ABBY
Callum drives us to Carrick in the Jeep. It’s far more practical than my Mini, and I love having my own personal chauffeur, especially one who smells so enticing. I glance at him intermittently as he concentrates on the road ahead, memorising every inch of his clean-shaven jawline and high-set cheekbones.
‘Are you nervous?’ I ask, as we reach Carrick and unload our weekend bags.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he scoffs, but a hint of uncertainty forms in the crease of his features.
‘I’m sure Mammy will have done up the spare room really nicely for you,’ I tease.
‘The spare room?’ His oceanic eyes nearly pop out of his head.
‘You didn’t expect to sleep in with me? Have a little bit of respect, Mr Connolly.’ His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish.
‘Chill out.’ I rub his arm affectionately. ‘I doubt she’d do that to us… But if she does, you better lock your door, because it won’t be me sneaking in the middle of the night for a kiss and a cuddle after a glass of wine…’
‘Abby, how are you?’ Mam rushes out and awkwardly hugs me. I wonder if she’s started on the booze early. The only time she hugs anyone is following copious amounts of alcohol at a wedding or funeral. A simple pat is nearly always sufficient.
‘Mam, this is Callum.’
She looks him up and down like he’s a fresh cream cake in the bakery window.
‘Mrs Queenan, it’s a pleasure.’ Callum kisses her on the cheek and for a second I think she might faint.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. Call me Cathy, please,’ she coos, patting her short curled hair in a feminine fashion that I’m unaccustomed to witnessing.
I wouldn’t have pegged Mam for a starstruck rugby fan, but she seems to be one of the millions of women ready to fall at Callum’s feet. Nobody’s ever allowed to call her Cathy, apart from Daddy.
Daddy intervenes, unsure whether to be amused or concerned at the flirtatious behaviour of his normally predictable wife.
Callum extends a hand, and after a millisecond hesitation, Daddy takes it firmly and grimaces, not even pretending he’s pleased to meet Callum. An unspoken warning’s delivered in that tiny exchange, ‘do not dare hurt my daughter’ emanates from my father’s less than friendly stance.
‘I’m Noel.’ I’m torn between wishing he’d go easy on Callum and touched by his concern for me.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Callum nods in response to Dad’s silent exchange. The message is delivered.
Callum carries both our bags through the glass porch and into the hallway, where the familiar smell of home-baked bread summons a thousand long lost memories. This time, I don’t feel that suffocating sense of sorrow upon my return. The prospect of introducing Callum as my boyfriend at the party tomorrow is one that excites me.
Mam and Dad have gone all out in anticipation of Callum’s arrival. Short of only a welcome banner, the place’s transformed. I’m under no illusion that they’d gone to such lengths for my benefit.
‘Your sister’s on her way over,’ Mammy informs me with a raised eyebrow.
Alicia’s the wild child in our house. She’s tried approximately three hundred different college courses before abandoning all of them to be a wedding photographer, which would be fine if she actually bothered looking for work in that field.
Her nose must be bothering her if she’s coming to Mam’s for dinner on a Friday night instead of hitting Finnegan’s, Carrick’s liveliest pub.
Mammy bustles around the kitchen, and Daddy sets about reluctantly fetching Callum a drink. I shoot him a warning look, be nice to my new boyfriend, which he pointedly ignores.
Mammy has the finest silver cutlery on the table, the good crystal wine glasses and some of Daddy’s ‘cellar wine’ as we call it, basically, it’s the good stuff they get delivered in bulk, twice a year from some wino geriatric club they subscribe to and pay dearly for. Alicia and I are never normally allowed near it. Dad firmly believes we could drink bucks fizz and not be able to tell the difference. In fairness, he’s probably right.
‘You okay?’ I whisper to Callum, squeezing his hand as both parents turn their backs to us.
‘Yep...’ He trails off as Dad fills two glasses of red wine and hands one to each of us.
The front door bangs loudly announcing the arrival of my little sister.
‘You must have heard the cork pop.’ I throw my arms around her tightly, and she squirms in true Queenan style at the PDA. I’m determined we’ll be close again one of these days. Sooner rather than later, if I can help it.
Alicia looks fantastic; her honey-coloured hair’s a few shades darker than my own. We have the same big brown eyes. She sports a pair of light faded skinnies and an oversized T-shirt which hangs loosely from her right shoulder. We have a similar sense of fashion, though tonight I’d opted for another maxi dress. Something about Callum’s distinct masculinity seems to extract the femininity in me.
