by Melissa Hill
She knew her sister worshipped wealth, youth and material possessions and clearly she loved life in America too, as every time Cara spoke to her she thought she sounded like a character in some soap opera. She had developed a pronounced American accent over the years, now considered herself a ‘Floridian’ and sadly seemed all too happy to have left her Irish roots behind.
Cara never quite understood that part. Her parents Betty and Mick were great people, hard workers who had formed a quality life and built a family together. Cara felt that was something to be proud of in parents, not something to shun and hide the way Danielle did. Her parents weren’t flighty or superficial, and they certainly didn’t put on false airs and graces like Danielle did. Sometimes Cara couldn’t believe that she was actually related to her older sister, they were just so dissimilar.
And as for her younger sister Heidi . . . well, Heidi was almost a different species altogether. At twenty-seven, two years younger than Cara, she was the baby of the family and as such had always been spoilt rotten. Heidi was practised in getting her own way and, if ever she didn’t, there was hell to pay.
They all knew that Heidi, married now for just over a year, and evidently already bored with playing newlyweds, was currently dead set on becoming pregnant ASAP. When she was planning her wedding just over a year before, she’d been the ultimate bridezilla, and now the world revolved around her becoming a mother.
She probably wouldn’t be so spoilt if her husband would put his foot down with her occasionally, but he indulged and treated her like the princess she believed herself to be. Paul held a senior management position at one of the country’s biggest banks – one of the reasons (if not the only one, Cara sometimes thought) Heidi had pursued him so relentlessly when they first met.
Still, thanks to Paul’s income, Cara’s baby sister now lived in a fabulous home in one of Dublin’s most upmarket coastal suburbs, and didn’t have to worry her pretty little head about work. What Heidi did all day (other than obsess about getting married – and now getting pregnant) was a mystery.
Shane spoke again, bringing her thoughts back to the present. ‘Too much work to do to grab a bite with Kim?’ he asked. ‘Surely Conor doesn’t expect you to work through lunch too?’
‘He doesn’t expect anything of me other than to get through the work, which I plan to do,’ she said with an easy-going smile. ‘You keep forgetting, what I do isn’t the same as working with numbers –’ she teased, referring to his profession ‘– there are few absolutes.’
‘Ah yes, I sometimes forget that you creative types are a different breed altogether,’ he said, winking. ‘Honestly, though, don’t work too hard.’
‘I know; I’d prefer not to have to cancel – I was really looking forward to seeing Kim – but I honestly don’t think I can spare the time now. You know, we should really organise a night out with her and Ben, or at least arrange to get together for lunch or dinner some weekend. It’s been ages since I saw the girls.’
Kim and Ben were parents to Cara’s nieces, the lively and precocious Olivia and the inquisitive and curious Lindsay.
‘Good idea, why don’t you set up something soon? I’d like to see them all, too.’
Cara smiled. She was delighted that Shane got along so well with her family. While he wasn’t keen on Heidi and all her posturing, he was never anything but polite and respectful to her, something Cara herself had problems with when it came to her baby sister.
He also carried on a lively relationship with Ben and Kim, another reason Cara enjoyed spending time with her older brother and his wife.
And most importantly, her parents Betty and Mick adored the ground he walked on and vice versa. While Cara in turn had a good relationship with the Richardsons, she was always slightly intimidated by them, compared to the relaxed and easy-going rapport Shane enjoyed with her family. Cara anticipated that if they did get married themselves, those family ties would be the ones that would matter the most, especially when they had their own children. The thought brought her straight back to her confusion over the night before. Surely Shane wouldn’t set so much store by spending time with her family if he didn’t plan to be around for the long haul?
‘Shane?’ she said nervously to the shower curtain. She was reluctant to ask because she didn’t want to be viewed as some kind of marriage-obsessed psycho, but she knew that this would probably just eat at her for the rest of the day if she didn’t say something now. And she and Shane were usually straight with one another about anything that was on their minds.
‘Yes?’ He peeked his head out from one side of the curtain. He had suds in his hair that were streaming towards his eyes, and he brought a hand up to brush them away quickly.
‘Well, I was just wondering . . . look, it’s silly really, I know it is, but I just have to ask.’
‘Ask what, hon?’ he asked, squinting at her. Apparently some soap had made it into his eyes after all.
‘It’s stupid, but well . . .’
‘Cara, what is it?’ Shane reached a hand out of the shower and grabbed a towel, bringing it to his face and wiping it. He looked concerned.
‘Well, remember when you said last night that “it won’t be us” with regard to that stupid wedding invitation? Did you mean that it’s not going to be us because we aren’t materialistic and crazy like Audrey and her fiancé? Or that it’s not going to be us because you’re not just interested in getting married? To me, I mean.’
There, she’d said it. She had diverted her eyes as she asked the question and now she raised them hesitantly to meet Shane’s. He was looking at her with a smile.
‘What?’ he replied, his tone full of humour. ‘You think I am not interested in making an honest woman out of you?’
Cara exhaled the breath she suddenly realised she’d been holding.
‘No, it’s not that, it’s just . . . oh, just forget about it.’ She felt a blush creeping up her neck and immediately regretted bringing the subject up. Feeling stupid, she dropped her gaze and focused on studying the pattern on the porcelain-tiled floor.
‘Cara, look at me,’ Shane urged, and she slowly brought her eyes up to meet his. ‘I can’t believe that you even had to ask me that question. You should know that I love you and of course I’m in this for the long term. It’s you and me; you’re mine, I’m yours and as far as I’m concerned that’s the way it will always be. And, when the time is right, we’ll move forward. You know that, don’t you?’
Her heart soared and she nodded somewhat dumbly, willing herself not to blubber. Sometimes, Shane truly had a way with words.
‘It’s you and me, and what I meant last night when I said that, is that when we do it, when we get married – assuming you agree to be my wife,’ he continued, emphasising the word, and Cara felt her heart skip. Partly because of his tone; it was so self-assured and sexy, ‘we will do it our way. I thought you got that.’
She took a couple of steps towards him till she held his wet face in her hands. ‘I’m sorry, I do know that, and I shouldn’t need reassurance. I love you.’
‘And I love you. Now go,’ he added with a grin, ‘unless you’re willing to get very wet and join me in here.’
She giggled, all worry set aside. She knew she was being silly, but then again, she was also glad she’d asked – at least now she could put the stupid thought out of her head and get on with her day. It was wonderful to be in a relationship where you didn’t have to play games or hide your true feelings. Everything was out in the open, which Cara supposed was how a mature relationship should be.
‘All right, have a good one.’ She leaned in towards Shane again for a kiss, unconcerned that the humidity of the shower was probably wreaking havoc on her hair.
‘You too.’ He returned her kiss, then smiled and pulled his head back under the spray of the water.
Feeling giddy, Cara turned on her heel and reached for the bathroom door. Oh well, she would just have to worry about her hair on the way in to work.
; ‘Oh Cara?’ Shane suddenly called out as she was about to leave the room. He poked his head back out of the shower curtain.
‘Yes?’
‘Let’s meet for dinner tonight. I’m not sure I want to brave grilled cheese,’ he teased, the dimple on his left cheek showing as he tried not to laugh, ‘and I definitely don’t think I have the stomach for another curry.’
Cara feigned a hurt look. ‘You really think my cooking’s that bad?’
Shane gave a broad grin. ‘So maybe now you know why I haven’t married you.’
‘Oh you . . .’ Cara smiled and headed out the door.
OK, maybe sometimes complete honesty wasn’t so great.
She hustled onto the train at Grand Canal Station, which was just a short walk from their apartment. While standing in the carriage, she tried to flatten down her hair, which had become inevitably frizzy from the bathroom humidity, while balancing all her work belongings in the process. Thankfully, Greygates was only three stops away, and she reached the office within ten minutes.
She pulled open the front door of the simple two-storey building that housed Octagon Design, trying to juggle her handbag and laptop case as well as the coffee she’d picked up on the way. She was dangerously close to losing the entire lot when suddenly a pair of hands shot out to grab her coffee and laptop case just as both were threatening to slip from her fingers.
‘Cheers, Conor, sorry, I was close to losing the lot for a minute,’ Cara said, exhaling a large breath. She looked up into the face of her boss, who was wearing his usual sardonic grin.
‘Glad I could be of assistance. Might help if you realised you had only one pair of hands though.’ Conor smiled.
‘Yep, I guess it would.’ She looked at her watch and winced. ‘Sorry I’m late, I was just running a bit behind this morning.’
‘Is there any other way to run in the morning?’ he chuckled.
In his early forties, Conor Dempsey was handsome with striking blue eyes and sandy brown hair that was always worn slightly tousled.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he too had been born and bred in Greygates, but had spent his early twenties working in London before eventually returning to set up Octagon. While he was the consummate bachelor, with various women vying for his attention, he had never married, which always surprised Cara somewhat. Knowing him as well as she did, she’d never thought he quite fitted the playboy man-about-town image, no matter how much his lifestyle suggested otherwise.
‘Well, I have to say, much of it is my own fault, I would have been out the door a good half hour ago only for Shane.’ She scattered her bags and laptop case onto her desk, and Conor propped himself up on an unused side table directly across from her.
‘Not a fight I hope.’ Having known Cara long before she and Shane started going out, he was never shy about voicing his opinion on the relationship, in much the way a protective older brother would. A real straight talker, when you were in conversation with Conor Dempsey few subjects – personal or otherwise – were off limits.
It was just the two of them in the office, and even though business had been great since the company first opened its doors almost seven years earlier, Conor had no desire to expand and take on additional business, extra staff and thus additional commitment. He had seen too many other small-business owners crash and burn after doing so, burdened by extra debt and responsibilities, especially once the recession hit. Instead, he was happy to simply nurture and maintain Octagon’s strong and long-standing relationship with their existing accounts, which usually kept them busy.
Conor paid Cara well, trusted in her and, in turn, she trusted him and worked her hardest for him and they had developed a close relationship that many would envy. She loved the job and felt herself very lucky to have a boss who actually appreciated her, as well as being able to consider him a friend at the same time.
‘Ah no, nothing like that.’ Cara paused for a moment as she thought again about the topic of her and Shane’s conversation that morning. ‘Conor, how come you never got married?’
‘Don’t you start, my mother is bad enough trying to get me married off as it is.’ He jumped off the desk and rolled his eyes, and Cara smiled. She knew Conor’s mum Greta, and thought it was lovely that he still was so close to his mother, even though he very definitely lived his own life in a gorgeous penthouse apartment not far from the office. Or perhaps it was that Conor’s mother took care of him so well that there was no need (or room) for a permanent woman in his life?
‘I suppose I just never found the right girl,’ he said in reply, before looking at her closely. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, Shane and I got on to the subject of weddings last night, and it sort of carried through to this morning. I feel stupid really. Somehow I had it in my head that Shane wasn’t interested in that sort of thing, you know . . . marriage. Like he was satisfied with how things were between us and didn’t need anything more. And given that you’ve never taken the plunge, I just thought that maybe you had felt that way at some point in life too.’
‘Did Shane actually tell you that he didn’t want to get married?’
Cara shook her head. ‘No, he said he did.’
‘Well then, what are you worried about?’
‘I’m not worried; I just wondered how some people come to that decision, like, “Yes, I want to get married” or “No, it’s definitely not for me”.’
He nodded. ‘Well, indeed it’s not for everyone.’
‘So it never interested you – not at all?’ Cara pressed.
‘Ah, it might have at one point, but I chalk that feeling up to being young and foolish,’ Conor said. ‘It’s probably a good thing it didn’t happen, or that it wasn’t pursued at least. We probably would have just made each other miserable.’
Cara sat up, immediately interested. ‘Who was she? Someone from when you were in London?’
‘Ah, just a girl. That ship has sailed. Look, don’t worry about Shane; I’m sure that when he’s ready, he’ll pop the question. He would be an eejit to let someone like you get away in any case. As for me, don’t you worry, sweetheart – I might not want marriage, but you won’t find me all alone in my old age either.’
Cara laughed and rolled her eyes. ‘Yep, I can see you still being able to pull them in when you’re eighty, a bit like Jack Nicholson. You will be quite the Don Juan of the nursing-home scene, I bet.’
‘I like the sound of that – I think, not sure about the Nicholson comparison. though, I’m not that old,’ he joked, before turning his attention to the phone on his desk, which had just started ringing. ‘Now get to work, you.’
‘Yes, boss.’
The rest of the morning continued without challenge. Cara made her way through her work, fielded phone calls from clients, and essentially fell into her usual day-to-day work routine. It wasn’t until one o’clock began to approach that her stomach started to make its usual protest that it was time for something other than what was on her to-do list.
This time, though, the rumbling of her stomach also reminded Cara that there was something she’d forgotten to do when she came in that morning.
As if on cue, the front door to the office flew open and in walked a familiar person. The very same person she had meant to phone earlier.
‘Hey there sunshine,’ her sister-in-law called out.
‘Ah Kim, I completely forgot. I meant to call you earlier to apologise and—’
‘Call me for what? So you could cancel on me?’
Cara looked guilty. ‘Actually yes – sorry. I’ve got a lot more work on and—’
‘Well tough, I’m here now, so get your stuff. I don’t know about you but I’m starving.’
Kim ran her own cosmetics distribution business, supplying beauty salons and hotel spas the length and breadth of the country with her carefully chosen range of luxurious bath and body products.
A former model, she was ideal to front such a glamorous business, but despite being involved in such an image-o
bsessed field, Kim loved her grub and, besides never missing a meal, was also one of those maddening women who could easily get away with carrying a few extra pounds.
Today she was dressed in head-to-toe Prada. Or was it Primark? Cara couldn’t be sure. With Kim it could easily be either, and whether clad in designer or high street, she always looked fabulous. Her bouncy blonde locks reflected the office track lighting above and her peach complexion glowed with vitality, setting off her almond-shaped brown eyes. She was in her late thirties, almost a decade older than Cara, but at five foot eleven and in great shape, her sister-in-law could very easily outshine the considerably younger models who so often graced the pages of her company catalogues.
‘Now, what would you say to a good burger?’ she asked. ‘That and some chips, I’m mad for chips.’
Cara shook her head. ‘You know I hate you, don’t you? Chips by the bucketload and still you can fit into those skinny pencil skirts.’ Although Cara was reasonably slim, she had frustratingly wide hips and as such pencil skirts had never seen the inside of her wardrobe.
Kim shrugged and turned to Conor. ‘Hey, Clooney, do you think you can run the show without her for an hour? Or will the whole place fall asunder if she’s not here?’ She knew Conor well and always jokingly referred to him, even to his face, as ‘Clooney’; the comparison not just attributed to Conor’s good looks, but also his perpetual bachelorhood.
‘I think we might just survive,’ Conor said. He looked at Cara. ‘But if you’re going for chips, bring me back some?’
‘Bloody hell, I don’t have much of a choice now do I? OK then,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘screw the diet for today; chips it is.’
Gathering up her bag and coat, she said goodbye to Conor and walked through the door as Kim held it open for her.
‘You’re on a diet?’ Kim enquired. ‘Why?’
‘Erm, because unlike some, I wasn’t in line when they were handing out perfect genes.’
‘Oh nonsense, you look gorgeous. But speaking of fitting into things,’ her sister-in-law said, with a meaningful smile, ‘I won’t be fitting into pencil skirts for much longer.’ Cara turned, her eyes widening. ‘That’s right, here we go again.’ Kim laughed and pointed to her stomach.