‘Isn’t that the way,’ the woman had said. ‘Keep them guessing.’
Since today’s hundred-year-old lady was a nun, Eden expected there to be less of the purple streaks and lots of sex. But you never knew.
As she got dressed, she thought about what sort of outfit would look right for this. Sometimes she laid her clothes out the night before and it was easier. But this had been such a mental week, what with the hen night and all the wedding palaver. She also had to drop into the women’s shelter because there were, as usual, fundraising issues. It wasn’t scheduled but she’d have to make time. It was important.
‘You’re not up already, are you, love?’ said Ralphie.
One of the great things about their house was that they had been able to transform the upstairs anyway they wanted. There were no rooms for kids: there was his office, there was Eden’s office, and there was the lovely dressing room they both shared, but that, realistically speaking, was mainly Eden’s.
‘I’m sorry, did I wake you, honey?’ she said. ‘I’m trying to figure out what to wear that will do a meeting on drugs and one with your father and Rian. And seeing a hundred-year-old nun and telling her she’s amazing.’
‘Ah, go with the stripper costume,’ Ralphie joked from the bed.
‘Oh yeah, that would go down very well.’
‘Well, it probably would with Rian,’ said Ralphie.
Eden grimaced.
‘You’ve put me off my breakfast and I haven’t even had it yet.
Rian does not think about sex. Rian just thinks about politics and power. Sex doesn’t even come into it. I don’t know what he’d do with a woman if he ever saw one.’
‘He is married you, know.’
Ralphie had been brought up in the world of politics and knew everything.
‘I always find that so hard to believe,’ said Eden, holding two tops up against her. One a bright fuchsia that clashed with her hair, and yet somehow worked. And the other a dark green that might be more sedate for meeting an elderly nun. And then she could put on her grey jacket over it for the meeting on drugs.
‘Everyone knows you’re married to me,’ said Ralphie playfully.
‘Yes, love, they do,’ said Eden. ‘Ya big ride, ya.’
‘Councillor, I am shocked at your language,’ said Ralphie from the bed.
‘I am a disgrace to the council,’ she said idly, deciding that the green was the best thing. ‘Are you making the coffee or what?’
‘You’re a slave driver, you do know that?’
‘Yeah,’ said Eden, ‘and you love it.’
‘Love you,’ said Ralphie.
‘What’s your day like today?’ she called after him.
‘Ah just the usual,’ said Ralphie, making it down the stairs.
‘No, seriously.’ She began to tie the bow on the green blouse and followed him downstairs.
‘I don’t want to be one of those women who tells her husband exactly what she’s doing in minute detail and then doesn’t ask him what he’s doing.’
‘Your life is more exciting than mine,’ Ralphie said. ‘Today I’m talking to the accountant. And I thought I might bring my mother out for a spot of lunch.’
‘Can we swap?’ said Eden, ‘I’d much prefer lunch with your mother than your father.’
‘He’s not a bad old stick,’ said Ralphie.
Eden said nothing. Diarmuid had never quite forgiven his eldest child for not wanting to be involved in politics. Ralphie had two younger sisters, one of whom was a dog groomer. The other a physiotherapist. Neither of them wanted anything to do with any of the family businesses, pharmacy or politics.
