Chapter 29
Aisling hadn’t bothered to run a comb through her hair or put her lipstick on, having decided it was best she go and swallow whatever medicine Quinn was going to dish out. She only went so far as to swap her pyjama bottoms for jeans. She half-heartedly hoped the sight of her wan, spotty face might soften his heart a little.
Alasdair hadn’t quite been his usual effusive self, greeting her as she pushed the door of the bistro open and stepped inside. She was unsure if it was out of politeness to avoid mentioning her spots or because he knew what a spendthrift she’d been. Common sense told her it was far more likely it was her guilty conscience playing paranoid tricks on her. She hadn’t imagined Quinn’s steely expression as he asked her to give him a few minutes before he joined her out on the floor, though. A chill akin to icy fingers had traipsed up and down her spine at his unflinching blue eyes as he paused with the pan of boiling potatoes, he’d been carrying over to the sink to drain. They were eyes that usually twinkled with unspent mirth but tonight they were stormy. His mouth too had been set like a heart monitor flatlining. She’d also caught Paula and Tony glancing at each other before putting their heads down and getting on with the business of making sure the restaurant ticked over. The boss and his fiancée might be at odds but for them it was business as usual.
Aisling had done as he’d suggested, grateful to see Tom wasn’t rostered on, as she’d gone in search of a quiet table. She tucked herself into the darkened corner far enough away from the other diners to ensure they weren’t privy to her and Quinn’s private goings on. From where she’d positioned herself, she could see the fire with its flames, forked tongues of orange and yellow. A shadowy glow danced up the walls, illuminating the framed photographs of guests enjoying boisterous nights in the bistro. She watched a man excuse himself from the pretty woman he was dining with, and saw him dip his head to avoid the low hung ceiling beams as he made his way to the bathroom. There was no band playing tonight given it was early in the week so she and Quinn would, at least, be able to hear themselves speak. She almost wished Shay and his band were on the empty stage banging out a bit of Van Morrison so she didn’t have to sit through the talking-to, she knew was coming her way.
Her hands pleated the table napkin for want of something to do with them and she turned her gaze to the salt and pepper shakers in an effort to avoid making eye contact with Paula who was clearing a nearby table. Her corneas were beginning to burn from not blinking when Quinn’s voice startled her.
He loomed over the table making her feel small and inconsequential. It wasn’t like him to take such a bullying stance. ‘I don’t understand you, Aisling.’ It was said loudly enough to turn the heads of the couple at the closest table. Aisling glared at them, daring them to say anything. They went back to their meals.
‘Sit down and lower your voice, Quinn,’ she ordered, forgetting she’d planned on being contrite and sufficiently grovelling so he could say his piece and be done with it.
He pulled a chair out and sat down heavily across from her before pulling a folded wad of papers from his pockets which he spread on the table in front of her. The light was dim but not dim enough she couldn’t see she was looking at a printout from their joint account.
‘When we opened this account, we had this much to put into it.’ He jabbed at a figure she couldn’t quite make out at the top of the row of numbers. Nevertheless, she nodded before looking away not able to sustain eye contact with him when he was clearly furious. ‘The problem is, Aisling, this much has gone out since we opened the account. He shuffled the papers and pointed to another piece of paper. ‘And this is now our balance.’
He paused and she wasn’t sure what he expected her to do, gasp suitably aghast at her expenditure maybe? When she remained silent, he carried on. ‘The balance in our account is nothing like it was when we applied for our loan at the AIB because in the space of a few weeks you’ve spent it on – hmm, let me see,’
Aisling wanted to put her hands over her ears as he began to reel off a list of expenses that had, at the time, seemed so necessary in the planning of their wedding day but now, listening to the sums involved, came across as ludicrous luxuries nobody in their right mind needed. She wondered if pleading temporary insanity might help her case.
At last his voice trailed off and she looked up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she squeaked, hoping to see the anger leach from his face.
‘Sorry isn’t good enough, Aisling. We’re going to lose out
