‘Until too late,’ finished Hannah.
He gave her an unexpectedly direct look before saying, ‘Something like that.’
She faltered, not sure what to say next, as his intent stare focused on her mouth. She stared back at him, her heart almost missing a beat as she studied his handsome face. Then she reminded herself sharply that she was getting carried away. This was a fling thing. They were here for some fun; obviously seeing his ex had brought back some bad memories.
Then he dropped a soft kiss on her forehead, ‘Shall we go?’
‘Did you want a drink before dinner? We’re a touch early,’ said Conor as they left the hotel, not quite as light-hearted as normal. The encounter with Polly had left him subdued, and her thoughtful and introspective.
‘Why don’t you show me a typical Dublin pub?’
‘If that’s what you want.’
She nodded. ‘You can teach me more about whiskey.’
‘All right, then. I’m never one to turn down a good drink.’
They walked in uncharacteristic silence, both deep in their own thoughts, until he steered her into an already busy pub with revellers spilling out onto the pavement. Inside, there was a gentle roar of noise punctuated by shouts of laughter against a backdrop of piped fiddle music coming out of four speakers set up in the corners the room.
Conor wove his way through the crowd to the bar, squeezing through a rowdy hen party. The bride, a very pretty girl with the brightest-pink lipstick Hannah had ever seen and glittery sequins around her eyes, wore a very short minidress that possibly had more in common with a belt, a bright-red garter on each thigh, L plates on her back and front, and the biggest, brightest smile possible. Her ensemble was completed by a wayward full-length veil topped by a multi-coloured tiara full of diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds that looked as if it had been borrowed from a Disney princess. Her hens all wore pink T-shirts with a list of cheeky hen-do dares emblazoned across the chest in white. Quite a few of the tick boxes next to the dares – including ‘lick two strangers’ moustaches’ and ‘kiss a stag’ – had been messily ticked with what looked like lipstick. Hannah guessed they’d been out for a few hours already by number of ticks on the T-shirts and the unsteady state of a few of them, as they propped each other up. Despite that, she couldn’t help smiling at them; they embodied the sort of sheer joy that comes from being totally uninhibited and out to have a good time.
‘What’ll you have?’ Conor raised his voice as he ducked to miss one of the girls’ arms as she emphasised something important to her laughing companions.
‘Recommend me something. You’re the expert.’
As Hannah tried to follow him, one of the hens turned round to the other girls.
‘Oh. My. God.’
‘What? What?’ they called in ragged chorus, like startled rooks.
‘It’s only Conor Byrne.’ She held her hand to her heart. ‘And he looks,’ she paused and shouted, ‘Good Enough to Eat.’
Hannah remembered belatedly that this was the name of Conor’s cookery programme.
‘Where? Where?’
The girl pointed. ‘And look at that arse. You wouldn’t turn down a ride of him, would you?’
‘Conduct yourself, Siobhan,’ said one of the more sober girls (relative to the others), giggling.
‘That’s the dog calling the cat’s arse hairy, Bernadette Geraghty,’ said Siobhan good-naturedly, stabbing at the ticks on the girl’s T-shirt. ‘Sure you’ve already kissed three ugly fellas.’
‘Thems was dares.’ Bernadette waved both hands before squinting with bleary, unfocused eyes after Conor. ‘Though you’re right, girls. I bet he’s great in the scratcher.’
The rest of the girls burst out laughing.
‘I saw him first. I’m going to ask him for a kiss,’ announced Siobhan, sticking out her ample chest.’
‘You’re making a holy show of yourself,’ said another girl, which Hannah guessed meant she was taking things a bit too far.
Siobhan pushed up her boobs to cheers from the other girls, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and to the avid interest of nearly everyone in the pub now, began to stalk her prey. Well, it was not so much stalking as pouncing the minute she got within a foot of him.
She clamped one hand on his shoulder and he span around. ‘Conor Byrne, you look good enough to eat. Fancy nibbling on me?’ She let out a cackle of delighted laughter.
Hannah watched in mortified apprehension as Conor’s face underwent a rather magnificent transformation.
‘Ah, you’re very good.’ He gave her a full blast of the Conor Byrne thousand-kilowatt charm, those blue eyes crinkling with amused regret, ‘But see here,’ he nodded his head towards Hannah, holding out a hand to her, ‘my girlfriend’s quite choosy about where I eat these days but I’m sure I can spare you a kiss.’ He gave the woman a peck on the cheek, as at least two of the girls captured it on their phones, obviously making sure the shot didn’t include Conor’s grip on Hannah’s hand. No doubt the carefully cropped picture would be shared on WhatsApp, go viral on Instagram, and be shared a dozen times on Facebook.
