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“Wow,” Sean whispered in my ear, voicing my thoughts aloud, as I followed Edel and Ollie back down the staircase to an open-plan kitchen-living area.
“Yeah, kid,” I whispered back. “Wow.”
“Of course, if you would prefer to stay in the main house, that is absolutely fine by me, Joey love. I’m not trying to push you out in any shape or form. I’m just trying to be sensitive to your little family’s needs.”
This woman.
Not only had she taken on my brothers and sister, but she was providing shelter for my little family.
My little family.
Fuck.
“Jesus, Edel,” was all I could muster. “I don’t know what to say to you.”
My gut reaction was to refuse her offer.
To tell her no thank you.
To run for the hills from this woman.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
Because time in therapy had helped me to come to terms with the fact that I couldn’t do this on my own.
That it was okay to ask for help.
More importantly, it was okay to accept it.
“I…” I shook my head, feeling at a complete loss. “One day, I will pay you back for everything.”
“Joey love.” Closing the space between us, she pressed her hand to my cheek and smiled up at me. “You being here is all the payment I need.”
______________________
“Where’s Tadhg?” I asked John later that evening, when we were alone in the kitchen of the main house. Darren and Alex had left to drop Nanny back to Alice’s house in Beara, but the kids and Gussie were still in full-swing party mode outside.
It didn’t sit well with me that Tadhg hadn’t shown up.
I knew why, of course.
I’d hurt him the most.
His reaction to my leaving felt remarkably like my reaction to Darren leaving all those years ago.
“I suspect he’s down the back field in the treehouse,” John replied as he cut the crusts off a chocolate spread sandwich for Sean before using a cookie cutter to make dinosaur-shaped sandwiches. “He’s thrilled you’re home, Joey. He’s just… Well, you know Tadhg better than anyone.”
“He’s pissed as hell is what you mean to say,” I offered up, resting a hip against the counter, as I watched this hotshot barrister take great care in preparing snacks for my baby brother. “I get it, John. I don’t blame him one bit. I checked out on him. He’s going to hold on to that in his head.” It’s what I taught him to do.
“He has a couple of spare hurleys and sliotars stashed in the utility room,” John told me. “Somehow, I have a feeling that he would enjoy a puck about a lot more with his brother than with a bunch of rugby players.”
My heart skipped a beat. “He’s still hurling?”
“Like a demon,” John replied with a smile. “He’s hell-bent on following in his big brother’s footsteps.”
“Jesus, that’s a worrying concept,” I muttered, rubbing my jaw as I moved for the utility room to grab a couple of hurls.
