\u201cListen,\u201d Aidan says, \u201cthe only ones there who spoke English were the bar girls. No fucking other idiot could say more than hello or gimme a dollar. But those girls: they had vocabularies like you wouldn\u2019t believe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, cunning linguists, yeah?\u201d says Kieron, always the wise arse.<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck off. These girls. They could speak English better than most of us. Better than most of these Poles tending fucking bar. And they could speak Russian and German. Chinese. French.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOoh la la. French,\u201d says Kieron, mostly because it\u2019s expected.<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck off.\u201d Aidan stops and takes a slug of his whiskey. \u201cThat\u2019s nice, that. Anyway, these Cambodian girls were out of this world. I\u2019d have married mine. Only\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOnly what?\u201d Asks Rachel, who\u2019s been quiet until now, nursing a Paddy\u2019s, staring at her broken nails.<\/p>\n
\u201cOnly, she was already married with five or six kids back with her husband in some shithole town.\u201d He throws twenty euro on the bar and gestures for another round. \u201cTwenty-five years old, five kids, maybe six, I don\u2019t know.” He looks pensive. \u201cGen. I called her Jenny. Sang to her when I was drunk\u2026 whiskey in the jar\u2026 you know. Fool. Beautiful girl though, passed for eighteen or sixteen or whatever the punters wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rachel looks up, her gold\/green eyes meeting his. \u201cSlaint\u00e9, Aidan. To 2004, yeah? What\u2019s it been?\u00a0 Six months away from dearest Dublin, is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNearer to a year, Rach. Viet Nam. Cambodia. Thailand. Following Randy\u2019s get-rich easy dreams. Some of it was beautiful so. And I didn\u2019t miss the Irish weather one fucking bit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d says Kieron, \u201cand welcome home. Been tested yet?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHa. She was my interpreter. Meself and Randy Bright met her on our second night at Zanzi-Bar. Her English was so good I paid her for that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the French.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShut it, Kieron. Show some respect.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kieron looks at Aidan and finishes his whiskey. \u201cAh, come on out of that, boy. No one believes you didn\u2019t fuck her. No saint you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel nods like they\u2019ve discussed it.<\/p>\n
Aidan turns red. \u201cShe stayed with us for three months. Of course we fucked. But\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut it was love, yeah?\u201d Rachel\u2019s voice is venom. \u201cShe couldn\u2019t resist your wild Irish roving eyes and charms and she fell head-over-heels despite the fact she was a married sex worker, and you were paying for her time.<\/p>\n
\u201cSex worker?\u201d Kieron repeats. \u201cSure, you\u2019ve gone very PC on us, Rachel.\u201d<\/p>\n
She barks a laugh and turns to Aidan. \u201cSo, it was love, yeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe were friends, but fuck, that\u2019s not the point I was after making. What I was meaning was, this whole country is fucked. Phnom Penh is fucked. Horrible place. Corrupt. Everyone with a war story even if they hadn\u2019t been born during the war. Everyone with their hand out. Not one person speaking good English outside of the hostess bars. Total waste of effort. Randy and I were planning on staying a year, trying to get the company going, but too much graft. Too much history. Too much everything. \u201c He looks at Rachel and Kieron. \u201cGood to be home amongst friends, yeah.\u201d The Paddy\u2019s goes down smooth. \u201cWeird vibe anyway, all these old Western guys after the young Asian girls. And boys.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought that was Thailand,\u201d Kieron says.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that why you went to Thailand, Aidan?\u201d asks Rachel. \u201cAnd how\u2019s your Cambodian, Aidan?\u00a0 Fluent are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck no, I went for the beach and that. I went to Phuket.\u201d Aidan glares at her. \u201cI could speak enough Cambodian to get by.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGo on then,\u201d says Rachel. \u201cImpress us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re in some state the night, eh?<\/p>\n
\u201cYou and Kieron forced me out. I was happy in front of the telly, biting all my nails off.\u201d Rachel crumples her hands up.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, well, sorry.\u201d Aidan puts a hand on her arm. \u201cYou seem to have finished the job anyhow.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d she says ruefully. \u201cSee what love\u2019ll get you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLove?\u201d Kieron looks at her. \u201cLove?\u00a0 You loved Jimmy Fox?\u00a0 Tell me it ain\u2019t so.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel tosses her ponytail and stretches her neck. \u201cIt ain\u2019t so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnother try, Rachel, this time with conviction,\u201d Aidan says. \u201cWill we have one more?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m on to the Guinness,\u201d says Kieron, \u201cThree? My shout.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll right, twist my arm.\u201d Rachel\u2019s small white teeth gnaw at her left pinkie and the only nail remaining.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeh, me too,\u201d Aidan says, \u201cAnd stop that, Rachel. It\u2019s no way for a little lady to behave.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughs, sweet-sounding this time. \u201cThose days in New York seem a hundred years ago. Me being a nanny feels, aye I don\u2019t know, like some kind of dream or something from some dream sequence or Shane McGowan\u2019s song or something. It doesn\u2019t seem real. And what the fuck was I doing minding that wee girl, taking her to the Plaza Hotel so that she could be just like Eloise? Every week. Christ. Put me right off having me own. I haven\u2019t kept up with anyone who\u2019s still in New York. You said you do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, thanks to the internet and world wide web and Al Gore and the persistence of certain young ladies, who remember me fondly? Ah, thanks, Kieron. Cheers.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey wouldn\u2019t be so young anymore now, would they?\u201dKieron frowns. \u201cWhat\u2019s it? Twelve years ago we came back?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAye,\u201d says Aidan. \u201cReady to grab the tail of the Celtic tiger. Following mad Randy like he was the pied piper of Bray or some such.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow is Randy?\u201d Rachel asks. \u201cAside from being put out that he\u2019s not going to make cheap copies of Italian fashion in Cambodia?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot changed. Still mad. Still got a zillion idea all at once. Being around him is like being on acid at four in the morning even when you\u2019re sober and its noon. Great. He\u2019s great. A gasman.\u201d Aidan studies Rachel. \u201cAnd single. Very single. Wife number two is gone. Moved to Maui. You should give him a bell or email him, Rachel.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChrist, I\u2019m forty years old. I don\u2019t fancy feeling like I\u2019m taking drugs and dancing in the moonlight underneath the bright morning sun.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy not?\u201d Kieron asks. \u201cBetter than shagging Jimmy in his old student lodging on that crap sofa he\u2019s had for a couple dozen years.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cManners,\u201d Rachel says, but not sharp now. The foam off the Guinness making a mustache on her face. She sees them looking and licks it off: her tongue pink and cat-like. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you bring Randy back with you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe stayed in Thailand. Gonna give fashion a try there. And then he wants to go to Australia. I don\u2019t know. He\u2019s great craic and all, but exhausting. We\u2019re none of us young anymore, eh?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m only thirty-eight,\u201d says Kieron, \u201cIn my prime.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not what she says,\u201d Rachel and Aidan chant together.<\/p>\n
Kieron looks at his watch. \u201cActually, she\u2019s going to have a fair bit to say. And none of it something the kids should hear.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck. I keep forgetting you\u2019re a family man, now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd another one on the way.\u201d Kieron stand up and strikes a pose. \u201cVirile, me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you say viral?\u201d Rachel asks.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow many is it now?\u201d Aidan asks.<\/p>\n
\u201cThree, plus the one in Maggie\u2019s belly. The two from her first marriage and Belinda, my little star.\u201d He pulls out his phone to show a picture of a blonde tot with masses of curls.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s not yours, surely?\u201d Aidan says quickly, so Rachel doesn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
\u201cDunno. Don\u2019t care. She could be the milkman\u2019s\u2019 or the lad from next door, but I say she\u2019s the spit of me when I was two.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel looks at him. \u201cOkay, then.\u201d She starts looking for her jacket. \u201cAlways the gent,\u201d she says as Aidan helps her into it.<\/p>\n
Kieron leans over and kisses each of them on the cheek. \u201cGreat having ye back, Aidan. Give us a jingle soon. And good seeing you, Rachel. Leave your poor nails alone and thank your stars your shut of Jimmy. He\u2019s a wanker.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughs. \u201cSafe home, Kieron.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kieron turns to Aidan and says, \u201cAnd be kind to this woman here.\u201d There\u2019s a hint of a warning in his voice.<\/p>\n
They watch him leave. \u201cWill I walk you?\u201d Aidan asks.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m a bit locked,\u201d Rachel says. \u201cNot used to whiskey. Really, not used to leaving the television. Fucking saddo, me. Yeah? You can put me in a taxi, Aidan, don\u2019t trouble yourself. I know you wanna get home and skype your own darling Gennie.\u201d She cackles.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s no bother to see you home. I\u2019m staying at my sister\u2019s flat. She\u2019s only a few blocks from you, yeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, yes. Okay. Not far. How is Fiona? Why didn\u2019t she come out tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s in England. Doing a six-month exchange thingy. Flat was sitting empty, which is great luck for me since my lease ran out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay then. It\u2019s too late and I\u2019m too jarred to argue. But no funny stuff, mister.\u201d She puts on a New York accent for the last.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight, then,\u201d Aidan says, taking her arm. \u201cStraight home.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the morning they don\u2019t look at each other. Rachel is in the toilet getting dressed and Aidan\u2019s in the corner of her bedroom trying to get his trousers on while wrapped in a sheet. His head is clear though, so he cannot blame the drink. It\u2019s frosty in the flat and he doesn\u2019t think she\u2019s going to make him an omelet and coffee like Gen always did. Fucking mistake and his eyes briefly meet Rachel\u2019s, when she walks into the room. She looks away, and he knows she knows it as well.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d he says. \u201cSo.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel rubs her hand across her face. \u201cNot up to your usual high standards, eh?\u00a0 Maybe if you leave me a tenner there on the bed table, ye\u2019d feel more at home with yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
He\u2019d punch her, if he hit women. Wipe the fucking superior smirk off her face. Fuck knows what possessed him last night: she\u2019s a right bitch and not that good-looking. And old. And no charm and no skill and not Gen. \u201cWouldn\u2019t be worth that, Rachel. Maybe five.\u201d<\/p>\n
She winces. \u201cBastard.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d he says. \u201cNo. I\u2019m just tired of you going on about Gen. She\u2019s a lovely person and you\u2019ve no call to make these snarky remarks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t sound it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d she says, moving towards him, hands on hips that are much less boyish than they\u2019d been the last time he\u2019d seen her naked, \u201cI don\u2019t mean it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aidan rolls his eyes and starts buttoning his shirt.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe just had sex, Aidan, hours of it as I well recall. And now you cannot even look at me, not the decency of a bit of chat, not a kiss or a hug or a high five or nothing. Just standing there looking like I was the dog\u2019s sick. I\u2019m sorry I don\u2019t measure up to your married Cambodian sex worker girlfriend, all right? Truly, I am.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, shut it, Rachel.\u201d Aidan pulls the jumper over his head and looks around the room, eyes focused on the bed, coverlet barely disturbed. \u201cAnd the sex lasted about ten minutes. And it was a mistake, you know it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I certainly know you think so. And not like it was good for me. Kieron and you can say what you want about Jimmy, but he\u2019s a better fuck than you are.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight, angel, I\u2019m out of here before we completely destroy our friendship. Whiskey and nostalgia are not a good combination for us. And we\u2019re not a good combination which, as I recall, we figured out back in Woodside a donk\u2019s age ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel eyes burn into him. After a long silence, in which Aidan gets his shoes on, she asks, \u201cYou want a coffee? Or a cuppa?\u201d<\/p>\n
He says yes, because, because, he cannot think of a reason to say no. They sit drinking tea with too much sugar and too much milk and too little to say. Aidan finds his thoughts drifting out of this white and gray flat and back to the little yellow house he\u2019d shared with Randy and Gen. It has always been warm there, the smells of fried food, gasoline and Gen\u2019s perfume which was Channel Coco Mademoiselle. Aidan sighs into the silence and says, finally, \u201cTell me a story you\u2019ve never told anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel rears back as if he had slapped her. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, go on then.\u201d<\/p>\n
She pushes her dark hair behind her ears. \u201cHave you heard something then, Aidan?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel bites down on her thumb. \u201cAll right, so.\u201d She looks at her teacup. \u201cI could use something stronger.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aidan smiles encouragingly.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I was nine years of age, my sister, Maire and I came down to have our breakfast, before school. It\u2019s strange, yeah, but I can remember that morning out of all the mornings in me life. It was a Thursday and I was expecting toasted brown bread with blackberry jam. I loved my jam.\u201d<\/p>\n
There\u2019s silence. Aidan takes a sip of the tea. \u201cIs that it, then? Jaysus, Rachel, that\u2019s some story.\u201d<\/p>\n
She bites her thumb so hard she draws blood. \u201cNo, that\u2019s not the whole story, you arsehole. Maire and I came downstairs, and our mammy was gone. Just gone. We looked everywhere for her, although the house was small and she wasn\u2019t one to hide, then we looked for a note or some such. And there was nothing. So we went off to school like nothing had happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aidan yawns.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd when we got home there was still no mammy. Nothing for the tea. Nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you do then? I\u2019ve to tell you I\u2019m hoping for a little action here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe did our school work and we brushed our teeth and we went to bed. And later that night we heard our Da\u2019s car pull in and we went running downstairs to him. I\u2019m sure he thought we were mad. In the morning he went out early and came back with buns for us to eat and when we got home from school, the mammy was back, toasting up the bread for our tea.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh,\u201d says Aidan and yawns again.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen she turned around her eye was blackened and when her sleeve rolled up you could see welts along her arm.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo where had she been? What happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel shrugs. \u201cWe never asked her. I kept looking from her eye to the jam and I ate me toast plain. Never touched any jam, since.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aidan finishes his tea and smiles weakly. \u201cWell. Well.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rachel examines her bloody thumb. \u201cSure, I have a better story for ye, Aidan. I was twenty-two years of age when I went to New York just for a holiday like. Maire and I went over and we\u2026\u201d Rachel trails off.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre we finally going to see some action?\u201d Aidan asks, not looking at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe went out to some dodgy pub in Queens and I let some Irishman sweep me off my feet.\u201d Rachel gnaws on a finger.<\/p>\n
\u201cMmm,\u201d says Aidan and stares into his empty cup. \u201cI hope he was good to you.\u201d Their eyes meet and he breaks the stare first.<\/p>\n
Rachel shrugs. \u201cFor a bit. And then he wasn\u2019t, was he? Now shove off, Aidan. I\u2019ve to get to work. Some of us have to do the nine to five.\u201d<\/p>\n
At the door to Rachel\u2019s building, they shake hands which is somehow both awkward and nearly perfect.<\/p>\n
Aidan shivers in the Dublin winter thinks of sweat crawling down his brow thinks back to Gen. He remembers a story she told him one night.<\/p>\n
She spoke so softly that Aidan had turned his back to her so she could whisper into his ear. \u201cMy grandparents lived in Phnom Penh. They were teachers, educated persons. Refined. When Pol Pot came to power he sent them to the countryside, the whole city was sent off to become farmers.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aidan felt her tears tickling his ear but had remained still.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy grandparents were sent to a camp. So many of their friends, relatives died, but they somehow survived it. My grandmother was so beautiful, Aidan. After the grandparents were released they became farmers. There was never enough. And they were not made for farming. When my mother was three her father died.\u201d Gen was sobbing, her tears dripping down on Aidan\u2019s back. \u201cWhen she was ten her so refined so educated so poor mother sold my mother. She was thirteen when I was born.\u201d She sat up abruptly. \u201cSo I come from a long line of whores.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aidan had pulled her down and kissed her. \u201cAnd a long line of beauties.\u201d He realizes now that was a stupid thing to have said. It feels imperative that he go to Cambodia and apologize to Gen say the right thing. He should have said he loved her. Maybe he should have said she wasn\u2019t a whore. He didn\u2019t fucking know.<\/p>\n
He thinks of Gen\u2019s silky black hair cut just below her shoulders and the rainbow-coloured suits she\u2019d wear when she came with them to business meetings. \u201cI don\u2019t want anyone to think I\u2019m a bar girl,\u201d she said and repeated often. \u201cI\u2019m not someone you can rent for two hours.\u201d<\/p>\n
Randy dragged Aidan down Street 51 riding their motorbikes until they came to T-Bar where the beer and the girls were inexpensive. Randy looked at those girls with their short red dresses and long bleached hair and would lick his lips like he\u2019d just passed into sweetie heaven. It disgusted Aidan, seeing Randy like that, seeing the girls with eyes turned green and violet with contact lenses they didn\u2019t need.<\/p>\n
They spoke English, which always came as a relief after a day of no one having a fucking clue what anyone was saying, but Aidan had no interest in what they were offering. His eyes his mind his heart were back in the yellow house with the crumbling walls where Gen was preparing dinner. He deserves a kick in the arse for ever having left her. He deserves a beating, kicks to his head could only help.<\/p>\n
Aidan passes an Allied Irish and pulls out his card. He cannot resist checking the balance and when he finds it greater than he expected, more than he dared dream of, he sprints towards Fiona\u2019s flat to use her computer to book his ticket back to Cambodia. Staring at the screen, Aidan wonders if he\u2019s gone stark raving mad. He has no job to go back to in Phnom Penh: no flat: no address for Gen. He\u2019s not heard from her since they said good-bye.<\/p>\n
Aidan thinks about being back to Cambodia, taking a bus into the hills and abducting Gen, taking her and all the kids back to Ireland with him. They could run a translation company or hook up with Randy to sell fashion to Irish women.<\/p>\n
He dreams of Kep Beach and the weekend he and Gen had spent holed up in a bungalow at Bird of Paradise. Every morning they talked about heading to the beach and then they\u2019d end up back in bed. It had been the most glorious three days of Aidan\u2019s life. As he walks down O\u2019Connell Street, he has no idea why he ever left. What the lure of Thailand had been and what in the name of everything holy had ever persuaded him to return to the drizzly, desperate, nightmare of Dublin.<\/p>\n
He\u2019d rescue Gennie and they\u2019d live at the beach, supping on love, and fucking until neither one of them could do anything but lie in the other\u2019s arms, laughing from the sheer mad joy of it. And he\u2019s say to her, \u201cTell me a story no one else has heard.\u201d<\/p>\n
And this time Aidan would say the right thing. All the right things. And he\u2019d be kind.<\/p>\n
He imagines sitting on a plane, easy-peasy, Fiona\u2019s keys dropped off with Kieron. Aidan would smile and wink at the stewardess as she slips him little bottles of booze without charging. He thinks he\u2019d chat her up, ask her out. She won\u2019t have a wedding ring. She will have small round beasts underneath her starched white blouse. She might take him along to the crew hotel with her and ride him until both are worn out and smiley.<\/p>\n
Aidan\u2019s half locked already and too tired to fall asleep. Dreams of Gen keep dancing behind his eyelids. Dreams of Gen and himself and the imaginary stewardess keep him up for a long time.<\/p>\n
The next morning, staring at the British Air website, Aidan stops himself. What the fuck is he thinking of? Flying back to godforsaken Cambodia to search for some woman who is never going to leave the country? He lets the dreams drift away and goes back to bed.<\/p>\n
Half asleep Adan half wakes. Someone is pressing the buzzer. Over and over again. He thinks it\u2019s probably kids messing but goes down and opens the door. Opens the door to a bedraggled band of gypsy children and their mother who says, \u201cWe\u2019ve come Aidan.\u201d She is holding a baby and she pushes it towards him. \u201cYour daughter. I\u2019ve called her Anna.\u201d<\/p>\n
Aidan takes the child who stares at him with eyes as blue as his own.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan we come in?\u201d Gen asks. \u201cIt\u2019s pouring rain and we\u2019re all so cold.\u201d Aidan rubs his eyes and looks again.<\/p>\n
No. It\u2019s just Kieron balancing two coffees in one hand and a bag from The Bakehouse in the other. \u201cWere you at least nice to her?\u201d Kieron asks as they stand in front of the flat.<\/p>\n
Aidan takes a sip of the coffee and says flatly, \u201cYou\u2019ve already spoken to Rachel, have you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kieron half-laughs. \u201cAye, well. She\u2019s having a tough go of things. Don\u2019t make it worse.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe should get back with Jimmy.\u201d They are standing on the stoop, drops of rain falling against their heads and into the coffees. Myself, I\u2019m going back to Cambodia,\u201d Aidan says with great assurance.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou haven\u2019t got a prayer, boyo,\u201d Kieron says, inhaling his cigarette. \u201cYou\u2019d be going in blind trying to find this girl. Sex worker whatever you\u2019d want to call her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy girlfriend. Christ. I dreamt she\u2019d had my child, a daughter with eyes as blue as my mammy\u2019s were.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCatch yourself on, Aidan.\u201d<\/p>\n
He frowns. \u201cI don\u2019t want a life here. Drinking too much. The cold. The wet. The dead drabness of Dublin. In Cambodia I felt alive. It was alive. The people. The smells. The noise.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFucksake.\u201d Kieron stamps out the cigarette. \u201cThe other night you were after telling us how much you hated the fucking place.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAye, I know. But.\u201d Aidan stares down the street at the puddles forming. \u201cI had the nightmare time with Rachel. And I cannot go backwards. I dream of Gen and Cambodia.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kieron shakes his head. \u201cRight then, off you go.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will,\u201d says Aidan. \u201cI will so.\u201d And for the moment he believes it.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
He realizes now that was a stupid thing to have said. It feels imperative that he go to Cambodia and apologize to Gen say the right thing. He should have said he loved her. Maybe he should have said she wasn\u2019t a whore. He didn\u2019t fucking know.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":20783,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20321","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-faith-miller"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20321","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20321"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20321\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20784,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20321\/revisions\/20784"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20783"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20321"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20321"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20321"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}