Page 9 of Always on My Mind

“Aye, call me back after you’ve been properly plowed.”

“Later, Tess.”

The line went dead. Tessa rolled her eyes and shook her head, muttering to herself that she’d never understood the term “dickmatized” until Billie met Ethan. She poured herself a generous glass of cabernet and headed out to the sitting room. That was when she heard the knock on the door.

Tessa opened it to reveal a young woman in a tracksuit, her bleach blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail that swished around her head as she turned it. Her gray eyes crinkled with her wide, toothy smile, and she greeted Tessa with a warm, definitely Irish, “Hello!”

Tessa couldn’t help but smile back. “Hi, there. You must be Niamh.”

“You must be Tessa.”

“Aye, come inside.” She opened the door to allow Niamh across the threshold. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for meeting me,” Niamh replied. “Finding a place in London’s not been easy.”

“It never is. Can I get you anything before we start? Glass of wine? Tea?”

“What is it you’ve got there?” Niamh asked, nodding toward the glass in Tessa’s hand.

“Cabernet.”

“My kind of girl. I’ll have one as well, thanks.”

Tessa smirked. This was already off to a much better start than the interviews before. Especially the bagpiper. She fetched another glass from the cabinet and poured Niamh as generous a serving as she’d given herself. Niamh thanked her and took a sip.

“So, Niamh, obviously you’re Irish,” Tessa began, though she had already clocked the accent from the Republic. “What brings you to London?”

“A job,” Niamh told her. “I’ve just signed to play for Stanmore FC women’s team, now they’re promoted and all.”

Tessa blinked. “You’re a footballer?”

“Yes. I was playing for Everton women, but they stacked their midfield in the January window, so I had to move on.”

Tessa swallowed against the tightness in her throat. So much for this going better. After Jamie, she swore she was done keeping up with women’s football. How could she when the woman who broke her heart was everywhere? Jamie was always a discussion for pundits because of her father, and she was so talented, there was no avoiding hearing her name on broadcasts. If Tessa let a footballer move in, it would only put her one foot back into Jamie’s world.

“Are you alright?” Niamh asked, a shadow of concern coming over her features.

“Oh, aye,” Tessa said, and she cleared her throat. “Let’s go on, shall we?”

She asked the stuff she had to know—about salary, lifestyle, cleanliness, all the things that might make them compatible flatmates. Niamh answered everything kindly and with things Tessa liked to hear. She made more than enough needed to split the basic bills in half. She was social, but not a partier since she had training every day and couldn’t afford to be hungover. She was neat, too, and even offered up a chore chart idea that Tessa thought was brilliant. If only she weren’t a footballer. Like one of those rubber balls tied to a paddle, Tessa was flying one moment, and smacked with that harsh reminder the next.

“Where about in Ireland are you from?”

“I grew up near Dublin, where my Mam’s from,” she said. “Dad’s from Derry, though.”

Tessa froze with her glass halfway to her mouth. “What’s your surname again?”

“O’Hartigan,” Niamh said.

“Any relation to Dierdre O’Hartigan?”

“She live over on Oakfield Road?”

“That’s the one!”

“She’s my auntie!”

“She was my year three teacher!”

---