One Night Only: An absolutely hilarious and uplifting romantic comedy

by Catherine Walsh

  Declan seems to think the same thing.

  “Alright,” he says after a beat. “Why don’t we start—”

  “Declan?”

  I lean back, startled as a tall, fair-haired man in his early fifties appears behind him. Declan tenses for an instant, something almost like alarm flashing across his face before he relaxes again, turning to face the newcomer.

  “Robert,” he greets as the man takes the vacated seat beside him. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Just for tonight,” Robert says. “I missed the drinks reception. Got kept back at the office.” His voice is quiet, measured. I like him instantly. “It’s good to see you. Paul said you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”

  “I got an early flight. Have you met Sarah?” he adds, turning to me. “Annie’s maid of honor. Or so she keeps telling everyone.”

  “I haven’t,” Robert says, offering me a smile. “It’s lovely to meet you.” But I’m not why he’s here. “Things going well in New York?” he asks Declan. “Harry never stops talking about you.”

  “I can’t complain.”

  “That’s good, that’s good.” He pauses. “You know, if you ever need it, I’d be happy to—”

  “I appreciate it but I’m grand.”

  Robert nods at once and silence falls between them, one I know better than to try and fill no matter how confused I am. The way Declan is speaking to him is verging on rudeness, the strained politeness only making it worse. Now, he invites no further conversation and though Robert looks disappointed, he takes the hint. “I’ll let you get on with your dinner,” he says as he stands. “It was nice meeting you, Sarah.”

  “And you,” I say meekly as he retreats to his table.

  “What was that about?” I ask when he’s out of earshot.

  “Family feud,” Declan says instantly. “He stole our cattle. We stole his sheep. You know how it is around these parts.”

  I sigh as he goes back to ignoring me.

  “Maybe you should take it easy,” I say as he reaches for the whiskey again. He doesn’t listen.

  The other guests are still milling about. Paul and Annie are speaking with a group of people across the room and Mary’s only a table away, fawning over a small child.

  Still, no one else comes near us and I’m wondering how drunk I’m allowed to be before it gets embarrassing when Declan abruptly finishes his drink and pushes his chair back.

  “You want to get out of here?”

  I can only stare at him. I can’t keep up with the change in his moods. “We’re still waiting on dessert.”

  “I’ll buy you an ice cream in the village.”

  “I have to stay for Annie.”

  “Fine,” he says, the word clipped. “Enjoy your meringue.” He stands, dumping his napkin on the table but before he can take one step, Mary is there, smiling broadly.

  “What did you think of the salmon?” she asks. “I thought it was only gorgeous.”

  “We had the soup,” Declan says, barely sparing her a glance. “I’m just popping out. Need some air.”

  “A great idea! Why don’t you show Sarah the fountain?”

  “Sarah’s staying here.”

  “But you can—”

  “Mam,” he interrupts. “Please just stop.”

  She rears back, one hand fluttering to her necklace. “Stop what?”

  “You know what,” he says, sounding exasperated.

  I send a pleading glance to Annie. Thankfully she’s already looking my way and tugs Paul away from his grandmother as they start toward us.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mary continues.

  “No? You don’t have any clue why Sarah has been stuck dealing with your second cousins all night instead of sitting with Annie like she wants to?”

  “I don’t mind,” I say quickly. “It’s fine,” I hiss at him.

  A worried-looking Paul arrives a moment before Annie does. “Everything okay?”

  “Declan needs some air,” Mary says crisply.

  “So let him get some air. He’s not sixteen Mam.”

  “Then he should stop acting like it. I’m sorry for the trouble, Sarah,” she adds. “I just thought it would be nice for you two to get to know each other.”

  “We already know each other,” Declan says tightly, ignoring my warning look.

  “Just leave him be,” Paul says.

  Mary looks annoyed. “I only thought—”

  “You didn’t think,” Declan interrupts. I lay a hand on his wrist, but he ignores me, his patience gone. “You never think. You never ask.”

  I pull on his arm, trying to get his attention. “On second thought, ice cream sounds great.”

  “Maybe you should have checked with me first before you decided to play matchmaker,” he says, ignoring me. “Maybe you should have checked with Sarah to see what she wanted.”

  “Declan—”

  “Maybe then you would have realized that you didn’t need to go to all this trouble, seeing as how we already slept together.”

  And there it is.

  Paul grimaces as though he’s made a bad joke. Annie rolls her eyes.

  “I can never tell when you’re joking, Declan.” She glances at me and her smile drops, no doubt seeing the alarm on my face. “What?”

  A group at a nearby table glances our way.

  “Two nights ago,” Declan says casually as if he’s reading out a dinner menu. I drop his wrist, slumping back in my chair. “Small world, right?”

  If I didn’t feel so embarrassed, I would have found their reactions comical, so identical in their shock. Mary is the only one who doesn’t look horrified. If anything, she seems a little pleased.

  “I thought we had an agreement,” I say under my breath.

  “For dinner.” He glances at me and I swear I see a hint of an apology in his expression. “Dinner’s over.”

  “It is now,” I mutter as Annie’s mouth opens and closes like she’s forgotten how to speak.

  Only Declan looks lighter. As if a weight has just been lifted from his shoulders. “Thanks for the food,” he says. “Let’s try and coordinate schedules next time, Sarah.”

  He kisses a still shell-shocked Annie on the cheek, hugs his mother and then he’s gone, strolling out of the room toward the lobby.

  A second passes while we all watch him and then the three of them turn to me as if I can explain what just happened. As if I even know what just happened.

  “Sarah?” Annie asks faintly. Paul looks like he’s still processing. Mary looks contemplative.

  I decide not to answer and instead reach for the wine bottle, taking Declan’s advice.

  I drink up.

  6

  The bright-eyed tour guide clasps her hands behind her back as she smiles at us. “Kilgorm Castle dates as far back as the fourteenth century,” she begins in her gentle lilt. “It was originally built by Lord Robert Fitzgerald to help fend off the native Irish from his land and housed many prominent Anglo-Irish families after him. Though it’s had multiple owners and seen its fair share of battles, the original structure remains, as stable as the day it was built.”

  I stare up at the half-ruined castle before me and frown. It looks about as stable as I feel.

  I am horrifically hungover. Queasy stomach, pounding head, kill-me-now hungover. My binge drinking last night coupled with the jet lag coupled with the fact I am not twenty-one anymore has left me in pieces.

  Uneven, fragile pieces.

  It’s not how I wanted to spend my first official day in Ireland.

  But after Declan’s little exit speech last night, neither Annie nor Paul questioned my decision to move past the moment by grabbing two bottles of Pinot Grigio and escaping to my room.

  And now I pay the price.

  “What do you think?”

  I wince as the words bounce around my skull and glance at the man beside me.

  Connor.

  My future husband.

 
In another life anyway.

  In this one, he’s a little young for me, but he has an easy smile and eyes Claire would definitely describe as sparkling. He attached himself to my side as soon as we boarded the shuttle bus this morning but, in the state I’m in, it took all my effort not to puke all over him. I’m already dreading the journey back.

  “It’s… strange,” I say as the guide leads us up the hill to the castle.

  “Strange?”

  I try to find the right words in my sluggish mind. “I’m used to things being three centuries old at most. Isn’t it weird to think about? All the people who were here before us?”

  “I guess.”

  I smile at his confusion. “You’re immune to it.”

  “Hey, you want ancient, we’ve got Celtic tombs that are five thousand years old. This thing’s practically modern to us. Mind your step,” he adds holding my arm as he helps me over a hidden dip in the ground. His hand lingers a little longer than necessary and I glance back pointedly at Annie who’s struggling to hide her smile.

  But even if my head is splitting in two under the morning sun, I find the castle fascinating. The stones so solid beneath our feet, smoothed down by generations of footsteps. The different-colored bricks hinting at new additions and repairs over the centuries, the moss and plants that have grown up around it but are unable to conquer the building itself. I listen enraptured along with the rest of the group as the guide details the families that lived here and the lives they led. Annie’s dad puts his selfie stick to good use while her mom, an ardent fan of any romance novel featuring a lord, a castle and a stormy night, presses the guide’s knowledge on the more salacious details of family history.

  The only person who doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself is Mary. Though Declan’s mom gave me a cheerful hello when we boarded the bus this morning, she hasn’t said anything to me since and now lingers on the outskirt of the group, shooting me nervous glances every few minutes.

  “She’s waiting for you to talk to her,” Annie whispers. “She feels bad.”

  The more terrible part of me is glad she does. I want to cross my arms and pout like a child. Good. But I’m not a child. And it’s unfair of me. How was she supposed to know what was going to happen? What had already happened?

  With a reluctant nod to Annie, I wait behind as the group climbs the stairs to the next floor. Mary waits too, pretending to be fascinated by a corner of the room.

  Now what?

  Hi again, Mrs. Murphy! Remember me? The woman who slept with your son? I struggle with where to start but before I can speak, she turns to me, miserable.

  “I’m very sorry about last night.”

  I falter at the sincerity in her tone. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  “There’s plenty apparently.” She sniffs. “My eldest had words with me.”

  I wince at the thought of Paul talking to her about it. Even though I’m the one who asked him to. Last night feels like a very long time ago.

  “I think I ruined your dinner.”

  “No. It was…” I reach for a word to describe the most awkward hour of my life. “Interesting.”

  She fidgets with a brooch on her jacket, still looking a little ashamed. “I thought if you two sat at that table you’d only want to talk to each other. Not that there’s anything wrong with Trevor,” she adds hastily. “It’s only that he can be very insistent when he gets talking about politics. And Eileen, she’s my second cousin on my father’s side, you wouldn’t find the likes of her on my mother’s side but that’s a whole different story. Now, she isn’t too fond of—”

  “It was a clever plan,” I interrupt. “And I’m sure it would have worked if we didn’t already… know each other.”

  “You’re not angry with me?”

  “I was surprised. That’s all.”

  She smiles, relieved. “Well, then,” she says. “I guess, that’s that.”

  “It is,” I say firmly and she inclines her head, showing she understands. No more matchmaking.

  “It’s probably for the best,” she adds as I follow her up the narrow stairwell. “Although if I may ask, did you and Declan not get on or…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Was he not very good?”

  I stumble on the step, almost falling flat on my face.

  “In bed, I mean.”

  “I understand,” I say hastily. I’m grateful she’s ahead of me and can’t see my blush. “I’m just… I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

  “Ah.” She sounds glum. “Focusing on your career.”

  “It’s not that, I—”

  “Ladies?” The guide appears halfway down with a matronly look on her face. “Let’s all keep together if we can. The steps are very steep.”

  “Coming, coming,” Mary says and thankfully seems to forget our conversation as we reach the next floor. There’s more sunlight here and I soon see why as half the wall is missing, the stones crumbling into nothing. The rest of the group is standing precariously close to the edge, taking pictures. I ignore them, sticking to the stairs, and try to catch Annie’s eye, but it’s Connor who’s waiting for me.

  He smiles as soon as I appear and breaks away from the group.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, gesturing to the view as the rest of the party shuffles into the next room. He doesn’t seem to notice the sheer drop to the bottom. I get a funny feeling in the back of my knees as he leans over the edge.

  “Come see.”

  I stay where I am. “I’m not great with heights.”

  “It’s not too high.”

  “High enough for me.”

  He laughs. “I’m pretty sure they have taller buildings than this in New York.”

  “They do. With concrete walls and finished ceilings and glass windows several inches thick.”

  Connor seems disappointed, no doubt imagining us side by side, gazing out over the vista, but I turn to join the rest of the group, sticking firmly to the walls until we’re back on terra firma. Never have I been more grateful for mud. But that feeling vanishes as soon as I take one look at the bus and know I’m a doomed woman.

  “I think I’m going to walk back,” I announce as the others start to board. “I need the air.”

  “It’s too far,” Annie protests.

  “It’s forty minutes.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

  I shake my head. “You’ll be late for the hairdresser.”

  “Then maybe Connor—”

  “No,” I say firmly. “I’m a big girl and it’s one long road. It’s not like I’m going to get lost.”

  She still looks unsure, so I draw her to the side, away from the others.

  “Annie,” I say under my breath. “I am jet-lagged and so hungover I could cry. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long and if I put one foot on that bus, I guarantee I will spew all over your future mother-in-law.”

  “You’re so dramatic.”

  “You want a bet?”

  She sighs. “Okay. But don’t take too long. Paul says it’s going to rain later.”

  “I can handle a bit of rain.”

  “I just hope Connor’s not too disappointed.”

  She dodges my attempted shoulder whack and hurries over to join the others.

  The bus beeps at me as it drives past and I wave, relieved as it hits a particularly vicious pot hole. I wouldn’t have lasted five seconds.

  Walking will help. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I follow the downhill slope back to the village. I stick to the side for the few cars that do pass but otherwise meet no one on the way back.

  I don’t notice the change in the weather until it’s too late.

  After about twenty minutes the blue sky above me is half hidden by an encroaching dark-gray cloud that stretches menacingly toward the hotel. I watch it warily as I reach the outskirts of the village. The scattered drops begin at the first church and turn steady by the second. I quicken my steps as I pass the pub. It can’t be mo
re than ten minutes to the hotel and if I can make it to the gate, then—

  I shriek as the downpour begins, hailstones pummeling from the sky, and I break into a run, heading for the nearest building. I barely notice the large poster of Annie and Paul in the window as I barrel through the door.

  Once inside, I catch my breath, shaking the hail from my hair as I gaze around the store.

  It’s the kind of place that should have shut years ago. The kind of place where you’re glad it didn’t. Shelves full of everything from canned goods to beachballs cram what little space there is on either side of the main aisle. At the back of the store is a tall wooden counter with a cash register that looks like it’s been there since the sixties.

  A bell had rung when I entered and a moment later an elderly man shuffles out of the back room, folding a newspaper.

  “Raining, is it?” he asks by way of greeting.

  “Yep.”

  “American?”

  I nod and then, because it feels like I should, add, “Sorry.”

  He laughs and gestures me farther inside.

  “I’m going to drip all over your floor,” I say apologetically.

  “That’s alright. You’re here for the wedding?”

  “I’m the maid of honor.”

  “You’re Sarah,” he says, pointing a finger at me.

  I smile in surprise. “I am.”

  “Mick Delaney,” he says. “You’re very welcome to Kilgorm.”

  “Thank you. Is it okay to wait for the rain to stop? I promise to buy something.”

  “Take your time,” he says. “I’ve got some magazines over there if you like. Women like magazines.”

  “We do,” I say. “Thanks again.”

  “I’ll be right back here.” He motions with his newspaper toward the other room. Through the door, I spy a low chair next to a radio. “Call if you need me.”

  I flinch as another flurry of hailstones beats down on the window. I’m already looking forward to a nice long soak in my bedroom bathtub. But now I’m safe from the elements, I’m almost cozy. Faint radio voices sound from the next room and the store smells comfortingly of wood tinged with tobacco. I squeeze my way over to the left-hand wall, where racks of tabloids, National Geographics and two-year-old fashion titles greet me. I pick one up at random but am too fascinated by the treasure trove around me to read it.