He looked at her for a long moment, his piercing gaze fixed on hers, and then his eyes started to crinkle, just a little at the corners. She tried again to stop laughing, but one look at him trying not to laugh, still clutching his now probably very bruised crown jewels, was just too much. This time she took him with her, and the sound of them laughing together filled the room.
‘Well, glad I made someone laugh anyway,’ Cillian said eventually. April gained just enough composure to speak. He wiped a tear away from his eyes, and she wasn’t sure it was laughter or real sorrow for his man parts.
‘You certainly did. I needed that. I thought you were ignoring me,’ she admitted before she could stop herself. She bit her lip. She always had to go one more, make the awkward additional comment. That one that equated to farting loudly in a full lift. ‘You know, because of yesterday? Your wife?’
He took the headphones and showed them to her before putting them in his jeans pocket. He had on a lumberjack-type checked shirt, red and black squares open over a white T-shirt. His jeans were ironed, a light blue faded wash. April noticed for the first time that he seemed a little less unkempt than usual. Cuter even.
‘I was just listening to music, that’s all. Orla is on a full day today at nursery, so I have till four. And I don’t have a wife.’ He looked at her hand and she felt her fingers flicker in reflex. No ring there. Just snot-coloured paint. ‘Nice paint colour. Martha hates it too, which is hilarious.’
She nodded, moving her hand out of sight. No more mention of yesterday then. April mentally picked up the rug and brushed the matter under it. If he wanted to talk about it, he’d talk about it. She had a business to run, and the bookings were going to be coming in soon. It had to be right.
‘That’s fine, I have a lot to get through today too. First full day of working together.’ She looked across the park to Martha’s chalet, but she wasn’t sitting on her porch as usual.
‘She’s gone out; she left this morning. I dropped her in town when I took Orla to nursery.’ April looked at Cillian, but his expression was closed off as usual. ‘She’ll be back.’
‘Do you know where she went?’
Cillian didn’t even look at her now, busying himself by sweeping the floor clean. ‘Yes, I do.’ He turned away, grabbing one of the new dustpans she’d bought in town, and sweeping up all the dust and debris from the floor. The flooring itself was in pretty good nick. A good scrub and a new carpet in places and they would be in business. She’d spent half of last night researching arcade machines online on Judith’s old laptop, and was delighted to find a small local firm who refurbished them and rented them out to businesses and chalet parks. A perfect way of saving money. Once she had things turned around and some money back in the bank, she could buy some machines instead, keep more of the profits. She didn’t want her park to be all pay pay pay, but the machines would be a nice cheap crowd-pleaser for the kids and teens who would come here.
‘And …’ she tried, realising that he hadn’t answered her question.
‘And what?’
‘Where did Martha go?’
‘I said, into town.’
April rolled her eyes at him. ‘I know that, but where? She hasn’t left here since I arrived. Why today?’
Cillian sighed, and she could see from his body language that he didn’t want to talk.
‘Okay, sorry. You know, sometimes, it would be nice if I could go a day without feeling like I’m not in the way. It’s only a question. Just forget it. I thought we could actually get along. Elvis has better crack than you.’
‘What—’ Cillian ran his fingers through his hair ‘—are you bleating about now?’
‘Bleating!?’
‘Yeah, bleating.’ Cillian dropped the broom to the floor with a clatter. ‘That’s all you women do. Drop me here, fix this, do that, give me this, take me there. I’m here to work, not be a bloody cruise director. I like you, but I can’t take your crap on top of my crap, okay?’
‘Crap? I don’t have any crap and I do not bleat! Bloody Elvis bleats, you stupid Irish windbag. I was only asking why—’
‘I have no fecking idea why you care about what Martha does. The woman can’t stand you anyway.’
‘Oh really, well the feeling is “fecking” mutual!’ She did air quotes here, but turned her hands around to add a two-fingered salute.
‘Don’t take the mick out of me, missy. I don’t mock you for your weird talking.’
‘Weird talking? What weird talking?’
‘Oh you know, with your nowts and sommat’s – fecking well speak the Queen’s, will ya?’
‘What the hell is your problem, Cillian!’ She said his name as though it was the most ridiculous name in the world, like River Rainbow Bean the Third or something.
‘Oh, nothing’s wrong with me, Ape-ril.’ Her eyes flashed as he touched on her old nickname. She thought of Duncan, and her jaw flexed. Any jokes equating her to a hairy primate never raised a laugh from her. They were mean, old and tired little digs. Not that Cillian knew that. ‘I’m just wanting to work, and raise my daughter, and not answer to any mentally deranged bloody women!’
‘Oooohhh!’ April gasped, grabbing a paintbrush from the pool table and jabbing it in his direction. He glared at her, the two getting closer to each other as their words heated up. ‘The reason us women are like we are is because of you and your type! Flashing your bloody manhoods around, marrying and impregnating anything that moves, moving on with your lives and not giving a fig to how anyone
