Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series) (26 page)

Muireann proved to be a surprisingly good worker. She was a natural with the customers, particularly the men. To Fiona’s amazement, she’d read a number of the more popular authors and was happy to chat with customers about their favorite books. She’d never work her cousin out. The woman was an enigma.

“Is it okay if I go on a break?” Muireann asked when the throng had eased.

“Yeah, go on,” Fiona said, wrestling with a stubborn roll of two-euro coins. “Be back in fifteen minutes, then I’ll take my break.”

Her cousin sauntered across the hall in the direction of the cake stand.

A cacophony of barking drew Fiona’s attention away from the unfolding drama of Gavin and Muireann’s first post-non-honeymoon encounter to the hall entrance.

Oh, no.

Aunt Deirdre, Bridie, and their respective canine companions stood underneath the mistletoe, glaring at one another. Deirdre carried Mitzi and Bitzi in an oversized handbag while Bridie had Wiggly Poo on a lead.

Fiona exhaled a sigh. This was all she needed.

Aunt Deirdre tottered through the hall on her stilettos, giving a regal nod to people she deemed worthy and the cut direct to those she did not. She halted in front of the bookstall and gave Fiona a haughty once-over. Mitzi and Bitzi stared at Fiona through their beady eyes. “Fiona,” her aunt trilled. “What a lovely pullover. It’s amazing what bargains one can find these days at Oxfam.”

Fiona exhaled slowly. If suggesting she’d found her pullover at a charity shop was the worst insult Deirdre was going to throw at her, she could cope.

Deirdre leaned closer, presenting Fiona with a close-up of her artificially frozen forehead. “I know why you’ve always needed to compete with Muireann. You have an inferiority complex. Understandable, given your history.”

“I miss my parents, but rest assured I don’t envy Muireann you as a mother.”

Her aunt’s thin lips twisted. “The police told Bernard what happened. We know Eamonn’s death was your fault.”

The words hit Fiona like a punch to the solar plexus. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“I’m sure you tell yourself that, my dear, but Eamonn wouldn’t have died if he’d been wearing his seatbelt. According to Bernard’s police contact, he took it off because he was fighting with you in the back of the car.”

Hot tears stung Fiona’s eyes. She blinked them back. What a bitch. What a complete and utter cow.

“So tell me… how do you live with yourself?”

“Stop it.” Her tears were falling as fast as her rapid breathing. “Just stop it. I know you hate me for what happened at the wedding, but don’t drag Eamonn into this. His death was not my fault.”

Deirdre sneered. “If it wasn’t your fault, why do you feel guilty?”

“Shut your miserable gob and leave Fiona alone.” Bridie and Wiggly Poo stood side-by-side, united in indignation. The puppy growled at Deirdre and his archenemies, Mitzi and Bitzi.

“Get that rabid beast away from my babies,” snapped Deirdre. “He ought to be put down.”

“The only one who ought to be put down is you,” Bridie said. “How dare you spout such vicious lies? I know you’re bitter about the broken engagement, but Gavin and Muireann were never a good fit. In a few years time, they’ll consider this a blessing.”

“What would you know?” retorted Deirdre. “You’re a miserable old spinster whose tepid love interest is a man even more ancient than yourself.”

“I clearly know more about your daughter’s feelings than you do,” Bridie said, bristling. “You direct all your attention to those fecking Chewbaccas.”

Through her tears, Fiona choked back a laugh.

Deirdre’s frozen forehead struggled to emote, but it was a losing battle. “My what?”

Fiona blew her nose. “She’s referring to those bloody rat dogs you cart around with you everywhere.”

At that moment, Mitzi and Bitzi made a leap for freedom and scampered across the hall.

Wiggly Poo gave a delighted bark and yanked on his lead. Determined to rid Ballybeg of vermin once and for all, he took off in rapid pursuit.

GAVIN’S DAY HAD GONE from bad to worse. His throat felt like he’d swallowed razorblades, and his swollen sinuses were making his head throb.

Muireann was here. This was no surprise. He was grateful to Fiona for forewarning him, but foreknowledge hadn’t lessened the impact of seeing her in the flesh. She’d lost a lot of weight and looked peaky in spite of her tan.

Here was the woman he’d intended to marry standing next to the woman he had married, albeit unwittingly. Muireann was wealthy, connected, and effortlessly beautiful. Fiona, in contrast, was everything Muireann was not: funny, sharp, sexy, and irreverent. She was neither wealthy nor connected, nor—in the traditional sense—beautiful. Yet she had the power to truly reach him, to awaken a depth of emotion he hadn’t thought himself capable of.

“Oy.” Jonas grabbed a cream bun from the tray in his arms. “Do you want to trade places? Your dripping nose is putting people off the cakes.”

“Really?” Gavin laughed. “More like you want to escape your significant other.”

“Come on, man, please?” His friend mimed a hangman’s noose. “I’m desperate. You know I’d do it for you.”

“Yeah, okay. It makes no difference to me whether I serve food or drink. Your mother won’t be impressed, though.”

“You mean because her oh-so-subtle attempt at encouraging harmony between me and Susanne backfired? Seriously, Gav, if I don’t get away from her soon, there’ll be a public fight. Definitely
not
what my mother wants at the bazaar.”

Gavin moved over to the drinks stand, where Susanne was occupied filling plastic cups with Coke. She was the blandly attractive type with dyed blond hair and clothes two sizes too small for her figure. Her smile of greeting was tight and unwelcoming. “You look like hell,” she said, giving him a wide berth. “Why aren’t you home in bed?”

“I promised Nuala I’d help out. I didn’t want to let her down.”

“So instead you decided to share your germs with us?”

“I didn’t feel this bad when I woke up. It’s gotten worse over the past few hours.”

“You should go home. You don’t want to be ill for Christmas, do you?”

“Why don’t I stick around for another half hour? The rush should be over by then.”

She nodded, already turning her attention back to the line of thirsty customers.

Gavin poured himself a glass of lemonade. He needed something to quench his thirst and give him an energy boost. He’d just taken a large gulp of his drink when Muireann appeared before him.

“Hello, Gavin.” Up close, her complexion was green beneath her tan, and dark shadows formed bags beneath her eyes.

“Hey. How are you?” He looked over at Susanne in the hope of salvation, but she was busy serving customers. Resigned, he faced his ex-fiancée. “What do you want to drink?”

“I’ll have a diet cola.” She peered closer at him. “Are you sick?”

“I could ask you the same question. Are you coming down with something?”

“Jet lag and a cold. You?”

“Also a cold.” He eyed her warily. What should he say next? Continue the charade of meaningless small talk? They’d been a couple for years yet could find nothing better to talk about now than their respective winter ailments?

He handed her the cola. Her fingers were cold as icicles.

“You should be home in bed,” he said. “Not stuck here in a draughty hall.”

“I wanted to get this over and done with. The whole town is staring at us, waiting to see what we’ll do.”

She was right. He sensed the collective gaze of the crowd boring into his flesh.

“I’m done hiding in the house,” she said. “The sooner we’re seen together in public, the sooner they’ll find something else to gossip about.”

She wasn’t far off the mark. He loathed being the center of attention, especially as the result of personal drama. He’d been there, done that a thousand times during his childhood, courtesy of his mother and her numerous break-ups.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he was parched. Grabbing his glass of lemonade, he took a gulp.

A scream worthy of a banshee stopped him mid-swallow.

Holy hell.
Mitzi and Bitzi streaked across the floor with Wiggly Poo in hot pursuit. Deirdre was by the bookstall, framed by an ashen-faced Fiona and a puce Bridie.

“Someone stop that dog,” cried Deirdre. “Save my babies.” Then she resumed her banshee wail.

Bridie stepped forward and walloped her sister-in-law across the face. “Stop your caterwauling, Deirdre. You’ve only yourself to blame for bringing those rats to the bazaar.”

“Aw, shite.” So much for not being the center of a public scene. He leaped over the drinks stand and legged it after his naughty pet.

Over by the Christmas tree, Aidan Gant was holding court with a sullen-faced Olivia at his side and a few of his political cronies as his audience. The Chihuahuas shot between his legs and hid beneath the tree.

“Aidan, do something,” shouted Deirdre, tottering across the hall. “Hold them up out of Wiggly Poo’s way.”

Aidan rearranged his facial features from slack-jawed to smarmy. “Don’t worry. I’ll have them out in a jiffy.”

Gavin caught Wiggly Poo by the collar just as Aidan was crawling beneath the Christmas tree to forcibly remove the Chihuahuas.

Out of the safety of their carrier bag and the cooing ministrations of their mistress, Mitzi and Bitzi were in no mood to be manhandled by Ballybeg’s up-and-coming politician. Aidan, clearly clueless when it came to dogs, chose that moment to stage a cheesy campaign photo. “Will you take a snap of us, Gavin?”

“What, now?” Was the man totally mad or completely self-absorbed and oblivious to the chaos around him?

“I’ll do it,” Olivia said and took her mobile phone out of her coat pocket.

The flash sent the Chihuahuas wild. One sank its jaws into Aidan’s nose, while the other attacked his cheek.

Aidan spun around yowling, the dogs clinging to his blood-streaked face.

FIONA WRAPPED THE LAST of the pre-packaged gift sets in cheery Christmas paper. In the week since the mayhem of the Christmas Bazaar, the festive shopping frenzy had begun in earnest. Good news for the Book Mark’s coffers but bad news for her feet.

Unfortunately, her hectic days didn’t prevent her mind from dwelling on her relationship with Gavin.

After much soul-searching, she’d reached to a decision. She was going to end their fling. It wasn’t just the awkwardness of having Muireann back in Ballybeg. Nor was it the ridiculousness of their non-marriage and impending divorce. She’d fallen in love with him all over again. Her heart skipped a beat whenever she saw him. She got butterflies in her stomach whenever she thought about him, and his barest touch turned her into a molten mess. She had to get out before she lost her mind as well as her heart.

“Ow!”

She looked up to see her aunt hauling a box of books into the book room. “Bridie! Let me.” She wrested the box out of her aunt’s determined grasp. “Why on earth did you decide to help out today? You know what the doctor said.”

Bridie glared at her, hands on her broad hips. “I’m sixty-four years old, missy, not four,” she retorted. “I can judge for myself whether or not I’m fit to work.”

She shook her head in defeat. “You’re impossible.”

“If
you’re
not going to buy something or help out, you can shoo!” Bridie growled at Olivia, who was perched on a stool behind the counter, flipping through a glossy magazine. Aidan was away at a conference, and Olivia had volunteered to help out at the Book Mark for a couple of hours each afternoon.

“Oh, give over,” Olivia teased. “Sure, aren’t I adding deco to the place?”

Bridie snorted. “Some deco. Cleavage is what that is, young lady. In my day, young women were taught to dress modestly.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Nowadays, every female over the age of twelve is going around with bare bellies and bosoms on display.”

“Now, Bridie,” Olivia said with a wicked grin. “Surely not
every
female over the age of twelve. I’m sure the ladies of the Ballybeg House and Crafts Society would be scandalized to learn one of their leading members was displaying her blubber to the world. Are you planning on starting a trend?”

A chortle resounded in Bridie’s throat. “Blubber? Why, I’ll give you blubber!” She pulled up her plus-size blouse and grabbed a substantial handful of flesh from around her midriff. “This, here, is what a genuine Irish woman looks like. If you two had eaten a decent meal of meat and potatoes every day when you were growing up, you wouldn’t be the scrawny beanpoles you are today.”

A strangled gasp sounded from behind them. A man—and potential customer—hovered on the doorstep. He gaped in horror at the sight of Bridie’s bare belly before beating a hasty retreat.

Fiona and Olivia erupted into laughter.

Bridie let the hem of her blouse drop. “Well!” she said indignantly. “He’s obviously not a real Irish man if he’s overcome by the sight of bare female flesh. Sure, he’s a scrawny little fella. He could do with a good feeding—and perhaps a slice of brack.”

Fiona cocked an eyebrow. “Subtle as ever, Bridie. Fine, I’ll cut us a couple of slices.” She squeezed past her friend and filled up the kettle at the small sink in the café’s minute kitchen. “Anyone for a cup of tea?”

“As long as it’s Barry’s and not those shite PG Tips. The Brits might think they’ve got a monopoly on tea, but none of their weak-kneed stuff beats a good, strong cup of Barry’s.”

She smothered a laugh. “You do realize tea doesn’t grow in Ireland? I’m sure Barry’s get their tea in places like India and Sri Lanka—just as PGs do.”

“Harrumph! Those Brits can’t make decent tea-in-a-bag. And I won’t touch those leaves. If I wanted bits of foliage floating round in my tea, I’d grab a bunch off a bush and be done with.”

Olivia lowered her magazine and looked at Bridie with a wicked glint in her eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, ‘those Brits’ include my grandfather. Who, as I recall, is your particular friend.”

Bridie blushed an unbecoming puce. “There’s nothing untoward between me and The Major,” she said primly. “He’s merely an unattached gentleman with whom I occasionally play a round of cards.”