by Sara Forbes
He chuckles. “I take it you’re not devout?”
“Hell, no.”
He laughs even louder. “I tell her I go in Limerick, but sure I never do.”
“She was quite adamant about me going.”
“Church is where you get all the gossip. And unless you want to be a target of the gossip yourself, you have to show up. I suppose she warned you off half the community while she was at it?”
“Just the Callaghans.”
He nods sagely. “Yeah.” He pulls open the door to the pub. Warmth whooshes out and we step into the noisy interior. It’s standing room only and we find a snug corner with a ledge that we can balance our drinks on.
“How many people did you say were in this village?” I ask.
He laughs. “Fewer than four hundred, and yes, they’re all here. It’s a Sunday tradition.”
Except Danny. My cursory glance around confirms he’s not here. Neither is Cliona, for that matter. But the Callaghan posse is all there in their blonde, freckled, muscular glory. I sense they’re going to be hard to avoid.
Sure enough, halfway through my pint, Seamus swaggers over, weaving his way through the crowd with his two brothers.
“Howya, Sean,” he says slapping my cousin on the shoulder. “Shannon, this is Niall, and this is Enda,” he says with obvious pride, thumping each of his brothers on the shoulder. “We didn’t get to introduce the babies properly at mass.”
The babies are both over six feet, each with an even steelier-gripped handshake than the last.
“Nice to see you out and about,” Enda says affably to me. He’s clearly the youngest with the cutest of baby faces. He looks like an escapee from a boy band. Not sure he’d even get served alcohol back home.
Niall, the middle guy, has a more guarded look, and sports ugly tattoos all down his arm—the type you’d sue someone for.
“It’s good to be out and about,” I say.
“Will you be working for Moore long?” Niall asks.
“Long as she needs to, Niall,” my cousin cuts in before I can say anything. There’s a defiant note to his voice.
“Right-o,” Niall says. “Have you signed anything on paper, Shannon?”
“Uh…”
He elbows his brother. “We have a free spot in our hotel, don’t we, Enda? Wouldn’t she be great as a receptionist?”
Enda’s eyes flicker a little too obviously over my chest region. “She’d be great.”
“Well, I—”
“It’s a shame you getting locked away with those old relics of the Empire.”
“Niall—” Seamus warns.
“Just saying,” he replies, smiling innocently, and raises his Guinness.
A shot of indignation zips through me. “He’s not a relic. Danny Moore’s anything but a relic. He’s not like that at all. He’s a great person.”
The whole freaking pub has gone silent. Heads turn in my direction. The entire community seems to be slack-jawed, waiting for me to explain myself. And for some reason, the background music has chosen this moment to grind to a halt. My cheeks are blazing and my indignation is rising. But freaking hell.
“He’s a fair employer,” I say, my voice ringing out loud. “He works hard, looks after his mother, and his friends, and he takes nothing for granted.” My body is trembling but I don’t care. “What more can you ask for?”
Eyebrows are raised all around. Even Sean can’t seem to bring himself to step in to my rescue. But I’m so angry on Danny’s behalf, I just don’t care anymore.
It’s so easy to tear someone apart who’s not there. How would they react if he was standing there? Yeah, much differently. I huff and lift my glass.
“She’s new around here,” Sean says into the deathly silence.
There’s a chorus of murmurs.
Then the music starts again. The murmurs get louder. I fake a smile.
“Anyway, Sean,” Niall says, “Did you see the Cork-Cavan match on Sunday last?”
“Oh, I did, yeah,” my cousin says.
The conversation carries on as if nothing had happened.
But something did happen. And it’s still hanging in the air. That’s clear from the shifty looks people are now giving me, and the way Sean won’t catch my eye. As I listen to my cousin and the Callaghans blather on about sports, I struggle to keep up the brave face. Their talk is designed to exclude me. I’ve broken some unspoken rule and broken it hard.
Why did I stand up for Danny? Wouldn’t it have been easier if I’d just gone along with the local sentiment? I would have found out more about him.
But that’s not my style.
I make it through yet another round of drinks with a smile plastered on my face. It reminds me of evenings out with Brett’s banker friends. Brett was only too happy to launch into conversations on the minutiae of investing—predictions for his latest investments or technical analyses of a given exchange. I sat through enough of those conversations to realize that it wasn’t just his enthusiasm for the subject matter driving him—he wanted to prove himself superior in my eyes.
On the walk back home an hour later, I decide to bite the bullet. “Are they always so judgmental about people who are different?” I ask.
“You’re talking about Danny Moore, are ya?’”
“No, I mean, in general. I mean, I’m different too. Do they judge me? You know, when I’m not there?”
“It’s not the same thing,” Sean says. “My advice is, you ask the man himself and then make up your own mind.”
“Ask him what?” I cry. “Just tell me!”
He slides me a look. “Just ask him.”
“That’s not helpful, Sean.”
“It’s all I’m saying.”
When I see Danny tomorrow, I’m not sure what’s going to come out of my mouth.
15
DANNY
Monday morning brings the usual plethora of phone calls, scheduling tasks, horse-equipment procurement, wrangling with the local authority, the county council, sorting out Mother’s appointments for the week, and finding out which part of the estate has crumbled or succumbed to rot over the weekend.
Garrett has returned to Dublin and I have to pick up the slack because I didn’t do as much with him around. And he’s not the only reason.
The front door creaks when Shannon arrives at nine on the dot. I was listening out for it. I smile as she starts humming some pop tune. How long can I hold out?
Thirty seconds later, I march into the kitchen. I’m not even going to pretend to want tea.
“Hello,” I say, stalking over to her. She starts and drops a tea towel on the floor. Ignoring it, she turns her face towards me, with open and accepting eyes, parted lips.
“I missed you yesterday. And not,” —I take her hair between my fingers— “as an employer misses his employee.”
She grins. “I love how you’re finally admitting my tea is to die for.”
“I’m admitting your lips are to die for,” I say and I crash down upon them. She tastes of mint. She molds herself into me with all her softness, making me moan. The tension builds up in my lower body.
I pull back to study her face. “I’m taking you on a date tonight. We need to go somewhere. Limerick’s fun. Or Cork. Anywhere you want.”
She fixes me with a knowing look. “We don’t have to go so far. Come to my aunt’s house after six-thirty. You can pick me up and…we’ll take it from there.”
I hesitate. It’s not that her idea’s outlandish. It’s just that my dates have always been, well, elsewhere. Never local. I hear myself saying, “I mean, yes, of course. I can’t wait.”
Of course, no sooner have I spoken than the floorboards above our heads start creaking.
We exchange knowing smiles.
I groan. “I better get back to work.”
“You think Mommy doesn’t suspect?” she asks.
“Of course she does. I just don’t want to grant her the satisfaction of walking in on us, and giving her am
munition to torment you.”
She giggles. “It truly wouldn’t bother me.”
“Well, it would bother me.”
I steal a quick kiss before I sneak out the back door.
***
Several long hours later, I stalk through the house. Where’s Shannon? She’s awfully quiet. Not in the kitchen, dining room, parlor, any of rooms off the main hall.
“Hey Dedalus,” I say to my dog. “Have you seen her?”
He barks and offers no clues.
“She’s hardly upstairs in the bedrooms, is she?” I whisper to him.
The thought makes my body heat up. That would be very naughty. Mother or no mother, I’d wouldn’t be able to resist taking Shannon if she’s already spread out on a bed. I take a moment to savor that image.
Then I wander down to the front rooms with Dedalus pottering gleefully behind me. The teal living-room door is slightly ajar so I head toward it. Through the gap, I see her sprawled on the sofa, one leg carelessly draped over the arm of the chair, exposing the seams of the jeans between her legs. Her pose is so open, vulnerable, and unutterably sexy that the breath stops in my lungs.
She’s got a notepad balanced against her thigh, and she’s scribbling something down so intently that she doesn’t notice me until Dedalus gives a joyful bark and scampers over to her. Shannon yelps and swings her leg down to the floor.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you.” Her gaze meets mine as she pats Dedalus.
“No need to apologize. How’s the project?”
“Oh, nearly done. I just need the wrap-up paragraph at this stage.”
“Here. Let me dictate and you type. It’ll get done quicker.”
“No, my notes are terrible. You won’t be able to read my handwriting.”
“It looks fine from where I’m standing.”
She shakes her head
I walk over to her and sit on the arm of the sofa. She’s still got her back to me, apparently engrossed in her work, and she doesn’t turn around.
I sweep her hair aside, giving me access to the back of her neck. I run my mouth along the smooth skin there, relishing the way it makes her tremble. Her breaths come in quick pants.
I kiss her again and run my tongue down her neck toward the neckline of her t-shirt. It’s got a wide neckline and I easily push the fabric aside to reveal a bare shoulder. I let my lips and tongue graze there, right up to the bra straps.
She still has her hand on Dedalus, but she’s not moving it anywhere. She’s waiting.
“Turn to me,” I say.
She turns slowly, her eyes huge and sparkling. Her pink lips are open and I can only think about crushing them in a kiss. I take a moment to cherish her beauty. Then I cup my hands to hold her jaw, tilt her head back and take her mouth with mine.
She’s soft, hot, erotic, compliant and greedy. Dirty thoughts fill my mind.
“Oh Danny,” she whispers when I draw back to let her breathe. She leans her head back, eyes closed, lost to my touch. She’s so trusting like this, so open.
Her fingers slide into the hair at the base of my head. She arches her upper body toward me. My cock strains inside my pants. Never mind Nuala’s house, there’s a bedroom upstairs, and I want to take her up there and throw her on the bed and then fuck her like there’s no tomorrow. But I’m going to make her beg for it first.
And then, the doorbell goes, and Dedalus barks like mad.
16
SHANNON
Ohmigod, ohmigod, someone pass me the smelling salts!
I need a cold shower. I need an ice bucket.
And I hate Cliona Stephenson.
Okay, I don’t hate her, But boy, she picked the wrong moment to come here.
I was on the brink of orgasm just from the way he was looking at me. My panties are wet and I don’t have a spare in my purse. I feel like I’m going to freaking explode.
Ugh.
It’s only four o’clock so I’m not going home to Nuala’s yet. I’m still hoping Cliona will leave and Danny and I can continue “discussing” our date.
While Lorcan plays outside, Danny and Cliona have “retired” to the living room at the back of the house, the one with the piano and the creepy statues of classical composers. It’s not the room I’d choose to chillax in, but there you go. These toffs have their own peculiar tastes.
They’ve been in there for half an hour, and I can’t help feeling curious and not a little jealous. What am I supposed to do? Hang around here in the kitchen until they decide they want some tea and sandwiches and then call for me? I’ve never felt more like servant class and it gives me an itchy sensation. This isn’t my reality. This shouldn’t be anyone’s reality.
I take out my pen and notepad and try to get some words down for my next copywriting assignment. It’s for a real-estate firm in Arizona who want to jazz up their website. It’s an easy assignment and I’ve done many similar ones in the past, but I can’t make the words come. I’m frozen.
I sigh, toss the notebook back in my bag and stand in the doorway watching Lorcan chase a goose on the lawn down toward the duck pond. His hair burns red-gold in the setting sunlight. Mama duck is guarding a brood of tiny chicks and pecks angrily in their direction. The picture of innocence makes me smile.
I decide to go down to the drying room to see if we have spare dry clothes for Lorcan in there as it looks like he’ll need them. Passing the living-room door, I hear their muffled voices. I stop. Out of a wild streak of curiosity, I venture closer to the door. Should I listen? I’m not that kind of person. I don’t care what they’re saying. But still…
Through the chink in the doorway, I spy them on the sofa with their backs to me. They’re not sitting too closely, about two feet apart. That gives me a small sense of satisfaction.
“So, Seamus is back,” Cliona’s saying. I creep even closer to the gap in the doorway and put my ear to it.
“You met him?” There’s an edge to Danny’s tone that sends a chill up my spine.
“No, he wasn’t there when we went over.”
There’s a silence and I feel that my breathing is so loud they’ll hear me. I try to take shallower breaths. Cliona’s staring in Danny’s direction and he’s just sitting there rigidly, not saying anything.
“Just tell me it’ll be OK,” she says eventually. Her voice is subdued, all of her usual perkiness gone.
“I can control myself if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t speak for him, however.”
“N-no. Well, maybe. Okay, yes.” Her voice is a half whisper.
“Don’t worry, Cliona. We move in separate circles. He’s got his friends, I’ve got mine.”
Are you sure they’re so separate?” Cliona’s voice is louder now, too.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Apparently, your friend here stood up for you. In MacAuley’s of all places.”
“What? Who?”
“Shannon.”
I gasp and slap my hand to my mouth. Have they heard me? Oh nooo. I’m unable to move forward or backward.
“What…was said?” His voice is a low rumble of anxiety that it pains me to hear.
“She said, apparently, that you were a good person. A great employer.”
In the silence, I nod to myself. And I stand by that.
“So, you can imagine what else they’re saying,” Cliona adds.
There’s another long silence. I so wish I could see his face.
“Oh, lighten up, Danny.” Cliona lets out a laugh. “Is there something I should know?”
“I don’t know why she would say that,” his reply comes. His voice is lifeless.
I scuttle away and end up in the kitchen. I know I shouldn’t spy, but damn! What’s he so worked up about? He should be happy I stood up for him.
And what to do now? Put the kettle on? No, I need some menial, long-winded task that would suggest I’ve been stuck here in the kitchen for a long time and definitely not standing down the hallway eavesdropping. What ab
out cleaning out the oven, everyone’s least favorite task?
I open it up and I groan—it’s disgustingly clean, sparkling almost. This legendary Mrs. Muldoon must be a right neat freak, not to mention Wonderwoman. I sigh and take up the two food scrap bins from under the sink and go out to feed the hens. It’ll be my penance for eavesdropping.
I’ve emptied one of the bins and managed not to get bitten by any of the horrible birds. They really are deplorable creatures—dirty white plumage, fussy, bossy, and yet they don’t seem to know where they’re going, just walking around in aimless circles, heads perpetually jerking as if irritated by something. They won’t eat some scraps, pecking at them in disdain, and then they’ll fight to the death over other scraps. Their behavior defies all logic—a bit like the residents of Ballytirrel if you ask me.
I cast out a chunk of bread and laugh at how they all crash against each other, like shoppers entering the doors for TK Maxx on Black Friday.
“Amusing creatures, aren’t they?” comes the deep, rich, accented voice that I’ve come to love hearing. Danny’s warm tone is back, the hardness that he used with Cliona earlier completely gone.
He fills the kitchen doorway, looking very fine in his white shirt rolled up to the elbows. Cliona’s not behind him. Good.
“Cliona and Lorcan are upstairs, getting him changed before they head off.”
“And your mother’s out because she feels Cliona’s enough of a chaperone?”
He laughs. “You learn quickly.”
“Indeed I do.” I wipe my hands off on my apron. “Would you like some tea?”
“No, I’d like some talking.”
His serious note makes my flirtatious smile falter.
“Shannon,” he says with quiet gravity, “what were you doing talking about me yesterday?”
I throw a scrap of bread to a hen that’s wandered off by itself at the edge of the group. “Nothing bad was said.”
“Please, don’t discuss me with the Callaghans. Ever. Preferably, don’t even talk to them.”
I walk away from him, kicking out so the hens don’t bite.
