Elsa changed the subject. ‘More goose, Roisin, you can manage more than a wing surely,’ she asked as Roisin popped the potato she’d speared in her mouth and tried to get rid of the taste of the rich meat.
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t fit anything else in, thanks, Elsa. It’s all so delicious.’ She laid her knife and fork down and waited for the others to do the same. The lone sprout rolled around on her son’s plate but she didn’t have the energy to encourage him to eat it so, getting up she announced she’d clear the table, managing to spirit it away before Elsa noticed.
‘You go and sit down.’ Elsa appeared in the kitchen behind her. ‘While I sort the brandy butter for the pudding.’
Roisin mustered up a smile and left quick smart, having no desire to be alone with the older woman. She wandered back to the dining room where Noah was playing with his plastic car and Colin, who’d set out fresh glasses, was filling them with a sweet dessert wine. The air was heavy with the memory of all the food they’d just consumed. How strange it was to feel like she was in the room with a stranger but as she looked at Colin that was exactly how she felt. She could sense his underlying animosity at the situation they were now in as he put the wine down on the table and sat back down to stare into his glass. They were both struggling with how they were supposed to be around one another. The idea of chit-chat seemed like such a lot of hard work. Divorce had not been on Colin’s agenda but then neither had losing their home. She’d have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t hidden the whole sorry mess from her. He’d gone behind her back re-mortgaging their home, not bothering to consult her in his arrogant certainty his business gambles would pay off.
She’d wondered more than once when he would have bothered informing her that he’d lost everything or whether he’d been planning to leave it up to the bailiffs to let her know. One thing she did know was she wouldn’t have lasted five minutes under Elsa’s roof while he toiled away at getting back on his feet. He would too, men like Colin always did. He was a mover and a shaker, he knew people, and he’d climb back up his corporate ladder. He’d get over their marriage break-up too. They weren’t and never had been a well-suited couple and his shonky business deal had merely been the catalyst not the cause of their going their separate ways.
She took a sip of the wine, which was too sweet for her liking, and watched him from under her lashes. She wondered if he’d already met someone else. She examined that thought. It wasn’t him moving on with another woman that bothered her, good luck to whoever filled her boots. What did bother her was whether that woman would be kind to her son. The way Colin operated he’d probably be engaged by the time she got wind of him having someone on the scene. Ah well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. Shay sprang to mind.
Shay with his slightly too long hair and lanky laidback demeanour. Oh, and the way he handled that fiddle of his. She’d met him on her last trip home and the timing couldn’t have been worse. They’d only talked twice, the first time being at Aisling’s other half’s restaurant, Quinn’s. He’d been playing the fiddle in the band and she’d literally locked eyes with him across the crowded room. They’d gone for a coffee too, just before she left Dublin, and aware of her messy situation he’d asked if ever he was in London, perhaps he could look her up. She’d taken his number and given him hers but she’d not heard a word since and she didn’t have the nerve to call him.
There’d been an attraction between them that she’d never felt with Colin. Would she see him when she was back in Dublin? Her insides quivered at the thought of him. And then she had the same discussion she’d had with herself every time she’d thought about Shay since she’d returned to London.
You’re too old for him, Roisin. Sure, cop on to yourself, you’re not in your twenties anymore you’re nudging the dark side of your thirties and you’re carrying cargo-sized emotional baggage. No man wants to sign on for that.
I’m not that old, thank you very much, and nobody would think twice about a man going out with a woman a few years younger than him. Why is it always different when the tables are turned?
How should I know? It just is and it’s more than a few years.
Jaysus, I’m not after wanting to marry the fella, but a ride would be nice.
Yes, I’d have to agree with you on that one.
The dialogue usually closed there and a vivid scene in which she was riding Shay triumphantly toward the finish line would play out. It was the best bit but there was to be no imaginary riding today, not with the Christmas pudding having just arrived.
Elsa was carrying the dish as though it were the royal crown being brought to her Majesty. Noah’s plastic car was forgotten and he was sitting up very straight in his chair staring eagerly at the steaming podgy dome as it was placed with reverence on the table. He was keen to sink his teeth into it because Granny had told him there were five-pence pieces hidden in it. Just so long as he didn’t break a tooth or the like chomping into it, Roisin thought, catching a whiff of whisky and brandy butter. Jaysus, he’d be pie-eyed by the time he’d finished. Elsa doled the boozy pud out and Roisin debated whether she should suggest Noah might be better off with a
