Public Secrets

fresh paint. More guitars had been played and people had sung along and laughed. Beautiful women, in slim short skirts or flowing cotton dresses, had roamed the house. Some of them had cooed over her or patted her head, but for the most part she’d been left to herself.
No one noticed that she’d had three pieces of cake and smeared icing on the collar of her new dress. There had been no other little girls to play with, and Emma was too young to be dazzled by the names and faces of the luminaries of the music business who had wandered through the house. Bored, a little queasy from cake, she’d gone off to bed, lulled by the sounds from the party.
Later, she’d woken. Restless, she had dragged Charlie out of bed to go downstairs. But the heavy scent of pot smoke had stopped her. She was familiar with it, too familiar. Like the stink of gin, the sweet scent of marijuana was firmly linked in her mind with her mother, and the shakings and beatings that had come whenever Jane had crashed from her highs.
Miserable, she had huddled on the steps, cooing reassurances to Charlie. If her mam was here now, she would take her away. Emma had known she would never again wear the pretty pink dress, or hear her da’s voice, or go into the big, bright stores with Bev.
She’d cringed when she heard the footsteps on the stairs, and waited for the worst.
“Hello there, Emma luv.” Soaring, at peace with the world, Brian had dropped down beside her. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing.” She’d curled tighter over the stuffed dog. She made herself small, very small. If they couldn’t see you, they couldn’t hurt you.
“It’s quite the party.” Leaning back on his elbows, he’d grinned at the ceiling. Never in his wildest fantasies had he believed he would one day entertain giants like McCartney, Jagger, Daltrey, in his own house. And his wedding, too. Good Christ, he was married. A married man with a gold ring on his finger.
Tapping his bare foot to the beat of the music that crashed its way up the stairs, he’d studied the ring. No going back, he’d thought comfortably. He was Catholic enough, and idealistic enough to believe that now that the deed was done, it was forever.
It was one of the biggest days of his life, he’d thought as he’d fumbled in his shin pocket for the pack of cigarettes he’d left downstairs. One of the biggest, he’d thought again with a sigh. And if his father had been too drunk or too lazy to pick up the bloody tickets he’d sent to Ireland, what did it matter? Brian had all the family he needed right here.
He’d pushed thoughts of yesterdays out of his mind. From now on there would only be tomorrows. A lifetime of them.
“How about it, Emma? Want to go down and dance at your da’s wedding?”
She’d kept her shoulders rounded and barely shook her head. The smoke twining mystically in the air had made her temples throb.
“Want some cake?” He had reached out to give her hair a gentle tug, but she’d cringed away. “What’s this?” Baffled, he’d patted her shoulder.
Already queasy, Emma’s stomach had rolled with a combination of terror and too many sweets. After one hiccup, she’d lost her cake and tea ail over her father’s lap. Wretched, she managed a single moan before curling back over Charlie. As she lay too sick to defend herself from the beating she was certain was coming, he’d begun to laugh.
“Well, I imagine you’re feeling a good bit better.” Too high to be disgusted, he’d staggered to his feet then held out a hand. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

To Emma’s amazement there had been no beating, no cruel pinches or sudden smacks. Instead he had stripped them both down to the skin in the bathroom, then hauled her into the shower. He’d even sung as the water had poured over them, something about drunken sailors that had made her forget to be sick.
When they were both bundled in towels, he had woven his way to her room to slip her into bed. His hair had been wet and sleek around his face as he’d fallen over the foot of the bed. Within seconds, he’d been snoring.
Cautious, Emma had crawled out from under the covers to sit beside him. Gathering her courage, she’d leaned over and pressed a damp kiss to his cheek. In love for the first time, she had tucked Charlie under Brian’s limp arm, and gone quietly to sleep.
Then he had gone away. Only days after the wedding the big car had come, and two men had carried out luggage. He had kissed her and had