Flashing him a deliberately carefree smile, she said, ‘This is wonderful. Being by the sea. It’s such gorgeous day.’ She threw her head back and let the wind tangle her hair. She looked back over the water, scanning the surface for one final glimpse of Fungie. For some reason she wanted to run along the beach with her arms outstretched and let the wind rush through her open fingers.
‘You OK?’ asked Conor, the corners of his mouth tilting up as if he were holding back a smile.
‘Are you laughing at me?’
‘No. You look… different. Happy.’
‘I didn’t realise I normally look miserable.’
‘No’– he batted the suggestion away with an incredulous hand – ‘you don’t, but you’re quite serious even when you’re happy, if that makes sense. Today you look happy all the way through.’
She laughed. He’d summed it up perfectly. ‘I feel happy all the way through. And something else,’ she added, bubbling with inexplicable enthusiasm. ‘I feel brilliant.’ How could she describe it? Illuminated from inside, like someone had switched on a light except she hadn’t known it was dark. Energised. It was as if her batteries had been recharged when she hadn’t known they’d needed recharging. The feelings both confused and elated her. For no reason, other than because she could, she sprang forward and turned a clumsy cartwheel on the short tussocky grass next to the shingle beach.
‘Inspired by Fungie?’
‘Something like that,’ she replied, not really understanding herself.
‘Fancy some lunch? It’s a bit late but they’ll still be serving at The Fish Box.’
‘Yes.’ Hannah realised she was absolutely ravenous.
‘It’s the sea air.’
And something else, she realised, aware that all her senses seemed to be tuned to everything around her.
Hannah discovered, as they ate lunch in The Fish Box – a gorgeously quaint family run restaurant – that there were indeed sharks in Ireland.
‘There are indeed,’ said the waitress cheerfully in answer to Hannah’s innocent question, ‘Are there sharks round here?’
‘They’re mainly basking sharks – totally harmless. They just eat the plankton. They look a little scary but that’s all.’ She placed their orders in front of them and Conor gave her a told-you-so grin, his eyes twinkling as he broke off to scoop up a forkful of his crispy chilli monkfish, which looked amazing.
He groaned. ‘Mmm, that is good. Thanks, Eimear.’
‘We’re honoured to have the famous Conor Byrne patronising our humble restaurant.’
‘Go away with you.’ He turned to Hannah. ‘Deidre could cook rings round me.’
‘Give my best to your ma. I must away. See you later.’ She bustled away with a word here and a word there to the customers sitting at the other tables.
‘Here, you must try this.’ Conor held up a forkful of the monkfish.
‘Wow, that’s got a kick.’ she said as the hit of chilli reached the back of her throat. ‘But it’s delicious.’
He leaned forward and wiped a tiny piece of fish from the corner of her mouth, his hand pausing to gently rub under her lip. The touch reignited the simmering warmth dancing in the pit of her stomach and she couldn’t help herself touching his salty skin with the tip of her tongue.
He shot her a lopsided, knowing smile, devilment flashing in his blue eyes. This blatant flirtation reminded her of the night they’d first met and a little frisson ran through her. Something had changed between them and they both knew it, even if neither of them had acknowledged it out loud.
With its simple wooden tables and metal chairs, plastic squeezy bottles of tomato ketchup and little glass bottles of malt vinegar and containers of cutlery, The Fish Box might not have offered elegant dining but it made up for it with simple, genuine friendliness and homeliness. There were lots of rosy-cheeked people tucking into huge portions with evident enjoyment while others sat, slightly windblown, with happy faces full of expectation.
As well they might; the menu looked amazing. Hannah had been spoiled for choice before finally opting for a prawn, honey, and chilli stir fry which smelled heavenly. The first bite of juicy prawn and the hot, sweet sauce confirmed that the dish tasted every bit as good as it looked and had her issuing a heartfelt groan of enjoyment. ‘That issogood.’
‘You don’t get better fish than here. It’s a family concern – the Flannerys. Patrick, one of the brothers, skippers the family boat, theCú Na Maraand they catch the fish. It comes fresh to the table. They can tell you when it was caught, where it was caught, and even who caught it!’
‘Wow, that is impressive.’
‘They use locally sourced ingredients and use compostable packaging and even bring sea litter home with them. Deirdre Flannery does all the cooking while her husband and brother-in-law prepare all the fish. Eimear is their daughter and their son runs the place.’
‘How brilliant,’ said Hannah, looking around the small, packed restaurant. ‘Thank you for bringing me here today.’
