by Penny Reid
I wondered if she dyed the carpet to match the drapes. It certainly would give a new meaning to the candy slogan, Taste the Rainbow.
These were inconvenient thoughts for a Sunday morning breakfast with the Cassidy corpses. I reluctantly pushed the image away, recalling instead her irritated expression just before she’d walked away.
At one point, despite my sordid history with her brother, I suspected she was actually trying to be nice.
This gave me another pause.
I was glaring at the kippers when my cousin Eilish, the only decent one in the lot of us, challenged Grady. “Didn’t you beg Sean for those tickets?”
“What? Not at all.” He sounded offended by the suggestion.
“Yeah, you did. You were salivating all over him last week.”
“Eilish! Do you really have to use such language?” My aunt punctuated her disapproval by sniffing.
“Which word gives offense, Mother? Salivating?”
“Can we refrain from discussing such things? Is this another of Sean’s influences?”
“No, Mother. I’ve been home from university for two days and at no point has Sean advocated I discuss saliva.”
“Oh! That word.” A teacup clattered, highlighting my aunt’s distress.
I hadn’t realized Eilish would be home from school so early. She’d been sent to boarding schools since she was ten, proving to be too boisterous and unmanageable for my aunt’s temperament. But she’d always spent the summers at the tomb in Dublin.
Sorry. Did I say tomb? I meant house.
I was careful to wipe the smirk from my face before I turned to the breakfast table, and was equally careful to avoid Eilish’s gaze. If I were caught smiling I’d never hear the end of it.
Meanwhile, Eilish asked the table if anyone had read the latest report on the refugee crisis and was chided for placing her elbows on the table. My aunt made several unflattering comments comparing Eilish to a barnyard animal.
The berating wasn’t too scathing and E didn’t seem bothered by it. Still, my aunt’s comments tend to turn abusive without much warning. I kept an ear in the conversation, just in case I needed to throw myself on the grenade of Aunt Cara’s temper.
True to form, none of my other cousins made any outward sign of hearing anything untoward.
Theresa remarked on the weather before she took a bite of her buttered toast.
Brigid sedately asked after Connor’s new Bentley.
Liam unobtrusively poured himself another cup of coffee without glancing up from the newspaper.
I followed their example. If I kept quiet, masked all outward expression except boredom, I’d be free of this house within the half hour. And when I left, I knew without a doubt I’d be cold again.
I was always cold when I left the house where I grew up.
***
“Did you see her face? When I said saliva? I thought she might faint.” Eilish snickered on a whisper, helping me with my jacket.
“You shouldn’t poke the bear,” I warned, shaking my head at her, my face drawn with disapproval I tried to feel. Instead I was fighting a smile.
Eilish was perhaps the only person in my life who could make me smile. She was so good.
Well, she had a good heart, but enjoyed testing her mother’s patience.
She shrugged. “What can she do? Yell at me? I’m no longer a child.”
I smirked at my cousin, saying nothing. I hadn’t missed how she still cut the crust off her toast and added too much sugar to her tea during breakfast.
“Be good and I’ll take you shopping this week.”
We were still whispering because the large marble entryway echoed. I’d offered to let her stay at my flat on more than once occasion. But I think—despite their tenuous relationship—Eilish felt sorry for her mother. She didn’t want to leave her completely alone during the summer.
I wanted to tell my cousin her efforts were wasted, but didn’t want to be unkind. Nor did I wish to be the source of her eventual and unavoidable disillusionment. I liked Eilish as she was. She was certainly clever, but her spirit was currently unencumbered by the burdens of reality.
If Eilish still held hope for warmth from Aunt Clara, I wasn’t going to be the one to burst her bubble. Let her be naïve and hopeful. Yet I dreaded the day she discovered all her efforts were in vain.
She’d learn eventually it’s much better to preemptively numb oneself against disappointment.
“You’ll take me shopping even if I’m not good.” Eilish laughed at me, tilting her head to the side as she studied my face. “You can’t help yourself, especially when you see me in mismatched shades of navy.”
She was right, of course. But she was also wrong. I couldn’t help but take her shopping because seeing her happy inexplicably made me happy. Yet she was also wrong, because I used her mismatched outfits as an excuse. I’d never tell her that. It was part of the game we played.
She pretended she couldn’t coordinate her outfits and I pretended it drove me to distraction. I wasn’t in so much denial to realize I needed Eilish quite a bit more than she needed me.
“Thursday. Ten o’clock. We’ll have tea after, if you’re fit to be seen.” I kept my tone dry and superior, because doing so made her laugh harder.
“Jesus, Sean. You sound like such a snob.”
“Thank you, what a lovely compliment.”
This made her snort and smack my shoulder with the flat of her palm. “Get out of here before you’re caught making me laugh. They’ll never forgive you for being cheerful.”
I smiled down at my cousin, wishing again she’d come with me. Having her around during the summer, someone clever to talk to, someone with no expectations, trustworthy—someone good—was the highlight of my year. I knew her reasoning for staying within these cold walls during the summer months, but for her sake, as well as for my own selfish purposes, I wished she’d change her mind.
Before I could suggest—again—that she move in with me for the summer, my aunt called, “Eilish? Come here. It’s time to read my letters.”
I sighed, watching Eilish’s profile as she responded, “Coming, Mother. I’m just seeing Sean off.”
“He can find the door on his own. I need you,” came her reply.
Eilish smiled a small, pleased smile. And my chest ached at her expression. The words I need you still had an effect on my cousin, though they filled me with dread.
Because my aunt needed people until she didn’t. Then she’d cast them away. I recognized the manipulation, had hardened myself against it. Eilish had not.
At least, not yet.
Chapter Three
@LucyFitz Always trust in the kindness of strangers…except when it comes in the form of a glass of sauvignon blanc you haven’t seen them pour.
@RonanFitz to @LucyFitz What’s going on?! Is some creep offering to buy you drinks?
@LucyFitz to @RonanFitz Chillax. It’s supposed to be humorous.
@RonanFitz to @LucyFitz Well I don’t find the concept of messing with my sister funny.
@Anniecat to @LucyFitz I apologize for your brother.
*Lucy*
“Do you want anything from the shop?” definitely ranked as one of my top three favorite sentences of all time. It’s right up there with, “School’s been cancelled because of the weather” and “Would you like me to go down on you first?”
Admittedly, I’d only been asked the third one twice, and both instances were quite some time ago.
When we were kids, Ronan always used to ask me if I wanted anything from the shop, and my answer was always the same: a can of Coke, a bar of chocolate, and a packet of crisps. We used to call it the Triple C. Shut up. It wasn’t lame.
These days I still wanted things from the shop. Things I hadn’t paid for.
Well, perhaps it wasn’t so much the things, but the feeling that taking things gave me. I was addicted to that feeling though a large part of me hated it.
It was the evening after the p
arty and my hangover had almost faded. I’d taken the DART into town to meet up with an old friend for coffee. We’d parted ways a half hour ago and I was currently browsing the cosmetics section of Brown Thomas, a glamorous blonde in an all-black ensemble watching me like a hawk.
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked with a smile.
“I’m good, just looking,” I answered, returning the friendly gesture.
I couldn’t allow myself to be annoyed with her. She was only doing her job. I was the one in the wrong. My fingers itched with the need to take, as I remembered Mam berating me when I got home last night. I’d been rude enough to avoid meeting her friend’s very eligible son, and behavior like that was sacrilege to Jackie Fitzpatrick.
Your looks, such as they are, aren’t going to last forever, Lucy. Before you know it you’ll be forty and still on the shelf.
I had to bite back the urge to respond with some equally horrible comment, refusing to sink to her level. I was already allowing myself to become a secret thief. I wouldn’t lower myself to being mean on top of it.
“Pardon me, but I’m looking for this cream, do you sell it?” a recognizable voice asked, pulling me from my thoughts. Glancing up, I saw Sean Cassidy speaking to the blonde, holding out an opened sample. Of all the gin joints . . .I knew Dublin was small, but it couldn’t possibly be this small.
After our encounter last night, I really wasn’t in the mood for a second round with Bubs and his abrasive personality, which was saying something. Loud, quiet, sassy, reserved, they were all a part of life’s color. But Sean Cassidy, well, he was something else entirely.
Keeping my head down, I swiftly turned to leave.
“Mini-Fitzpatrick, what are the chances?” he said, almost happily, and I exhaled a quick breath. There was something in me that just wasn’t rude enough to ignore him, even if he didn’t deserve my politeness. I turned back around.
“How’s it going, Bubs?”
What? If I couldn’t be rude then I could at least amuse myself.
He smiled widely. “Better now that I’ve bumped into you.”
What was with the personality change? He looked genuinely pleased to see me. I glanced around for hidden cameras.
“And if you really want to name me after a drink, then I insist you call me Macallan,” he went on. “Because I’m unquestionably both rare and fine.” His eyes heated and he leveled me with yet another smile, this one smoldering. Was I being hit with the infamous Cassidy charm? I hated to admit that it felt sort of . . . exciting. Letting my eyes travel down his muscular physique, I imagined he’d be an absolute animal in the sack. It was a pity I could never let myself go there.
I mustered a laugh. “Wow, modest.”
He grinned.
“Sir, we have 200 milliliter and 500 milliliter bottles, which would you prefer?” the sales assistant interrupted, calling Sean’s attention away. While they were both distracted, I took the opportunity to slide a compact of eyeshadow into my handbag.
Zing, zing, zing went the familiar rush in my belly. Ah, sweet relief. I missed you, old friend.
“I’ll take the 500 milliliter, please,” said Sean with disinterest as he handed her a card.
“Well, I’d better get going,” I hurried to say. “See you around.”
With extra speediness I walked off, and I was just exiting the store when someone clamped their hand around my elbow. I stilled in fear, thinking it was a security guard. But then I looked up into Sean’s light blue eyes and my pulse slowed.
“Not so fast, Mini-Fitzpatrick,” he said, bending so his mouth brushed my ear. “Don’t you know it’s rude to just run off on people like that? I wanted to speak with you.”
We were out the door and on the street when I pulled my arm from his hold.
“My name’s Lucy,” I told him.
“Fine then. Are you hungry, Lucy?” he asked, emphasizing my name as his eyes flickered between mine.
I wasn’t a suspicious person, but Sean’s question got me wondering. “What’s your game?”
“My game is buying you dinner, and maybe discussing the small matter of the item you just stole. Is Ronan such a tightwad he allows his family to shoplift to get by these days?” he asked with what sounded like amusement.
My heart hammered, wondering how he’d seen. For a moment I was frozen with anxiety, unsure how to respond, but then I grew defensive.
“That’s none of your business,” I stated, trying to stay calm.
I moved to stride past him but he placed himself in my path, and let’s face it, he was more than broad enough to block my passage.
“Now, now, there’s no need to be like that,” he chided, clicking his tongue and looking down at me. “We’ll dine at Marco Pierre’s, my treat.”
“No, thank you,” I stood firm.
“Eat with me or I’ll walk right back inside and inform the head of security about your sticky fingers.”
This riled me, and I couldn’t believe I’d been spotted thieving for the second time in less than two days. My skills were seriously slipping. “Are you so hard up for company that you have to resort to blackmail?”
Sean studied me, his features softening. “I don’t want to argue with you, Lucy. What’s the harm of one dinner?”
There was something in the way he spoke that drained the fight out of me. “Just let me leave, please,” I whispered, staring at the ground now. He was silent for a long moment, long enough that I had to look up. His face was even softer than before and I inhaled sharply.
Reaching out, he slid a hand down my arm, his touch soothing. “Come now, one meal won’t kill you,” he murmured.
I searched his eyes. “Why?”
He shrugged, then glanced away as he answered, “I’m cold.”
I left him waiting a while before I finally replied, with no small amount of wariness, “Okay, but I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”
Now he smiled, like the idea of spending money on me pleased him. “Be my guest.”
With that he surprised me by offering his arm, like a gentleman, and we began the short walk to the restaurant. I was struck by the unexpectedness of the situation, but hey, sometimes the best things came from the unexpected.
There was a minute or two of quiet before Sean spoke, “So, is it an adrenaline thing? Or do you really not have enough money for whatever it is you took?” He glanced at me, seeming genuinely interested.
“Can we not talk about this?” Already the buzz of stealing had faded as guilt and shame rose to the fore. Would that shop assistant be punished for what I took? Perhaps I could return tomorrow and buy a bunch of makeup. Those sorts of jobs worked on commission, right? I bit my lip, worrying over it.
Sean shot me a sideways grin, not letting the subject drop. “But the psychology of the whole thing fascinates me. I mean, here you have the sister of a very wealthy rugby star stealing trinkets and baubles for her own entertainment. It’d make one hell of a headline for the red tops.”
I stopped walking immediately, threw myself in front of him and placed my hands on his stocky chest. Unable to help the desperation in my voice, I pleaded, “Sean.” I paused, making an effort to summon some calm, and failing. “P-please don’t sell this story to a newspaper. I know you hate my brother, and he’s hardly your biggest fan, but this would humiliate my entire family and I’m already such a disappointment to my mother as it is.”
He swallowed, something like understanding in his eyes as he took me in. “I have no plans to do so,” he said, appearing uncomfortable for a brief second while he cleared his throat. “Just as long as anything we talk about today stays between us. Agreed?” he continued stiffly. His earnestness took me by surprise.
I nodded, wondering what he might want to talk about. “Okay. I agree.”
By the time we reached the restaurant I was well and truly immersed in the bizarreness of the situation. I could just imagine the scene if Ronan and Annie happened to stop by for an impromptu dinn
er date and discovered me with Sean, slurping oysters like old pals.
Sean spoke with the maître d’ and before I knew it we were being ushered to a cozy table for two. I wasn’t a large woman, in fact, I’d always been slight. Waifish, was what Mam liked to call it. However, I found myself a little pushed for space sitting across from Sean. The toes of his shoes bumped awkwardly into mine and I pulled my feet under my chair to avoid a second encounter.
The table would have been large enough for two if I’d been with anyone other than Sean Cassidy.
Scanning the menu, my mouth practically watered at the options, but unlike I’d threatened, I didn’t order the most expensive thing. It was too much of a dick move and Sean was being unexpectedly pleasant. So long as he treated me with respect, I’d treat him with respect in return.
After we’d both placed our orders, Sean leaned in and rested his elbows on the table, clasping his hands beneath his chin. He nodded to my handbag, a multi-colored, handwoven satchel I’d picked up in the East Village in New York.
“So, let’s see what you took,” he said, his eyes scanning the satchel. “That bag is atrocious, by the way. You should allow me to buy you something less gaudy.”
And there he went showing his true colors. I stuck my chin out and smiled, not letting him get to me. “I’m gaudy? Says the man who has poor taste in, well, everything.”
His eyebrows, which were several shades darker than his blond hair, shot up in surprise. Normally I lived my life by the mantra, kill them with kindness. But it was hard to be kind to Sean Cassidy, especially since he had a knack for offending people before he even opened his mouth.
Remind me again why I agreed to have dinner with him?
Oh yes, because I was a naïve fool, easily charmed by a handsome smile and a few brief minutes of false chivalry.
Now Sean sat back, folding his arms as he met my gaze. “Explain.”
Ha! I could win this argument with less than one sentence. “Brona O’Shea.”
I swear, if I had a mic I’d drop it. Sean’s lips tightened, his eyes narrowed, and I loved his annoyed reaction.
