Page 24 of A Very Irish Christmas
We both agree, and Eileen bustles away to the back. When she returns, she has a box for me, and gets a cupcake for Georgie. She slides a couple of slices of bacon in Eejit’s direction as well, and he gobbles them up. Looks like she’s feeding all the strays, and more are on their way – a group of women who probably arrived on the bus are heading in our direction.
Eileen nods at us, and quickly bags up a nice-looking pie – a smaller version of the steak and Guinness I had in the pub. She passes it to me, and says: ‘Looks like the rush is here! Be an angel and pop this round to Ryan at Whimsy Cottage for me, will you? He’s elbow deep in the work, and I know he won’t stop unless somebody makes him.’
We leave her to it, and move as a trio – woman, girl, dog – next door. It looks just as adorable as it did yesterday, and I feel surprised when I realise that I only arrived here the evening before. A lot has happened.
The door is open, and as we walk through Georgie shouts: ‘Oi! You’ve got company, put your clothes back on!’
Already, after only a morning, I can see the difference in the place. Someone – Ryan, or the mysterious Mary Catherine – has given it a thorough scrub, and it’s clear of dust and cobwebs. The musty smell has been replaced by one of lemons, and all of the furniture has been cleared out.
There’s the sound of music playing upstairs, and within seconds I hear the thud of big feet on the steps, then Ryan jumps down the last few. He’s dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, despite the cold weather, and a pair of paint-spattered steel-toed boots. His dark hair is wild, and he’s brandishing a cordless drill. His face breaks into a big smile when he sees us, and I can’t help it – I blush. Again. Helpless in the face of a man bearing power tools.
‘Ladies!’ he says, ushering us inside. ‘I’m giddy with excitement to see you both – and am I mistaken, or is that one of Eileen’s pies you have there?’
‘It is. I am a bringer of joy,’ replies Georgie, passing it to him. ‘Do you have anything we can sit on or should we just go to the pub?’
‘Nice try, whippersnapper,’ he answers, grinning at her. ‘But you know your da would kill me if I enabled any under-age drinking, now, don’t you? Give me a second, would you?’
He disappears out through the back, and returns with two chairs he’s clearly fetched in from outside. He wipes them down with a towel, and gestures for us to sit. I feel slightly strange with him hovering over above us, his bulk taking up so much of the room, but he solves that problem for me by simply sitting on the floor, his long legs spread out before him.
He pretty much inhales the pie, but makes sure to save a crust for Eejit. The dog settles at his side, his lean furry body snuggled into his thighs, and promptly falls asleep.
‘So, how was your night at the big house, Cassie?’ he asks.
‘Interesting,’ I say, casting a look at Georgie. ‘Especially when I woke up this morning to find a stranger in my bedroom.’
‘I’m not a stranger!’ she protests, as she nibbles her cupcake. ‘We’re old friends now!’
‘Really? We know nothing about each other!’
‘Well,’ she says, rolling her eyes, ‘I’m Georgina. I’m a Scorpio, I enjoy long walks on the beach, listening to punk music, and smoking. My favourite food is spaghetti and meatballs, and when I grow up, I want to be an astronaut.’
I laugh at her tone, and it only encourages her.
‘What’s your favourite colour?’ she asks.
‘Green.’
‘Favourite flower?’
‘Um, roses. Maybe lilies.’
‘Favourite human – fictional and non-fictional?’
‘That’s a tough one. In real life, it was my Nanna Nora. Fiction? Lots of them, but possibly a mash-up between Jo March fromLittle Womenand Joey fromFriends.’
‘That would be a weird mash-up,’ she says, frowning as she tries to visualise it.
I glance over at Ryan, who winks at me and says: ‘Howyoudoing?’
I try not to laugh, but it sneaks out anyway. It’s a terrible impression, coming out more Irish than American-Italian. I see Georgie looking between the two of us, and wonder what conclusions she’s coming to.
‘So,’ I say, deciding to move the conversation on a less flirtatious level, ‘what’s the plan then, with the cottage?’
He runs his hands through his hair, thinking. ‘Well, mainly the place is grand – it just needs a good clean and re-decorating, new furniture, a proper spruce up. That was always the plan – I’ll just be doing it a lot more quickly than expected. I’m hoping to have it sorted for you by the end of the week. Ideally, I’ll be all done by Saturday night.’
‘What happens on Saturday night?’
‘It’s Ryan’s date night,’ Georgie supplies, pointing at him in accusation. ‘It’s when our Irish lover boy turns on the charm, and no woman between here and Cornwall is safe.’
