Semi-Sweet (9 page)

She’d never had a massage. The idea of a stranger’s hands moving over her naked skin, however competently, had never appealed
to her. The subject had never come up between her and Patrick; neither had ever looked for one, none had ever been offered.
Wasn’t it odd, then, that she’d thought of getting him a massage when his back had been bothering him? Had she seen an ad?

Or maybe Patrick had suggested it. The idea jumped suddenly and unpleasantly into her head. No, surely he wouldn’t have done
that. But she couldn’t remember exactly what had prompted her visit to Indulgence.

She regarded the salon again. She could come back when it was dark, lob a rock through the window, and drive off quickly.
The notion came out of nowhere, filling her with a shocked thrill. She could get a can of black paint and fling it at the
pretty lavender walls. Nobody would know. She could wear gloves so there was no evidence to point to her. She could—

A nearby door opened. A man and a boy appeared on the path and walked in the direction of the van. The man smiled briefly
at Hannah as they passed.

What was she doing? What was she thinking? Was she completely mad? She put the van into gear and drove badly, her blood racing,
all the way home.

I
really want to pamper her this year.”

Geraldine’s hand hovered over the plate of assorted biscuits. She shouldn’t—a biscuit was the last thing her midsection needed—but
Lent wasn’t far away, and she’d have to do without them then. “God knows the poor thing could use a treat.”

“What about a gift certificate? You can’t go wrong.”

“Ah, no, not a gift certificate.” Geraldine selected a pink wafer—not her favorite, but practically no calories, apparently.
“Stephen thinks we should pay for someone to paint the outside of her house. I know it could badly do with it, but where’s
the pampering in that?”

“Mmm—and anyway, who would you get to do outdoor painting in February?” Alice watched a woman wheel a baby buggy along the
rows of shoes and boots. “How old is she going to be?”

“Thirty-three, can you believe it?” Geraldine finished the wafer and took a shortbread finger. A finger couldn’t hurt, even
if it was loaded with butter. “I never thought she’d get to that age and still be single. How old was Ellen when she got married?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“There you go. And she has three now.”

“That’s right.” Ellen was Tom and Alice’s only child, living for the past decade in Australia. “Wish we saw more of them.”

The customer picked up a black patent boot, and Alice put down her cup. “I’ll go.”

The shop was quiet in February, the winter buying mostly over, too early for anyone to want sandals, no big occasions coming
up that would call for new shoes.

Except Valentine’s Day, a week from Sunday. A couple of men had bought gift certificates in the past few days, and some women
had come in looking at heels. Geraldine would get her usual card and box of Thornton’s chocolates, provided she made some
reference to the fourteenth at least twice over the coming week.

“Are you doing anything for Valentine’s Day?” she asked when Alice returned, having sold the boots and a pair of half-price
slippers.

Alice considered. “Cooking pork chops, probably. You?”

“Roast beef, more than likely.” Geraldine gathered up the plate of biscuits and the two empty cups. “And maybe apple crumble
for afters.”

“Very romantic.”

In the small kitchen, she rinsed the cups and left them on the drainboard, and slid the biscuits back into their tin as her
thoughts returned to her daughter. Hannah had been flown to Paris for her birthday last year, didn’t know a thing about it
until they’d arrived at the airport. Patrick had pretended he was picking someone up—his brother, was it? Some relation anyway.

Geraldine had been charmed when she’d heard; it had sounded so romantic. By then, of course, she and Stephen had had several
weeks to get used to the fact that their daughter was living with a man who wasn’t her husband. It had been a different story
when Hannah had told them that Patrick was moving in.

You haven’t known him a wet week,
Geraldine had protested.

Three months,
Hannah had said.
I know it seems soon, but it’s what we both want. And with Annie being transferred to Cork, the timing is perfect.

Annie had moved into Hannah’s spare room three weeks after Hannah had bought the house, and she’d been with her ever since.
She was the perfect housemate, paying her rent on time each month and going home to her family in Sligo every weekend. And
now she was being transferred, and Patrick, whom Geraldine still regarded as Hannah’s new boyfriend, was to be her replacement.

It’s still so soon, though,
Geraldine had said.
Couldn’t you get another housemate, just for a few more months, even?

But Hannah had been determined, and Patrick had moved in. And despite her parents’ misgivings, it had seemed to be working
out. Geraldine remembered the phone call from Charles de Gaulle Airport, how happy Hannah had sounded. She’d been convinced
they’d come back engaged, but that hadn’t happened. And look at them now.

She sighed as she replaced the lid on the biscuit tin. Just as well Hannah was worn out these days, with no time to brood.
Up in the middle of the night to bake, bake, bake, and then standing behind that counter all day long. Thankfully, things
seemed to be working out nicely in the shop so far. The cupcakes were selling reasonably steadily, and Hannah seemed to be
enjoying it—at least that’s what she told them. But she looked so tired and lost whenever Geraldine met her. Of course her
heart was still broken.

Geraldine knew what her daughter needed for her birthday—she’d known as soon as Hannah had signed her name on the lease, as
soon as she’d finally committed to opening her own business. And much as Geraldine hated presenting her only child with a
check on her birthday, that was what she and Stephen had to do.

She washed her hands and walked back out to the shop. She’d talk to Stephen this evening, decide how much they’d give. He’d
be happy with her choice, always the practical one.

And tomorrow she’d parcel up the nice pink sling-backs that Alice would let her have for forty euro. Whatever else, a girl
needed shoes on her birthday.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Hannah eyed him warily. “Go on.”

“Don’t look so suspicious. This could be mutually beneficial.”

“Go on.”

“Well, you know that Nora’s coming home next week, for a while anyway.”

“Yes?” Hannah’s guarded expression slid up a notch.

“And you still haven’t gotten around to advertising for a housemate, although you’re probably living off beans on—”

“No,” Hannah said quickly. “No. I’m sorry, Adam, but it wouldn’t work. We…might fall out over something, and things could
get messy, and…look, she’s your sister and all, but I really don’t know Nora that well. I mean, we’re very different, and
you’d be caught in the middle, and…” She trailed off, looking trapped.

“Hang on a sec,” Adam said. “What do you think I’m suggesting?”

“That Nora move in with me. And while in theory the idea is fine, I just think—”

“Stop talking,” he said. “Stop now.”

Hannah stopped.

“I’m suggesting,” he said, “that I let Nora have my place and
I
move in with you. Me. Adam.”

“Oh.” She sipped her red wine. “Right. You and me. Sharing my house.”

“Just for a while, obviously,” he said, his eyes on her face, “until you get your head together and see where you’re going
with the business.”

“Right. Uh-huh.”

“You know you need someone to share the bills, even though you keep putting it off.”

She made a face. “I’m hardly likely to forget, with you going on about it all the—”

“And I just thought you might rather have someone you know.”

“I would,” she agreed.

“And if Nora decides to stay in Ireland, she’ll find a place of her own—this would just be a stopgap for her—a few weeks,
maybe. Couple of months at the most, probably.”

“Right.” Hannah nodded. “Uh-huh. Yes.”

Adam lifted his drink. “You look like a rat caught in the headlights.”

She smiled. “Don’t you mean a rabbit?”

“Whatever it is, you look like it. You don’t have to decide right now, obviously—and we won’t fall out if you don’t fancy
the idea, although I might sulk for a few days. But while you’re mulling it over, consider this: I never leave the toilet
seat up, I always squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom, and I only drink from the carton when nobody’s watching.”

“Actually, I’m sure I’ve seen you do that.”

“Never—and as you know, I’m a happy drunk.”

“That’s true. You go all mushy and tell me how great I am.”

“And I can fix your computer when it breaks down.”

“You do that already.”

“Yes, but now I’d be on the spot. Instant repairs.”

Hannah laughed. “I’ll bear that in mind. And I presume Kirby would be part of the package.”

“God, yeah—he’d have to be. But he’s house-trained, obviously. And he loves you.”

“And I love him too. But he sheds.”

“Only a small bit.” Then, seeing her expression, he added, “Okay, a big bit. But we can confine him to wherever you say.”

“He wouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen, ever. He could lose me my accreditation.”

“Fair enough.”

“Or upstairs. Or on my couch—he has yours destroyed. We’d have to get him a special chair. And he’d have to sleep in the shed
at night. And you’d have to clean up after him.”

“Fine. All fine. Fine on all fronts.”

She considered. It just might work. And it would certainly ease her financial worries. But was it really what he wanted, or
did he feel some silly responsibility toward her? She put a hand on his arm. “Look, if you’re just trying to help me out,
you really don’t have to, you know. I was planning to put that ad in. I was just…working up to it.”

“Are you kidding? Helping you is a very minor aspect—I’m trying desperately not to share my flat with Nora.” He lifted his
glass. “Anyway, enough of that. Think about it and let me know.” He waved a hand to indicate the room. “So what do you reckon
about this place?”

“It’s great—just what Clongarvin needs.” Hannah studied the band in the corner. “I like the funky music, too, really fits
in.
She
looks a bit scary, though.”

“Who?”

“The one with the clarinet. All those black clothes, and the hair scraped back. And the professor specs.”

“Can’t say I noticed,” he said.

“And look at the frown on her. I wouldn’t like to get on her wrong side.”

“That’s probably because she’s concentrating.”

“Mmm. The guy with the double bass looks foreign. Anyway, where were we?”

“We were just about to plan your birthday next week.”

She groaned. “God, I was hoping you’d forget. Let’s plan nothing, please—I really don’t feel like celebrating this one.”

“All the more reason. Sorry, but you have no choice. How about dinner on me, anywhere you fancy that won’t bankrupt me?”

She picked up her glass again. “Honestly, Adam, I’d rather not.” And as she sipped the oaky wine, her last birthday slid,
unwanted, into her thoughts.

Sorry about this,
Patrick had said,
There’s no one else free to collect him. We’ll still be in time for dinner, I promise
. And he’d dropped her at the arrivals door and gone to find a parking space. And even when she couldn’t see a flight from
London on the board, it hadn’t clicked. She’d just thought his brother had gotten the time wrong and they’d be there all night,
waiting for him to arrive, and the birthday dinner that they’d postponed till Friday night would be ruined.

And then Patrick had reappeared, pulling her weekend bag on wheels behind him.
Tell you what,
he’d said, smiling at her astonishment,
let’s go to Paris instead.

She set down her glass, pushing the memory away. “Anyway,” she said to Adam, “my birthday’s on a Thursday this year, so I’ll
be having my usual early night.”

“We could wait till Saturday to go out.”

She shook her head. “Let’s just leave it. Really.”

“Okay, I’ll get you a surprise instead. What color scarf have you not got?”

She smiled. “Green. Not that awful touristy green, a nice sage.” She hesitated, and then added, “Yes, by the way.”

“Yes, what?

“Yes, I would like you to move in. You and Kirby.”

“What?”

“I said I would like—”

Adam shook his head firmly. “No, that was too quick. You need to sleep on it.”

“No, I don’t. As long as you pay your rent on time, split the bills, and replace everything you break—and keep the dog hairs
at bay a bit with the vacuum cleaner. And never,
ever
drink from the carton.”

He regarded her closely. “You’re totally sure about this?”

“Yes. I know you well enough to kick you out if you drive me mad.”

“That’s true.” He clinked his glass against hers. “In that case—and only if you’re absolutely, positively sure—it’s a deal.”
He thought. “Nora arrives next Thursday, in fact. How would Wednesday suit for me to move in?”

 “Wednesday’s fine. Pop into the shop in the meantime and I’ll give you keys.”

Patrick’s keys, which would now be Adam’s keys. She turned her face quickly toward the band again before it gave her away—and
Adam, bless him, launched into a description of an impossibly complicated Web site that he was setting up, which managed to
drown out the whole of “Eleanor Rigby,” and which required absolutely no response from Hannah.