‘Oh, needed to get out of the house.’
Cormac nods ‘Total craic vac sometimes.’
I laugh. ‘Yeah.’
‘C-dog!’
Cormac turns. Walking towards us is a guy so goodlooking that I’m momentarily pissed off at the unfairness of his obviously attractive parents getting together. Lean, cropped hair and dimples – like actual little perfect dimples – on his tanned, stubbly and spot-free face. He smiles. It’s a cheeky smile, of course. And, yes, there we go, as he raises his arms (with the T-shirt sleeves rolled up) to hug Cormac, I see his toned biceps.
I’m sweating.
I hate him.
I love him.
‘Paul, remember my cousin Michael?’
Paul flashes me a smile ‘All right? From England, aye?’
I make a squeaking sound and close my eyes.
Kill me.
I swallow and try again. ‘Yes.’
‘Yeah, I remember you. We used to knock about years ago, when you came to stay.’
Why does that make me blush? ‘Oh, right. Yeah. Cool.’ Then I giggle. I actually giggle.
For fuck’s sake, Michael.
Paul frowns. ‘Right, well, see you in a bit.’
He heads off and Cormac raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you broken?’
I tut. ‘No, I just don’t remember him.’
Cormac shrugs. ‘You would’ve met loads of my mates back then. Paul’s good craic. His ma and da go away all the time too, so we’re here loads.’
A guy with huge arms and a bold attempt at a moustache slaps Cormac on the back.
‘All right, Jimmy.’
‘Bout ye. This the cousin?’
I give a little wave. ‘Hi, I’m Michael.’
Jimmy finds this interaction hilarious for some reason, and Cormac seems delighted. I’m beginning to wonder if my cousin invited me here as some sort of performance art piece.
Roll up, roll up. Come see the Englishman. Don’t make eye contact or he’ll steal your land.
‘Hey, Cormac. Where’s the loo?’
‘Loo!’ Jimmy is roaring now.
Cormac laughs too. He’s clearly a little drunk.
I try to keep my voice steady. ‘The toilet. Where is it?’
