Chapter 6
When Luca woke the next morning, he was momentarily baffled by the unfamiliar cosiness of his bed.
Then he remembered where he was, as the events of the previous night came back to haunt him.
Still, he couldn’t help smiling to himself as he took in his surroundings.
He was toasty warm under the duvet in the little box room, the rain drumming heavily on the windows making him feel even snugger.
He grabbed his watch from the nightstand and checked the time, surprised to see that it was just after ten.
He didn’t usually sleep so late – but, then, he didn’t usually have such a comfortable bed.
At least Claire would have gone to work by now and he wouldn’t have to face her again.
He threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face.
Then he pulled on a sweatshirt and went out onto the landing.
He called Claire’s name, just to be on the safe side, but there was no reply.
The house was silent as he made his way downstairs, feeling like an intruder but glad to have the place to himself.
He felt a fresh stab of guilt about his behaviour last night when he found his clothes folded neatly on the kitchen table, his boots, stuffed with newspaper, underneath. There was a yellow Post-it note on top of the clothes. It read:
Help yourself to anything you want from the kitchen. No need to lock anything when you leave. Claire
He looked towards the window and sighed, not looking forward to going back out there.
The rain was still bucketing down, and he didn’t want to undo all the benefit of last night by getting soaked again.
Surely it had to stop some time. He would hang out here for a while, and hopefully it would let up eventually.
Then he would leave. Anyway, he reasoned, Claire wouldn’t be back until the evening, and it would make no difference to her if he left now or just before she came home.
He figured that her bookshop would be open until at least six on a Saturday so there was plenty of time before he needed to clear out.
In the meantime, he could enjoy the warmth and comfort of the house.
He opened the fridge, pleased to see how well stocked it was.
He would make himself a proper cooked breakfast – bacon and eggs, lots of toast with lashings of butter.
Then he would stand under the scalding shower for another half-hour or so.
If it still hadn’t stopped raining he might watch a bit of television, have some lunch and maybe even take an afternoon nap.
He would leave around five – rain or no rain – and would be gone well before she got home. It would be like a little holiday.
At work Claire was struggling to keep her eyes open.
‘You look rough,’ Tom had said, when she’d arrived. She had done her best with makeup and had bathed her eyes in lots of cold water, but she still looked like something out of Night of the Living Dead.
‘Thanks. I went to that party with Yvonne last night,’ she had told him, by way of explanation.
Thankfully, Tom was satisfied with that, had smiled sympathetically and spent the rest of the morning plying her with tea and digestive biscuits. It was a good thing Yvonne wasn’t in today. She knew Claire hadn’t had a late night at the party, and wouldn’t have been fobbed off so easily.
She felt worn out and frazzled, having had hardly a wink of sleep.
Thanks to that bastard Luca, she had been awake most of the night, crying and fuming.
That was what she got for trying to be nice to someone!
She should have thrown him out instead of cowering in her room as if she was afraid of him.
But she hadn’t had the heart – or, if she was honest with herself, the nerve.
And that only infuriated her more. Why was she such a bloody wimp?
Why couldn’t she be more like her alter ego?
NiceGirl wouldn’t have had any problem kicking him out.
But then NiceGirl probably wouldn’t have wanted to.
She would have met him halfway, and she would have given as good as she got. Claire was no NiceGirl and she knew it.
Maybe Luca knew it, too, she thought, horrified at the idea that perhaps he could sense her loneliness and inexperience. Did it cling to her like some kind of aura? Maybe he had felt sorry for her, she thought, with a mixture of shame and indignation.
What was worse, she couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like if she had let it happen.
Pitiable as it was, it was the best offer she’d had in a long time – the only offer she’d had in a long time.
She wasn’t likely ever to see him again, so what did it matter what he thought of her?
It would have been good to get in a bit of practice, too, in case anything happened with Mark.
She felt a little tingle of excitement at the thought that soon she would be meeting him for real.
But she was nervous about it, too, because she really wanted him to like her – the real her, not the person he knew online.
She wondered if there would still be the same spark between them…
But she mustn’t let her imagination run away with her.
Mark probably had a girlfriend, and even if he didn’t, their online flirtation possibly wouldn’t translate into real life.
She spent far too much time living in a fantasy world.
She needed to wise up and get real, literally.
It probably would have been disastrous with Luca.
He would be used to much more experienced, savvy girls.
It would have been awkward and embarrassing, and she’d have felt hopelessly inadequate.
Besides, her own self-respect meant there was no way she could have let anything happen with him – not when he saw it as some sort of transaction.
She should just put the whole sorry episode behind her.
Maybe she could turn it into a sexy story for her blog.
Luca would be gone tonight when she got home and she would have the house to herself again.
She was looking forward to getting into her pyjamas and vegging out on the sofa with a takeaway.
It was definitely a night for staying in by the fire, she thought, looking out of the window.
The rain was still pouring down, rushing in rivers along the pavement.
It was forecast to continue for the rest of day, and there was already flooding in some parts of the city.
She felt a pang of guilt as she thought of Luca going out into the downpour and returning to his cold, bleak flat.
She couldn’t help thinking of the sad state of his boots when she had put them in the airing cupboard to dry last night.
They were full of holes, the soles worn thin and completely separated from the upper on one of them. Still, he wasn’t her problem.
The day dragged on. It was quiet, the rain keeping most people away, and those customers who did turn up were narky and difficult. Claire dragged herself through until six in a haze of caffeine.
‘Any plans for tonight?’ Tom asked, as they closed up.
‘No, just bath and bed,’ she said wearily. ‘On second thoughts, maybe just bed. I don’t think I have the energy for a bath.’
‘Well, enjoy!’
‘Thanks. You too.’ Almost there, she told herself as she made her way to the car, thinking longingly of her sofa and TV. But first she had to visit her mother.
* * *
‘Hello!’ Espie beamed when Claire walked into her private room at the nursing home in Blackrock.
It was large and bright, pleasant enough as these places went.
Great efforts had gone into making it cheery and welcoming, more resembling a room in a hotel than a hospital.
But there was no disguising the pall of sickness and infirmity that hung over the place.
Her mother was sitting up in bed, and Claire felt fleetingly reassured by how well she looked.
But she knew her mother’s robust appearance was just a cruel illusion.
Even now it was sometimes hard to remember how ill she was when she seemed so unchanged in every way.
Illness was supposed to alter people beyond recognition, but Espie Kennedy was as plump and rosy-cheeked as ever – except that now her complexion owed more to steroid flush than good health.
She still had a mischievous glint in her eye, though, and a curve to her lips, which seemed always on the brink of laughter.
‘So how are you feeling?’
‘Fine. Bored, but fine. I missed you yesterday.’
‘I went to that party with Yvonne from work, remember?’ Claire said, as she took off her coat and sat in the chair by her mother’s bed. ‘I told you about it.’
‘Did you? I think that bloody anaesthetic’s knocked everything out of my head.’
‘Oh, sorry. I thought you knew. You must have been expecting me,’ Claire said, immediately feeling guilty.
‘It’s fine. I’d much rather you were out enjoying yourself. You don’t have to come every day. I know you’re tired after work.’
‘Did you have any other visitors yesterday?’
‘No.’ Espie sighed, putting on a childish pout. ‘I was bored out of my gigantic incontinence pants. No inner resources, that’s my problem.’
God, Claire thought. Couldn’t one of her brothers have made an effort, just once? She had purposely told them that she wouldn’t be able to make it yesterday in the hope that one of them would visit. Why did everything always fall to her?
‘I thought maybe Ronan or Neil would come in.’
‘Oh, they’re far too busy on weekdays. They have jobs, you know.’
‘True,’ Claire said. ‘Unlike the rest of us.’