It's All About Him (14 page)

'I can't think why I didn't realize it before.' He shook his head, mystified at his own stupidity. 'We've been very lucky.'

Dee smiled faintly. 'Yes – yes, we have.'

'So that's settled then.' Ronan swallowed the rest of his scone and dusted the crumbs from his fingers. 'Will you put an advertisement in the paper or use an agency?'

'I'm not sure,' Dee mumbled.

'No, of course, you haven't had time to think about it. An agency is probably best though; you don't have time for answering applications.'

'No.' Dee could agree with at least that statement wholeheartedly.

Ronan stood up and walked to the door. 'Or you could try the Internet; Conor seems to do everything on the Internet. Get him to check it out for you. Farmers aren't half as busy as they make out, you know.'

Dee smiled. 'I'll talk to him.'

'Great, that's great. I'd better let you get back to work.' He paused in the doorway and turned concerned eyes on her. 'I haven't spoken out of turn, I hope.'

'No, Ronan, of course not, this is business after all.'

He smiled. 'I knew you'd understand, Dee. Keep me posted.'

'Will do,' Dee saluted and didn't allow her smile to falter until he was in his car and driving away. 'Oh, God,' she said to herself.

When Vi walked in it was to find Dee slumped over a pad, a pen gripped between her teeth, one hand tugging anxiously on her ponytail. 'What's up?' she asked without preamble, sitting down at her easel.

'Nothing.'

'It looks that way.'

'Please, Vi, leave it.'

'Fine.' Vi picked up her brush and started to mix colours on her palette.

Dee groaned. 'Do you have to do that now, Vi? I'm not really in the mood.'

'I'd never have guessed.' Vi dropped the brush into her water jar.

'I'm sorry.' Dee threw down her pen and flopped back in her chair.

'Tea?' Vi moved to the counter.

'Please.'

Vi said nothing until she'd made the two drinks, set them down on the table and then produced a small hip flask from her voluminous bag.

'Not for me—' Dee started.

'It works better than sugar,' Vi said, ignoring her and pouring a small shot into both their mugs.

'Sugar?' Dee frowned.

'For shock,' Vi reminded her. 'You look like you've had one.'

Dee nodded dumbly.

'Money worries?' Vi guessed.

'In a manner of speaking.'

Vi sipped her tea and waited patiently.

'It's been one thing after another, you know?' Dee said finally. 'I just about get over one hurdle and – bam – there's another one.'

Vi smiled. 'That's life.'

'No, that's Dee Hewson's life,' Dee grumbled.

'So what's today's hurdle?'

'Ronan says I need to hire an assistant as' – she drew quote marks in the air – 'an insurance policy.'

'Or?' Vi raised one pencilled eyebrow.

'Or I suppose he'll have to review his position.' Dee shrugged. 'He's right, of course. If I were to fall and break an arm, I'd be scuppered and so would he.'

'But you can't afford to take anyone on,' Vi surmised.

'Not really,' Dee admitted. 'I just about cover my costs at the moment but if there are any hiccups it's a struggle.'

Vi's eyes narrowed. 'Like that flood you had when that old boiler burst?'

'I wasn't insured,' Dee admitted.

'Oh, darling.' Vi patted her hand. 'Did you tell Ronan?'

'God, no! How unprofessional would that look?'

'But surely Conor knows?'

Dee shook her head. 'You're the first person I've told, apart from the bank manager.'

'And I'd say he was sympathetic,' Vi said dryly.

'He told me in a very polite way that I was stupid and irresponsible, which I'm not. Honestly, Vi, sometimes it's just so hard.'

Vi nodded. 'I know, darling, I know. But you are making it even harder by trying to do it all on your own. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is to ask for help.'

'Who can I ask? My Aunt Pauline? She and Jack don't have that much and if she did give me a loan it would be accompanied by the obligatory sermon.'

'How about Conor?'

Dee shook her head. 'Everyone thinks farmers are loaded but Conor has to re-invest any profits in the farm. He's almost as strapped for cash as I am.'

'I wish I could help you, darling, but until some millionaire collector discovers me I'm afraid I'm just an impoverished artist.'

Dee looked horrified. 'Oh, Vi, I wasn't asking!'

Vi chuckled. 'I know that, darling. So what are you going to do?'

Dee thought of Neil and the generous cheque he'd given her; she could use that to pay some of her bills but she'd wanted to keep it for Sam. She thought of how she could increase Lisa's rent but that could mean solving her financial crisis at the expense of her friend. She could increase her price list but then Ronan might decide to source another caterer – she might be like family but business was business. Dee leaned on the table, her head in her hands. 'I wish I knew.'

Ronan drove straight to Conor's farm after he left Dee. He wasn't feeling very good about himself. He'd seen the look of shock in Dee's eyes and he knew that he had completely knocked the wind out of her sails. Still, if it meant she stopped working around the clock it would be worth it. Sometimes the pace of Dee's life made Ronan's head spin. Even when she stopped for a cup of tea in the café it was only for a few minutes.

Yes, everyone had to work hard these days and there was a lot more responsibility if you were self-employed, but you had to take some time for yourself. Dee's social time seemed to revolve around her son, however, and her adult social life meant a couple of drinks in the pub with Conor or the occasional meal out.

It was no life, he decided as he turned into the farmyard, and so he had definitely done her a favour although she probably wouldn't agree right this minute.

Climbing out of the car, Ronan took care where he placed his polished brogue shoes. Gingerly, he picked his way through the cowpats and walked around the house to the back door. It was open and he could hear Conor talking on the phone.

Cleaning his shoes on the mat, he went inside, put on the kettle, and sat down at the table to read his son's newspaper while he waited.

'Dad! Sorry, I didn't hear you come in.'

Ronan laid down the paper. 'I've just arrived, how are things?'

'Great. That was Aidan on the phone. He's getting married.'

'Really?' Rorian smiled. Aidan Bow had gone to college with his son and Conor had subsequently worked on the Bow family farm in County Clare. 'Do you know the girl?'

Conor scratched his head. 'Aidan says I met her but I honestly don't remember. She lives nearby, apparently, and he's known her all his life but they only just got together a few months ago.'

'So will he stay on the farm or get his own place do you think?' Ronan asked. Aidan had spent all of his working life on the farm and he'd always said that he would never leave it. His aim in going to agricultural college was to bring the family up to date with the latest technological advancements and show himself as a worthy heir to his father. Now that he was getting married, Ronan wondered if his ambitions had changed.

'His dad has given him a plot of land so he can build a house,' Conor told him, 'so it looks like he plans to stay put.'

'His fiancèe may not be that keen. It's not easy living so close to your in-laws.'

Conor laughed. 'Dad, the farm is over a thousand acres, I don't think that's going to be a problem.'

'It's not the land that counts,' Ronan retorted, 'it's who your neighbours are. Still, if you say she's a local she'll have her own family nearby. When's the wedding?'

'October.' Conor sighed. 'That gives me about seven months to work on my speech.'

Ronan chuckled. 'You're going to be the best man?'

Conor nodded. 'For my sins. He says he can't trust any of his friends in Clare because they know too much about him. He figures any story I'll come up with will be from his time in Dublin and no one will be able to check it out.' Conor grinned. 'He's forgetting, however, that I worked alongside him in Clare for nearly four years and we went on three foreign holidays together.'

Ronan shook his head as he thought about the quiet, skinny lad whom Conor was talking about. 'I can't imagine Aidan having ever got up to any mischief.'

Conor laughed. 'He didn't. That's why I'm going to need seven months to come up with something interesting.' As he talked, Conor quickly put teabags into two mugs and carried them to the table. Then he went to the fridge for the milk which he sniffed before pronouncing it safe.

'How can a cattle farmer have sour milk?' Ronan complained.

'It's not sour and they're not dairy cows.' He sat down opposite his father and carefully took the bag out of his mug. 'So, what are you doing up here, Dad?'

'Just reporting back,' Ronan said, peering cautiously into his mug and also sniffing the milk before adding a drop to his tea.

'You talked to Dee?'

Ronan nodded. 'I've just left her.' He took a sip of his tea and winced. 'Thankfully I had my elevenses there.'

'So, how did it go?' Conor asked.

'Fine, I suppose.'

'So she's going to hire someone?'

'I didn't give her a lot of choice.'

'You don't look too happy about it.'

Ronan sighed. 'I'm not. I don't like to force the girl's hand, but you're quite right; she needs the help and I need to know that she has some back-up. To be honest, I'm a bit embarrassed that I didn't think of it myself; not very professional.'

'The café was never your core business, Dad, you're a shopkeeper.'

Ronan nodded. 'True, but I have been very slipshod with the way I'm running the place. It should be an absolute goldmine at this stage and it would be if I put a bit more thought and effort into it. Maybe Dee isn't the only one who needs an assistant.'

'If Mum gave up her charity work she could help.'

'If your mother gave up the charity work we'd be divorced within a year,' Ronan retorted only half joking. 'So, anyway, I did what you asked. Now we'll just have to wait and see what she does next.' Ronan abandoned his tea and stood up.

Conor smiled. 'Thanks, Dad.'

Dee was still making lists, notes and prodding her little calculator later that afternoon when the phone rang. Vi had gone, promising not to come back for a couple of days.

'And hopefully by then you'll have your sparkle back,' she'd said, cupping Dee's face in her hands. 'There's always a solution, Dee, you just have to find it.'

But Dee couldn't. Well, there were lots of solutions but none she felt happy with. The easiest thing to do would be to use Neil's money but she wouldn't do that without his blessing and the thought of going to him, cap in hand, and telling him what a mess she was in didn't appeal.

She put down the calculator and went to the phone. 'Hello, Happy Days Crèche?'

'Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number. I was looking for Dee Hewson.'

'That's me.'

'Oh! I thought you were a chef!'

'I am, but I rent part of my home to Happy Days Crèche,' Dee explained. 'So do you need an event catered for?'

'No, no, nothing like that. Sorry, this is Carolyn Maher; I'm the producer on the
Right Now
programme on Seven TV.'

'Oh?' Dee frowned. She had seen
Right Now
a couple of times. It was a talk show that was on every afternoon where five people sat around drinking coffee and discussing the main topics in the news.

'We're doing a piece on tomorrow's show about the problems facing women when they are trying to buy healthy foods for their family and I wondered if you would be part of the panel.'

'Me?'

'We'd need you in the studio by about three tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow? Oh, I'm not sure—'

'And, of course, we'd arrange for a car to collect you and take you home afterwards.'

'I really don't know—'

'There would be a small remuneration to compensate you for your time,' the woman continued smoothly.

'What time will the car be here?'

'Oh God, was I completely mad? I think I'll phone and say I'm sick and I can't come.'

'You can't do that!' Lisa exclaimed as she went through Dee's wardrobe. 'It's twelve o'clock, they'd never be able to get someone to stand in for you. You've got to go,' she said as Dee opened her mouth again to protest. 'What are you going to do with your hair?'

Dee put a hand up to her ponytail. 'I wasn't going to do anything with it; I washed it this morning.'

'You can't go like that; you look like a—'

'Cook? Childminder? An overworked mother?'

Lisa sighed. 'You're going on TV, for God's sake, you have to make some kind of effort.'

Dee put a hand to her mouth. 'You know I may not have to pretend I'm sick.'

Lisa smiled. 'You'll be great. Just concentrate on what you want to say and you'll be fine.'

Dee stared at her, her eyes wide. 'But what if I can't say a thing? What if my mind goes blank?'

Lisa thought for a minute. 'Think of a couple of anecdotes that you can churn out if you can't think of anything else to say.'

'Oh, yeah, that's good.' Dee started to pace the room, chewing on her thumb. 'But what?'

'Tell them about some of the things you changed in Sam's diet and the mistakes you made. And why not put together a list of top grocery shopping tips?'

Dee looked at her in admiration. 'You're good at this.' She pulled her pencil out of her apron pocket, sat down at the dressing table and started to scribble on a scrap of paper.

'Good, now all we have to figure out is what you wear.' Lisa turned back to the wardrobe and gazed at the rows of jeans and T-shirts. 'I wish I had time to go home and get you something of mine. It would be two sizes too big but it would still be better than this lot.'

'I'll wear my denim skirt,' Dee said absently.

Lisa pulled out the narrow, knee-length skirt – one of the three skirts Dee owned.

'Okay, but you need something dressy with it.' Inspiration struck. 'Where do you keep your undies?'

'Over there.' Dee pointed at the chest of drawers under the window. 'But—'