Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
The city is packed with tourists, just like I knew it would be. I’ve seen online how many people visit Ireland, North and South, every year. But most of them head fer Dublin because the news stories about the violence in Belfast tend to scare most visitors away.
Thankfully, I can get lost in a city like this where nobody knows me.
I shoulder my backpack and start walkin’. From the bus station on Store Street, I make my way toward the river. The Liffey runs through the centre of Dublin, almost as if it’s cuttin’ it in two. Its water glistens as the sun shines through gaps in the clouds movin’ across the grey sky.
There are so many bridges that span the Liffey, takin’ people from one side of the city ta the other. As I make my way along the riverbank, I note how each bridge is unique in its design and style. There’s an energy in the city that’s very different to Belfast. I can’t deny it, Dublin is beautiful.
I head across the Ha’Penny Bridge toward Temple Bar. Once the sun sets, I know that’s where the city nightlife will be. Even now, in the late afternoon, the bars and restaurants are packed with tourists and the staff are bein’ run off their feet.
As I walk along narrow cobbled streets, there’s definitely a livelier, less volatile vibe than my home city. I’m not sure where I’ll find work, but I can’t keep walkin’ aimlessly, so instead of wanderin’, I stop at a pub called The Horse and Dog.
I step through the doorway into the richly decorated, old style pub. It’s warm and cosy inside. Now I need to pluck up the courage and see if the owner will give me a job. I’ll take anythin’, even if it’s washin’ the dishes in the kitchen; just as long as I don’t have ta go back ta Belfast.
“What can I do ye fer?” An older man, who’s standin’ behind the bar, looks down at me when I settle onto a stool.
“Um, a lemonade please?” My voice comes out squeaky, but I clear my throat before he returns with my drink. The cool liquid eases the panic that’s been slowly settlin’ in, and I inhale a breath before I say, “And I was wonderin’ if ye have any jobs goin’?”
“How old are ye, wee thing?” he asks.
Then with a chuckle, he crosses his arms, which makes him seem even more scary and larger than life. His arms are so big I’m sure he could pick me up without strainin’ himself.
“I’m old enough,” I bite out, tryin’ ta put on some fake confidence while prayin’ he doesn’t ask me fer any form of identification.
He narrows his gaze, and stares at me fer a long while before he nods. “Aye. I can tell ye are.” He laughs as he shakes his head. “What can ye do?”
“I can serve drinks, I can wash up in the kitchen, and I can clean when everyone has left.” I’m not sure what people do in pubs. besides pull pints, but I offer a few options, prayin’ he’ll agree to at least one of them.
“Ye can start tomorrow, and I’m guessin’ ye need a place ta sleep?”
“Aye,” I say, brightenin’ when I realise I’ve finally struck it lucky.
They always say the luck of the Irish will get ye far. It’s true.
“I’ll have one of my girls show ye around.”
And with that, I start a brand new life. One I don’t have ta be fearful of.
One that’s filled with promise.
THREE
CALLIA
The Past
Sixteen Years Old
“Lia!” The name I go by now is partly my real one, but it also belongs ta my new persona.
When I first arrived in Dublin, it was exciting, new. I didn’t think I’d end up workin’ in a pub at sixteen. The owner doesn’t give a shite as long as the work gets done. He pays us cash, so there’s no paperwork to link us back ta him. Clever, but also underhanded.
Without any documents, it’s the only work I can get, but sadly I’m barely earnin’ enough ta get by. It’s been six months since I ran away, and I’ve survived so far. The pride I have in how I’ve handled bein’ on my own has kept me goin’, but the time has come fer me ta find another way ta make ends meet.
I smile over at Kyla, one of my new friends.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m not feelin’ too good. I’m headed home. Ye think ye can take on a double shift today?”
I can tell she’s ill—her face is pale, and her nose is bright red.
“Aye, I can do that fer ye,” I tell her.
Thankfully, she doesn’t hug me before she leaves. I don’t want ta get sick. The pub landlord doesn’t like us bein’ off work. Even if we’re on the brink of death, he expects us ta get on with what we’re paid ta do.