‘So, Maureen, lunch?’ Donal pressed once more.
There was no getting out of it. Maureen could tell by his serious expression she’d not be able to stall or skirt around the edges of what he was asking. She put her bread down and rested both hands on the table, her wedding ring glinting under the light. He was right, she knew he was. The girls had begun making wisecracks that she was stepping out with Liam Finnegan, yer man missing his two front teeth who busked on Grafton Street by whistling Irish Rovers hits through the gap. How everybody knew his name, Maureen didn’t know, but they did. He’d probably been in the papers at some point in time but either way the joke was wearing thin because every time she’d seen Moira of late, she’d taken to whistling My Old Man’s a Dustman just to annoy her. She was far too smart for her own good that one.
‘Johnnie Fox’s for lunch it is. Sure, the craic’s mighty there.’ The atmosphere in the well- known pub would be good even if it was frosty at their table.
Donal was pleased. ‘I’m sure they’ll all get along great guns.’
Maureen wished she had his confidence.
‘I’m partial to lasagne myself what about you?’
‘I like the sound of the ravioli, Donal.’
They ordered their main course and while they waited for their food, Donal told her about a gig he had coming up at the end of the month. His Kenny Rogers tribute band, The Gamblers would be playing at a seventieth birthday bash in Clontarf. ‘The birthday girl’s favourite songs are Islands in the Stream and We’ve got Tonight which don’t sound the same with fat Davey doing the duet. Maureen, can you perchance sing?’
‘I can hold a tune.’
‘How do you feel about being Dolly and Sheena to my Kenny?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Donal.’ Maureen hadn’t expected that and her mind was racing. She’d thoroughly enjoyed herself at Aisling’s hen night doing the karaoke, skirt tucked into her knickers aside. Everybody had said she’d been very entertaining.
‘The band needs you. I need you.’
Well now, she could hardly say no to that, now could she?
Chapter 3
Maureen put a teaspoon of bicarbonate soda into the glass and poured warm water on it. It fizzed up like a mini volcano and when it had finished hissing and spitting, she drank it down, banging the glass down on the worktop like a tequila slammer. Not that she’d ever drink tequila again, not after Aisling’s hen night. She caught sight of her grimacing face in the reflection of the kitchen window as she swallowed the bitter tonic. It was horrid but it would save the tiramisu she’d shared with Donal against her better judgement, coming back to haunt her in the wee hours. She never slept well when she partook of too much rich food. There was another reason she didn’t think she’d sleep well and that was because for the first time in a very long while she’d been kissed. Properly kissed.
Her index finger went to her lips and she smiled to herself, staring into the inkiness outside. Donal had settled the bill despite her protestations that she was a modern woman and, in the end, they’d agreed that she would treat him to that new Tom Hanks film everybody was raving about, Cast Off on Thursday. Would they sit in the back row of the cinema and would his arm slide around the back of the seat before he kissed her in the cinema like they were young ones? It was how he was making her feel, like a young girl who was experiencing flutterings in places she’d thought had long since stopped beating their wings. Donal McCarthy had put a spring in her step and brought a glow to her skin. He was better than any youth elixir or fancy serum, Moira was so fond of.
They’d wandered out into that fierce weather and he’d wrapped his strong arm around her, protecting her from the elements. Her coat had flapped around her calves as they’d made their way around the back of the restaurant to where they’d parked. She wasn’t in a hurry this time because she liked the solid weight of his arm around her and the warmth she could feel of his body as their coats rubbed against each other. They’d stopped beside her car and Donal had turned her gently toward him. There’d been no time to ponder what she should do and she’d instinctively closed her eyes and tilted her head back, losing herself in the sensation of his warm, soft lips on hers. It had been gentle, searching, tender and yes, there’d been the promise of something else to come in that kiss, but not yet. She hadn’t wanted it to end but the burst of laughter and sudden flash of light as one of the kitchen hands stepped out of the back door of the building to cart a bag of rubbish over to the bins saw them break apart.
‘I’d best be getting home then.’ Maureen had fumbled in her pocket for her keys and, locating them, she aimed them at her car.
‘Maureen...’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re a special woman, so you are, and I’m very glad to have met you.’
She’d given him a smile as she opened her door. ‘I’m glad I’ve met you too.’
They’d grinned at one another like idiots until a car door slamming on the street broke the spell. ‘Goodnight, Donal.’ She’d gotten in her car, gunning it into life and she’d driven home with an enormous smile plastered to her face. It hadn’t faltered, not even when some eejit had failed to stop on the orange light, an act that would have normally had her hand pressing on the horn and fantasising about citizens’ arrests.
This time it was Pooh who broke her trance by positioning himself at her feet before stretching a paw up to
