“What young man?” Deny. Deny. Deny.
“Your sister told me on the phone last night that you were head over heels for a man you’d met.” My mother sat a little straighter. “I am the only one of brothers and sisters who isn’t a grandma yet and I’d like to at least know what it’s like to hold my grandchild before I’m too old.”
I shook my head and didn’t smile. “You’re fifty-five not eighty-five. Your time will come.”
“Hopefully sooner rather than later. So who is he? Bernie said you were enamoured with him.” She was far too keen.
I made the mistake of looking at my father who was an absolute demon at sniffing out the truth.
“You have been out of the office a lot this last week or so and I heard Dessy saying that you’d had a hot date.”
Was there anything more cringe inducing than your father saying the words ‘hot date’?
I breathed in and let the breath out slowly. “It isn’t serious. He’s going back to London in two days.”
My father’s grin was evident even with him trying to hide it behind the napkin he’d taken to holding.
“Are you ready to order?” A waiter came by and saved the day, or at least postponed the inquisition.
Two coffees, a tea and two Bucks Fizzes, plus three hearty breakfasts were ordered, with my mother insisting on the café finding Irish butter from somewhere for the toast, something that didn’t surprise me at all.
Then the gloves were off.
“Do you know about this, Joseph Green?” She turned on my father first, which was always worth selling tickets for.
My dad raised his brows. “How would I know? My daughter doesn’t tell me anything about her personal life.”
“So what’s this that Dessy’s said? How is Dessy, by the way?” My mum liked Dessy, mainly because Dessy told her loads of information on what I’d been up to, half of which was untrue, such as joining a knitting club.
“Dessy’s good. Not married yet.”
“I should think not. I would’ve had an invite. It’s been a while since I’ve been invited to a wedding.”
That was a hint if I’d ever heard one.
“So who’s this man?” My mother practically scanned me.
I looked back at my dad, bracing myself. “I’ve been spending time with Grant Callaghan while he’s been in New York on these cases.”
My dad raised his eyebrows but he didn’t look cross. My mum leaned forward, her hands held together like she was about to pray, which was always a possibility.
“Is he the one whose poor wife died last year? Poor man. I hope you’ve not been stringing him along.”
I looked at my dad for support. He was sitting back with a big smirk on his face, clearly highly entertained.
“That’s Grant. He’s got four children. The youngest is about two.” I’d seen photos of them this morning, dark haired childrenwho looked very much like siblings and had their father’s handsome genes.
“Poor bairns. So how serious is it with you and Grant?”
And so it started.
“I’ve known him just over a week, Mam. We’ve had a few meals together and I’ve shown him around the city. We don’t live in the same country at the moment.” I glanced back at my dad.
He still looked entertained. “We have an office in London, Marie. It can be arranged.”
I sat up straighter, panicked. “What do you mean?”
“The world’s not that big, kid, and it’s getting smaller. You’ve mentioned being based in London a few times recently, before you met Grant. If that’s what you want, even for a trial, I’d support it. Not that we wouldn’t miss you here.” They were the words I needed to hear.
