‘Mate, are you not eating?’ Charlie asked.
Kieran took a token bite then shoved his plate towards him. Charlie pounced on it like a starved wolf. Fortunately, his friend worked out three times a week at the gym, otherwise he’d be the size of a well-fed bungalow.
‘There is someone,’ Kieran said. The words escaped before he could apply the brakes. He grabbed a slice of garlic bread and shoved it into his mouth to stop elaborating.
Charlie’s head snapped up. ‘Now we’re talking. Is she another yoga nutter like Lisa, or does she have actual substance? Not that Lisa doesn’t have substance. She just needs to stop banging on about chakras and tantric sex.’
Sex.Kieran pretended not to remember what that was. Couldn’t care less if he never again writhed around under tangled sheets, making a woman moan with pleasure. Nope, not interested.
‘Kieran,’ Charlie said slowly, ‘you’re making a weird face. And kind of a weird noise.’
‘No I’m not.’
‘People are staring.’
Shit.Kieran scanned the room. No one was looking at him.
‘You are so full of shit, Charlie.’
Charlie shrugged, dragging a hunk of bread through the dregs of the cheese sauce. ‘Mate, I’ll be knee-deep in nappies again come July. Or August. Heather complains I don’t listen. I’m more worried about Jacob.’
Jacob, in Kieran’s fairly inexperienced opinion, was a sweet boy with a gentle disposition and a fondness for complex Lego constructions. ‘Because he’ll feel temporarily displaced as the focus of the family?’
‘No. Because he said he wanted to chop up the baby and cook it in the oven.’
Kieran blinked. ‘Wow. That escalated.’
‘He’s just being dramatic,’ Charlie said breezily. ‘Probably.’
Slightly worrying. Possible serial-killer alert. Kieran decided not to pursue that. There were only so many potential serial-killer conversations a man could manage on a Saturday afternoon.
‘Send my love to Heather,’ Kieran said. ‘She’s a diamond.’
Charlie softened. ‘Aye. She is. And I don’t mind the toenail clipping. Or the flatulence. Or the screaming. Or the threats that she’ll never pee normally again.’ He shook his head helplessly. ‘Whatisthat about?’
Kieran had no answers. Only a growing ache in his chest.
‘Sorry. Got sidetracked there,’ added Charlie. ‘Tell me about the someone you’ve met.’
‘There’s nothing to tell. Her name’s Beth. She’s the chef at The Jekyll and Hyde pub and we’re both newcomers.’
Charlie grinned. ‘And the locals aren’t likely to drive you out with pitchforks or perform some weird ritual involving wicker and flames?’
Charlie was obsessed with creepy movies. Evil dolls that came to life, or ancient entities hell-bent on wreaking havoc. Kieran had no time for the supernatural. A man of science and logic, he observed the world with a pragmatic eye.
‘Not yet. Cranley is more likely to lull me into a coma than a horror film.’
‘How’s the app coming along?’ Charlie owned an upmarket garage selling vintage cars. He knew next to nothing about Kieran’s IT abilities, just as Kieran had zero interest in carburettors, gearboxes and the expensive nap of a leather seat.
‘It’s coming along at a snail’s pace. The problem is, I’m a one-man band. Designer, coder, future advertiser and marketer. I need investment to progress. But without something polished, it’s hard to get investment. It’s a chicken-and-egg situation.’
Charlie glanced down at his immaculate ensemble of suit trousers, pristine white shirt and shoes that gleamed. ‘Heather buys most of my clothes. I haven’t a clue about what goes with what. So, pitch your product to me. As someone who dresses like a funeral director, what exactly does your app do?’
Kieran rubbed a hand over his face. Ideas usually came effortlessly. Today they flickered weakly at the edges of his mind.
‘It helps people find their comfort zone,’ he said. ‘Streamline their wardrobes. Curb impulse buying. Build a capsule collection that fits their lifestyle. Less clutter, more confidence.’
‘Right.’ Charlie’s expression suggested he’d reached his boredom threshold.
