Page 3 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin

‘Shit!’ I’m still frozen to the spot. My flip-flops seem glued to the hot tarmac underneath me.

She’s no more than ten steps away from me now. TheJawstheme tune starts to play in my head.

‘No-No-No-No-No .?.?.’ I finally manage to get my brain to function and grab for my bags, but one is too full and a load of bugle beads spill out, hundreds of them rolling across the hot tarmac, sounding like wind chimes as they collide with one another. I drop to my knees, just in the nick of time, as she passes me by in a gulf of expensive-smelling citrus. I’m at eye level with that dress bag. It’s so beautiful that I almost reach up to touch the nylon casing. I’ve had so many daydreams about having a dress bag like that forBy Grace Algar. Copping myself on, I heave a sigh of relief and concentrate on gathering as many beads as I can into my hands when suddenly I hear a calm, low male voice.

‘Here, let me help you.’

I just nod, afraid to look up. I hear a kerfuffle, then see two large white hands grab for the scattering beads. They scoop and drop handfuls into my bag at an impressive speed. There’s an open Claddagh ring on his right hand, a silver link bracelet on the left. I keep my head down as those long lean fingers gather more swiftly and efficiently, chasing after every solitary bead. A pair of oxblood-red Doc Martens circle me, the short laces undone.

‘Think that’s the lot,’ he says moments later in a slightly breathless pant as I lift my chin. Slowly, I remove my shades.

There is a lot to notice about this man, but the first thing that strikes me are his eyes. The deepest green, a vivid intensity. They are framed by the longest, darkest eyelashes, making them even more hypnotic. But it’s fair to say he’s the most unusual-looking man I’ve ever seen.

Unconventional.

Lanky.

Shockingly bright red hair and a wild ginger beard. His locks are shoulder length and hang down around his oval face. It’s like this man hasn’t seen a barber in years. He’s dressed in a loose, sleeveless, V-necked grey T-shirt with a slogan I can’t make out and tight-fitting blue jeans with those boots. He holds his height well, doesn’t slouch. He curls his long fingers on his right hand into a type of claw, then drags his long hair back off his face. He picks up his own bag – a black-tie suit-hire bag – but still he holds my eye. I don’t know what it is, but there is a certain vibe about him. An intriguing aura.

‘Thanks a million.’ I blink a few times, scrambling to my feet and grabbing my bags by the plastic handles.

I’m still acutely aware that Emma Stark has just passed me by. I return my gaze to his for a split second before I turn away quickly. What if she’s watching me right now? What if she comesback? I haven’t spoken to her since we left college. I keep my head low as he lifts his bike, an old silver racer, up off the path. I take a swift glance up to see Emma turning the corner at the end of the road onto South Great George’s street.

‘No worries,’ he says and hangs the bag off the handlebar.

I exhale with a puff of my cheeks, utterly relieved as they deflate slowly. ‘You’re so very kind,’ I murmur.

He swings a long leg over the crossbar with a side grin. ‘You’re so very welcome.’ His voice is smooth, low, with a soft, even timbre. I find it soothing, and as he smiles at me, those green eyes light up. He fishes for the flat part of the pedal and rests his foot on it. I notice his bright yellow socks with a Trinity College Dublin imprint. Tourist socks. But he has a broad Dublin accent.

‘Going to a wedding?’ I point at the bag. I know the rental shop well. ‘You better get a move on,’ I say, before realising it sounds like I’m trying to get rid of him.

He narrows his eyes at me, opens his mouth to say something and drags his free hand down his wild beard.

‘ I – I didn’t mean .?.?. It’s just .?.?. if it’s not returned by midday they charge you an extra day’s hire, I know the place well, I work in the industry.’ I take a step sideways so he has room to move the bike.

‘I actually just bought the suit outright,’ he says. ‘Saves me the hassle. I have an upcoming wedding.’ He spins the pedal again with his left foot, supports himself and the bike with his resting leg.

‘Right, yeah, of course. They sell them, too,’ I say.

He spins the pedal with his foot again. ‘I needed a suit anyway, you never know when someone might die .?.?. Oh! Oh, ow!’ The pedal smacks him hard on his shin and he doubles over the handlebars. ‘I deserved that!’ he moans lightly.

I wince. ‘Ow. That hurtme! You okay?’ My eyes dart to hisshin and those socks. I see a trickle of bright red blood run down the walls of Trinity College. ‘You’re bleeding.’

‘Ah, I’m grand.’ But he grimaces as he presses his hand to the cut that’s spouting blood. ‘Bloody thin socks. The sharp edge of the pedal just nicked me in the wrong spot. Serves me right for wearing tosser’s socks, I just love that building.’

Without thinking, I blurt, ‘Here, why don’t you park your bike up with those other bikes and let me buy you a coffee? Go to the bathroom and clean up your leg.’ I nod to the open glass doors behind me as the aroma of freshly brewing coffee oozes out.

‘Oh, erm. Yeah, o-okay,’ he stammers, steadies himself, throws his leg over and dismounts.

‘Follow me in,’ I tell him as I jerk my head towards the doors.

I duck straight into Fallon & Byrne’s café behind me. Through the glass, I watch him limp and then lock his bike up. Now I’m wondering why on earth I’ve just asked this stranger if I can buy him a coffee. It must be the shock! I mean, what a morning I’ve had. First the news I’ve been dying to hear that I’m about to see Logan again. Then I almost come face-to-face with my old classmate, Emma bloody Stark! I’ve been actively avoiding her since she betrayed me in our design-college days, stole my internship and became the successful bridal designer I so badly wanted to be. I did not feel strong enough to face her today of all days. The air conditioning is blissfully cold; I re-secure my claw clip to tidy myself up a bit. I’ve asked him now so I can’t take it back. Quick coffee and I’m out of here. I’ll buy a bottle of wine on the way home to celebrate my Logan news and calm myself down.

‘What can I get you?’ I ask when he wanders in aimlessly, looking around him for the gents.

‘Americano would be great, thanks, if you’re sure? Good drop of milk. One sugar.’ His arms seem so long, dangling down by his sides. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as Ipoint to the toilets sign down the stairs. I can read the slogan on his T-shirt now: it says ‘Born to be mild’. ‘I’m Donal,’ he says awkwardly.

‘Grace,’ I reply. ‘I’ll get our coffees. You crack on.’