I’m dousing a second helping of errythang in rich gravy and listening to Erin’s grandad sing old Irish songs from the far end of the room. The entire O’Gara clan turned up for Sunday lunch, as they do every week, with little ones jostling for a place at the children’s table in the corner while the adults squeeze themselves around the big table. You’d think that the dining room of this terraced house might fit about eight people in it, at a push? Erin’s family laugh in the face of that. There must be sixteen of us,at least. Once I’d got as many shots as I could I finally caved in to Grandma O’Gara’s not entirely accurate pleas – ‘you need some meat on your bones!’ – and tucked in.
The table is heaving with food, each dish presented on top of some white lacy placemats. Frazer’s busy charming Mrs O’Gara, much to Erin’s dad’s amusement. Erin and her uncle are fighting over who gets the last of the marrowfat peas. Some second cousins twice removed are arguing over who’s turn it is to do the washing up. It’s noisy, frenetic and quite simply, bliss.
‘Are you okay?’ Erin asks, now triumphantly clutching a bowl of peas. ‘You’ve gone quiet.’
‘I’m just soaking it all up. Your family are so nice.’
‘Nice in a crazy way, right? Uncle Kevin will start talking about politics any minute now and then we’ll be lost forever. Like, you might never escape.’
‘Idon’t think I want to! I haven’t been to a huge family gathering like this in forever. It’s just lovely seeing everyone chipping in and chatting away.’
‘Do you not come from a big family?’ Erin asks.
I smile as two little O’Garas launch an enthusiastic campaign to go find the ice cream van. Erin hands them some change from her purse and they look thrilled.
‘I’m an only child and it’s been just me and Mum for years now. There’s usually five or six of us at Christmas but nothing like this. . .’
‘Chaos?’ she offers.
‘It’s perfect.’
Erin laughs. ‘It’s definitely not perfect. Someone usually falls out with someone else, or there’ll be squabbles over who gets to take the leftover trifle, but that’s just families, isn’t it? They’re never going to be perfect but they make you feel loved, and I guess that’s the main thing.’
Erin’s words sink in as I watch the little ones march back into the room with fists full of ice cream cones, fingers sticky with red sauce. A young girl with a halo of curly red hair bashfully hands me one and I’m struck with an emotion so strong that my voice cracks when I thank her for it. Here I am, feeling so lovely and warm in the kind company of a family I’ve never met before, while one side of my own family remains basically vetoed.They’re never going to be perfect.
After saying my goodbyes and happily accepting a Tupperware full of yet more potato ‘for later’ from Erin’s grandma, I head back to my hotel feeling clearer and more positive than I have in ages. When I get back to London, I’m going to go and see my dad.
It’s my last full day in Dublin and I’m feeling nervous. And not just because I ate so much at lunch yesterday that my Danish trousers are a bit tight. Today is the day Frazer gives my photos the once over. I was up late last night going through all the shots on my hotel bed and I’ve whittled them down to what I hope is a really strong edit. I believe they’re good. But will he agree?
‘Come on in,’ Frazer says. We’re back at his headquarters, which is full of media types in impossibly chic yet relaxed outfits, and he leads me into his office. Frazer’s wearing suit trousers and white shirt rolled up to his elbows.
I open up my computer and get down to business. ‘These few I love, there’s that soft lighting and Erin’s expression is just beautiful,’ I say as I scroll.
Frazer flicks his attention between me to the computer screen. We pull together a shorter edit and print off a sheet of the best ones. Now I’ve got a red pen in my hand and I’m circling the very best ones, in my humble opinion, as Frazer occasionally shouts out things like ‘nailed it’ and ‘killing it’ and ‘knocked it out of the park.’ He may be annoying but I’m thrilled that he’s happy with my stuff.
We spend the day working on the images, picking ones for the website and some for this exclusive newspaper deal he’s been busy brokering. Frazer’s also taken the chance to grill me about my old job with Violet. . . what shots got the most likes, what posts got the most hits etc. He’s nothing if not thorough. Eventually I lean back in my chair and stretch.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘Fine, thanks. I’m just not used to being sat down for so long. I’m normally on my feet all day.’
‘Wow,yeah, it’s getting late,’ he says, pointing towards the expensive watch on his tanned wrist. ‘I was going to order some food in for us but I think we’re done. Why don’t you come out for dinner with me instead. Let’s call it a little farewell date.’
I take a long, slow look at Frazer. He is absolutely everything I once went for in a guy. I mean, hell, he didn’t even turn those last two sentences into questions, such is he self-belief. The old me would have been bitten his hand off at that invite. But what about the right now me? This would be my seventh date of the summer and I repeat the article title in my head. ‘Seven Dates to Find The One’.
I shut down my laptop with a smile.
