SmallTownDuke

by Forbes, Sara

  He smiles. “It’s fine. I get the message. I’m glad to help out, Cliona.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  The flashing starts on his screen again.

  “I’m just a little busy here at the moment, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to it. But you can be sure I’ll show up when needed.”

  “Well. Thanks again,” I blurt. “I’ll leave you to it and I’ll expect you at 6:30 on Wednesday then?”

  “Done and done,” he says and goes back to whatever he was doing.

  I walk smartly out the door. That went a lot easier than I thought.

  I also feel less like the utter piece of crap that I usually do when I leave that building. Of course, I didn’t mention it was soccer and not Irish football, but Seamus is a smart man. He’ll work it out. It’s not a conversation I need to have right now.

  5

  SEAMUS

  Lorcan’s flushed face tells me he’s had a fun time this afternoon with his granddad. Da is looking happier than usual, too. It’s as good a time as any to broach the subject. I take him aside while Lorcan is getting a drink in the kitchen.

  “So, I had a wee chat with Cliona when she came in. Apparently, Danny Moore’s off to New Zealand on his honeymoon.”

  “Is he now?” My father shuffles his feet. “Don’t mind if he goes even further away.”

  “Da, you can hardly get further away and still be on planet.”

  He shrugs. “Send him to Mars.”

  I laugh. “Anyway, this means Lorcan’s going to need someone to chauffeur him to football. That’s what I’m going to do every Wednesday this month.”

  “Football?” He squints up at me. “No, you mean that Englishman’s game, soccer. That’s not football.”

  “The Americans say the same thing. It’s what he plays though, and is getting good at it by all accounts.”

  Da shudders. “Time he learns the real sport of this country.”

  “True. But we’re not going to solve that one right now. I’m just letting you know that I’ll be back later on Wednesday mornings so you’re not to be surprised when someone else is manning the deck that morning, okay?”

  He cocks his head. “So, he did it every Wednesday, did he?”

  “Apparently. And some Saturdays too. But I’m going to change that. It’s only fitting that it be me doing the football—uh, soccer—duty…not the duke. And in time—” I glance at him—” I can convert Lorcan to Gaelic football. Call it guerilla tactics.”

  Da nods approvingly. “But I thought you were busy?”

  “Why is everyone saying that? I’m not too busy to look after my only nephew, am I?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “If you say so. Just as long as that’s why you’re doing it.”

  Scowling, I turn and head for the restaurant. Of course he’s reading some ulterior motive into my wanting to help out with Lorcan. But just because I’ve been away most of his young life doesn’t mean I don’t care for the boy. I absolutely do, and I want to make up for lost time.

  Besides, if anyone has an ulterior motive, it’s my father. He’s using Lorcan as a weapon to get back at Danny Moore.

  To prove the point that I have no ulterior motives, I decide I’m not going to be standing in reception when Cliona comes to pick up Lorcan. When the boy comes out of the kitchen with his glass of lemonade, I take my leave.

  “I’m going to go upstairs and do some work, so I’ll say bye now,” I tell him.

  “See you, Seamus,” he says.

  “Uncle Seamus,” I remind him.

  “Uncle Seamus,” Lorcan repeats.

  “Good lad. I’ll see you soon. Take care of your mother, won’t you?”

  *

  I bump into my father again later who’s doing a spot of gardening beside the patio as I walk out.

  He looks up, waves the shears.

  I approach. “What’s that you’re planting?”

  “Just some parsley; She always did like her fresh herbs.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I say quietly.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know.” He straightens and wipes his brow with his sleeve.

  “Yeah.”

  I walk around him in a wide circle. “I was thinking. With Niall off in college and Enda in the seminary in Maynooth, wouldn’t it be time to look into hiring someone full-time for reception?”

  “We can handle that ourselves with you here.”

  “I didn’t come back to be tied down at reception all day. It’s not a good use of my time.”

  “It’s a family hotel, son. They do that in family hotels.”

  “It’s not a family hotel any more. It’s a flagship hotel for a chain of six hotels throughout Munster. We need to plan time off or we’ll never have any.” My tone remains firm. I’m only having this discussion out of courtesy because I’m going to go ahead with my plan no matter what he says. Would it kill him to make the process easier though?

  “I can man the reception desk myself,” he says defiantly.

  “No. The whole point is to give you a rest.”

  He throws me a suspicious look. “You’re sending me to my grave already, I see.”

  “The guests would do that if you were to stand there dealing with them every morning. Come on, take a break. You could have more time for—” I point to his recent handiwork “—Gardening.”

  His brow is furrowed. I don’t think he’s listened to a word I’ve said. “We could get Lorcan to help.”

  I laugh outright. “He’s seven!”

  “So? You were eight when you started.”

  “That’s different. We were small then. People didn’t have notions about ideal experiences, ready to moan about the slightest quibble, and there was no rating system on travel sites to content with. I can just see the reviews. Disgusting! Child labor in South West Ireland!”

  “Reviews, reviews, that’s all you care about. What about community!”

  “Reviews are what it takes to succeed these days, Da.”

  “The name Callaghan was always good enough before,” he grumbles.

  “Times have changed.”

  “Well it’s no excuse to mollycoddle the kid. There he is, acting like a peer of the realm, when he should be here with us, getting a proper education.” He jabs the shears toward me. “She has him ruined!”

  It’s time to go.

  Back at reception, I wave my bother off to enjoy his day off.

  The problem with a job at reception is that there are periods of quiet where you have to stay put. That’s when the thoughts crowd in.

  Lorcan is more a Moore than a Callaghan. He may look like us Callaghans, blond and strong, but he has the mannerisms of Danny, Danny’s worldview, even Danny’s accent. They even send him to the school Danny attended.

  This all happened when I was away, of course, and my brothers were too young and self-absorbed to notice. Da was too wrapped up in Ma’s illness. Nobody stopped to think about how Lorcan was being brought up. Now I want to have more of a say in his life. And maybe…in hers.

  6

  CLIONA

  It’s 6 a.m. and I haven’t slept a wink. The mist rises over the fields as I stretch at the window.

  I saw Danny off on his honeymoon yesterday. It was poignant. He was so apologetic and I kept having to convince him I’d be fine.

  But will I?

  The clock tocks closer to six-thirty. I wonder if Seamus is really going to live up to his word. Coach O’ Shaughnessy will make Lorcan’s life hell if he doesn’t show up. Twenty extra pushups at the next session and added to the shame of being singled out.

  Six-thirty on the dot, Seamus comes over the hill, his gait purposeful, his bearing proud. His body…to die for. As he approaches, I retreat into the kitchen again, tie my hair back in a ponytail and pull my cardigan over my shoulders.

  “Morning, Seamus.” I smile, taking my place at the sink. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “Me too.” His gaze travels the length of my body qui
ckly before flickering away. “Ready, big fella?” He calls out to Lorcan who’s just entered the room yawning.

  My son’s face brightens when he sees Seamus standing there. I suppose it’s a novelty having Seamus bring him there. “Yes, Seamus…Uncle Seamus.”

  “Good lad.”

  “You sure you know where it is?” I ask Seamus.

  “Aye, googelmapped it yesterday. No worries.”

  “Well, here’s his water. There’s his gear. All I can say is good luck,” I say. “Make sure he’s back by eight-fifteen and then it’ll be the usual mad dash for school.”

  “It’s mad having them practice before school,” Seamus says.

  I shake my head. “Don’t say that to the coach. He’s a bit insane. But it’s character building.”

  “Huh, if he wants character-building, he should try Gaelic football.”

  “Is that so?” I say. “Tell me later if you still believe that.”

  He comes closer. “But I won’t be here later…will I?”

  I flush. I’ve momentarily mistaken him for Danny. Danny would always pop over to us on a Wednesday night to give a report on the game, even if only for a few minutes. “No…no, you won’t.” I say. “You’re too busy. You couldn’t do that”

  He leans in. “I could though.”

  The gap between us is insanely short. His powerful body seems to be surrounding me, drawing me magnetically into him. I’m imagining what it would be like if I moved in just another six inches or so. Like, really picturing it and feeling it in every pore.

  I’m all hot now. His eyes are smoldering, darkening. He can’t hide his rapid breaths or his gaze that he can’t seem to tear away from me. “I mean, you’re probably working. Of course, I don’t know what your schedule is, but I-I couldn’t possibly assume—”

  I break off because he’s reached for my arm. He’s stroking it with two fingers causing goosebumps to spring up. The memories of the foot-massage come back in vivid waves.

  Oh God what are we doing?

  “Mum!” Lorcan calls out. “Where are my football boots?”

  “By the door where they always are,” I call back. I wander away from Seamus to help Lorcan. It’s good to hide my face and cool down.

  Seamus stays by the sink, folding his powerful arms, looking out at the view. The sunlight bathes his tattooed biceps in perfect light. He looks far too good to be standing at my kitchen sink at 6.30 a.m. There should be an anti-vice law against it or something.

  “Weird to look at it from this angle,” he says, nodding toward his massive castle on the hill. “You have a lovely place here.”

  “I try.” I shrug. “It’s a mere shadow of its former glory though.”

  “I’d imagine the upkeep is hard.” He scans the walls and floor. “You planning to keep it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, if I even breathe that I’m going to sell, Deirdre’s up in arms. Danny’s none too fond of the idea either, nor Ellen. It’s a burden, but I’m managing.”

  He cocks his head. “When was the last time you took a holiday?”

  “A holiday?” I shrug. “I can’t recall.”

  “In the past five years, have you been anywhere?”

  “I went to Dublin.”

  “Let me ask you this. Do you have a passport?”

  “Uh, well, No.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re a prisoner, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  He folds his arms. “Deirdre’s up in Dublin eating her way through her fund and you’re spending yours on keeping this place alive as well as running your business.”

  I hate that it’s accurate.

  “I could buy it. You could move somewhere modern and more suited to running your business from.”

  I exhale audibly. “So that’s what this is about, huh?”

  “It’s a rational proposition, is all. We’re expanding. This would be an excellent addition.”

  I let out a laugh that sounds bitter even to my own ears. “Well, let’s just say you won’t be conquering the Stephenson estate just yet. It’s not for sale.”

  His eyes gleam with mischief. “Right. I get the message.”

  He strolls out to the hall and says to Lorcan. “Come on lad, let’s show this crazy coach what you’re made of.”

  Unease stirs in my chest. Seamus isn’t Danny. Danny’s a keep-to-himself kind of guy who will only cause a fuss when an injustice is evident…and then he’ll explode but it’s never happened at Lorcan’s activities. Seamus is a different kettle of fish—he’ll stir up the shit just for the hell of it Why did I even agree to this?

  And why did I let my heart eke a tiny bit open for this man? He just wants me and Deirdre out of our grand house so he can expand his ever-growing Empire of the Celts. He’d put me in one of those ugly new cottages in the east side of Ballytirrel if he could. Maybe that’s what this sudden interest in Lorcan is all about—a reconnaissance mission. I wouldn’t put it past a Callaghan.

  7

  SEAMUS

  “But Danny doesn’t go this road.”

  “Danny doesn’t know the roads as well as I do.”

  “Yes he does. He says the other way is faster.”

  “Not if you stick to the speed limit.”

  Of course, Danny’s too good for speed limits. That duke is notorious for speeding around in his jag. The Duke of Hazzard we call him. I don’t tell Lorcan his as it’ll go straight back to Cliona and piss her off, just as every little criticism of her precious best friend does.

  I glance at the speedometer and then in the rear-view. I’m being super careful with Lorcan. It’s kind of weird having a kid in my back seat. But a nice weird.

  “So, who’s your favorite team?” I ask my nephew.

  He looks at me askew.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Do you know about soccer?”

  “Sure. I support Man United.”

  “But I thought you only followed Irish football.”

  “That’s the version we tell Granpa, OK? But between you and me, I support MU. What about you?”

  “Spurs,” he says.

  I grin. It’s like when I lived in the States I got caught up in American football and supported the Denver Broncos. What Da doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  “Here we are.” We’re driving into a field entrance with a squat, white building to the right. Boys around Lorcan’s age are milling around it, shivering in the cold.

  Lorcan’s already out of the car and running toward the building.

  There’s a gaggle of women outside. Well-dressed moms. They look at me like I’m a piece of meat. They’re clearly desperate to know who I am, so I put them out of their misery. “Hi,” I toss them a careless smile. “I’m the uncle. The, uh, other uncle.”

  There’s a chorus of “Aaahs”.

  One of them smiles. “You actually look like Lorcan.”

  “Fancy that,” I mutter. “So, I hear the coach is a bit of a task master.”

  They all nod emphatically. God, they’re freezing, and probably starving having rushed out like I did. But I have the solution for that.

  “I brought coffee and croissants from my hotel.” I open up the massive hamper bag that’s slung over my shoulder and produce an extra-large thermos flask, milk, sugar and a bag of a fresh croissants from our bakery.

  I start pouring out cups because people are always hesitant to take food until they smell it. One by one, I put the paper cups of steaming coffee on the table. “I have tea as well if anyone wants.”

  The woman who said I looked like Lorcan steps forward and takes a coffee. “Oh my God, did you just descend from heaven?”

  “I climbed up from Hell, but what’s the difference?” I say. “Seamus Callaghan at your service.”

  The others clamor around, and within a minute, all of them have cups in their hands. They all take the pastries too. I make sure they receive the embossed napkins
with our hotel logo.

  “There’s enough for the boys when they’re done.”

  “So, you’re which hotel?” comes the inevitable question.

  “Callaghan Country Hotel, down Ballytirrel way, west of Clonakilty.”

  There’s a chorus of “ooohs.”

  “I’ve never tasted good hotel coffee before.”

  “I’ve never got free coffee before.”

  “Well there’s a first time for everything.” They’re eating out of my hand and I know that at least one of them will visit my hotel and all of them will be googling it when they get home later. Way to get some marketing done before 7 a.m.

  We settle and watch the training which is as gruesome as I’d anticipated. The boys are getting one hell of a workout running laps, doing press-ups, burpees and exercises I don’t know the names of. I should be doing my early morning swim right now and instead I’m stuffing my face with croissant. It’s no wonder parents put on weight.

  O’Shaughnessy, the coach is a guy my age, mid-thirties—with ginger buzz cut like he’s in the army. Wimpy on top but strong legs. He approaches me and says something, but his voice gets lost in the wind.

  “What?”

  “He missed last week so that’s why he’s doing extra.”

  Lorcan’s face is pale, the rings dark under his eyes. He’s got that look of not wanting to cry as he struggles with the pushups. His little arms are quivering.

  “But he was at a wedding.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  God. There’s character-building and there’s cruelty. “Look, mister, he’s done the drill, and done it good. He shouldn’t have to do more than the others. They’re all exhausted. Look at them.”

  “That’s the problem. people these days don’t know the meaning of grit. But I can teach them.” The coach is gazing at a spot on the ground, totally captivated by his own narrative. I glance around. One of the moms is doing a knife slicing the throat gesture which is kind of funny as she’s holding a croissant at the same time,