by Zara Keane
“No. He’s on the autistic spectrum, but it seems to be a mild case. You’ll notice oddities in his social interaction, and his speech can be repetitive at times. Other than that, he’s a regular six-year-old boy.”
“To be frank, apart from my brothers, I’m not exactly a kid person.”
Jonas grinned. “Luca’s not exactly a people person.”
That elicited a small smile from her. “Then we’ll get along fine.” She reached for her bag. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take some measurements while I’m here.”
“Sure.” He stood, almost knocking over his chair. “I’ll get out of your way.”
“No need. I don’t mind if you want to stay.”
His cheeks burned and he had that weird, fluttery sensation in his stomach. “I’d better get back to Luca,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “He’s playing Lego, but I don’t like to leave him next door on his own for too long.”
“I understand.” Olivia hesitated as if she wanted to say something more, but the moment passed.
Jonas shuffled toward the exit. “Close the door when you’re done. I’ll lock up later.”
“Thanks. Enjoy your evening.”
“You too.” He retreated with as much grace as a six-foot-two man could muster while walking backward. He needed to get a grip.
***
Olivia exhaled after Jonas left. He unsettled her. She needed to get over this strange sensitivity to his presence, especially if she was going to be seeing him on a regular basis. Not to mention seeing his kid. That he’d trust her to babysit was both weird and touching. She wasn’t joking when she said she wasn’t a kid person. Kyle and Ronan were family, but she wasn’t the sort to coo over a baby. At least Luca was toilet trained. That counted for something, right?
Focus. The café. She visualized her café on its opening day. She knew where every piece of equipment would be placed. Her first menu was planned, as were the signature dishes for the first couple of months. After years of dreaming, the café would become a reality.
Aidan would pitch a fit once he realized she was serious about leaving, but here and now, she didn’t give a feck. To hell with Aidan. To hell with Aidan’s mother. To hell with her parents, for that matter. This was her dream, and she was making it come true.
She walked around the cottage with a swell of pride. In addition to the kitchen, it was divided into two rooms plus a loft upstairs. Until she could afford an alternative, she’d transform the loft into a makeshift apartment.
Downstairs she’d take out the doors separating the two rooms to make it one large area. The café would have a simple, but cozy, ambience. The décor should reflect the mood she wanted to create. She’d chosen cream paint for the walls and vintage floral stencils to decorate the rim. Her brother Kyle had promised to help her. When she’d first mentioned opening a café years ago, her mother and a few of her artist friends had promised paintings of local landscapes. Given the circumstances, Victoria wouldn’t follow through. Time to search for an alternative.
She’d leave windows at the front of the café unadorned. The tables and chairs were wood and wicker pieces she’d found several years ago at a closing-down sale for a restaurant in Cork. Her grandfather had helped her to restore them, and he was keeping them in his garage until she needed them.
She ran a fingernail down her menu plan. Her food wasn’t exotic. She used fresh ingredients to create simple meals that tasted great. She had a twist on traditional Irish dishes such as Irish stew and a variety of sweets and desserts. She’d have fresh bread twice a day and fresh dishes every day. At first, she’d have a minimal staff. She and Jill would manage on their own with Jill’s sister helping on Saturdays and over the lunchtime rush.
Working her way around the room with the measuring tape, she planned where to position each table. She didn’t want her customers to feel cramped, but neither did she have the luxury of space to place the tables too far away from one another. She corrected her floor plan and made random notes in the margins.
The shrill ring of her phone made her heart leap. Not Aidan, pretty please. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him. He’d been out when she and Fiona had collected her stuff earlier, but she couldn’t avoid him forever.
She inhaled deeply and checked the display. She frowned. What did Dad want?
“Olivia?” Her father sounded tentative.
“Hi, Dad. What’s up?”
“Where are you? The reception is patchy.”
“The cottage on Curzon Street.” Damn. In her relief at the call not being from Aidan, she’d spoken without thinking. Curse her for a fool.
“Eh?” said her father in confusion. “But you lost the bid on the lease.”
“I did,” Olivia admitted, “but Jonas O’Mahony offered to rent the rooms to me after all. The café is happening.”
“That’s good,” he said in a dubious tone. “If it’s what you want.”
“It is. Very much. But please don’t tell Mum until everything is signed and official.”
“I don’t like keeping secrets from Victoria, but she’s already furious over you leaving Aidan. I don’t think she could cope with the idea it’s permanent.”
Dear old Mum, always thinking of herself. The temptation to make a scathing comment was overwhelming, but Olivia bit her tongue. “I mean it, Dad. This is important. I don’t want her blabbing it around town before my loan is confirmed.”
“In that case, I’ll keep mum.” He chuckled at his lame joke.
“Do you promise?”
“Yeah.”
Olivia wished she believed him. He hadn’t betrayed her yet when she’d asked him to keep a secret, but she didn’t underestimate her mother’s wield over him. Still, if she were foolish enough to blurt it out, she’d have to live with the consequences.
“Are you still staying with Fiona?”
“No. I moved into Bridie Byrne’s spare room yesterday. I’ll be there until the cottage is habitable.”
“Rather you than me. Bridie always looks at me like I’m something the cat dragged in.” He paused and gave a faux hearty laugh: “Say, love, I need to ask you a favor.”
And now we come to the real reason for the phone call, she thought with a sigh. Money.
“You couldn’t lend me a few quid? Just to tide me over until the end of the week.”
“How much do you need? I’m not exactly flush with cash myself at the moment.”
“Fifty. I can pay you back on Friday. Aidan wants me to stuff envelopes for his campaign, so I’ll have some money owed to me.”
“Okay, but I’ll need it back. I’ll give it to you tomorrow at the office.”
“You’re coming into work?” he asked in surprise.
“Of course. I have to work my notice. You know it’ll take at least four years for the divorce to go through, right? I’ll have enough legal dealings with Aidan over the coming years without handing him ammunition on a platter.”
She rang off. If the gods were smiling down on her tomorrow morning, Aidan would give her the silent treatment.
Chapter Twelve
THE GODS WERE NOT benevolently inclined.
Olivia started her Tuesday morning floating on a cloud of optimism. She’d left her letter of resignation on Aidan’s nightstand on Sunday afternoon when she and Fiona had collected her stuff plus a registered copy of that letter would arrive in tomorrow’s post. In four weeks, she’d be out of this place.
“Olivia,” Aidan snapped, jarring her out of her delightful reverie. He hurled a bunch of papers onto her desk. “Get your head out of your arse and get to work. I need these typed up and sent to clients.”
He went back into his office, slamming the door behind him. Her soon-to-be ex-husband was furious she’d quit but powerless to stop her. He was equally powerless to prevent her taking the first steps toward getting a divorce. Her heart swelled. For once, she had the upper hand.
Dad was at his desk, pretending to work. He’d barely ac
knowledged her presence, bar the reminder of the money she’d promised him. Though unsurprising, his rejection stung. Even if he was concerned about losing the bits of work Aidan threw his way, she wished he’d show a bit of backbone. She gritted her teeth and opened up her mail client. Time to get to work.
When her mother sauntered in the door shortly after her ten o’clock coffee break, Olivia’s fluffy cloud of optimism took on a decidedly gray tinge. Victoria wore a floral maxi dress and wafted lilac perfume. Olivia’s nostrils itched.
“Hello, darling,” she said breezily and treated her husband to a passionate kiss.
Olivia gave an internal eye roll. Her parents loved public displays of affection. They were the sort of feckless, reckless couple so caught up in one another that they failed to acknowledge the rest of the world, their children included.
The moment Victoria made a beeline for Aidan’s office, Olivia’s sense of foreboding turned to full-blown panic. Her mother knocked, and Aidan bade her enter.
“Dad?” she asked once the door shut behind Victoria.
“Hmm?” He was finding his stack of campaign brochures fascinating.
A wave of nausea hit her like a tsunami. “You told Mum, didn’t you?”
He hunched his shoulders and he muttered a response. Her stomach sank. No wonder he hadn’t been able to look her in the eye this morning. She shouldn’t be surprised, but she’d hoped he’d have enough paternal feeling toward her not to betray her secret to her mother. She was an eejit for letting it slip in the first place. Why was he such a wimp?
“You swore to me you wouldn’t tell her.” She choked back tears. “Now she’s going to tell Aidan, and he’ll do something to sabotage the café.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Olivia.” Her father’s laugh was hollow. “Even if she does tell him, he can’t stop you now that you have the lease.”
If only she were so sanguine. The next half hour dragged. Her father had errands to run for Aidan and escaped the office with indecent haste. Olivia tried to focus on work, but her attention wandered to the low rumble of voices from Aidan’s office. Feck Victoria. If she had an ounce of maternal feeling, she’d want her daughter to be happy. While she’d never been deliberately cruel, her offhand comments and blatant disregard for anyone’s comfort apart from her own and her husband’s made Olivia wary of her motives.
When her mobile phone began to ring, one glance at caller display told her the game was up. She swallowed hard. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance.
“Olivia?” An anxious voice was rarely the bearer of good news. “This is Mairéad from the bank. I’m sorry to tell you this, but your loan has been denied.”
“What?” Olivia gasped. “But I have an appointment with Paddy this afternoon.”
“I’m calling to cancel it,” said Mairéad with obvious regret. “I’m sorry. I know how much the café meant to you.”
Olivia’s fingers went rigid. “Don’t I get an explanation? Paddy told me I had until after Easter to get a lease, and I have one. Can I speak with him?”
“I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment…” Mairéad’s voice trailed off. “Olivia, it’s hopeless. My advice to you would be to try another bank, preferably outside Ballybeg. But that’s strictly between us.”
Her gaze darted to the door of Aidan’s office. The bastard. He’d set this up. If she’d had any sense—at least one of foreboding—she should have foreseen that Aidan would scheme to put a stop to her plans. “Thanks, Mairéad. I know you’re only the messenger.”
She hung up and glared at Aidan’s door. Her entire body quivered with ill-suppressed fury. The absolute prick. She shoved back her desk chair and made to stand. At that moment, her mother emerged from Aidan’s lair. Her demeanor was furtive and shifty.
Olivia’s breath turned to ice. “My loan application was rejected.”
Victoria flinched but betrayed no flicker of surprise.
“Did you tell Aidan about Jonas’s offer?”
A muscle in her mother’s cheek twitched. “He had a right to know, Olivia. He is your husband.”
“How could you? You knew he’d do his utmost to stop it from happening.”
“It’s for the best, believe me.” Victoria’s gaze didn’t leave the carpet.
The cloying perfume hung in the air like a shroud. “For you or for me?”
“Don’t be self-centered. You know we depend on Aidan.”
“No, you depend on Aidan, Mother,” snapped Olivia. “I’m sick of being the sacrificial lamb on the altar of your financial irresponsibility.”
Victoria’s emerald green eyes rose. “He’s your husband. Your duty is to be with him.”
“My duty? And what about his duty toward me?” Olivia’s chest swelled in outrage. “He sleeps with any tart he can get his slimy way with and treats me like dirt. You’re my mother. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
“Of course I do, darling. But I think you need to try harder. Relationships take a lot of work, you know.”
“You selfish bitch. You only ever think of yourself, don’t you?”
Victoria’s mouth turned down, displaying hurt. “Of course not. I’m thinking of what’s best for our family. You don’t want the boys to be homeless, do you?”
“If you and Dad lose the house, it’ll be your own fault. Stop shoving responsibility for your mistakes off on me.”
“How dare you judge me?” Her mother’s lower lip quivered. “You know nothing of the sacrifices I’ve made for your sake.”
“Deciding to have me and marry Dad was your decision.”
A tear slid down Victoria’s cheek. “I had to drop out of art school.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. Any moment now, the violins would start playing. “If you’d been motivated, you could have gone back any time these past twenty-nine years.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Perhaps not. But don’t blame me, Dad, or the boys for your life decisions.”
“I am an artist, Olivia. Have you any idea what it’s like to have your creativity crushed?”
No. She was more familiar with having her self-esteem trampled.
“By domesticity?” she asked. Oh, the irony. Her mother wouldn’t know how to operate a washing machine if her life depended on it.
Victoria sniffed. “Among other things. I know I haven’t been the perfect mother, but I’ve tried my best.”
“If manipulating me into staying in a crappy marriage is an example of you ‘trying your best,’ you’ve got a lot to learn.” Olivia stood. She was four centimeters taller than Victoria, but her mother’s towering heels gave her the advantage. “I want you to leave.”
Victoria didn’t move.
Olivia strode toward the door and yanked it open. “Leave,” she repeated, her voice ice cold.
Victoria tossed her auburn curls over her shoulder. “Very well. I hope you’ll reflect on your behavior and apologize to me. You’re behaving like a spoiled child.”
That was rich coming from her. Olivia was close to exploding. She let the door slam behind her so-called mother and stomped back to her desk.
She needed to contemplate her next move. There had to be a bank willing to give her a start-up loan, especially given the reasonable terms of the lease. The local enterprise board had already approved her start-up grant, meaning she had to raise fifty percent of the capital. With thirty percent in savings, she needed a bank willing to loan her the last twenty percent.
She dragged air into her lungs. So near, yet so far. She eyed the paperweight on her desk and resisted the urge to hurl it at Aidan’s door. Knowing her luck, the bastard would choose that moment to walk through it, and she’d have given him a real reason to haul her into court.
If she had the materials to hand, she’d be tempted to make a voodoo doll of her mother. Ah, hell. These negative thoughts were getting her no nearer to finding a solution. Feck Aidan and his rules about not making personal calls during working hours. Olivia wrenched open her desk draw
er and extracted her copy of the yellow pages. Time to start calling banks.
Chapter Thirteen
“SO JACINTA.” JONAS EXAMINED the creased resumé. “What sort of childcare experience do you have? I don’t see any mentioned here.”
Jacinta stared at him through large vacant eyes and chewed gum. “What do you mean childcare experience? Like a daycare center or something?”
“Precisely.”
“Nah. But I pet-sat for my neighbor a few years ago.”
“Pet-sat?” A vision of Wiggly Poo, Gavin’s dog, sprang to mind.
“Yeah.” She shifted the gum from one plump cheek to the other. “An aquarium.”
“Did the fish survive?” asked Luca, regarding his would-be babysitter with suspicion.
Jacinta shrugged. “Most of them. There were a couple of floaters by the end of the week, but what can you do?”
Luca exchanged a significant look with his father. “I don’t want to be a floater.”
“Right.” Jonas thrust a determined hand at his guest. “Thanks for coming by Jacinta. I’ll see you out.”
Jacinta was startled out of her bovine placidity. “What? That’s it? Did I get the job?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m looking for someone with childcare experience, preferably with kids on the autism spectrum. That’s what I said on the phone.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know what you meant. What spectrum?” Blinking, Jacinta allowed herself to be led to the front door, bundled into her raincoat, and politely-but-firmly shoved off the premises.
“Bye, now. Watch the step.”
“I never,” the woman huffed, her confusion turning to annoyance as comprehension dawned. “Shortest interview I’ve had in my life.” She stomped out the gate and careened into Olivia, who was getting out of her car.
If Olivia was surprised to be stampeded by an irate stranger, she rallied. “Good morning. Glad to see I’m not the only person in Ballybeg who puts a frown on your face.”
Jonas laughed. “A potential babysitter.”
An amused half-smile lurked on Olivia’s face. “Won’t do?”
