by Zara Keane
Jill put down the beer mat she’d been shredding. “Aidan’s an arse, but at least you still have a way to pay the bills until you get the café up and running. That’s not to be scoffed at.”
“Is something up?” Olivia eyed her friend questioningly. “You’ve been on edge since we got here.”
Jill hunched her shoulders. “I lost my job.”
“What? That’s terrible.”
“It wasn’t unexpected. I got through the first two waves of layoffs. Figured I wouldn’t survive a third.”
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“There’s not much out there at the moment in the food production industry, and certainly not around here. I’ll admit that being a cheese quality controller wasn’t my life’s ambition, but the job paid the bills.”
“Gosh, that sucks. It seems like most of my friends have either left Ballybeg or are planning to. Fiona bucked the trend by moving back.”
Jill twisted a dreadlock tight around her index finger. “I want to stay in Cork, but you know how it is. I might not have a choice.”
“If I ever manage to open my café, I’ll give you a job. When we were at cookery school, you were always better at making savories than I was.”
“And you rocked at cakes and pastries. Hey, if I don’t find a new position fast, I might take you up on the offer, albeit on a temporary basis.”
“In that case, I’d better find new premises for the café fast.”
“My faith in the Irish job market is such that I have a feeling you’ll find a place for the café before I find a new job. Unfortunately, my side gig doesn’t generate enough money to cover my rent.”
“Not enough demand for dildos in Ballybeg?” Olivia asked with a chuckle.
“Not this time of year. Racy lingerie and sex toys sell well around Christmas and Valentine’s Day. In a few weeks, the pre-wedding parties will start up again. I should get a few bookings then.” Jill rooted through her handbag. “Our area sales manager just sent me a copy of the new catalogue.”
Olivia flicked through the glossy pages that depicted the latest product range of Passionate Pleasures. “Good grief. Please tell me I’m hallucinating. Padded leopard print thongs?”
“Give your crotch some extra oomph,” Jill quoted with a sly grin. “You should get a pair for Aidan.”
“Ugh.” Olivia gave an exaggerated shudder. “I try very hard to excise all memories of Aidan’s crotch.”
“Now there’s a man who has no need for padded underwear.” Jill nodded at someone approaching from the bar.
Olivia whipped round. Jonas O’Mahony was weaving his way through the crowd. He paused when he reached their table, his gaze dropping to the catalogue in her hand. Heat seared her cheeks when she realized the catalogue had fallen open to reveal a selection of anal plugs.
Jonas flashed her a wicked grin. “I didn’t have you down for that sort of caper.”
She hated the tingling effect his gravelly voice had on her body. Why couldn’t he have developed a paunch? Or a bald spot? If anything, the years had enhanced his good looks. There was no justice in the world. She itched to close the catalogue but refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing he’d embarrassed her. Knowing he’d witnessed this afternoon’s scene with Aidan was sufficient humiliation for one day. “What do you want, Jonas? Come to gloat over the cottage?”
His grin faded. “I’m sorry for the way things worked out with the lease.”
“Why would you be sorry? You always said you’d get even with me one day. Is this not part of your Screw Over Olivia master plan?”
He flinched and took a step back. “No. It wasn’t like that.”
“Wasn’t it?” She sounded haughty. Not quite the effect she was aiming for, but he had a knack for bringing out her worst side. “Now that you’ve schemed to get the cottage, you feel you can be magnanimous?”
His tanned cheeks flushed. “Pardon me for trying to bury the hatchet. I’ll leave you ladies to your drinks.”
His leather-clad frame melted into the crowd.
Jill radiated disapproval. “Did you have to goad him?”
“What?” Olivia said, thrusting the catalogue at her friend. “I thought that went well.”
Jill gave a snort of disgust. “You’d better hope you find premises soon.”
“I will,” Olivia said with more self-assurance than she felt. “Just watch.”
Chapter Eight
JONAS WOKE ON SATURDAY MORNING to pounding on his front door. The rhythmic beat of fists on wood was in sync with his throbbing headache. Pulling a coffee-fueled all-nighter to finish his book always left him a wreck the next day. He groaned and pulled the duvet up to his chin.
“Hey.” Gavin clambered up the ladder to his loft bedroom.
Jonas supposed he’d forgotten to lock the front door last night. He mumbled a greeting and buried his head under the pillow.
“What’s the deal?” Gavin demanded. “We need to get going. Luca doesn’t want to miss the start of the Easter parade.”
“What?” He sat too quickly, making his head spin and his stomach heave. “What’s the time?” He groped for his alarm clock, but he must have knocked it off the nightstand.
“A quarter to eleven.” His friend strode to the wardrobe and rifled through the clothes with an air of intent, eventually throwing a clean pair of jeans and a sweatshirt at Jonas.
“I need a shower, Gav. I can’t go out like this.”
“Make it quick.” Gavin surveyed the room. “Guess you haven’t finished unpacking.”
“Not yet.” He and Luca had been living in the cottage for almost a week. Most of the rooms were habitable, but his bedroom resembled a storage unit. No doubt it offended Gavin’s neat-freak tendencies. Standing carefully, he padded across the floor to the ladder. “Where’s Luca?”
“Waiting in the garden with Fiona and Wiggly Poo.”
“Did he behave himself for you last night?”
“He was good as gold. Slept like a log too.”
Didn’t that figure. Why was he the only one plagued by Luca’s night terrors?
“Any luck finding a childminder?” Gavin asked.
“Not so far. I’m interviewing a couple of people next week.”
He made for the bathroom and stripped. The hot, sharp needles of the shower provided a welcome relief. If he’d had the time, he’d have stayed under the water for ages. Instead he soaped and shampooed with as much speed as he could muster in his coffee hangover. Yeah, that sixth espresso had been a lousy idea, but it had helped him to blast through to the end of Detective Inspector Brady’s latest mystery.
He dried himself off and dressed with as much speed as his groggy state permitted. He fingered his stubble. It would have to do—there was no time to shave.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Gavin was sprawled across the sofa bed, reading one of Jonas’s favorite fantasy novels. Luca sat beside him, studying a picture book on dinosaurs. He didn’t make eye contact when his father dropped a kiss on his cheek. In contrast, Wiggly Poo greeted Jonas in an ecstasy of delight, tail wagging and tongue lolling.
“Did you have fun at Gavin’s last night?” he asked Luca as he stroked Wiggly Poo’s golden fur.
Luca shrugged. Still no eye contact.
Jonas stood and tousled his hair. “Come on, mate. You know I had to work late.”
“Granddad says writing books isn’t proper work. He told Nana you should get a real job like everybody else. If you got a real job, you wouldn’t need to worry about paying the bills.”
Jonas bit back the retort that sprang to his tongue. He loved his father and he’d never been in any doubt that his father loved him, but Liam had never—and probably would never—understand his passion for storytelling. As far as Liam was concerned, the only proper work for a man involved manual labor. This was yet another instance of his parents discussing stuff in front of Luca and assuming he didn’t understand. Maybe having Luca go there less wasn’t
such a bad idea after all. “Granddad and I are different. He likes making things with his hands, and I like telling stories.”
Gavin tossed the book aside. “Fiona’s gone on ahead to get us a good spot for the parade. We’d better get moving or she’ll be mobbed.”
“Okay,” Jonas said. “Let me pop a painkiller, and we’ll hit the road.” Late or not, he needed something to take the edge off his headache before facing the crowds. The Ballybeg Easter parade was one of the major events of the year. The whole town turned out to watch the floats as did people from neighboring areas.
He strode toward the kitchen. Yeah, the bare look had to go. Luca’s room was the one room he’d made an effort to decorate. He needed to transform the rest of the place into a home worthy of the name.
Wiggly Poo danced around his legs, whining.
“Are you looking for food?”
The labradoodle panted and stared at him beseechingly through large doggy eyes.
“Don’t give him anything,” Gav yelled from the living room. “He’s on a diet. The vet says we’re feeding him too much. I say it’s more likely to be the quantity of shoes and slippers he consumes between meals.”
Jonas laughed and rifled through the makeshift medicine box in one of the kitchen cupboards. “Not to mention wedding suits. I’ll never forget the expression on your face when we walked in on him regurgitating your trousers.”
“Ha,” said Gavin. “Don’t remind me. I still haven’t recovered from the horror of that bloody rental suit I ended up wearing.”
Finally Jonas located a packet of painkillers. He popped a couple of pills, washed them down with tap water, and returned to the living room. “Luca, do you have your hat?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
The kid shrugged, still absorbed in his book. “Dunno. Maybe I left my hat at school.”
Great. Did the boy have a spare? If he did, it was probably at his grandparents’ house.
“You can wear mine.” He rooted through an unpacked moving box and located an ancient woolen hat. He plopped it on Luca’s head. Problem solved.
The hat slid down over Luca’s nose. Or perhaps not solved. “This is way too big, Dad.”
“It’ll do for today,” Jonas said, trying to sound cheerful.
“I can’t wear this. It doesn’t fit. It has to fit, Dad.” The boy’s voice quavered.
Gavin and Jonas exchanged looks. Luca got stressed if things weren’t perfect. The last thing they needed was him freaking out before they even got to the parade.
He turned to his son. “Have you any idea where it is? Let’s check your room.”
Luca’s bedroom was immaculate. He definitely hadn’t inherited his organizational skills from his father. A search of the wardrobe proved fruitless. Jonas scanned the room in desperation, his gaze resting on the dress-up box. He rummaged through it and struck gold. “How’s this?” He held up a pirate cap. “It’s an unusual look, but it’s a hat, right?”
He plopped it on Luca’s head and gave him an encouraging smile. Luca regarded his reflection in the mirror dubiously. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but Gavin cut in.
“Why don’t we put this pirate sash on Wiggly Poo? That way, you’ll match.”
Luca’s face lit up. “Cool. You’re the best, Uncle Gav.”
Gavin beamed in delight. The familiar twist in his gut made Jonas nauseated.
Wiggly Poo and Luca bounded out the door and down the short path to the gate.
Jonas’s head throbbed. He had the feeling it was going to be a long day.
***
On the corner of Delores Street, Olivia stopped to let her mother-in-law catch her breath. They were late. Very late. Aidan would have apoplexy.
The last-minute offer to look at potential premises in Clonakilty had seemed a godsend, especially with the bank appointment looming. Unfortunately, the rooms were dingy and cramped—utterly unsuitable for the café. Courtesy of heavy holiday traffic, she was late collecting her mother-in-law—a fact for which she was currently being berated—and now late to meet Aidan for the Easter parade.
“This is simply too much,” Patricia gasped, clutching her Gucci handbag to her voluminous fur coat. “You can’t expect me to walk for miles in these shoes.”
“We circled the town several times. That was the only parking space I could find.”
“If you’d collected me at the time we’d arranged, I’d already be sitting in the comfort of Colette Buckley’s front room, sipping tea and watching the parade from a safe distance. Instead I’m traipsing through litter and the hoi polloi.”
“Oh, put a sock in it,” Olivia snapped. “If you hadn’t insisted on wearing those ridiculous shoes, you’d be able to take more than a few mincing steps at a time.”
“Well, really.” The older woman’s jowls wobbled in indignation. “Other women treat their mother-in-laws with respect.”
“Perhaps other women don’t have mother-in-laws who lose their licenses for drunk driving. I’m not your personal taxi service.”
Patricia drew herself up to her full height, her heavily made-up eyes wide. “I had one glass of champagne. One glass of vintage champagne.”
Olivia laughed. “Breathalyzers don’t distinguish between five-euro plonk and expensive bubbly.”
“Apparently not,” sniffed Patricia. “Why were you so late collecting me, anyway?”
“I told you. The traffic back from Clonakilty was a nightmare.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so determined to open your own business. Why can’t you be content working for Aidan?”
“You know why,” Olivia said through gritted teeth. “Once the election is over, we’re filing for a legal separation.”
“How absurd.” Patricia pursed her lips into a scarlet slash of disapproval. “If you’d taken my advice and had a baby, you wouldn’t be in this mess. Children cement relationships.”
Ironically, the decision not to have children was one of the few topics on which Olivia and Aidan were in complete agreement. “Given that we’re separating, I’d say it’s fortunate neither he nor I felt any inclination to reproduce.”
“I’d hoped you’d tame him. It’s hard watching my friends become grandmothers. Colette already has three.”
“If you’re that desperate to bounce a baby, borrow one of Colette’s grandchildren.”
Patricia withdrew a cigarette from her handbag with shaky hands and lit up as if her life depended on it. “What happens when Aidan becomes mayor? He’ll need a wife at his side then.”
“If he becomes mayor, that wife won’t be me.”
“You make too much fuss about Aidan’s little indiscretions,” she said between puffs. “Men will be men, you know. His father was no different.”
Olivia flexed her jaw. Aidan’s “little indiscretions” were the least of her worries in her marriage. His bullying tongue and menacing fists were more pressing concerns. Her mother-in-law wasn’t a stupid woman, but when it came to her son’s faults, she was obstinately obtuse.
“Look,” Olivia said in relief, “there’s Colette.” She dragged Patricia across the street and deposited her on her friend’s doorstep.
“We had to walk all the way into town,” Patricia said in tragic tones, collapsing into her friend’s arms. “My feet ache and I’m absolutely parched.”
“The kettle’s on. Or I can offer you something stronger if you prefer.” Colette gave Olivia a conspiratorial wink over Patricia’s shoulder. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Have fun, ladies.” Olivia checked her watch. Drat. She was due to meet Aidan over an hour ago. Dodging a passing float, she waded into the throng.
Chapter Nine
PATRICK STREET WAS A PULSING mass of humanity. Squealing babies were accompanied by laughing adults, some none too steady on their feet despite the early hour. Older children and dogs roamed the colorful street, their guardians apparently unconcerned by the prospect of them being flattened by a passing f
loat. The stench of spilled beer wafted from the littered pavement, warring with the sounds and sights for dominance over Jonas’s embattled senses.
He groaned inwardly. He loathed parades. Always had. That he was attending this year was solely for Luca’s sake. He glanced down at his son. If only the little guy would show more enthusiasm. Luca stood beside him with his eyes resolutely shut and his hands over his ears. Ah, hell. The boy was noise sensitive at the best of times, not to mention wary of strangers. He should have known better than to subject the child to this sensory overload.
“If it gets too loud, we’ll leave,” he promised, giving the boy an awkward pat.
Luca stiffened at his touch, but didn’t say anything.
The procession wound its way through the narrow streets of Ballybeg, each float more garish than its predecessor. The parade was a raucous affair. Most of the spectators were well lubricated with alcohol, and many on the floats were no better.
Jonas held tight to Luca’s hand as they weaved their way through the crowd. The smell of spilled beer and vomit turned his stomach. They’d lost sight of Gavin, Fiona, and Wiggly Poo, but they’d catch up with them later.
When they finally squeezed their way to the edge of the street, he hoisted Luca onto his shoulders, just as his father had done with him and his younger brothers when they were kids.
“It’s too high, Dad. I’ll fall,” Luca protested.
“Nah, you’ll be fine. I’ll hold on tight.”
Luca’s complaints ceased once he realized how much more he could see from his new elevation. The music throbbed; people sang. Someone’s beer trickled down Jonas’s arm but he ignored it. There was no point in challenging anyone in this crowd, especially not the bunch to his right. He recognized a few local thugs from the nearby housing estate, lager louts one and all.