Page 35 of An Angel's Share
He nods then smiles and says, “Speak later. Nice to talk to you Aoife. And look out for our interview. It’s a big chat show, so it should be great publicity for us all,” he finishes warmly.
We hang up and Aoife turns to me. “Wow, he’s so charming. No wonder the teenagers of the world are gone for him. I can’t believe how much like his dad and Marshall he is.”
“Yep. Can you imagine when his dads are around? It’s carnage. Women are constantly fainting at their feet.”
She laughs as she piles food onto a platter for everyone. Picking it up, we head out to the terrace, ignoring the looks from Liam and Mae, who are clearly incensed at the options on the platter.
Still buzzing from her conversation with James, Aoife turns to Christy, who’s joined Patrick with their children. “You’ll never guess who I’ve just spoken to?”
“Who? Marcus Russell?” gushes Christy hopefully. Patrick shoots her a look, and she brazenly ignores him.
“No, even better. His son, James Greystone. Stunning.” She sits back with a ‘beat that’ expression on her face.
“Bit young for you, isn't he?” snipes Liam.
Aoife’s face changes from smiling to scowling. “Really?”
“James Greystone,” echoes Christy dreamily. “Wow Aoife, really, what was he like?” she gushes. I’m almost laughing at the pair of them totally drooling over my twenty-year-old nephew.
“He was thoroughly amazing. And he’s going to wear anO’ClerysT-shirt tonight on an American chat show and says Bucky is taking on a bottle of our whiskey. Shameless product placement.” She laughs.
“Bucky is Evie’s other son, who is in the same band with James,” I clarify for anyone who is not sure. I start to tell them more about the band, but I’m interrupted. Rudely.
“I haven’t authorised that. How much is that going to cost us?” Liam is firing bullets left, right, and centre. “They’re two of the most famous men on this fucking planet.” He stands and points his index finger at Aoife, his voice rising with every word. “You keep talking about spending money and now you’ve gone behind my back and authorised that.”
He turns his fury onto Patrick. “Patrick, do something. Stop this at once. I haven’t seen the endorsement deal. And the drummer is a drug addict. Do we”—he sweeps his finger around a few of the stunned O’Clerys—“really want to be associated with that branch of the family.”
He curls his lip in an obvious ‘no’ vote from him. “No offence Marshall, but I’m thinking about this family’s whiskey brand only. Nothing personal.” He puts his hands on his hips and waits for the ripple of applause he expects is coming his way.
“Agreed, Liam,” jabs in Patrick. “How much have you agreed to, Aoife?” He stares at her, following it up randomly with, “But they are huge. Even Ryan and Lara know them. It’s great publicity.” The man swings like a pendulum.
Marshall shoots out of his chair and stands up to his fullheight, towering over the assembled family, followed immediately by Seamus. The looks on their faces are cold and hard. I see Patrick’s eyes widen as his own father follows suit. The O’Clery men are circling the wagons. I stand at Marshall’s side and stare at the two lesser men, the fucking weasels. It’s a classic stalemate.
“She hasn’t paid them anything,” states Marshall in a voice I have never heard him use. Ever. “I okayed my grandsons to wear branded T-shirts, and take a bottle of our family whiskey on the biggest chat show in the US.” He pauses for effect. Then he hits Patrick and Liam again. “I told James and Bucky the state of play, they want to help. We all help each other out. No endorsement deal. No money exchanging hands. And if you don’t like this branch of my family, then you are free to leave my family's house. I’ve heard enough of you and your petty, small-minded comments on my daughter.”
Seamus and Dermot grunt in agreement. Liam looks to Mae, who has her head down, clearly telegraphing who agrees with him. Mammy is going to be in big trouble with her husband. He then looks at Aoife and Seamus. He’s smart enough to know a lost cause.
“I apologise, Marshall, Seamus, Dermot. I was just thinking of the brand, and the O’Clery finances. And I obviously did not know you’d already agreed on everything. Obviously if things are spontaneous, I won’t know about them.” I have to hand it to him. He’s pompous even in defeat.
Marshall says nothing, doesn’t acknowledge the half-baked apology, but sits back down. The others all follow him. Seamus talks quietly to his brothers while Mae and Christy try to break the tension by continuing to quiz Aoife on her conversation with James. Christy yet again brings thehouse down by bringing up shirtless pictures of James and Bucky.
Liam, after a period of time of generally being ignored, stands. “I’m going to go get ready for dinner. Aoife, join me? It’s a half question, half command.
I hold my breath, will she do it? Or will she show her disdain and dismiss him? My money is on the latter, and I hope she doesn’t let me down.
“You go on up, Liam. I’m comfortable here. Daddy will escort me up. I’ve got business to discuss with him.”
I smirk. She’s not let me down.
“I’ll stay then and come with you. You must be tired, you’ve been up and about all day,” he simpers, trying to ingratiate himself back into the good books.
“Yes, good idea, Liam,” Mae adds, trying desperately to bring him back in favour, highlight his meagre qualities.
“No, it’s private family business, Liam. I’ll see you at dinner.”
I don’t bother hiding my smile. What a fuck off. The woman is a goddess. A pink tinge rises on his face as he stands, and I don’t bother hiding my delight at that either. He’s utterly enraged. He stalks off, and Patrick makes an excuse and follows him out.
We sit, relaxing with talk ranging from whiskey—obviously—to Christy’s kids. Dermot is throwing around his grandchildren with lots of giggles and smiles. I watch as Seamus constantly touches Aoife, his pride in his daughter obvious for us all to see.
