sorry, Julia,' Dee apologized. 'I'm sure he was gorgeous. Not like Sam; he was all wrinkly and as bald as a coot.'
Ronan laughed. 'I've never understood all of this business of "Oh, he looks just like my father" or "He's got my mother's eyes". The only person babies ever resemble is Churchill.'
Conor stuffed another sandwich into his mouth and reached over to cut the cake.
'Wait!' Julia stopped him, 'We have to sing "Happy Birthday".'
'Oh, Mum, for crying out loud.'
But Julia was already sticking candles in the cake. 'Lighter, Ronan.' Her husband obediently handed over his lighter and Julia lit the candles. 'Now.' She smiled tenderly at her son. 'Happy birthday . . .'
'Peanuts?' Conor asked as they climbed on to two barstools in Casey's.
'Oh, yes please.' Dee was ravenous as she usually was after eating at Julia's. She had only nibbled on one of the 'plastic' ham sandwiches and had pushed the birthday cake around the plate hoping the woman wouldn't notice. If only Julia had bought a cake instead of insisting on making her own. Dee had watched in astonishment as Ronan and Conor had polished off two portions each. The Fitzgerald men had obviously been born with cast-iron stomachs and no taste buds. Conor bought them two packs of nuts each and grinned at her as he raised his pint. 'If your son could see you now!'
Dee laughed. She always tried to eat healthily in front of Sam and was careful not to eat things around him that he couldn't. Peanuts were definitely on that list. 'I think he'd forgive me on the grounds that I'm starving. Oh! I forgot to tell you my news. Remember that reporter who stopped me in the supermarket last week?'
He nodded.
'Another journalist from the Daily Journal is doing a follow-up article and he wants to interview me.'
Conor grinned. 'You're going to need a manager or an agent at this rate.'
'I doubt that. Still, at least the papers are interested in the issue. Maybe it will make a few people think twice before they throw something into their trolley. It really annoys me that, because of clever packaging, people bring home something they think is relatively healthy.'
'You have mentioned that one or two hundred times before.'
Dee opened her mouth to protest but Conor held up his hand. 'I'm kidding! I think you're right and I think it's great that you care so much about stuff like this.'
'I never bothered until I became a mother. I used to live on takeaways and microwave meals before Sam came along.'
'So when are you going to meet this journalist?' he asked.
'He's dropping by tomorrow morning.' She made a face. 'He wants to see me at work in the kitchen.'
'You know, this could be good exposure for the café.'
'Gosh, yes, I never thought of that. I must make sure to drop the name into the conversation a few times.' Dee finished her peanuts and stifled a yawn.
'You look tired,' he said, stretching out a hand to push her hair out of her eyes.
She turned her face and kissed his hand, smiling at him. 'Not too tired.'
He smiled back, his hazel eyes dark in the dimly lit pub. 'Who's babysitting?'
'Paula.' The seventeen-year-old next-door neighbour was always broke and only too happy to look after Sam.
'Great, so I don't even have to walk her home.'
'Just watch her climb over the wall. So would you like another drink here or shall we have one at home?'
Conor shook his head as she yawned again. 'I think we'd better go.'
'I'm sorry,' she said as they strolled back to her house, his arm wrapped around her waist. 'This isn't much of a birthday celebration, is it?'
He stopped and cupped her face in his hands. 'It's perfect.' He kissed her, gently at first and then more urgently. He tugged at her shirt and moved his hand across the smooth skin of her back and she moaned softly as he pushed his fingers under the waistband of her trousers. She pushed him away, smiling. 'Stop, or we'll be arrested.'
'It would be worth it,' he murmured, pulling her close again.
'Could you imagine your
Ronan laughed. 'I've never understood all of this business of "Oh, he looks just like my father" or "He's got my mother's eyes". The only person babies ever resemble is Churchill.'
Conor stuffed another sandwich into his mouth and reached over to cut the cake.
'Wait!' Julia stopped him, 'We have to sing "Happy Birthday".'
'Oh, Mum, for crying out loud.'
But Julia was already sticking candles in the cake. 'Lighter, Ronan.' Her husband obediently handed over his lighter and Julia lit the candles. 'Now.' She smiled tenderly at her son. 'Happy birthday . . .'
'Peanuts?' Conor asked as they climbed on to two barstools in Casey's.
'Oh, yes please.' Dee was ravenous as she usually was after eating at Julia's. She had only nibbled on one of the 'plastic' ham sandwiches and had pushed the birthday cake around the plate hoping the woman wouldn't notice. If only Julia had bought a cake instead of insisting on making her own. Dee had watched in astonishment as Ronan and Conor had polished off two portions each. The Fitzgerald men had obviously been born with cast-iron stomachs and no taste buds. Conor bought them two packs of nuts each and grinned at her as he raised his pint. 'If your son could see you now!'
Dee laughed. She always tried to eat healthily in front of Sam and was careful not to eat things around him that he couldn't. Peanuts were definitely on that list. 'I think he'd forgive me on the grounds that I'm starving. Oh! I forgot to tell you my news. Remember that reporter who stopped me in the supermarket last week?'
He nodded.
'Another journalist from the Daily Journal is doing a follow-up article and he wants to interview me.'
Conor grinned. 'You're going to need a manager or an agent at this rate.'
'I doubt that. Still, at least the papers are interested in the issue. Maybe it will make a few people think twice before they throw something into their trolley. It really annoys me that, because of clever packaging, people bring home something they think is relatively healthy.'
'You have mentioned that one or two hundred times before.'
Dee opened her mouth to protest but Conor held up his hand. 'I'm kidding! I think you're right and I think it's great that you care so much about stuff like this.'
'I never bothered until I became a mother. I used to live on takeaways and microwave meals before Sam came along.'
'So when are you going to meet this journalist?' he asked.
'He's dropping by tomorrow morning.' She made a face. 'He wants to see me at work in the kitchen.'
'You know, this could be good exposure for the café.'
'Gosh, yes, I never thought of that. I must make sure to drop the name into the conversation a few times.' Dee finished her peanuts and stifled a yawn.
'You look tired,' he said, stretching out a hand to push her hair out of her eyes.
She turned her face and kissed his hand, smiling at him. 'Not too tired.'
He smiled back, his hazel eyes dark in the dimly lit pub. 'Who's babysitting?'
'Paula.' The seventeen-year-old next-door neighbour was always broke and only too happy to look after Sam.
'Great, so I don't even have to walk her home.'
'Just watch her climb over the wall. So would you like another drink here or shall we have one at home?'
Conor shook his head as she yawned again. 'I think we'd better go.'
'I'm sorry,' she said as they strolled back to her house, his arm wrapped around her waist. 'This isn't much of a birthday celebration, is it?'
He stopped and cupped her face in his hands. 'It's perfect.' He kissed her, gently at first and then more urgently. He tugged at her shirt and moved his hand across the smooth skin of her back and she moaned softly as he pushed his fingers under the waistband of her trousers. She pushed him away, smiling. 'Stop, or we'll be arrested.'
'It would be worth it,' he murmured, pulling her close again.
'Could you imagine your
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