They turned up the volume of the TV. The story about the school siege came midway through, with a piece to camera in front of the school from the station’s reporter.
‘The eventual capture of the man happened when garda Charlie Sweetman daringly climbed a tree to get to the roof of the building,’ said the reporter.
‘It wasn’t that daring,’ said Sheridan. She was about to tell Nina that it had been her suggestion, but she didn’t want to sound as though she was looking for glory.
‘What d’you think will happen to him?’ asked Nina.
‘I don’t know.’ Sheridan shook her head. ‘I spoke to the superintendent at the station and he seemed to think that Conall might get probation or something. Regardless of how things turned out, there was the potential for disaster.’
‘I’m glad that didn’t happen,’ said Nina.
‘Me too.’
‘So it was an all’s-well-that-ends-well kind of night.’
For Conall Brophy and his wife, thought Sheridan. But not for her. She reached for another cupcake. She didn’t care if she was comfort-eating. Besides, being an ace reporter – even a broken-hearted ace reporter – was hungry work.
She was still feeling a glow from Nina’s comments when she went back to the studio to go to bed. As she opened the wardrobe door to hang up her jeans, the first thing she saw was the green dress. She’d managed to keep the disaster that had been her date with Joe O’Malley out of her mind for the last couple of hours, but it came back to her now and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She’d allowed her emotions to run away with her and she’d implied his father was some fat-cat uncaring capitalist who’d ruined her life. Who would blame Joe for not liking her after that!
She took the dress from the hanger and slipped into it. Damn and blast, she muttered, I do look good wearing it. Maybe Nina’s right about my figure. Maybe it is good. She couldn’t help wondering when the opportunity for anyone else to notice would ever arise.
Chapter 24
The hall was crowded with people and their dogs. Sheridan couldn’t believe there were so many of both in Ardbawn. The noise of animals and owners together was deafening, and quite unlike the TV footage she’d once seen of Crufts, where cute canines were looked at by earnest judges in apparent silence. The Ardbawn show was a far more relaxed affair. Most of the dogs were mongrels and most of the owners excited children.
‘It’s a fun day out,’ DJ had told her. ‘Keeps us going until the festival and gives a bit of a buzz to the town. There’s always a few serious entrants, but most people take it light-heartedly. So report on it that way. Unless, of course, there’s a massive fight between a shih-tzu and a Great Dane, which would be hard news.’ He chuckled.
Mindful of DJ’s previous instructions that he wanted quirky shots and stories, she kept her eyes peeled for unusual dogs and equally unusual owners as she walked around the hall. Her collection so far included eighty-year-old Myrtle Mullens and her two enormous German shepherds, Fairy and Buttercup; beefy gym instructor Lance Comiskey and his cute-as-pie white poodle, Barbra; hairdresser Grainne Yates and her American hairless terrier, Fluffy; and the glamorous manager of the spa, Ritz Boland, with her grey schnauzer.
‘He’s my mum’s dog,’ said Ritz, when Sheridan asked if she could take a photograph. ‘God help us, he’s not the best-looking mutt in the world.’
‘He’s sort of ugly,’ agreed Sheridan as she wrote Boxie’s name into her notebook. ‘But he’s got lots of character.’
Con had once said that about her, she remembered suddenly. He’d been on the phone to one of his friends, who’d been dumped by his girlfriend the night before a charity ball. Con had suggested that Sheridan might be a good substitute. ‘She’s not beautiful but she’s got a great personality,’ she’d heard him tell his friend earnestly. Which had apparently been enough to swing the deal, because Hector Lannigan had asked her to come with him; she’d said yes and it had been a good night, though he hadn’t asked her out again. She thought that he might have got back with the previous girlfriend. Who’d been a stunner, whatever her personality.
I should stop having random associations with my past and concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing today, she told herself, as she threaded her way between more people and their pets. I’ve got the mismatched pairs, now I need people who look like their dogs.
As she scanned the crowd for likely candidates, she instead saw the dark head of Josh Meagher bending down towards the Old English sheepdog whose name she couldn’t remember. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked for Joe too. Not that she’d know what to say if she saw him. On a competence scale of one to ten, her handling of the Joe situation had been minus eleven.
He hadn’t been in touch with her since their disastrous dinner date (or rather non-dinner date). Not that she’d expected him to call – she’d walked out, after all – but she would have liked the opportunity to try to explain herself to him again, this time more eloquently. Calling him herself, however, seemed too pushy. The whole episode had been entirely unsatisfactory and had left her feeling both inadequate and embarrassed.
There was no sign of Joe. But then she spotted his brother, Peter, who was flicking through the stapled sheets of paper that were the programme. He looked up and caught her eye, then waved enthusiastically.
She walked over to them, remembering that Peter had been friendly even when he’d learned why she was at the house.
‘Hi, Peter. Hi, Josh.’
‘Hello.’ Josh looked at her happily. ‘It’s good here, isn’t it? Bobby isn’t keen on all these other dogs, but he’s going to win a prize.’
‘For the best Old English sheepdog, definitely,’ agreed Sheridan.
‘I haven’t seen any others,’ Peter said.
‘Because Bobby is so much nicer than them,’ she told him. ‘They’re afraid to show their faces.’
‘Exactly.’ Josh beamed. ‘Plus, now that we’re going to classes, he’s very, very obedient. He always does what he’s told.’
‘Just like you,’ said Sheridan.
‘If only,’ said Peter.
‘I have to apologise again,’ Sheridan said to Peter while Josh – having had his photo taken – brought Bobby for a walk around the big hall. ‘I was so out of order coming to your house like that.’
‘I didn’t think you were the boring sort of person who feels the need to keep saying sorry for their actions.’ Peter frowned at her. ‘I see no reason why you shouldn’t have grasped the opportunity to give us the once-over.’
‘I should’ve rung up and asked to see your father.’
‘And why didn’t you?’ asked Peter.
‘Well, because . . .’
‘Because you knew he’d tell you to eff off.’
She gave him a crooked smile.
‘Of course that’s what he’d have said and of course that’s why you were right to do what you did.’
‘Your sister was upset.’
‘Not as much as she made out,’ said Peter. ‘She hates being made a fool of and she felt really silly mistaking you for a taxi driver. Especially as you were driving a Beetle! Don’t worry about Sinead.’
‘Your father wasn’t best pleased either,’ said Sheridan.
‘We weren’t going to tell him. But Josh blurted something out and so we had to clear things up.’ Peter grinned suddenly. ‘Josh has a bit of a crush on you.’
Sheridan laughed. ‘I doubt that.’
‘You praised his footballing skills. That’s more than enough to wriggle your way into my nephew’s affections. And then, of course, you caught the eye of my brother, too.’
‘Oh, look . . .’
‘But maybe I should get there ahead of him. Are you doing anything tonight? Fancy going for a drink? Or dinner, perhaps?’
She looked at him wordlessly. She couldn’t quite believe that another O’Malley was asking her on a date.
‘That’s really nice of you, but—’ she began, before Peter interrupted her.
�
��Don’t be boring again and say no,’ he told her. ‘You’ll ruin my image of you as a free spirit. Besides, I desperately need someone else in this town to talk to.’
‘I’m sure there are plenty of people . . .’
‘I don’t live here any more,’ he said. ‘I feel like a fish out of water whenever I come back. It would be great to go out with someone who isn’t from Ardbawn.’
‘It’s just . . .’
‘I’m not asking you on a big romantic date,’ he said. ‘I’ll be leaving again soon. So it’s just a drink and something to eat. Nothing more. No pressure.’
‘It’s not that,’ she said. ‘It’s . . . well . . .’
She took a deep breath and told him about Joe. His eyes opened wide.
‘Well, isn’t he the dark horse. He never said a word.’
‘So you can see why I can’t go out with you.’
‘Don’t be silly. Of course you can. My brother let you walk and didn’t try to get you back. Foolish man. Though typical of him, I have to say. He’s not good with women. Probably because of the whole boarding-school thing – he never got to meet many of them in his formative dating years. Makes him uptight. So does being the eldest and having an inbuilt sense of responsibility, which happily passed me by. But he’s a decent guy.’
A decent guy. That phrase again. She seemed to be coming off worst in all her entanglements with decent guys these days.
‘I’m sure he is. But it would be weird to meet you instead of him for dinner.’
‘I’m not asking you on an extravagant dinner date to the poshest restaurant in Ardbawn. Which, quite frankly, is so not you. There’s no need to feel weird about it. We can do pub grub if you like.’ Peter made a face at her and then smiled wickedly. ‘C’mon, Sheridan Gray. I’ll give you the low-down on all my father’s business dealings. I’ll be your inside source.’
‘No you won’t,’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t expect you to either.’
‘Maybe I can give you some family information that will make you see there’s nothing for you to write about.’
‘There’s always something to write about,’ Sheridan told him. ‘The flimsiest of things can be turned into a major story if you play it right.’
‘And is that what you want to do?’ asked Peter.
‘I’d love to have a major story,’ she said. ‘But not about your dad any more.’
‘Because of Joe?’
‘Because of me,’ said Sheridan. ‘I wanted to do an all-guns-blazing story, but even if there is one it would hurt your family. I didn’t think of them before.’
‘You’re more like Joe than I thought.’
‘I’m not a bit like him.’
‘Yes you are. All fair minded and conscience stricken.’
‘Depends on the circumstances,’ said Sheridan.
‘You could write something warm and wonderful,’ said Peter. ‘And I’ll give you the right info if you come to the pub.’
He was insistent. And charming too, although in a different way to Joe.
What the hell, she thought. I might as well talk to all the O’Malleys!
‘OK.’
‘Excellent.’ Peter looked pleased. ‘The Riverside Inn?’
‘Sure.’
He was easier to talk to than Joe. He didn’t make her stomach flip and her legs shake. He was like all the other men she’d gone out with just for fun. That was what she was good at. Being fun and being friends. Not being some kind of sex-bomb in a slinky dress. And not being a hot shot investigative reporter either.
She arranged a time to meet Peter and then went off in search of more owners who looked like their dogs to add to her report for the Central News.
She had plenty of time to go home and change before meeting Peter at the pub. There was no need for sexy green dresses, but she wore her most flattering jeans, teaming them with an amber top worn over a white blouse, a combination that always looked well on her. She left her hair loose.
Peter was already there when she walked into the pub, and his face lit up as she approached.
‘I see now why my brother rushed into asking you out,’ he said. ‘You look great.’
Sheridan felt herself blush. She was hopeless with compliments.
‘I love redheads,’ Peter continued. ‘I love their fiery tempers and unbridled impatience.’
‘I’m not your stereotypical redhead,’ said Sheridan as she sat down beside him. ‘I don’t lose my temper easily. Though I’ll admit to the impatience.’
‘It was the red-headed blood that got you sneaking around March Manor trying to find the dirt on Dad,’ he said.
‘No, that was my desire to be a news-hound,’ she said.
‘Ah, well, can’t have everything. What would you like to drink?’
She asked for a non-alcoholic beer, because she’d driven into the town.
Peter ordered it for her, and a pint of Guinness for himself.
‘I hardly ever drink it,’ he confessed as he waited for it to settle. ‘But the Riverside does a lovely pint.’
‘It’s a nice pub.’
‘I don’t come here that often,’ said Peter. ‘It was a different sort of place when I was younger. Darker. Dingier.’ He looked around him. ‘Better now, though.’
‘Tell me about the motorbike racing,’ she said.
Peter talked animatedly about his short-lived bike-racing career and said that he was now working with a motor-sports team in the UK.
‘I’m lucky,’ he said. ‘I’m doing what I always wanted to do.’
‘Did your father ever put pressure on you to join the family business?’ asked Sheridan.
‘No. He knew I’d be hopeless at it. Besides, he had JJ.’
‘How d’you decide whether to call him Joe or JJ?’ she asked.
Peter grinned. ‘Usually Joe at home, JJ for business.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘So now that we know that he fancies you, the question is, how much do you fancy him in return?’
‘Peter!’
‘Well, he asked you to dinner and you said yes, so you can’t find him repellent, despite being an O’Malley boy.’
‘You asked me to dinner too,’ she pointed out. ‘And here I am.’
‘I had to twist your arm to get you here. Are we going to eat, by the way? I’m starving.’
‘Me too,’ she admitted.
‘I’m going for steak and chips, what about you?’
‘Pasta,’ she said.
They ordered the food and settled back in their seats.
‘Ask me,’ said Peter.
‘What?’
‘About my dad. About the business. Any question at all.’
‘No.’
‘Why not? You want to know, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘But nothing. I can give you the whole, unadulterated truth and save you having to skulk around March Manor ever again. Although the truth is boring beyond belief. Our family is boring beyond belief. The only interesting thing about us is that we’re sort of wealthy because my dad is the hardest-working man on the planet. OK, he isn’t great with strangers, he’s wary of them and far too abrupt, but he’s a pussycat at home. He loves his work, loves his businesses and yes, has a ruthless streak, which, if I’m being totally honest, Joe has probably inherited, despite the occasional uptightness. I’m not saying that to put you off him, just to warn you. He’s a stubborn sonofabitch too.’
‘I see.’
‘So if you’ve upset him, he’s not going to come running back to you.’
‘I wasn’t expecting him to, said Sheridan.
‘Which means you did only meet him to learn about Dad.’
‘Oh, look, I don’t know why I met him,’ said Sheridan, while still remembering the devastating effect he’d had on her – the whole butterflies-in-the-stomach, trembling-knees sort of thing that had been so new to her. ‘Anyway, he’s not important.’
‘Pity,’ said Peter. ‘The more I get to know you, the more I think yo
u’d be good for him.’
‘Good for him? Why?’ Sheridan couldn’t help asking the question even though she knew it was pointless.
‘Joe’s very serious, very focused,’ Peter said. ‘Maybe it comes with being the eldest. You . . . well, I get the impression you take a more scattergun approach. Even though I accept you’re focused on your job. Also, you’re more fun than Joe.’
‘You make me sound like therapy for him.’
‘You could be that too.’ Peter winked at her and Sheridan felt her face flame, which caused him to remark that it was now the colour of her hair.
‘Give me a break,’ she said, but she smiled too, because Peter’s laughter hadn’t been cruel, just amused.
‘We’re an OK bunch of people, us O’Malleys,’ he told her. ‘I promise we are. I’m sorry that my dad’s investment in your paper meant you ended up losing your job, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t mark you out personally for the chop. He doesn’t get that involved.’
‘I wanted someone to blame and your dad was an easy target,’ admitted Sheridan. ‘But when I looked him up, I became interested in him.’ She paused. ‘Especially when I read about your mother too. That was a tragedy.’
Peter’s eyes clouded over and she saw his jaw tighten.
‘Yes,’ he said, and his voice was filled with sorrow. ‘Yes, it was. Mum’s accident changed our lives for ever.’
Nina took the big box of photographs from its storage place in the spare room and brought it downstairs. It was a long time since she’d looked through it. She rarely bothered taking photos any more, and those she did were with her mobile phone and consequently never printed, but when she was younger, she’d enjoyed using a camera. Shortly after they’d married, Sean had bought her an expensive Olympus and she’d used it to record their lives together. She’d taken lots of shots of the guesthouse as they’d continued to improve it, and there were plenty of Sean, wielding a drill or a hammer, handsome even with the bad haircuts of the early nineties. Then came Alan and Chrissie’s baby photos, hundreds of them; she hadn’t been able to help herself taking them every single day. Both of her children had been beautiful babies, she thought as she looked at the colour prints. They’d inherited her so-called smouldering eyes, but also Sean’s chiselled features. There were snaps of them as toddlers too, trying to get the attention of the guests, usually succeeding and usual charming them just as Sean did.
Better Together Page 30
