Chapter Twenty-Two
You might think that with all the interview requests I get after the video, I’d get used to answering the same questions over and over again.
That the words might come easier to me, or that my voice would stop wavering.
But you would be wrong. I am not good at public speaking.
I am not good at being on radio or television or any form of attention on me at any stage.
And no matter how many tips or tricks or times Nush mouths at me to enunciate , I can never fully hide how nervous I am.
I agree to do them only because I know we need as much attention as possible, but they drain me, and it’s agreed by everyone that I should stop.
That is until the day before the festival when we get a call from a major television show in Ireland, who want to record one final chat to go out that evening.
It’s a show I’ve watched with Granny a few times, one where they go around the country interviewing “normal” people about local achievements.
It’s the exact audience we need to find people to support us, but that only puts more pressure on me to get it right.
Which is why when most of my friends and neighbors are out putting the final touches on everything; I am in the ladies’ room at Kelly’s with Gemma and Nush as they argue over which blush I should use.
“Maybe I should change,” I say, as Nush pulls my hair back with a small army of clips.
“You don’t have time to change. And you don’t need to change. You look beautiful.”
“You’re grand, Katie,” Gemma pipes up. “You look lovely. Really.”
I guess. I’m wearing a black jumpsuit that I thought made me look very chic and sophisticated when I first put it on, but now I just feel overdressed and have the urge to pee all the time because I know I can’t do so easily.
“Just remember to smile,” Nush says. “And if you laugh, try not to do it so loud.”
“What?”
“Nush,” Gemma warns, as she powders my face.
“Do I have a loud laugh?”
“No.”
“Sometimes,” Nush says soothingly.
“Okay. We’re done now.” Gemma bats her away and pulls me into the lounge. “You’ll be fine,” she says. “Just think of it like a chat.”
Kind of hard to do with two cameras and a bunch of strangers all staring at you. Not to mention all the non-strangers here as well.
“Do all of you really need to be here?” I complain, as Callum comes up to me. Adam is frowning at everyone from behind the bar and Granny sits in the corner, sipping on a tonic. “Scatter. Hide. No one look at me. That includes you,” I add, as Callum lingers beside me. “What?”
“Nothing.” He trails a finger along the side of the jumpsuit. “This is nice.”
“If you’re trying to calm me down, you’re not helping,” I say, and he grins, kissing me on the cheek.
“Katie! We all set?” The presenter of the program is Mandy Brennan, an enthusiastic, middle-aged woman with very shiny, dyed red hair and a constant smile on her face. I am all set, but no one else is. And it’s another few minutes of adjusting lights and doing checks before we finally begin.
I feel better once we do. She starts with the usual questions, the ones I can almost predict before she asks, and I go through my spiel about the village and Glenmill, about what we were trying to do here and what we had planned for the guests visiting.
It’s all going fine, and I’m just beginning to properly relax, when her gaze softens, her smile turning so sympathetic, it’s almost pitying.
“And tell me,” she says, in a hushed voice. “What’s this I hear about your parents meeting at the festival?”
“My parents?”
The room, which had been quiet before, goes deathly silent. I don’t dare look at any of my friends.
“It’s one of the reasons you feel so strongly about this pub, isn’t it? Why you want to keep the tradition going?”
“It is,” I say, clearing my throat. “They met at the festival when they were teenagers. It was still going back then, but not as big. Not like it’s going to be this year.”
“Yes, it all looks very impressive.” Her expression doesn’t change, and I know exactly the route she’s going down.
I don’t know where she got her information, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.
No one in the village would have told her, but a quick internet search is all she’ll need to bring up the funeral notices from that time. To put two and two together.
“They died when you were very young,” Mandy continues. “That must have been hard.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“And your grandmother raised you.”
“She did,” I say stiffly, my answers growing shorter by the second.
“This must be a lovely way to honor them.” She nods as she speaks, so I nod too, though, behind her, Adam is frowning like he’s two seconds away from barging in front of the camera and calling cut, so I muster up a smile as well.
She beams at me in response. “And will you be taking part in any matchmaking yourself?”
I don’t know why I say the next part. I really, truly don’t.
Because the answer is a simple no, a cheerful, I’ll be far too busy for that!
And then a friendly laugh. But I’m thrown by the questions about my parents, and I’m too hot in this stupid jumpsuit and everyone is looking at me, and the lights are too bright and I’m on autopilot when I open my mouth and state loudly and clearly.
“I will be, yes.”
From the corner of my eye, I see both Callum and Gemma stiffen, the movement so identical that it would have been funny if I wasn’t, you know, majorly panicking.
“That’s exciting!” She trills like we’re two friends gossiping. “And what kind of partner are you hoping to find? Give the lads coming some clues.”
No way does my smile look real. I can’t see what I look like, but I can feel it straining.
“Someone nice,” I say eventually, and Gemma coughs.
A bead of sweat trickles down the small of my back, and Mandy keeps going .
Most likely because I don’t stop her. It’s another five minutes of probing questions about just how single I am and my ideal date (apparently, I really like coffees and chats) before she finally wraps it up.
As soon as she does and people can move freely again, Callum is up and out the door.
“You’re in trouble,” Gemma sings under her breath, and I give her a look.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, extracting myself from the group, as I race after Callum. I don’t have to go far. I’m barely two steps out of the building before he catches my hand, pulling me to the side by the flower wall we’d put up.
“Someone nice?”
“I panicked, okay?”
“You sure? Or are you trying to make me jealous?”
“No!” I say, even as my heart skips proudly. Jealous? I’m making him jealous? “I’m trying to do my job. It’s like when you’re in a boyband and you have to pretend you’re single. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something to me. But good to know where you stand.”
“That’s not what I— Callum!” I screech in surprise, not quick enough to stop the noise as he grabs me by the waist, lifting me easily against the wall.
“There are like twenty people right—”
He kisses me. Hard and brief and toe-curling good. The rough edge of the brick scrapes my back while flowers tickle the side of my arm. A bolt of heat shoots through me at the sensation, and I tighten my legs around him, as though trying to keep him there.
“I feel like I must not have been clear before,” he says against my lips. “So let me be clear now. You want to do this with me?”
“ Yes .”
“Then no matches. No dates. No open for business, even if it’s just for the cameras. Or I’ll kiss you just like that in front of them too. Got it?”
“Callum—”
“Got it,” I mutter, dazed.
“Good.” He lowers me to the ground, and I clutch at his arms, my legs still a little wobbly. “By the way?” he adds. “I’m officially mad at you.”
“What?”
“Yeah, this is our first couple fight.”
“But…” I gape at him. “I said I wasn’t going to—”
“Still mad,” he says, and kisses me again, his hands tightening against my waist before he abruptly lets go, leaving me gasping by the flowers.