One Night Only by Catherine Walsh
19
No take-backs.
The space to think is good. It’s calming, meaning when I meet him a little after eleven outside a shabby, squat office block the next morning, I’m feeling a lot more levelheaded. I didn’t exactly get eight hours of sleep, but I got at least five interrupted ones and drank one of Claire’s terrible green smoothies when I woke. It’s the best I’ve managed in a while.
Declan’s waiting for me when I arrive, holding two coffees and, I’m pleased to see, looking just as well intentioned as I am.
“Good morning.” He hands me a cup and I take a sip, only to wince as a sugary sweetness hits my tongue. “Why do you always make that face when I get you a drink?”
“What’s in this?” I cough as I wipe my lip. It’s not enough. I want to wash my mouth out.
“Coffee.”
“And?”
“Two pumps of vanilla, extra cinnamon, cream—”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, handing it back to him.
“The cream’s nonfat.”
“I can’t believe that’s your coffee order.”
“Why what’s yours?”
“Strong. Black. Normal.”
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
Next time? Before I can protest that little remark, he hands me the other cup.
“Trust me,” he says, but I don’t, so I pry open the lid first.
“Normal coffee,” I say, tasting it.
“I might have had a little sip.”
“I don’t mind a little sip.” I breathe in the scent as he starts to root through his messenger bag. “I see you got your watch back.”
“I did.” He holds up his wrist. “An extremely disappointing experience. Your roommate didn’t throw herself at me like you led me to believe.”
“She was afraid of coming on too strong.”
He smirks, retrieving a crammed keychain. “Try to ignore the smell.” He unlocks the door and leads me inside before I can ask any further questions. The lobby is empty and dark, shut for the weekend. A pile of mail sits on a metal table and several unclaimed delivery boxes lie in the corner. The smell he was referring to is a stale, warm odor of an old building with poor ventilation. I immediately hate everything about it.
“I know,” he says as he leads me up a dingy stairwell.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But I still know. Just keep ignoring your surroundings, please and thank you. It’s only temporary. A character-building experience.” We reach the third floor, where he rummages around for another key. The only sign on the door is a piece of paper taped to the wood. heritage tours is written on it in black Sharpie and by now my expectations are extremely low, so it’s not with some small bit of surprise when he lets me in and I find the office… not awful.
It’s small but clean. There’s one window that lets in little to no light, but Declan’s forgone the harsh fluorescent look from the bare bulbs above for a series of desk lamps that he now switches on one by one. A jumble of ancient-looking AC units and electric heaters are shoved in a corner of the room and dying green shrubs try gamely to decorate the otherwise bare space. The only other furniture inside are three desks. One is a makeshift kitchen area but the other two, clearly for Mika and Declan, are filled with guidebooks and rolled-up blueprints.
“You can see why we’re moving,” he says as I walk in ahead of him. “The new money will help us cover the overheads for a larger space and more staff.”
“I’m not judging. You’ve got to start somewhere.”
“We started in the bar actually. But Mika couldn’t concentrate. And I kept being called away. Do you want the tour?”
“Sure.”
He kicks the door shut and comes to stand beside me. Together we look at the office. “That’s it. Tour done.”
I roll my eyes and move closer to a series of photos tacked to the wall. “You’re an all-inclusive agency?”
He nods. “Transport, accommodation, guides. We’ll cover all the usual sights, but our hook is the heritage. We’ll research the genealogy and put together a tailored trip for people based on their family history.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“We can be flexible with budgets. Some people will just want to visit an area. Others will want the whole shebang. I’m just hoping they’ll be the rich ones.”
I wander over to another photo display but he doesn’t follow. I have the feeling he’s nervous.
“It’s only Mika and me right now,” he says. “But we’re hoping to open an Irish office next year and expand here in the meantime. Get some people who know what they’re doing as opposed to the two of us.”
“It looks like you know what you’re doing.”
“Careful Sarah,” he says with a small smile. “That almost sounds like a compliment.”
“You’re going to do all this and run a bar?”
“I run two bars actually. And no, not really. I’m planning to step away in a few months. I’m an owner in name only and that’s mainly for family reasons. Harry’s the real man behind the pubs.
“Harry?” I think of the cheerful, red-faced man at the wedding. “Your uncle?”
Declan nods. “He’s got the brain for these things. But he’s getting older, doesn’t like to travel so much. I’ve been pulling pints since I was fifteen and have a degree in business management, so he asked me to keep an eye on things. When I’m not there, I’m here, and vice versa. With the bars, I help out on busy nights, see what our staff needs.”
Two bars. The Greenery and… “You own O’Shea’s.” The place where I first met him. “That’s the other one?”
He nods.
“It’s my favorite bar in the city.”
“I know,” he says simply. “I saw you there a lot.”
I turn back to the wall, unnerved by the look in his eye. Instead, I examine the large maps of Ireland and Britain tacked to it. Gold stickers are dotted around the islands along with photos of smiling people in anoraks posing on cliffsides and wet green forests.
“What’s this?” I ask, picking up some blueprints.
Declan had been watching me silently from the desk but now moves forward to stand beside me. “It’s the cottage. I took your advice, got someone back home to draw up the plans.”
“You’re actually doing it?”
“We’re branching out. There are loads of these sites derelict around the country. We’ll buy them cheap, do them up and rent them out at a decent price when we’re not using them for tours. I still expect the whole operation to come crumbling down. Mika’s practically assured of it. She’s always going out for job interviews and turning the offers down. She says she wants to make sure she can get out when I run this thing into the ground. I’m really good at inspiring confidence like that.”
“How are you even managing to do all of this?”
He knows what I mean. “Energy-wise, I’m hanging on by a thread between this and the bars. I’m traveling a lot more than I used to, meeting diaspora societies around the country, seeing what the competition is back home. But now we have the money, it means I can start stepping away to concentrate fully on this.”
“Fully? You’re not going to run them anymore?”
“No. I enjoy the work, but again, it’s Harry’s thing. I want something of my own.”
And the business is it.
There’s a little click in my mind, like another piece of the puzzle has fitted in.
“Well?” he asks casually. “What do you think?”
“I get it.”
“Yeah? Keep going.”
“Are you fishing for compliments now?”
“Believe it or not, Sarah, you’re a hard woman to impress.”
“Well, I am impressed,” I say tracing the map. “Despite the smell. You’re really trying something here. I think it’s brave.”
For the first time since I’ve met him, Declan’s seems to be at a loss for words. I’m surprised my opinion means so much to him, but I meant what I said. I wonder if his family knows how hard he’s working on this and how much he’s already achieved, or if they think he’s just hanging out at his uncle’s pub, picking up customers.
I glance up at him and again there’s that look on his face that I don’t like. Or maybe I do like it. I haven’t decided yet. And I know I should say something. I know I should move away, put some distance between us again but I don’t. I can’t. It’s like my feet are glued to the floor and the blasé attitude I’d try so hard to exude is replaced swiftly with a fluttering anticipation that always comes when he’s near.
“I…” He hesitates, looking torn. “I didn’t know if you—”
“Hello?”
Declan stiffens as a voice calls from the corridor and then quickly takes a step back as the office door creaks open. A pretty, button-nosed girl with long black hair pokes her head inside, her eyes lighting up as she spies Declan.
“I thought I heard footsteps,” she says, stepping fully into the room.
“Elena! Hi.” He sounds oddly out of breath. “Helping your dad out?”
“He pays me extra for Saturday mornings.”
“Elena’s dad works in the office directly below us,” Declan explains to me. He jumps then, sending the tables rattling. Elena laughs.
“It’s just me today.” Her eyes flick to me and her good mood falters slightly. “Is this your… girlfriend?”
“This is my architect.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
She looks equal parts relieved and disappointed. “You’re really moving?”
“We’ve signed the lease on a new place, but it needs work. A lot of work.” He points his thumb at me. “That’s where this one comes in. She’s going to make it pretty.”
“I’ll make it work,” I say. “We have other people to make it pretty.”
“As long as there’s a slide between floors I’m happy. I’ll have to bring you guys over when we get everything set up,” he adds to Elena. “Have ourselves a party.”
“That would be fun.” She glances between us. “Well, I better go,” she says reluctantly. “I just wanted to make sure no one was breaking in.”
“Hey, you still up for next weekend? I could really use your help.”
“I don’t know,” she begins only to laugh at Declan’s exaggerated gasp.
“Come on,” he says. “You loved it last time.”
“I’ll see what my dad says.”
“That’s a yes,” Declan says. “Your dad loves me.”
“He loves the wine you bring him.”
“Same thing. I’m putting you down for ten o’clock.”
“Okay,” she says shyly and looks back to me. “It was nice to meet you.”
“You too!” I call as she backs out into the hallway.
She gives a limp wave and then she’s gone, closing the door softly behind her.
Declan turns to me. I raise an eyebrow.
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “She has a crush on me.”
“You don’t say?”
He smiles. “Jealous, Sarah?”
“Of the high school student?”
“She’s going to college in the fall.”
“You’re a cradle snatcher.”
“I can’t help it. It’s the accent.”
“Uh-uh.” I turn back to the pictures, pretending to look through them as I will my heartbeat to slow. If Elena hadn’t interrupted, I don’t know what would have happened. No doubt something I’d regret. “What’s next weekend?”
He looks dramatically away. “You wouldn’t be interested.”
“Fine.”
“It’s a singles night,” he says instantly. “Well, more of a singles lunch. Or I guess it’s a brunch.”
“You invited a high schooler to your singles lunch?”
“Brunch. And to work at,” he adds. “Not to participate in. It’s for charity. We host it at O’Shea’s twice a year. Elena is an excellent cook. She helps out with the snacks.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It is fun. You want to help out?”
“Me? No.”
“Because you hate charity?”
“I have things to do.”
He’s silent for a moment and I think he’s moved on when he asks his next question.
“With that guy?”
I blink in surprise. “You mean Matthias?”
“Are you with him?”
“No. I’m not with him.” My voice is light but I drop the photos and move further away from him. “I think we need to talk about what happened between—”
Declan groans, cutting me off and I twirl to face him, instantly annoyed again.
“You’re my client now,” I say. “Which means there are rules and boundaries and all sorts of things. I need this work. I don’t want to mess it up.”
“You’re not going to.”
“Exactly. I’m not. I won’t.”
Declan sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he says. “I get it. We’ll keep things professional.”
“You promise?” I push. “No more flirting or showing up to my office unannounced?”
“I already apologized for that.” But he nods. “I promise.”
“Thank you.” I take a breath, feeling better. “I think it will be better for both of us with everything so…” I trail off, watching in confusion as he grabs his messenger bag from where he left it on a chair. “Where are you going?”
“To find Elena,” he says. “If you’re out of the picture then— Ow!” He laughs, dodging out of my way. “Always hitting me.”
“That’s not funny.”
“You are jealous. I like it.”
“Declan—”
“I know, I know,” he says. “I’m professional.” He smiles at me. “Saying that… I really could use your help next weekend. As a friend,” he adds. “It’s a busy morning and run by volunteers. If you have an hour or two free on the Sunday, I’d really appreciate it. It’s just handing out food, shaking a bucket, that kind of thing. You’ll get a free drink.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s a yes.”
“It’s a maybe,” I say. It’s a no but he’ll keep pushing if I tell him that. “I should go,” I add. “Thanks for showing me around.”
“It was my pleasure. Let me professionally see you out and thank you for professionally dropping by.”
He gestures me out the door, turning off the lights as he goes, and we step into the corridor only to find two pigeons perched on the hand-railing, watching us. One immediately flies up to the next floor while the other simply stares at us before dropping its business down the stairwell.
“You know,” Declan says as he carefully ushers me past the bird’s unnerving gaze, “I’m really not going to miss this place.”