Did women still get stoned in those awful countries? Jeez, they’d have a field day with me. The Decree Absolute was surely in the post at this stage, though.
In the mirror above the basin, I noticed the flush in my cheeks, the sparkle in my eye, and I couldn’t help but grin. If someone had told me I’d be in a tiny pub in the arse end of rural Ireland, having one of the most memorable nights out I’d ever had in my life, I wouldn’t have believed it, but it was the company.
One man in particular, but his parents came a very close second.
My idea of a great night used to be a trendy bar in the city with over-priced cocktails and dodgy lighting. And it wasn’t just the lighting that was dodgy, the clientele could be questionabletoo. The contrast was stark. I was well accustomed to being chatted up by pretentious pricks who thought they could flash a gold card under your nose, throw out a few crappy one liners and call you frigid if you didn’t immediately drop your knickers.
I returned to the bar and resumed my position between John and his father, taking a small sip of my half full glass of wine before announcing, ‘I feel drunk.’
‘And isn’t that a great way to feel, Baby Bear?’ John’s father smiled. ‘You couldn’t come all the way to the west of Ireland without sampling a few of the delicacies.’
‘Oh, I certainly sampled a few today.’ I winked at him, and he let out a bellowing laugh.
John rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, but I saw the smirk on his face as he remembered.
‘I don’t doubt you did, my girl.’ Slapping John hard on the back, he said, ‘You are one lucky fucker, son. It’s good for the soul; the equivalent of doing a four mile run, only much more fun. And more importantly, it’s healthy for any relationship. When you’re at it, keep at it. It’s the only advice I can give you.’
‘I don’t know when she last went to Specsavers,’ John replied, ‘but I’m hoping she doesn’t decide to go anytime soon.’ Ever the joker.
Funny, charming and fabulous. Was it any wonder I became increasingly besotted with each second that passed?
‘We’ll make a move in a minute. It’s past Lucy’s bedtime. She needs some rest,’ John told his father. ‘I’m going to check Mam is ok.’ He left me in the capable hands of Papa Bear.
I found myself yet again admiring John from behind; full broad shoulders, narrow waist and his firm hard bum. For a man so tall and broad, he moved with grace and presence.
‘You are in love with that boy,’ Graham said, searching my eyes for confirmation of the obvious truth. A truth that I was nevertheless, still trying to hide.
A hot blush invaded my neck, spreading like wildfire, giving me away, even though we had been talking about something far more personal and potentially embarrassing only moments earlier.
I paused, trying to think of a suitable response before trying to make light of it. ‘Don’t tell him, for God’s sake. His head is big enough as it is.’ I attempted to distract him with my feeble humour, looking down into my wine glass before taking another sip.
‘I can see it as clear as day. And I can see he definitely feels the same.’
He had my unwavering attention then. Straightening my drunken self on the stool, I leaned closer, straining to translate every word.
‘I’ll tell you something, girl. We’ve seen a few pretty girls in this pub in our lifetime. He brought the odd one down now and again. They’d come and then go just as quickly again. Not one of them lasted more than a month or two.’
I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but even in my tipsy state I realised it was important.
‘But not one of them did he look at the way he looks at you. It’s remarkable really,’ he mused stroking the side of his head in apparent wonder.
I beamed from ear to ear.
And almost as an afterthought, he said, more to himself than to me, ‘Interesting times.’
Chapter Sixteen
SUNDAY 9TH SEPTEMBER
A stampede of wild jungle animals trampled over my alcohol-poisoned head, and I had that momentary panic of ‘where the fuck am I’, before opening my eyes to find John next to me.
Unwelcome flashbacks of the night before assaulted me.
The fresh air hit me (never mind the copious amounts of wine), resulting in me projectile vomiting into an unsuspecting blackberry bush on the walk home.
John had been a gentleman, of course, holding my hair and back, and reassuring me that he’d never seen anyone vomit in such a ladylike manner. He was probably ripping the piss out of me, but I was too drunk to notice or care at that stage. Just desperate to get to the safe haven that was his house.
I groaned internally, cringing at the hazy but persistent snippets resurfacing. Something else was struggling to reach the surface of the shambles of my limited brain. I must have killed thousands of brain cells in my twenty-seven years, with a variety of Pinot Grigio’s and Pinot Noirs depending on the season. I preferred red wine in the winter by an open fire, and a refreshing glass of cool white wine on a warm summer's day. A wine for every occasion. Is it any wonder the girls called me a wino?I couldn’t wait to see how much they drink when they’d been married for seven years.
