Page 59 of A Very Irish Christmas
His face is pale and drawn, his green eyes dark with worry. His usually groomed hair is tousled, and he looks so stressed out that I give him a hug – he looks like he needs one more than Allegra did. He sinks into me, his arms going around my waist, and I feel him sigh into my hair.
After a few moments he pulls away and straightens, looking mildly embarrassed by the display of emotion. Heaven forbid he should reveal weakness in any form.
He looks from me to Ryan, and says: ‘She’d been in there for a long time. Her phone was in her pocket and soaked, so she couldn’t use it, and she didn’t want to risk dropping the dog anyway. The doctors have told me that if she’d been stranded much longer in those conditions then she might not have made it. She said you just jumped right in and rescued her, Ryan.’
‘I did, yeah – why wouldn’t I?’
‘Well, the two of you might have literally saved her life. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find a way to thank you.’
‘Roberts promised us a medal,’ I reply, grinning in an attempt to lighten the mood.
‘And I’ll have a bottle of that thirty-year-old Bushmills whiskey I know you keep. I’ve a terrible thirst after all my heroics.’
‘It’s a deal – medals and outrageously expensive whiskey all round! Seriously, thank you both, so much. I don’t have the words to tell you how much I appreciate what you did.’
I look from one man to the other, and come to a decision that is probably rash, probably foolish, and definitely inappropriate. Somehow, though, I just don’t care. It’s been a day.
‘I’ve got a few words,’ I say, standing between them. ‘And I’m going to say them while we’re here, with all these nice doctors and nurses to make sure you’re on your best behaviour. Charles, Ryan never slept with Leonora.’
They’re both silent, their expressions comically shocked. Ryan recovers first, and retorts with an edge of anger: ‘What did you go and say that for, now, Cassie? It’s none of your business!’
‘That’s true,’ I reply, holding my ground and glaring back at him, ‘it is none of my business. But it’s just stupid, and it’s gone on too long. Didn’t yesterday teach us anything? Didn’t today? Don’t you both realise that we’re always stronger when we work together? You two need to start acting your age, not like a pair of… fecking eejits!’
It’s actually my voice that is the first to rise, and I feel questioning eyes on us.Oops. I give a little wave of apology and make a zipping motion on my lips.
Ryan tries to stay angry, but I can see that he’s losing out to laughter. In fact, both of them are, which is a little bit annoying – but better than them fighting, I guess.
‘Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, boys – but I’m only telling it like it is!’
‘Ah, Cassie,’ says Ryan, once he’s stopped laughing. ‘I knew you had the spirit of the redhead somewhere inside you!’
‘Yes,’ adds Charles, trying to look serious and failing, ‘you were quite terrifying for a moment there, Cassie.’
‘Plenty more where that came from – so, make friends, play nice, and stop behaving like little kids, okay?’
Charles nods thoughtfully, then turns to look at Ryan.
‘If you didn’t sleep with my wife, Ryan, why on earth didn’t you tell me so before?’
‘Well, you never asked, Your Lordship – you just assumed the worst of me straight away, now, didn’t you?’
‘I suppose I did at that. Even though Leonora had given me no reason to trust her word, I accepted it. I think perhaps it was easier… having someone else to blame.’
Every word that comes from his mouth sounds like agony, and even though I started this, I’m desperate for it to end.
Ryan nods, looks awkward, and answers: ‘She’s good at pushing the buttons, sure.’
Charles holds out his hand, his nostrils flaring slightly from the tension, and says: ‘Ryan, will you accept my most sincere apologies?’
There’s a moment when I’m not sure which way it’s going to go. I’m proud of Charles, for the way he has reacted. For not trying to make excuses. He’s simply taken it on the chin, and seems to want to make amends. Ryan, though, still doesn’t look convinced. He rubs his fingers over his face, and seems to be weighing it up.Oh God, I think,please shake his hand – don’t leave him hanging like this, you big fool.
Eventually, he says: ‘Make it two bottles of the Bushmills, and you’ve got yourself a deal.’
Charles laughs, tells him that is not a problem, and they finally shake. It’s a weird shake – one of those where they clasp each other’s hands at the same time.
‘You should hug it out,’ I add helpfully, earning horrified stares from both of them.
‘For feck’s sake, Cassie,’ Charles says, in a perfect Irish brogue, ‘what do you think we are, American?’
