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“Did you know”—he continues while lifting another shockingly revealing bra, this time in pink—“that Ann Summers struggled to get a business loan to open her chain of underwear shops, as the bank board members, who were all men, said that women wouldn’t be interested in sexy underwear?”
“Well, Father Murray would say that they shouldn’t be. And this shop sells more than underwear.”
Aidan smirks. “That it does. What do you think Father Murray would say about this one?” He points to the far wall, and I burst out in giggles. Aidan tilts his head to the side. “I could picture you in a naughty nun costume.”
I point to the white collared suit and cloak next to the sinfully short nun costume and pretend to gag. “I don’t ever want you to dress up as Father Murray.”
“So, Father Murray doesn’t do it for you, huh?”
I shake my head violently. I hesitate for a second, then whisper my secret, “He’s creepy!”
I’ve been so engrossed in our blasphemous conversation, I haven’t noticed that Aidan has led me further into the shop. Now I wish the ground would open under my feet. All around me, shelf upon shelf, holds boxes with…penis toys. I want to close my eyes, but instead they widen in shock. Do they really come in all these different shapes, colours and sizes? I’m sure my cheeks have turned permanently crimson, and my jaw is to the ground as my gaze flick from box to box.
“I’d say this one will do.”
He grabs a box containing a slim gold-coloured vibrator.
“It’s smaller than yours—” I clamp my mouth shut.
His warm breath washes over me as he leans down and chuckles. “It will do the job, don’t worry.”
23
Aidan
Caitlin scrunches up her nose in the most adorable way as she studies the laminated menu.
“They don’t have any… healthy options.”
“With the exception of the stew and the chowder, I doubt this pub has anything that’s not deep fried.”
“Mum says that Dad has a tendency to put on weight, and as I take after him, I need to be careful what I eat.”
“Your dad has those extra kilos because he picks up a fry for breakfast every morning at Laury’s Chippy and has a Guinness or two with his lunch.”
“He has a fry every morning?” she asks, eyes wide as saucers. “But he always has muesli and fruit before he leaves the house!”
“Have whatever you want from the menu, Caitlin,” I insist and tuck a stray red lock behind her ear.
This is meant to be a revenge on her dad, and nothing more, but I’m starting to enjoy young Caitlin’s company. She’s cute and entertaining in her innocent ways. I also suspect that she’s an artist stuck in a square box of rules and laws, repressed and screaming to be set free. Something I can relate to – her fatheris restricting both of us.
“Do you think Fin’s designs will be a big success?” Caitlin asks, after we’ve placed our orders.
“Well… The thing about his range is that the pieces are very expensive. It means that he only has to sell a few items to earn good money. Our pieces are cheaper, so we have to sell many to earn the same amount. At the same time, the target market for Junior is smaller – less people with that amount of disposable income, whereas our target market is a hell of a lot bigger – both in terms of financial capacity of the buyers, but also because the items have an appeal that covers a larger market, not only the religious or tourist market.”
“Okay.”
Her eyes glazed over while I was speaking. It’s not the first time that I’ve realised Caitlin doesn’t have much understanding of business; she’s an artist, shefeels. I relate to that – Finbar and my arrangement was that he had the business acumen and I had the creative talent. Regretfully, with the way he’s been conducting the business, I’ve been forced into the corporate side. I’m not bad at it, but it’s not what I set out to do.
I move Caitlin closer to me on the worn, green leather seat. We’re quite private in a booth at the back of Madigan’s. Some locals are gathered at the bar and only a handful of tables are taken by tourists who’ve dared to enter this murky pub.
“Tell me, Caitlin,” I say and place my palm on her knee, caressing her soft skin. “How did it feel being in the shop earlier?”
She swallows, taking a moment before she answers. “Embarrassing?”
“And did it make you feel something else? Between your legs?”
Her breath hitches as I push further up, under her skirt. It’s a blue one today, matched with one of her usual white blouses.
