Free Breakaway by Deirdre Martin

Mr. Russell. “Thank you again for chauffeuring my daughter.”
    “Think of it as payment for all those years you never moaned about the post being late.” He offered his arm to Erin. “Shall we?”
    *   *   *
    Given that he was seventy-eight, Mr. Russell was quite a good driver. He could be a bit forgetful, and he did bang on a bit about working for the Royal Mail, but he’d had a hard life, what with his wife dying early and him never remarrying. He still managed to keep his sunny disposition, though. There was something to be learned from that.
    No clear skies today; it was gray and drizzly. Larry Jr. was probably caked in mud; with this weather, the football pitch had to be dirt soup.
    Erin knew she’d be seeing Rory. They hadn’t crossed paths since their encounter on the High Street, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of his every move. Everyone in town felt compelled to give her a Rory update, no matter how many times she politely informed them she didn’t give a goat’s arse. Even if she did want to keep track of Rory Brady’s whereabouts—which she didn’t—she certainly wouldn’t let them know.
    Mr. Russell turned into the dirt parking lot. Erin’s eyes were immediately drawn to the shiny black Range Rover looking very out of place. Rory. What an idiot, rubbing his wealth and success in the noses of everyone who wanted his head on a pike.
    “I can’t thank you enough for the lift. I promise I won’t be long fetching Larry Jr.”
    The old man looked a bit shamefaced. “A bit of a problem there. It totally slipped my mind I have an appointment in Crosshaven that I’m already late for. I won’t be able to drive you back.”
    “No worries,” Erin assured him, pretty certain she had enough cab fare to get herself and poor little Larry back to town. If not, Jackson would give her a lift. She got out of the car. “See you back home.”
    “Yes, I’ll be home for tea.”
    Erin waved good-bye as he drove out of the parking lot, and started for the camp.
    It hadn’t changed much at all, except that the concrete building that housed the locker room/office “complex” had been given a fresh coat of blue paint. Two groups of boys were out on the muddy pitch with Jackson Bell and some unidentified teenage assistant. Which meant Rory was the one waiting inside with Larry Jr. Shite. Erin felt like a trespasser as she walked past the gaggle of boys, their heads’ swiveling in unison to watch her before returning to their game. Jackson gave her a big wave. Erin remembered when it was Jackson himself who was a camper. Felt like it was a lifetime ago. It
was
a lifetime ago.
    Erin pushed open the complex door, unable to stop a small smile of recognition as it squeaked as loudly as a mouse getting its tail stomped on. At least some things never changed.
    She’d been right: it was Rory minding Larry Jr. in the office. He looked surprised to see her. Erin bypassed him and went directly to San’s son, who was lying on a sort of makeshift futon. He was the color of milk.
    “What’s up, Larry?” Erin asked gently as she crouched beside him. “I hear you’ve been ill.”
    “My name is LJ now,” he insisted weakly.
    “Right. LJ. What’s going on, love?”
    “I’ve been puking.”
    “I’ve been giving him sips of water so he doesn’t dehydrate,” Rory put in.
    Erin still wouldn’t look at him. “Thank you.”
    She put her palm to Larry—LJ’s—forehead. No fever. “What did you have for breakfast?”
    Larry groaned. “Don’t remember.”
    “I’m sure you can if you try hard enough,” Erin coaxed.
    “You promise you won’t get mad at me?”
    “Why on earth would I get mad at you?”
    “Mam will when she hears.” He looked at her pitifully. “Promise you won’t tell her.”
    “I can’t promise that. But tell me anyway. I have a feeling you’re not the one behind this.”
    “It’s Lucy’s fault.”
    ’Course it is,
Erin thought.
Jesus, that girl.
    Erin steeled