“Young love,” Ma says, and we both whip our heads around. “I remember it fondly.”
Dad chuckles. “You might want to tone it down a notch or two, love. You’re scaring the youngsters.”
“When can I have a boyfriend?” Erin asks.
“Never,” Dad and I bark at the same time.
“You’re still a little young, honey.” Ma kisses the top of Erin’s head. “Forget about boys for a few years, and then we can revisit the subject.” Erin pouts, but thankfully drops it.
Dad distributes mugs of tea while Mum hands out plates. The barmbrack is sliced on a plate in the middle of the table alongside a tub of Irish butter. I had my cheat day yesterday, so I shouldn’t be entertaining this, but I can never resist barmbrack. Grabbing two slices of brack, I slather them with butter and lick my lips. I feel Astrid’s eyes on me before I look at her. “Don’t judge until you’ve tried it.”
“No judgment. I’m just surprised.”
“This is my nan’s recipe. Every time we went to her house as kids, she gave us barmbrack. When Mum makes it, I can never say no, even though I should.”
“A bit of barmbrack every now and then won’t do you any harm, Callan,” Ma says, offering the plate to Astrid.
My girlfriend takes two slices as well, and my lips curve automatically as I watch her lash the butter on. I love that she loves food and doesn’t hold back. “I ate at least fifty percent of the baked goods you gave us at the barbecue,” Astrid says, smiling at Mum. “Every single thing was absolutely delicious, but this and the cheesecake were my favorites.”
“I’ll show you how to bake it, love.”
“Astrid doesn’t have time,” I say before taking a huge mouthful of the fruitcake.
“I’ll make time. I’d like to know how to make it.”
“Will you make the special one for Halloween?” Erin asks.
“Of course, honey.”
“How is it special?” Astrid inquires, tilting her head to one side.
“It’s traditional in Ireland to put objects into the barmbrack at Halloween. I usually add coins and rings,” Mum explains. “It’s exciting for the kids if they get some money or a ring.”
“Are you making curly kale and ham for dinner?” I ask because it’s one of my favorite dinners, though Ma only tends to make it at this time of year. She mixes the curly kale with creamy mash, and it’s one indulgence I allow myself without guilt.
“Of course. I was thinking of inviting Astrid and her family to come over for Halloween. We will have the downstairs finished by then. We can eat, play some games, and then we can all go trick-or-treating together.”
“Ma, we’re seventeen, and we’ll be going to Thor’s Halloween party.” Halloween falls on a Friday this year, and Thor’s dad has already confirmed he’ll be away. I demolish my first slice and tackle the second.
“I might have to work,” Astrid says, looking sheepish. “That tends to be a busy weekend at the resort, and it’s all hands on deck.”
“You’ll come to the party later, though, right?”
She bobs her head. “Sure. I’m just not sure what time I’ll make it.”
After we eat and clean up, we head into the sitting room to tackle it. My parents emptied the room yesterday, and Dad has already ripped up the old carpet and removed the worn skirting boards and the curtain rail. Ma undercoated the walls yesterday, and Astrid has applied masking tape to the juncture where the walls meet the ceiling so it’s ready for painting.
Ma divvies up the walls between us, pairing Astrid and me to paint the larger back wall. She hands me a tin of paint, sharing a conspiratorial look with my girlfriend.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my gaze bouncing between them. “What was that look for?”
“Nothing.” Astrid fakes innocence, but I’m not buying it. She looks pretty in paint-spattered blue cotton dungarees over a tight white T-shirt.
“It’s okay if you get paint on the floor,” Dad says, oblivious to whatever is going on here. “I’ll be sanding the floorboards this week after work, so don’t worry if you get splashes on it.”
“Keep an open mind,” Astrid says as I open the lid of the paint.
“It’s fucking green.” I narrow my eyes at her and Mum. “Is this a fucking joke?”
