Page 2 of Reckless

“It’s always newspaper.” The men around Mr. Malone skitter but stop as he raises a gloved hand.

“Trust must be earned. It’s never given. You understand boy?”

I’m nodding even as my body shakes. I nearly died for newspaper.

“Go home boy. The real work starts tomorrow.” I look at the other men before returning my gaze to Mr. Malone.

“You are one of the crew now.” He grins and I’m mirroring him.

“Really?” Me? One of his crew.

“Really kid. Now go home.” I’m nodding and smiling as I walk away. I was one of his crew. I felt ten feet tall as I raced the rest of the way home. My aching face or broken teeth couldn’t stop the excitement that coursed through me.

Chapter Two

Margret Hegarty

(Ten Years Later)

There are some things in this world that are forbidden. Like my mother’s apple tart. The only day we are allowed some is a Sunday. Prayers before bed are a must, and to be seen with any of the O’Reagan’s or his crew was the deepest sin of all.

A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I watch Michael O’Reagan. He normally doesn’t show up to things like the Monalty fair but this year he’s here. Everyone gives him a wide birth. His grey suit stands out against the sea of black and brown clothing. Pushing a lock of brown hair behind my ear I take in a breath as he gets closer. I try not to chew on my lip or twitch as I stand taller behind my meagre stall.

My gaze slides to the seats behind me that my mother and father had vacated only moments ago. Saying they were taking a brief walk. I knew it would be brief.

“Would you like to buy some fresh brown bread?” It was bold of me. His blue eyes slide towards me and I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground as Michael O’ Reagan walks over to my stall. One hand in his trousers pocket like he owns the show. Maybe he actually does.

My heart skips too many beats making my head grow light. I let my hand flutter to the stall top as Michael stops at the edge of it. He doesn’t look at the brown bread or my mother’s famous apple tarts, his eyes slide across me and my cheeks heat.

“Is it really fresh?” He asks and I blink rapidly.

“The brown bread?” My mind is still trying to process how close I am to Michael O’Reagan.

A slow grin tugs at his lips but doesn’t fully form.

“Of course the brown bread.”

I roll my eyes feeling stupid and this time his grin spreads across his handsome face. Something shifts in my chest and I mirror his smile. I can’t stop it.

“I’ll take three.” His voice is deep and raspy and I inhale deeply while still holding my smile.

I’m on auto pilot gathering the three pans of brown bread that my mother and I baked this morning.

“I’m Margret,” I say while trying to keep the quiver in my voice at bay.

“I know who you are.” His raspy words send a shiver through my body. I wanted to ask how did he know me, but he looks away and takes out his wallet. A crisp five pound note is held between long fingers.

“It’s seventy five pennies.” My cheeks heat knowing I couldn’t give him change back. We didn’t make that much today if we did it would mean an empty stall and a very successful day.

“Keep the change.” He doesn’t miss a beat as he places the leather brown wallet back into his jacket pocket.

I don’t know what to say. Panic tears through me as my parents arrive back at the stall. My father takes one look at Mr O’Reagan and I know he’s going to do something appalling.

He pulls back the three pans of brown bread. “We’re all sold out.”

I close my eyes briefly. “Father,” I plead. One look tells me to be silent. His white long beard is wiry as he is. My mother takes her place beside me.

“You can keep your money.”