Chapter 15 #4
My stomach rumbled loudly. I’d forgotten to eat with all the excitement of the day and it showed.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I’ll fix you up some dinner, you’re going to need some soakage.’
‘Why? Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’ He grinned elusively.
As it transpired, he was a dab hand in the kitchen as well as everything else. I don’t know why I was surprised.
I sat at the island sipping a glass of Malbec from his extensive wine collection while he chopped mushrooms and onions to go with the fillet steaks he was frying. It smelt delicious.
Was there anything this man couldn’t do?
It was surreal how much everything had changed in the last ten weeks. That was all it was, but it felt like a lifetime.
If anyone had told me the night of Heidi’s hen that I would meet a red-haired Irishman and leave my husband, I would have laughed in their faces. Yet, I did. And it felt so right.
A niggle of worry slithered into my gut at the impossible prospect of a future together. I forced it to the back of my mind, determined not to ruin the trip over-analysing the future.
We ate side by side at the island. The fillets were done to perfection, medium rare.
‘Is there anything you can’t do?’ I asked him.
‘I’m sure there are plenty of things I can’t do. I just haven’t found them yet,’ he said smugly, with a wink.
‘You’re amazing.’ I meant it.
‘No, you’re amazing,’ he said, before adding, ‘no, you hang up, no you hang up first.’ Mocking me, with those teasing blue eyes.
We cleaned the kitchen together as if it was part of our normal daily ritual. I forgot about anything else outside of the front door, like only the two of us existed. It was effortless just being in his company. No, it was more than effortless. I felt like I belonged.
We moved to the sunroom to finish the bottle of wine overlooking the sun setting spectacularly over the ocean.
Moments like these were a tiny slice of heaven nurturing my tortured soul, the weeks of stress and tension evaporating by the second.
I rested my bare feet in his lap and we admired the scenery together.
‘Don’t get too comfortable, lady, I’ve got plans for you tonight,’ he warned me.
‘I think I like the sound of that.’ I eyed his torso suggestively.
‘Absolutely, you can bet your life on it, but first we need to make a quick trip out or else I will literally never hear the end of it. I hate having to share you, but my life won’t be worth living if we don’t call into the pub.’
‘Ah.’ The parents. I’d been looking forward to meeting them, though naturally a little apprehensive. He said they were fine with everything, but who would choose a divorcee for their only son?
I hoped they were as easy going as he made out.
‘The quicker we go, the quicker we can come home and open another bottle of wine to take upstairs with us.’
Now that I liked the sound of. ‘What should I put on?’ I glanced down at my white shirt and jeans.
‘You’re overdressed already, trust me, it’s not that kind of pub.’
I pulled on my flat brown boots and blazer and we set off on foot to the pub.
Thankfully, it wasn’t raining. There were no pavements, we literally walked in the middle of the gravel road.
John assured me minimal traffic passed this way.
It was a dead end at the bottom. I had to tread carefully not to fall into one of many potholes that decorated the road.
The pub was about half a mile away, and we walked briskly. I soon saw signs for ‘Kelly’s’ and my chest tightened with mild apprehension.
John swung open the heavy black door and ushered me inside. Every single person in the pub turned to look at us.
A woman in her fifties stood behind the bar pouring a pint of Guinness, concentrating intently on what she was doing.
As she glanced up, her face broke into an almighty grin.
John was obviously the blue-eyed boy, and why wouldn’t he be?
He was the most incredible man I’d ever met in my life. She welcomed us home graciously.
John’s father stood proudly at the bar, sipping something small and potent looking. The resemblance between them made him obvious to pick out; the same red hair and chiselled chin. When he turned to us, there was a kindness in his smile. He took a step backwards to weigh up the package.
‘Dad.’ John shook his hand and grinned sheepishly. ‘This is Lucy.’
‘Hi.’ I put my hand out to shake his hand, but he pulled me into a big bear-like embrace.
‘Lucy, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Graham.
So, you’re the young lady that’s putting manners on my son, is that right?
’ There was such unexpected warmth in his voice, it made me emotional.
I felt I didn’t deserve it, given the far from ideal situation I’d only very recently extracted myself from.
‘Well, I’m not exactly sure that’s what you’d call it, but I’m trying.’
He let out a deep hearty laugh, insisting on getting us both a drink.
The pub was small and cosy. Short bar stools scattered around the edge of the room and a pool table took up a sizeable proportion of space.
Three men on stools propped up the bar and I could see Hugh, the farmer I met earlier about to take a shot to pot the black ball, the game almost over.
He raised his hand in acknowledgement and I smiled back.
‘This is Mary, or Mama Bear, as we do call her.’ John introduced me to his mother, who had come out from around the back of the bar to give him an affectionate kiss on the cheek and a hug.
‘How are you? Lovely to meet you,’ I said with more confidence than I felt.
‘Hmm. I’ll decide if it was lovely to meet you in a couple of hours’ time, lady.
’ She was joking, but if there was an element of truth in the statement who could blame her.
Her son was the most amazing man I’d ever met.
She was bound to be protective of him. There would be something wrong if she wasn’t.
‘What do you think of Ireland?’ she asked me curiously, probably wondering if I’d stick it long term.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I said honestly. ‘Different.’
I sipped on another glass of red, frightened to change my poison at this stage but knowing I couldn’t drink wine all night either. Not unless I wanted to see my steak again.
John’s parents were lovely, they made me feel comfortable very quickly, once they slowed down enough for me to understand what they were actually saying.
I had to lip read and listen. But despite all that, I relaxed in their company.
They were warm, welcoming and witty, which must be where John acquired his distinctive sense of humour from.
For some reason, I found myself telling Graham about the last few weeks and how I was as surprised as anyone else to be here, after everything.
Graham raised his eyebrows at my mention of the D word. Surprised at my openness, he appeared uncertain whether to comment that he was even aware of the situation.
‘I know you know about the divorce, so don’t be polite. I asked John to tell you everything, to be open from day one.’ I had no problem talking about it.
‘Ahh, well in that case, I might speak freely then, if I may?’ he said, in a light tone. I got the feeling he was going to speak freely, regardless.
‘Of course.’
‘It sounds to me like you’ve had a hard few months, maybe even years, but things are on the up now.
Trust me,’ he said, nodding at John. ‘He’s got it bad.
’ He winked at me knowingly and I felt this could be the start of a firm friendship between us, seeing exactly where John got his rock strong solidarity from.
They were good country people, straightforward, no bullshit. There was something very refreshing about them. John was right.
‘Who wants to play pool?’ I saw the table was free.
Surprise lit in John’s eyes. ‘Sure, you might break a nail, sweetheart,’ he mocked me.
I laughed, rubbing my hands together in delight as he set up the balls for the game. We had a pool table in the garage as kids and used to play all day every day when we weren’t at school.
‘Mind if I break?’ I chalked my cue.
‘Be my guest.’ His tone harboured a hint of arrogance. He was so sure he had it in the bag.
More locals entered the pub. Everyone seemed to know one another, acknowledging each other with a friendly insult. It seemed in Ireland the stronger the insult you issued, the more highly you thought of the person.
I bent over the pool table, deliberately allowing John a view of my butt in the tight jeans I had on. If all else failed, a distraction technique always helped.
I broke, expertly potting two reds with the first strike.
John raised his left eyebrow in question.
I went on to pot each and every red ball in turn, much to his surprise and mine.
It had been years since I played. I just couldn’t get a clear shot on the black, so reluctantly, I had to let him take his turn.
‘You’re a dark horse,’ he said, potting four yellows in a row. ‘What other hidden talents could you be hiding from me?’
He missed the fifth yellow and handed me the cue again. I potted the black, winning the game.
‘Best of three?’ He frowned, unused to losing.
‘Maybe later?’ I knew it would irritate the life out of him, being left on the back foot. I couldn’t be confident I’d beat him again. Better to quit while I was ahead.
Several drinks later, I had a long hard object in my hand, and it wasn’t what I had been expecting only a couple of hours previously.
‘Give it a good hard swing, Baby Bear.’ I’d been nicknamed in the first half an hour. ‘Let’s see what you’re made of,’ Papa Bear (he too had been nicknamed), egged me on rubbing his hands together before clenching his fists in excitement.
Hugh nodded encouragingly as John stood well back and watched without comment.
The stick I clasped in my two hands was apparently called a hurly stick. I raised it above my right shoulder and swung it with everything I had, knocking three drinks over and almost giving John a nose job in the process.
‘Holy fuck, John, don’t piss this one off! By God, you’ll know about its son.’ Graham seemed impressed at my effort, nevertheless.
‘Sorry guys, so sorry about the drinks and the glasses.’ Mortified, I headed to the bar where Mama Bear was pouring two more pints of Guinness having witnessed the disaster I caused. She pointed me in the direction of the toilets.
I entered one of the three cubicles, wobbling slightly as I went to sit down.
I was drunk.
I needed to go home.
I laughed at the irony of it. Home.
I’d only been here a few hours and the Irish lingo was rubbing off on me.
I liked Ireland, but if John lived in Saudi Arabia, I’d have gone there too. Bar the fact I would be breaking every rule in the country, between my old fondness for a glass of wine and new fondness for the extra-marital activities he’d introduced me to this afternoon.
Did women still get stoned in those awful countries? Jeez, they’d have a field day with me. The Decree Absolute was surely in the post at this stage, though.
In the mirror above the basin, I noticed the flush in my cheeks, the sparkle in my eye, and I couldn’t help but grin.
If someone had told me I’d be in a tiny pub in the arse end of rural Ireland, having one of the most memorable nights out I’d ever had in my life, I wouldn’t have believed it, but it was the company.
One man in particular, but his parents came a very close second.
My idea of a great night used to be a trendy bar in the city with over-priced cocktails and dodgy lighting.
And it wasn’t just the lighting that was dodgy, the clientele could be questionable too.
The contrast was stark. I was well accustomed to being chatted up by pretentious pricks who thought they could flash a gold card under your nose, throw out a few crappy one liners and call you frigid if you didn’t immediately drop your knickers.
I returned to the bar and resumed my position between John and his father, taking a small sip of my half full glass of wine before announcing, ‘I feel drunk.’
‘And isn’t that a great way to feel, Baby Bear?’ John’s father smiled. ‘You couldn’t come all the way to the west of Ireland without sampling a few of the delicacies.’
‘Oh, I certainly sampled a few today.’ I winked at him, and he let out a bellowing laugh.
John rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, but I saw the smirk on his face as he remembered.
‘I don’t doubt you did, my girl.’ Slapping John hard on the back, he said, ‘You are one lucky fucker, son. It’s good for the soul; the equivalent of doing a four mile run, only much more fun.
And more importantly, it’s healthy for any relationship.
When you’re at it, keep at it. It’s the only advice I can give you. ’
‘I don’t know when she last went to Specsavers,’ John replied, ‘but I’m hoping she doesn’t decide to go anytime soon.’ Ever the joker.
Funny, charming and fabulous. Was it any wonder I became increasingly besotted with each second that passed?
‘We’ll make a move in a minute. It’s past Lucy’s bedtime. She needs some rest,’ John told his father. ‘I’m going to check Mam is ok.’ He left me in the capable hands of Papa Bear.
I found myself yet again admiring John from behind; full broad shoulders, narrow waist and his firm hard bum. For a man so tall and broad, he moved with grace and presence.
‘You are in love with that boy,’ Graham said, searching my eyes for confirmation of the obvious truth. A truth that I was nevertheless, still trying to hide.
A hot blush invaded my neck, spreading like wildfire, giving me away, even though we had been talking about something far more personal and potentially embarrassing only moments earlier.
I paused, trying to think of a suitable response before trying to make light of it. ‘Don’t tell him, for God’s sake. His head is big enough as it is.’ I attempted to distract him with my feeble humour, looking down into my wine glass before taking another sip.
‘I can see it as clear as day. And I can see he definitely feels the same.’
He had my unwavering attention then. Straightening my drunken self on the stool, I leaned closer, straining to translate every word.
‘I’ll tell you something, girl. We’ve seen a few pretty girls in this pub in our lifetime. He brought the odd one down now and again. They’d come and then go just as quickly again. Not one of them lasted more than a month or two.’
I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but even in my tipsy state I realised it was important.
‘But not one of them did he look at the way he looks at you. It’s remarkable really,’ he mused stroking the side of his head in apparent wonder.
I beamed from ear to ear.
And almost as an afterthought, he said, more to himself than to me, ‘Interesting times.’