by Forbes, Sara
“Any deal that needs that much schmoozing probably isn’t healthy anyway.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” she says snippily.
“How about a drink?” I ask her. She looks quite defeated.
“No thanks, I’m driving.”
“Ah, but I have a whole treasure trove of non-alcoholic cocktails. And I know just the one for you. I’m able to match drinks to personalities.”
Her face softens as she takes a stool at the bar. “Is that so? Go on then. Just because I’m curious what drink you think suits me.”
“On it.”
This is something of a dream assignment for me. I gather fresh lychees, lemonade, lime.
I’m enjoying the way she’s watching me do my thing. I feel like Tom Cruise in Cocktail. Would she be impressed if I did the flipping the bottles in the air thing? Nah, I’Il wait ‘til the moment is right on that one.
“You have to learn to trust me,” I say, chopping the lime into thin slices.
“What could I do? Emma made it sound like a freaking disaster, like you didn’t give a shit what time Lorcan got home.”
I exhale slowly. “All I told her was that I’d be an hour late. In the end, I was only twenty minutes over time but you’d think the sky had fallen in. God, what a stuck up little…I don’t want to say it as there’s a lady present.”
She sighs heavily. “I know. But her son is good friends with Lorcan, and you learn to put up with all the shit when you’re a parent. She likes Danny though.”
“Lucky him.” I pour crushed ice into the shaker and start making noise.
“Danny’s always bang on time,” Cliona says loudly over the racket I’m making. “Or early, more often than not. Oh no, Seamus, I-I don’t mean that as a comparison. I’m just trying to explain why Emma Reilly likes him so much. She’s a stickler for time.”
I stop shaking. “Danny doesn’t work.” I start peeling the lychees, pull the wet rubbery flesh apart from the spikey skin. It’s the closest thing to alien food there is on this planet and I love their subtle taste. I hope she does too.
“Danny does so work,” she says indignantly.
“You call that working? He just sits in his ivory tower and counts the money coming in from his estate. Now and again he has to fill out a tax form or review a property lease contract, God love him.”
“He’s got his equestrian business.”
“Oh, he sells a few choice foals to the Curragh? Whoopie doo. He takes trips to Dublin now and again? Great. But I don’t call that work. Work is what you and I do. Hustling. Getting our hands dirty. Work is getting up every day at five to get a hotel running. Work is getting to bed last one at night after logging the online bookings, switching off all the lights, tending to a leaky boiler or a broken refrigerator, and emptying the trash because nobody else takes responsibility.”
“You’re underestimating him, as always,” she says.
“You’re defending him, as always. He doesn’t even have responsibility for Lorcan. At the end of the day, he can wash his hands of the boy if he wants to.”
Her face flattens. “It sounds to me like that’s what you want to do. Maybe this week has been too much for you, hmm?”
“No. I want to be in Lorcan’s life, Cliona. Nothing’s too much for me.” I lean over the bar, pushing my face closer to hers. “Nothing.”
“We’ll see about that,” she says, pressing her fingers against my chest playfully. It’s a lovely feeling. She leaves her hand there for about three seconds suggesting she’s not averse to touching me.
“Bring it on,” I say quietly.
She withdraws her hand slowly and places it in her lap out of view.
The silence grows between us. I can still feel the imprint of her hand on my chest. I don’t think I’m ever going to forget it, just like I’m never going to forget the feel of her feet in my hands, her groans of pleasure as I caressed her arches.
“Danny better watch out for Mrs. Reilly when he’s back,” I say.
Cliona makes a clicking sound. “That’s been going on for two years. Danny doesn’t see women until he’s into them. He only has eyes for Shannon. He’s totally oblivious.”
“He must be,” I murmur, “Throwing away someone like you.”
She retreats from the intimate space we created. “Seamus, Danny didn’t throw me away. I was the one who cheated on him, with Owen. I’m to blame for Danny and me not being together.”
“And…do you regret that?”
She huffs out a heavy breath. “I regret just about everything about my life except my son, OK? Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“I mean,” I say, “do you wish you were with Danny now?”
She straightens her posture. “The questions are getting harder now.”
I acknowledge with a slow nod.
“I mean, how can you even ask such a thing?” She brushes back strands of her hair.
“Quite easily.”
And I’m going to stand here until I hear the truth even if it sucks.
After what seems like eons, but is probably only seconds, she shakes her head. “No, when I see him with Shannon, I know they’re right for each other. We were never meant to be together long term. It wouldn’t have worked. He’s too uptight, too sensitive. I can only take so much of him at a time, quite frankly.”
I raise my eyebrows. This is not what I was expecting. The place where she touched me on my chest is growing warmer, radiating heat throughout my body.
“But I do love him as a friend,” she adds hurriedly.
“Of course you do,” I say, sliding her my finished cocktail. “Here, try this.”
“Thanks.” She takes the glass. I watch keenly as she lifts it to her lips and takes a delicate sip. “Now that is very good,” she declares, licking her upper lip in a gesture that’s unbearably sexy—“It’s sweet, with just the right amount of tartness.”
“Just like you,” I say with a smirk.
She cocks an eyebrow. “I’ve been called worse.”
I bow my head. I know she has. By my own family for starters. Bitch, witch, slut, murderess. The list goes on and on, adopting an ugly life of its own. I never called her any of these things, but I didn’t defend her either. “Well you shouldn’t have been,” I say firmly.
She flashes me a grateful smile, but says nothing.
I walk over to the sink to wash my utensils. I work in companionable silence with her watching me and drinking the cocktail. It’s been a long time since I felt this jittery about anyone or anything and that includes making presentation for venture capitalists to raise fifty million back in my last job.
“You’re very good at what you do, Seamus,” she says suddenly.
Compliments from anyone else just slide off me, but from her? I feel positively abashed. “Just doing my job,” I say gruffly.
“No. You’re going above and beyond. That’s your way, isn’t it?”
I shrug. “Depends on who for.”
Cliona looks at her watch. “Well, I better get back home. Thanks for the drink.” She slides the empty glass toward me. I guess she needed that.
“Next time, make it a real one,” I say, nodding at the glass. “My treat.”
She cocks her head at me quizzically. “Is it…a date?”
We lock gazes. Her flushed cheeks and mesmerizing smile tug at my heart.
I laugh. “Of course not. That would be….”
She nods. “Awkward.”
“Very awkward,” I agree.
“Don’t worry, I was oly messing with you.” She pats my hand, fastens her jacket and gives me a little wave before she heads out the door. I watch her every step of the way with the sensation of heavy bricks of missed opportunities raining down on me.
10
CLIONA
I drive home wrapped in a cocoon of strange feelings. Did Seamus really want me to go for a drink with him? I couldn’t assume anything because he’s always friendly with everyone. His suggestion that I retu
rn for a real drink could merely have been him trying to secure a customer for his bar.
Oh, why did I push the question?
But still, if he was anyone else, I would have pushed even more. The man makes me desperately horny.
But the man is Lorcan’s uncle. It’s positively incestuous. Well, it’s not, but it would be extremely weird for Lorcan. It would also be strange for Danny as it was only this time last year that Seamus was saying he was going to avenge him for killing his brother. It would be sending a signal to Danny that I’ve taken the Callaghan side.
God, how I even be thinking about this?
Not to mention the fact that Old Man Callaghan will probably kill or disown his oldest son if he pulled a stunt like going out with me.
It’s a crazy, stupid idea for everyone concerned. Life is complicated enough, and if I ever needed another reason to leave Ballytirrel, this is it.
No, I have to focus on Lorcan and my job. Speaking of which, I need to get an early night as I have a meeting tomorrow. It’s a new client looking to create a new garden out of a former coal yard. I want to make a good impression and get this contract.
*
I’m an hour away from Cork, heading toward Tipperary. The Tillbury family home is situated at the edge of a village with a wonderful view of rolling fields beyond their fence. To create the landscape they desire for their garden, they’ll have to tear out an old barn, rip up the tarmac and and replace it with a proper lawn and paving. Only then can they plant the tall liatris, gypsophila and peony I’ve recommended, along with a couple of swathes of polianthes and iris running through the middle.
It’s a huge job and I know already they’re not going to like the bill. And I’m right.
“You can’t be serious,” Tillbury says when I suggest it will be in the upper five-figures range.
“I don’t joke around, Mr. Tilbury.”
“I could get it done at half the price with Jim McKenna down the road.”
“If you want the quality of a stately garden that I can provide, it’ll take what I’m asking.”
“Jeez, woman. Are you sure you can’t do better?”
“I’m sure,” I say firmly.
Around a quarter of my clients refuse to accept my asking price. I had hoped that seeing as he’d contacted me, he’d be already informed about my prices.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I think I can get the job done a lot cheaper organizing it myself. Not to say your ideas aren’t good, Miss. But your prices are beyond the pale.”
I can already foresee the disaster that his self-planning is going to be with some second-rate laborer. I’ve seen it before many times. I make a point of driving past the properties of clients I’ve worked for and also people who eschewed my services. Let’s just say, they never save money in the end.
“Well, I won’t keep you any longer then, Mr. Tillbury,” I say. I wait for him to acknowledge my driving here, but no, nothing.
As I drive out of the driveway, I think I’m probably better off.
I call Deirdre to check everything’s OK.
“Yup, Lorcan’s having a good time. How’d your client go?”
“Didn’t.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Yeah, another one bites the dust. Really gotta step it up and get a new client by the end of this week or else selling the house will be the only viable option.”
She’s silent. “Yeah. What can I say, Cliona? Just hurry up and get home. I have to catch the train soon.”
“You bet.”
I click the phone off.
Soon however, I see a flashing light on my dash. The red for the fuel. Was it flashing before? It was sunny and I didn’t notice it. Oh crap.
Well, I’ll make it to the next fuel station. I always do.
Only…the engine is not being responsive.
I realize with a massive thump of my heart that I’m slowing down…down…down. I’m going forty, thirty. In a panic, I slam my foot full on the accelerator, but nothing. Still slowing…
I swerve to the left, onto a grassy bank. So, this is what it’s like to run out of fuel. I’d always wondered in an abstract kind of way. I never thought it would actually happen to me.
Christ. Where am I? It’s a country road. I’m alone.
I sit there, staring at the dashboard.
Maybe if I start it up again? But that won’t help if I don’t know exactly where to drive to. Is the nearest station forward or backward?
Luckily my phone has juice. I search in an app for the nearest station and it’s the Shell Station, seven kilometers away. I’ll never make it. I’ll have to walk. It’ll take an hour if I don’t get a lift but I’m not sure I want a lift. There’ve been so many stories. And I’m wearing a short dress. Paired with a sharp blazer and ankle boots, it was professional during the daytime but now in the evening… it may attract the wrong type.
Oh God. OK. It’s still bright-ish. I don’t need to do the full-blown damsel in distress routine and call an expensive tow service. I’ll walk fast, get petrol, fill up the car.
I can do this.
I repeat the phrase to myself as I clomp along. Glad I didn’t wear fancy stilettoes.
There’s a nasty looking cloud coming in over the Boggeragh Mountains. Then I feel them—the first drops of rain. Within seconds, the heavens open. I know from the type of rain that it’s not going to let up for at least an hour.
A car is coming, so I stick out my thumb.
It whizzes by. The reg plates show it’s a hire car. Bloody tourists.
I stomp on.
No other car comes. I look at my watch. If I don’t get home by eight, Deirdre’ll miss the train to Dublin. The early train won’t get her to Dublin in time tomorrow morning to get to the exam. I can’t drive here there as I have a client meeting tomorrow. She has to get that train tonight which means I have to get home to relieve her of Lorcan, or find someone else. But who?
I think resentfully of Danny in New Zealand. He’s probably enjoying a breakfast overlooking some amazing mountain now, unaware of the trials in my life. I know he deserves to take a break, but I really wish he was here now.
Seamus… I could call him. But it would be the second time in two days. It’s basically admitting to him what a mess my life is. Besides, I don’t want him to think I’m relying on him.
I call Daniel’s mother, Ellen. She’s a darling. Because she’s frail with arthritis, I don’t ask her to look after Lorcan these days, but this is an emergency.
She answers the phone after fifteen rings which is nothing unusual when her housekeeper isn’t around to do it for her.
“Oh, Cliona.”
“Hi, Ellen. I’m in a bit of a bind. I won’t be home in time before Deirdre has to catch her bus to Dublin. Could I leave Lorcan with you?”
“Of course, Dear. The house is so empty these days.”
“Oh, thank you. Yes, it must be quiet with Danny and Shannon gone. Have you heard from them?”
I shiver as I await her reply. “Oh yes, they’re in Christchurch now.”
“Well, I’ll hear all about it when I come over.”
“I look forward to it.”
She puts the phone down. I appreciate her brevity at times like this.
I call Deirdre. “You can walk him over to Ellen’s. Can you do that?”
“Yes, on it.”
“Call me when you get there, OK?”
“Yes, Cliona,” she says in a long-suffering voice. “I will. Don’t mind about us. You go get your petrol.”
I trudge onwards. Deirdre has better things to be doing than accompanying my son around on the evening before one of her biggest exams. Lady Ellen should be able to enjoy her quiet time. Why am I such a burden on everyone?
The phone buzzes. Deirdre was quick. “Please tell me you’re there and nobody tried to knock you down?” I say.
“Uhm, I am here,” comes the amused, male voice, “And nobody tried to knock me down.”
“Seamus,
” I say. “Sorry, thought you were Deirdre.”
“I get that a lot. Seriously, I’m intrigued. Why would someone try to knock her down?”
“Oh, she’s just…you know, not lucky with walking. What did you want me for?”
“Before I answer that, maybe you can tell me why it sounds like you’re standing in a waterfall.”
“Ah, it’s because I’m sheltering from the rain beside a shed with a corrugated iron roof and it’s kinda loud.”
“Where the hell are you?” His intensity is almost frightening.
“Uh, somewhere between Ballygurteen and Ballynacarriga on the R637.”
“You’ve stopped on the road. Why?”
“Well…a spot of car trouble. But I’m dealing with it.”
“What happened?”
“I ran out of petrol. But it’s OK. I know where to get some.”
“You’re on the R637, you say?”
“Yes. Listen, I have to—”
“How’re you getting there?”
“Walking.”
There’s a pause. “We’ll sort this. Let me think.”
“Seamus,” I say witheringly. “You can’t sort this. Right now, all I care about is Deidre getting her train.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll hire a car to get her there if need be. Is it Clancy’s you’re heading towards? Is that the nearest one?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Wait right where you are—in shelter. Don’t walk another step. I’ll call them.”
“What good will that do?” I ask mystified.
“They’ll come get you They’re tenants of ours. Half the property around there is ours. It’s the western edge of our estate.”
“I had no idea you Callaghans were that big.”
“And I’d love to show you how big, but let’s get you home first.”
Despite the rain, despite the empty fuel tank, I laugh out loud. “I asked for that.”
“Sorry,” he says, but I can just see that big smile on his face.
“Well, call Clancy’s for what it’s worth,” I say.
“He’ll bring you to the station and get your car filled up. I’ll text you the reg plate once I have it so you know not to climb into a mass murderer’s car.”