “Angel?”

  “Helena?” Some of the sleep in her sister’s voice fell away. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling? Is everything okay?”

  Helena hesitated. “Everything’s fine. We’re staying in Adare, but… can you come and get the kids and make sure they get to school in Limerick? Mam won’t let me take them, and I don’t think they should be stayin’ alone with her.�
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  “What? Why?”

  “I’ll tell you more later, but right now I can’t talk. I have to go to work with Da. Will you please come get the kids and take them to school?”

  “Fine.” Angel sighed. “But what am I gonna do about Mam? She won’t just let me walk back into your camp and take the kids.”

  “I’ll have them waitin’ for you near the road. Trust me. Mam’s been drinkin’ again. By the time you get here, she’ll never know they’re gone.”

  • • •

  Graham held the pane of glass for one of the manor’s cracked windows and grabbed his blade. Nothing in the place was standard-sized. Everything had to be specially made or specially ordered, but at least one of their special acquisitions was turning out to be exactly what they needed.

  Helena was the clairsentient that they had been hoping for. The minute she had touched that boy, Charlie, beside the river, her aura had changed from its normal rainbow of colors to the turquoise shade of a healer.

  This morning, when Helena had arrived to work, she hadn’t so much as looked at him before she’d rushed off to the kitchens.

  He had been relieved. He’d gone too far when he’d pulled her into his arms. No matter how hard he tried, he could still smell the floral aroma of her hair and the slight scent of campfire on her skin. His arms ached to hold her again, even if only for a moment. Something about her being close to him felt so right.

  The glass squeaked as he ran the blade down, scoring its surface.

  The cutter slipped, and the glass cracked.

  “Shite,” he grumbled. Throwing the blade down, he slid the broken glass into the bin.

  He couldn’t stop thinking of the way Helena’s dark hair glistened in the light or the way her body had fit so well against his own. He closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like to kiss her luscious pink lips.

  He opened his eyes. I’m acting like an eejit, dreaming about some woman. There are plenty of girls in Ireland. Why do I have to be stuck on the one I can’t have?

  He pulled off his work gloves and dropped them on the table. The glass could wait.

  The employees’ dining hall, behind the kitchen, was deserted when he walked in. He made his way to the fridge and grabbed his sack lunch and a cup of coffee from the stained pot on the counter. Sitting down, he opened his lunch and took out his pasty. He had bought the little meat-filled pastry from a shop, and it was cold but it was better than anything he could have made himself, and a nice break from the corned beef sandwiches he normally brought.

  The noise from the kitchen swelled and then quieted as the door opened and closed. Helena walked into the hall. She looked breathtaking in her new uniform. Her black pants stretched across her hips, and a white jacket pulled against her chest. Seeing her made his arms ache to hold her again.

  She sucked in a breath as their gazes met. With a nervous nibble on her lip, she glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen door, then turned.

  “Wait.”

  She stopped, but kept her back to him. “What?”

  “If you want to go… fine. But I just wanna talk. And we don’t have to talk about what happened between us yesterday.”

  She turned. “You promise?” She sounded tired.

  He wondered if she’d spent the night like he had, tossing and turning with the thoughts of her in his arms.

  “Aye. I’ll even share my pasty with you.” He motioned at his lunch. “You gotta be hungry.” He stood up and grabbed a plate and a fork from the cupboard beside the fridge. “You like coffee?”

  “Nah, but thanks.” She moved to the table and sat across from where he had been.

  Graham halved the pasty and placed part on the extra plate, then set it before her.

  “Thanks. I forgot to bring our lunches. Da’s gonna be as weak as a salmon in a sandpit.” Helena took a bite.

  “I can get Mary to whip him up something.”

  “Nah, he’ll be fine. He wouldn’t wanna be puttin’ anyone out.”

  “I’ll bring him something later.”

  Helena smiled, and the faint flowery scent of her hair wafted toward him. He looked at her, but she never glanced up from her plate, and her aura was a dark, pulsing red—the color of stress and emotional upheaval.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. It’s just a lot. You know with the boy and the job and…”

  “I’m sorry.” His breath caught in his throat as he stared into her almond-shaped eyes. “It has to be a lot to handle.”

  Helena looked back down. “I’ll be okay. It’s just that on top of everything, I lost my studier and I think I’m losin’ my mind.”

  “What do you mean?” His gut tightened.

  “Nothing,” she sighed. “I just had a shite mornin’. I’ve been tryin’ to study for my exams and my mam threw my book in the fire. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  He dropped his hand next to hers, his fingers trembling. He longed to touch her, but now wasn’t the time. “Can I help?”

  “No.” She took a bite, carefully avoiding his gaze. “I’ll just have to make do without it. If I pass, I pass.”

  “What made you decide to take the tests?”

  Helena looked at him like she wanted to say something but held back. “I wanna finish my schoolin’ and do somethin’ that’ll change my life.”

  “Well, then you can’t risk failing the tests.”

  “It’s not that simple. My fam needs me.” She stabbed a piece of meat.

  “If you wanted, you could keep working here. Maybe work your way up in the kitchens.”

  “I don’t want to cook all my life. I want to help people. And if I stay, I know my mam will just marry me off. I don’t want nothin’ to do with marriage—not right now.” Her cheeks flamed and she looked up at him. “I mean… I appreciate this job and all… and it’s not that I don’t want to get married someday. It’s just that—”

  “Don’t worry. I get it,” he said. “I want you to stay, but if your exams mean this much to you, maybe I can find a studier.”

  She pushed her food around the plate. “I won’t be takin’ any handouts—not even a free meal.” She stabbed the last bite of the pasty. “So tomorrow I’ll bring you lunch. I’ll put it in the cooler for ya for whenever ya want it.”

  He pushed his fingers closer to hers. “Well, if you like, I could meet you again. That way I can tell you whether I like your cooking.”

  “I’m a fine cook. Just wait and see.” She glanced down at his advancing fingers and drew back her hand. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea that we’re alone.”

  Chapter Eight

  Helena hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her vision ever since lunch. She’d been so absorbed in her thoughts that, while mincing, she almost chopped off the tip of her finger. Mary Margaret would have been furious if there had been blood on her turnips.

  She washed her hands, dropped her knife in the sink, and lifted the trays of prepped veg. The cooler made goose bumps rise on her skin as she put them away amongst the rows of plastic bins full of peppers and lettuce.

  Back in the kitchen, she stared at the black-and-white-tiled floor where she had seen the man lying in a pool of blood.

  She looked up at the bushy-sideburned man who stood at the cookers, grilling several thickly cut steaks. He turned to the counter behind him, grabbed a handful of mushrooms and tossed them on the grill. He glanced over at her and, catching her eye, sneered. “Damned Travellers. And no good, none of them…”

  Helena made her way across the kitchen, ignoring the sting of his words. She had to tell him, no matter how vile a man he was. She had to tell him what she’d seen.

  Mary grabbed her arm as she passed. “What are you doing, lass?”

  “I was just—” She motioned toward the man.

  “Don’t be bothering Chester,” Mary said, stopping her. “Did you clean your station?” Mary pulled her back to her work area. “You can’t be going anywhere with
a mess like this.” She motioned to the scraps of veg and juice that puddled on the counter.

  “Aye, Mary. I wasn’t done, I just—”

  “Before you find yourself in trouble, you need to be getting back to work.” Mary waited for Helena to grab a sanitized rag before she turned and walked to Chester, the chef. Touching his arm, she whispered something into his ear. The man laughed.

  There was something about the way Chester leaned into Mary—the way he laughed, the way he seemed to melt under her touch. But Mary was married to Herb… wasn’t she?

  Helena turned back to the mess on her prep table. They weren’t the first people to ever have an affair, or the last, but it was in her best interest to mind her own business. She had no time to dwell on other people’s lives—hers was already a big enough mess.

  Grabbing a bucket from under the sink, she dropped an extra capful of bleach into it and filled it with water. She scrubbed and swirled until every surface shone.

  Mary stomped back over. “Do you do everything this fast?”

  Helena shrugged. “I guess there’s somethin’ to growin’ up a gypsy.”

  Mary ran her hand along the top edge of the backsplash. “I can see that.” She rubbed her fingers together. “Why don’t you head home?”

  Helena took off the white jacket Mary had given her and threw it into the staff’s laundry hamper. “Thanks.”

  “Aye.” Mary smiled, and the mole under her nostril wiggled as if fighting to break free. “And Helena?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “We’re all real impressed. I’m glad you took the job.” Mary turned away.

  Helena smiled. She liked it here—Mary checking on her, Da close by, a thousand things to learn and do. Da was sitting in the lorry waiting for her when she reached the car park. She got in and shut the door.

  “How was your day, gra? Are ye likin’ yer job?”

  “Aye, Da.” She rested her tired head against the cool glass of the window.

  “Graham told me about your mam and the book. I’m real sorry, gra.”

  Helena’s stomach tightened. Why had Graham told Da? He didn’t need to know; there wasn’t anything he could do.