Page 31 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin

‘Why is that?’ he of course asks, his expression the same.

I put on Logan’s stroppy accent. ‘‘‘I’m not eating animal produce anymore. I’m turning vegan.” That’s what Logan told me one Christmas Eve as we strolled down Grafton Street – after I’d been slaving in a sweaty, stressed state over our turkey and ham all day, and I cannot cook!’

‘Shit timing alright,’ Donal says with a roll of his eyes, removing a cushion from behind him. ‘This tool has a pattern for shit timing on his decisions.’

‘Ain’t that the truth,’ I acknowledge.

I move into the kitchenette, take the newly bought ready meal from the freezer, try to bat away the dry ice that circulates.

‘So, what happened to the Christmas dinner?’ he calls after me.

‘I binned it. I’d burnt it anyway. It was a horrible Christmas. He’d been waiting for news on an audition for a show in the West End, and he was like a boiling kettle with a broken off-switch – down to the last three, he was, moments away from a career-changing casting decision. It was also the night he proposed.’

I slide the beef stroganoff out of the cardboard, peeling off the plastic. I set it down.

‘Again, shit timing. How did he do it, the proposal?’ Donal crosses his long legs.

I pull open the fridge and lift out two cold Whiplash beers. ‘We were standing, teeth chattering, in the icy cold in front of a horse and cart at the top of St Stephen’s Green. Suddenly Logan hopped up into the carriage said, “Come on! Let’s have a little jaunt, you love a horse and carriage, you old romantic you.” Glass?’ I ask Donal, holding up the beer can.

‘Can is fine. For me. That was romantic I guess?’

‘‘‘We can’t afford this,” was the first thing I said! And it was the truth. Nothing like a few maxed-out credit cards to take the romance out of any situation.’ I return to the couch, hand him the can. He shifts up and I sit down beside him.

‘Thank you, I’ll enjoy this, manual labour is tough in this heat.’ He clasps the can in his large hand.

‘Says to leave the beef out for ten minutes before cooking.’ I scrunch up my nose. ‘Who am I to argue with ready-meal instructions.’ Looking up at him, I’m so relaxed, he feels so familiar and it’s gorgeous to have him beside me on my couch, that I cross my legs, slip off my Crocs. It’s that vibe he has that I felt the very first time I set eyes on him. So chilled. So unlike Logan who was on 24/7. I thought I liked that energy, but now that I’ve felt this energy, I like it more.

‘So, that was the proposal, huh?’ he says.

‘Yup,’ I add.

Donal peels back the can ring with a hiss; foam escapes and he puts his mouth to it quickly, not a drop spills. ‘Did he have a ring?’

‘Nope. No ring. I had to ask if we were really engaged. It felt unlike anything I’d imagined that moment to feel like. And believe you me, I had imagined the moment a lot. Like I said to you, I pushed him into the marriage.’ I open my own beer.

‘You loved him.’ Donal sets those green eyes of his on me.

I look down at the can in my hand, turn the sippy hole towards my mouth. I don’t reply.

‘But you also told me his happiness dictated your happiness?’

‘Totally.’ I nod, drink a fizzy mouthful.

‘Don’t you think your happiness should come first? I totally do. I think once you are happy, you make other people happy, not the other way round.’

I think about this. Did Logan ever really care about my happiness?

‘Do you want to talk about this?’ He recognises my silence.

‘No,’ I say truthfully, with a shake of my head. ‘I’ve bored you enough. Let’s talk about something cheerier.’

Donal stands up, puts his can down on my table, strolls to thedoor, peers around it. ‘That’s a really cool rooftop, why don’t you let me rustle up some food for us, and you sit out in the sun?’

‘Don’t be silly—’ I start, but he walks his long limbs back to the couch.

He reaches his hand down to me. ‘You need to let people look after you occasionally, Grace.’

So I take his hand, it’s warm as he pulls me up. I side-eye him. This feels so strange.