His skin was smooth and clean shaven with a slight pocking around his cheeks which didn’t detract in the least from his easy, languid attractiveness. He was tanned too despite the heat of summer being long gone and his ears poked out from tousled dark hair doing its best to hide them. This was due to his unconscious habit of running his fingers through his hair constantly. His eyes were heavy lidded and blackened and his smile hinted at a cheeky sense of humour. He was what the magazines would call a heartthrob.
By the time she stepped off the bus at the bottom of Grafton Street it was dark and she was instantly enveloped in the Saturday evening joie de vie of those around her. She joined the throng and made her way to the restaurant, hoping Kevin had beaten her there and was waiting outside as they’d arranged.
He was! She glimpsed his dark head and lean, rangy form beneath the neon glow as he stood waiting out the front of the restaurant. She weaved her way in and out of the moving foot traffic and as she drew closer, she saw he had his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket. She liked that jacket, it gave him a roguish quality. He’d been wearing it when he’d come to the guesthouse to fix the broken lock on Room 6’s door. Bronagh thought it most fortuitous, as the handsome fella arrived with his toolbox in tow, that her finger had stopped on Under Lock & Key in the telephone book when she’d been searching for a local locksmith to call.
When he’d finished the job, he’d paused to chat and she’d discovered he was from Donegal originally. She’d holidayed there once when she was younger and her dad was alive, Mam still well, and Hilary not so full of delusions of grandeur. He knew the bay where they’d rented their holiday cottage well and their conversation had been easy as it flowed from there. She’d made him a cup of tea, hoping Maureen wouldn’t come down the stairs and find her chatting up a tradesman, plying him with tea and biscuits. She didn’t feel too guilty because he was being paid for the job not by the hour, unlike herself! Before he’d left, he’d asked her if she’d like to meet him on Saturday night for a meal, suggesting Captain America’s for the craic. Bronagh had said yes and spent the rest of the week counting down the hours until Saturday.
Now, it was finally here and she saw, instead of the jeans and old plaid shirt he’d been wearing under his jacket when he’d come to the guesthouse, he’d scrubbed up well. He was dressed in a black skivvy with a pair of tight camel trousers and she watched two girls nudge one another as they walked past eyeing him up. Oh yes, he was a heartthrob alright, and he was also oblivious to the female attention. She wanted to pinch herself at the realisation it was her, Bronagh Hanrahan, he was waiting for.
‘Hello,’ she said, suddenly shy now she was here, as she stepped into his line of sight.
‘Bronagh! You look great.’ He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She inhaled the leather of his jacket and clean-shaven soapy smell of his skin and a thrill coursed through her.
‘Thank you.’
‘Are you hungry?’
‘Starving!’ She laughed as he held the door open for her and the music and smell of frying chips washed over her.
Present
Bronagh blinked, finding herself back in the kitchen as Linda’s bawdy chuckle sounded from the front room and the memories from the past began to fade. Not before she remembered what a gas the night she’d had with Kevin had been on that long-ago evening. He’d had her laughing over her shoestring fries at the stories he’d told her about some of the situations he’d inadvertently found himself called out to. And, who’d have thought the man quietly strumming the guitar and singing in the corner of the restaurant, a glass of wine at his side, would go on to have all those hit songs. She had a Chris de Burgh album somewhere; she must give it a dust off.
She was about to pick up her pen again to finish her letter when she heard her mam call out.
‘Bronagh.’
‘What is it, Mam?’
‘Do you know if we’ve any glue? We’re after running out.’
She sighed; she’d come back to her letter in a moment, and getting up she went to check in the flotsam-jetsam drawer.
Chapter 17
‘Mammy’s been missing in action twice this week,’ Moira said to Aisling, who was working her way through her last piece of morning toast. They were sitting opposite each other at the dining room table, Moira toying with her bowl of cereal. Quinn was still in bed as he’d had a rowdy table of guests last night at the bistro, who’d stayed until well after closing despite, Paula’s non too subtle clearing of the table and Tom’s announcement the bar was shut. It was strange getting used to Quinn being around, Moira mused, lifting her spoon and tipping the milk on it back into the bowl.
‘Are you going to eat that or play with it?’ Aisling said, ignoring her sister’s Mammy MIA lament. They both knew where she was after all so she was hardly missing in action.
Moira wasn’t listening. She was thinking about how she now had to remember not to dash from bedroom to bathroom in just her knickers. Disturbingly, she’d discovered in the short time since he’d moved in, Quinn was a leaver
