‘Yes, but this was the summer. Boston’s cold in the winter and hot in the summer. And Ireland seemed damp and cold all the time. But charming, none the less. We liked the food because it tasted of food and we liked the cows in the fields. There always seemed to be cows in fields. The black and white ones.’
‘Friesians,’ said Patrick. ‘Or Holsteins.’
Kerry-Anne laughed. ‘Is there no end to this man’s talents?’ She gazed at him for a moment. ‘Thank you, farmer boy.’
He grinned back at her. ‘I know all the breeds. Wait until I tell you how a milking machine works. I’ll bring you to a mart one of these days.’
‘A mart?’
‘A cattle market,’ explained Patrick.
‘Oh, I know those,’ said Kerry-Anne. ‘It’s called the Boston dating scene.’ She turned back to Rosie. ‘Isn’t he all kinds of adorable? Now, shall we swim because I expect Patrick needs to get back to the wedding soon enough. But I’ve got to try this holy water. Patrick and I are going for a dip, as he calls it. Rosie, are you going back in?’
‘Wedefinitelyare,’ said Killian. ‘It’s boring on dry land.’
‘Very,’ agreed Isabelle. ‘Adults are more fun in the sea. Even the not very fun ones.’
They held on to Rosie’s hand as they followed Kerry-Anne down the steps. But instead of shrieking about the cold – which was the usual and expected way of entering the water – Kerry-Anne waded in as though it was no bother to her. Hardy stock, thought Rosie. Kerry-Anne Daly was no fool.
Patrick had dived in from one of the far rocks and then had swum back to the steps, where immediately the twins launched on top of him in the water, hanging on to parts of him – his arm, his earlobe, even his hair, as they floated around. Kerry-Anne was swimming great, big powerful strokes out to the buoy, looking like a professional swimmer. Her head lifting up, her arms reaching out, powering herself across the surface of the shimmering sea.
Rosie paddled around, wondering what to say to Patrick. This was her chance to explain herself, so he didn’t hate her and so they could remain friends. But he was too busy with the twins and didn’t seem in any hurry to talk to her alone.
Eventually, it was time to go. ‘Come on,’ called Rosie, aware that behind her Patrick was exiting the water, and that his bare chest was merely inches away from her. It was only a matter of hours since she had been in his arms and he was whispering her name. ‘Depending on how fast you dry yourselves and get changed, we might be able to get another ice cream.’
The children immediately began drying themselves and changing as though it was an Olympic event, neither speaking, determined to get that ice cream. Rosie dried herself and wriggled out of her swimsuit and into her skirt and blouse.
She stood for a moment with the bags, waiting for the twins, when Patrick joined her.
‘Sorry about last night.’ He looked at her. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Jet lag… alcohol… you know how it is.’
‘That’s okay.’ She tried to smile at him, hoping he understood, wishing she could explain that it wasn’t that she didn’t want to go, it was because she lacked the courage. It wasn’t him, it was her. ‘I’m glad you did.’
He gave a snort. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Emoting. Expressing my feelings. I think I might have had a personality transplant. I don’t normally say what I’m feeling.’
‘Nor do I.’
He glanced at her. ‘But I’m glad I did. I would have been annoyed with myself if I didn’t. I’ve decided, I’m going to be more emotionally articulate from now on.’ He laughed to himself.
‘Why are you laughing?’ Rosie was thinking how much she liked being with him and hearing him speak. It wasn’t just his accent which was soft and mellifluous with that Cork cadence, it was the way he tried to explain himself, as though he was working things out in real time.
‘Oh, just someone accused me of being emotionally constipated. They were right. And I should have listened to them.’
‘It’s not a very nice phrase, is it? Emotionally constipated.’
He laughed again. ‘No, it’s a little too figurative.’
‘I prefer emotionally articulate.’
‘Me too.’
They smiled at each other.
‘When are you going back to Boston?’ She dreaded the answer. She wished she was as emotionally articulate as he was becoming.
‘Tomorrow evening… Kerry-Anne will take me…’
‘She’s got her own plane?’
