by Zara Keane
Aunt Nora sidled up to him, wafting cheap perfume and lingering cigarette fumes. “He volunteered,” she said, pursing her lips. “It was either that or have him play Cupid. But after he got drunk at last year’s fair and had to be fished out of the fountain, he was banned from coming in costume.”
Cupid? Jaysus. “I’m glad I was spared that sight.”
“As if his Elvis getup isn’t bad enough.” Nora shook her head and fiddled with her cigarette packet.
“Sorry, ma’am,” a pimply-faced usher said. “There’s no smoking in here.”
“Bugger off.” Nora lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply, spidery lines snaking out around her puckered lips.
“Come on.” Seán took his aunt’s arm and steered her toward the exit. “Let’s chat outside.”
“It’s bloody freezing outside,” she muttered but allowed him to propel her through the crowd.
“I’ll get you one of John-Joe’s hot whiskies to warm you up. I can’t be seen tolerating someone flouting the smoking laws.”
“Wankers, the lot of them,” snapped Nora. “I hope they get hemorrhoids. We’re all going to die of something, aren’t we?”
“I suppose we are,” Seán said, stifling a grin.
Nora eyed him through the smoke. “You’ll be over for my birthday, I hope?”
“Over? You mean at your house?”
“Of course,” she said. “You’re family, and both our boys are working in Australia. I’d like to have someone to celebrate with other than my fool of a husband.”
“I—”
“It falls on a Sunday this year,” she continued. “I always serve Sunday dinner at two o’clock sharp. Whether or not John-Joe can rouse his fat arse out of his armchair to join us at the dining room table is another matter. He was snoring by noon last year.” Nora patted Seán on the arm. “At least I’ll have you for company this year.”
His shirt collar felt tight all of a sudden. “I might be on duty.”
“Nonsense. It’s not for another couple of weeks. Plenty of time to get that cheeky young nipper Brian Glenn to fill in for you.”
“Speaking of John-Joe, Helen Havelin wants to hire him to perform at her house party.”
Nora threw back her head and let out a hoot of laughter. “Does she know what she’s letting herself in for?”
“No, and I’m not going to enlighten her. If he wants the job, here’s her phone number.” After scribbling the number on the notepad he always kept in the front pocket of his shirt, he tore it off and handed it to his aunt.
“Thanks, J—Seán.” She gave a rueful smile. “Sorry, love. I keep forgetting your new name.” His aunt dropped her cigarette on the pavement and ground it out with her heel. After glancing at her watch, she said, “I’d better get going. Don’t want to miss my daily soap opera fix. My eejit of a husband can walk home. The air will do him good. With a bit of luck, it’ll piss rain on him.”
The picture of domestic bliss, Seán thought when his aunt climbed into her car and drove off. Had he really been roped into Sunday lunch with the outlaws? He rubbed a hand over his jaw. Nora had always been a ruthless manipulator, hence his determination to avoid her. Much easier said than done in a place the size of Ballybeg. Ah, well. It was just dinner. No promises of future happy family get-togethers. Perhaps it was time to confront his past and move on.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE NEXT FEW days passed without incident. Clio didn’t hear anything more from Ray. Garda Glenn was assigned to watch over her mother on Sunday, thus sparing Clio a confrontation with her conflicted feelings over Seán Mackey. There was no denying that the chemistry between them was on an oh-my-effing-God scale. Why, of all the men she’d ever met, did he have to be the one to get under her skin?
On Wednesday morning, she went to meet Olivia and her friends on the promenade as arranged. Finding a parking space this early was easy. Outside the car, Clio clipped her water bottle into its holder on her little backpack and completed stretches before jogging over to the carousel. The weather was cold and crisp with a biting wind. The idea of a run to clear her head and get her blood pumping put a broad beam on her face. A beam that wavered when she saw who was waiting for her.
Seán stood beside Olivia, laughing at something she’d said. He wore running gear that accentuated his muscular legs. Shame she couldn’t catch a glimpse of his chest muscles through his zip-up shell jacket. The memory of his strong torso and washboard abs brought heat to her cheeks.
He glanced up when Clio jogged over to join them, his eyes widening perceptively and a smile curving his lips. “I didn’t know you were joining us.” His gaze darted behind her and an expression of relief settled over his handsome features.
She gave him a wry smile. “Don’t worry. Mother isn’t coming. She prefers to work out in her home gym or with a personal trainer. She hates people to see her sweat.”
“Speaking of your mother,” Olivia said, “did you know she’s hired me to cater her party next Saturday?”
“No, I didn’t. You said you run a café, right?”
“Yes. You must stop by for a coffee. We’re on Curzon Street.” Olivia pointed to a small side street that led off from the promenade. “In addition to the café, I also do the odd catering job for parties. Bridie put in a good word for me.”
Clio laughed. “It sounds like Bridie takes care of her family.”
“Very much so. She’s married to my grandfather but she always looks out for the people she likes. Apparently, she likes you.”
“She went to school with your mother,” Seán said in a deceptively casual tone. “Did you know that?”
“No. Really?” The bookshop owner appeared to be several years older than her mother, but then Clio couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen Helen without a carefully applied mask of cosmetics. “I know my mother knows your boss from years ago too.”
“I gathered that,” Seán said in a dry tone. “He seems to hold her in great affection.”
“Right, troops.” Gavin tapped his watch. “Let’s get moving. I need to start work in an hour. I suggest we head out as far as Craggy Point and double back by the dunes.”
They took the stone steps down to the beach, careful not to slip on the icy patches. The tide was out, leaving a wide stretch of sand hardened by the cold temperatures. Gavin lead them in the direction of the caves Clio had spied briefly on her previous run. Even though she had to slow her usual pace to accommodate the others, the joy was glorious.
About fifteen minutes into the run, Fiona stopped to catch her breath and clutch her sides. “Feck, I’m unfit. And my bad leg hurts. Whose idea was this, anyway?”
“Your husband’s,” Olivia said dryly. She was wearing designer jogging gear and cute runners, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail that swung from side to side as she jogged on the spot. “He seems to think we can all go as fast as him and Seán.”
Clio laughed. “You call this pace fast?”
“Oh, I can see how this will go.” Olivia tapped the side of her nose. “Fiona and I will be stuck dragging behind while you three speed on ahead.”
“Speaking of numbers, where’s Jonas? Didn’t he want to join us today?”
Olivia nodded. “That was the original plan. Luca, his—our—son, has come down with a cold. We didn’t want to pack him off to his grandmother’s house when he’s not feeling well.”
“I can understand that. It’s that time of year, isn’t it? My daughter woke up with a sore throat. I’m expecting her to share the love with me at any moment.”
“Is your mother looking after her this morning?” Olivia asked.
“No, she went to school. Even if she’d stayed home, there would be no need for a babysitter. Tammy is fifteen.”
“Fifteen?” Fiona examined her face closely. “Surely you’re not old enough to have a kid that age.”
Clio was used to this reaction. Thankfully, Fiona’s remark was devoid of the poorly disguised censure she usually encountered. “
I’m a few years older than I look but, yes, I had Tammy just before my eighteenth birthday.”
“Wow. By the time I get around to contemplating babies, yours will be grown and gone.”
“I hope not. I’m not ready to let go of her yet.” Particularly not when she and Tammy were finally starting to talk again after months of tension-taut silence.
“Come on ladies,” Gavin yelled. “Move your ar—beautiful behinds.”
“Slave driver,” Fiona shouted after him. “Go on ahead, Clio. I can see you’re itching to pick up speed.”
She was, actually. Being out here, flying along the beach, she felt free. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” Fiona took a swallow from the water bottle Olivia proffered. “Let’s get together another time for a proper chat.”
“Why don’t you both come round to the café one evening after closing?” Olivia suggested. “I can put some food by for us and we’ll be away from our respective families.”
“That’s a great idea,” Clio said. “I’ll discuss my schedule with Ruairí and send you a text message when I know which evenings I’m not working.”
“Most evenings work for me,” Fiona said. “Check when you’re free and square it with Olivia. I’ll roll with whatever you two decide.”
Olivia nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
“Okay. Enjoy the rest of your day and let’s talk soon.” Clio waved good-bye and picked up pace.
She soon caught up with Gavin and Seán. They’d only run for a few minutes when Gavin’s phone began to ring. He slowed to a slow jog. “Sorry, guys. I have to take this. It’s a client.”
While Gavin spoke to his caller, Clio took the opportunity to take a swig from her water bottle. A minute later, Gavin slipped his phone back into his pocket, irritation writ on his handsome face. “I’m going to have to cut our run short. There’s a problem with a building project I’m involved in. I need to get to the site.”
“No problem,” Seán said. “Given the numbers of times I’ve had to cut and run on you—no pun intended—I understand. Clio and I can keep going for a while, then turn back. Okay by you, Clio?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Even if it meant being alone with Seán, she was reluctant to cut short a run she was enjoying.
After Gavin left, she turned to Seán. “Are you training for this Ballybeg Sports Day event?”
He gave her a crinkly-eyed grin that warmed her to the core. “The Ballybeg Sports Day is a disgrace. The highlight is the three-legged race, and that’s usually won by John-Joe and his pal, Buck MacCarthy.”
She laughed out loud. “Sounds like a classy event. John-Joe’s swimming Elvis act notwithstanding, neither he nor Buck strikes me as particularly athletic.”
“I don’t know about Buck, but John-Joe used to be athletic. I remember him training for hours when I was a k—” He broke off, cleared his throat, and picked up speed.
“You knew John-Joe when you were a kid?” Clio asked when they paused for a water break. “How? Don’t you come from Dublin?”
Seán stared out to sea, his face a blank mask. The waves rose and crashed against the rocks in a violent maelstrom of foam. Finally, he capped his water bottle and turned to meet her questioning gaze. “I lived in Ballybeg until I was ten. John-Joe is my uncle.”
“Oh,” she said, even more confused than she’d been before. “What’s the big deal? Why are you reluctant to mention it?”
The smile was back, this time self-deprecating. “Would you want to admit to being related to John-Joe Fitzgerald?”
“If I was related to him, I wouldn’t care if anyone knew. Why would I? Why should you? I have a slew of relatives I’m not supposed to mention on my biological father’s side of the family. I honestly don’t give a toss what people think.”
“It’s a little more complicated than me being ashamed of John-Joe. It’s not John-Joe’s fault that I feel this way.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Not particularly.” He averted his gaze, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not good on sharing. Suffice it to say I left Ballybeg for what I hoped was forever and ended up being sent here to work just under a year ago.”
“What did you do in Dublin to get sent to this backwater?” she asked, curious to know more.
“A mistake I didn’t make.” He clipped the water bottle onto his belt and flashed her the killer smile that never failed to set her pulse racing. “Come on. Let’s get moving or we’ll never keep our heart rates elevated.”
No fear of that when she was in his vicinity. The man had a similar effect to an adrenalin shot.
They ran for another thirty minutes, past the rocky protrusion of Craggy Point, then circling back and retracing their steps toward the town. Clio’s feet skipped over the rocks and the sand, giving her the impression of flying. Both she and Seán were pushing themselves hard enough that conversation was out of the question. Finally, they reached the side street where she’d parked, and she collapsed against her car.
“That felt good,” she said, draining her water bottle. “The shower after will feel even better.”
“I know a way to make a shower feel very good indeed.” His cheeky smile made her ache in all the right places. Even dripping with sweat and panting, Seán Mackey was drop-dead gorgeous.
She gave him a playful swat. “I’m sure you do, Sergeant Mackey, but don’t you have a job to go to? Some stray sheep to round up, or a speeding ticket to write?”
“Alas, yes.” He smile faded. “This morning’s task isn’t going to be pleasant. I need to question the local Travellers again about a series of attacks against their community. The boy who was attacked is out of his coma but not fit to talk to us yet.”
She nodded sympathetically. “Good luck. I need to get home and finish cleaning the house before I start my shift at the pub.”
He leaned closer. The musky scent of sweat and sexy male made her breath catch and her loins ache. His gaze was fixed on her mouth. For a moment, she was certain he was going to kiss her, but he changed course at the last millisecond and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. The sensation of not-yet-shaven male jaw brushing against her skin sent a shiver of anticipation through her.
Then he drew back, flashed her one last smile, and was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
SEÁN TOOK A BITE of fruit bread and washed it down with black coffee. The tiny café at the Book Mark was packed with giggling schoolgirls. He tuned them out and ran over his day. And what a day it had been.
After spending as much time as he dared under the shower fantasizing about Clio Havelin, he’d received an emergency callout from the florist’s on Patrick Street. One of Danny Hegarty’s sheep had made a run for it the previous day and had finally deigned to put in an appearance at Mamie Driscoll’s flower shop. By the time Seán and Reserve Garda Doyle showed up at the scene of the crime, Dolly the Sheep had munched her way through half Mamie’s wares.
The inanity of that encounter was sobered by a fruitless last-ditch attempt at squeezing information out of Jimmy Murphy’s relatives. The good news on that front was that the boy’s health continued to improve and his prognosis was no longer as bleak as it had been in the initial hours after the attack.
By four o’clock in the afternoon, Seán was bone tired and in need of a jolt of caffeine before facing the tower of paperwork that awaited him back at the station.
At the table nearest the door, Tammy Havelin sat with a couple of other schoolgirls. She seemed nervous, ill at ease. After some whispered conversation with her companions, she got up from the table and moved toward the old comic section. If the girl’s hunched shoulders and furtive looks in his direction and in Bridie’s were a reliable indicator, she was about to do something stupid. He exhaled a sigh. Dealing with teenage shenanigans was the last thing he wanted to add to his agenda.
The two girls at Tammy’s table giggled when he caught their eye. With her liberal application of eye makeup, the dark-haired one l
ooked like a raccoon. She smirked at him. Seán took an instant and perhaps irrational dislike to the child. The girl’s spotty-faced companion had made a valiant attempt to hide her blemishes under a mask of foundation. Unfortunately, the poorly applied makeup served to draw attention to her uneven complexion.
His attention shifted to Tammy. She was pretending to peruse the selection of vintage comics preserved in plastic covers. Her hand hovered over one particular comic, and her side-glance at Bridie had him on his feet in an instant.
He moved with the stealth of a panther and sidled up to her at the comic stand. “Do you like comics, Tammy?” he asked in a voice low enough that only they could hear.
“I…um…I guess so,” the girl stammered, suddenly finding her shiny black school shoes fascinating.
He examined the comic she was holding through its shiny wrapper. “Spider-Man. My favorite when I was a kid.”
The girl flushed from her jaw to her cheekbones.
“Why don’t you pay for this, Tammy, and then I’ll give you a lift back to Clonmore House?”
Her throat convulsed, but she nodded, keeping her eyes downcast.
When they were outside the shop, Seán pressed his car key to unlock the doors. He waited until he’d eased the vehicle into the sparse traffic of Patrick Street before confronting her. “What was that about?”
Tammy shrank against the back of the passenger seat. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Because it seemed to me as though those two little madams were daring you to steal that comic. Am I right?”
She was fidgeting with her rings now, twisting them back and forth on her slim fingers. “Can we forget it?”
“No, Tammy, we can’t forget it. If you’d stolen that comic, I would have come after you and made you face the consequences.” He indicated right and turned onto the winding country road that led from the town down the coast toward Clonmore House.
The girl continued to stare at her hands.
“Was it a hazing ritual?” he probed. “Was that why there were so many girls from your school in the Book Mark this afternoon?”
