The Player and the Pixie
Page 69
And this woman refused to know her.
“Shopping I take it?” Mrs. Fitzpatrick asked benignly.
“No,” I said, just to be contrary. A ferocious unpleasantness caught me unexpectedly. As such, all my remarks henceforth would be acerbic at best, belligerent at worst.
Eilish gave me an odd look and forced a laugh. “Of course. We’re dress shopping for a wedding this weekend.”
Belligerently, I added, “For your grandson’s wedding, as a matter of fact.”
Mrs. Fitzpatrick blinked, but the empty curve of her lips, meant to be a smile, didn’t waver. “Quite.”
“Yes. Did you know Ronan is getting married?” I pressed. “And to a lovely girl, too. Brilliant, actually.”
Eilish’s odd look became something altogether different, because she knew how I disliked Ronan. To her ear, it must’ve sounded like I was taking up for him.
And perhaps I was.
Troubling thought, that.
“Mr. Cassidy, we don’t speak of those people. They’re hardly—”
“What? Hardly what?” I didn’t raise my voice. Rather I lowered it, softened it,
Yet something in my tone must’ve communicated my ire because the senior Fitzpatrick lifted her chin and sniffed before responding with a dismissive flick of her wrist, “Hardly anyone of import. We all, as I’m sure you can appreciate, have unfortunate relations we’d rather not discuss.”
I ignored her slight against me and pushed the issue. “And what of your granddaughter?”
“I don’t know the girl, nor do I wish to.”
I flinched, not certain why I’d expected a different answer. How the woman could speak of Lucy as if she were unfortunate was beyond me. Was violence against women permitted when the woman in question was as warm as a can of piss?
My features likely betrayed my thoughts as Eilish felt it necessary to insinuate herself between me and the high and mighty Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “Let me take you to the front, Theresa is ringing our purchases, but I think Bridget should be free to lend a hand if you’re looking for something . . .”
Eilish’s voice faded, gently leading the other woman into the main shop and away from me.
My cousin’s interference was a good thing as my thoughts were still violent.
Lucy’s grandmother was the matriarch of nothing in particular since she’d refused to accept the children of her only son as family. My aunt and uncle wouldn’t win any parent of the year awards, but they had taken me in when my mother fobbed me off. Aunt Cara was unpleasant and unfeeling, but at least she’d gone through the motions.
But the elder Mrs. Fitzpatrick . . . I surmised her pride was the only source of warmth in her house. It was a big house, so her pride must’ve been substantial. Colossal even.
“What was that about?” Eilish reappeared, her green eyes wide and rimmed with astonishment.
“She’s an unfeeling old shrew.”
“Shhh!” Eilish rushed over, flapping her hands frantically, and whispered harshly, “She’ll hear you.”
“I don’t care if she does. Nor do I imagine she cares what I say.”
I recalled Lucy’s words from so many weeks ago, when we were in the taxi, just before I’d hoisted her to my shoulders and she’d subjected me to street meat. It was something about finding beauty in strength. A sentiment I’d rejected at the time, but which made a great deal more sense now, faced with her weak relation.
My cousin surveyed me for a moment, confusion etched in the way her forehead wrinkled. “What has gotten into you? I thought you despised Ronan?”
“He’s not so bad.” I glanced at the ceiling, deciding and saying the words at the same time.
If Ronan had been the one responsible—as Lucy had claimed—for keeping her protected from the influence of those awful people, giving her a loving home, support, keeping her safe, then I supposed I could do better than my constant badgering.
“I never thought I’d hear you say those words.” She was all astonishment. “You’ve always called him an ape.”
“Apes aren’t all bad.” I shrugged. “They’re loyal and strong, they take care of their own. He acts without thinking, takes risks, wears his heart on his sleeve, allows his emotions to overtake good sense. But perhaps . . .” I stared over her shoulder, my attention caught on a shiny, rainbow sequin dress, hanging on a return rack.
“Perhaps what?” Eilish prompted, trying to follow my line of sight.
I felt my mouth curve with an unbidden smile, because I was going to buy the dress for Lucy. Rules and decency be damned. Somehow I was going to convince Ronan Ape Fitzpatrick I was worthy of his sister.
“Perhaps, my dear cousin, good sense is overrated.”
Chapter Eighteen
@LucyFitz Simon Cowell is my weird celeb crush. There, I said it.
@Anniecat to @LucyFitz I always suspected high-waisted slacks put the float in your boat ;-)
@LucyFitz to @Anniecat It’s actually the twinkle in his eye. Makes me wonder what he’s thinking…
*Lucy*
“I suppose it won’t be long before we hear the pitter-patter of little feet,” Mam said to Annie as we sat in the sauna in our swimming costumes—sweating—because apparently it was good for the skin.
It was the day before the wedding and we were at the K Club, a gigantic period hotel and golf course in Kildare, where both the ceremony and reception were being held.
“Shopping I take it?” Mrs. Fitzpatrick asked benignly.
“No,” I said, just to be contrary. A ferocious unpleasantness caught me unexpectedly. As such, all my remarks henceforth would be acerbic at best, belligerent at worst.
Eilish gave me an odd look and forced a laugh. “Of course. We’re dress shopping for a wedding this weekend.”
Belligerently, I added, “For your grandson’s wedding, as a matter of fact.”
Mrs. Fitzpatrick blinked, but the empty curve of her lips, meant to be a smile, didn’t waver. “Quite.”
“Yes. Did you know Ronan is getting married?” I pressed. “And to a lovely girl, too. Brilliant, actually.”
Eilish’s odd look became something altogether different, because she knew how I disliked Ronan. To her ear, it must’ve sounded like I was taking up for him.
And perhaps I was.
Troubling thought, that.
“Mr. Cassidy, we don’t speak of those people. They’re hardly—”
“What? Hardly what?” I didn’t raise my voice. Rather I lowered it, softened it,
Yet something in my tone must’ve communicated my ire because the senior Fitzpatrick lifted her chin and sniffed before responding with a dismissive flick of her wrist, “Hardly anyone of import. We all, as I’m sure you can appreciate, have unfortunate relations we’d rather not discuss.”
I ignored her slight against me and pushed the issue. “And what of your granddaughter?”
“I don’t know the girl, nor do I wish to.”
I flinched, not certain why I’d expected a different answer. How the woman could speak of Lucy as if she were unfortunate was beyond me. Was violence against women permitted when the woman in question was as warm as a can of piss?
My features likely betrayed my thoughts as Eilish felt it necessary to insinuate herself between me and the high and mighty Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “Let me take you to the front, Theresa is ringing our purchases, but I think Bridget should be free to lend a hand if you’re looking for something . . .”
Eilish’s voice faded, gently leading the other woman into the main shop and away from me.
My cousin’s interference was a good thing as my thoughts were still violent.
Lucy’s grandmother was the matriarch of nothing in particular since she’d refused to accept the children of her only son as family. My aunt and uncle wouldn’t win any parent of the year awards, but they had taken me in when my mother fobbed me off. Aunt Cara was unpleasant and unfeeling, but at least she’d gone through the motions.
But the elder Mrs. Fitzpatrick . . . I surmised her pride was the only source of warmth in her house. It was a big house, so her pride must’ve been substantial. Colossal even.
“What was that about?” Eilish reappeared, her green eyes wide and rimmed with astonishment.
“She’s an unfeeling old shrew.”
“Shhh!” Eilish rushed over, flapping her hands frantically, and whispered harshly, “She’ll hear you.”
“I don’t care if she does. Nor do I imagine she cares what I say.”
I recalled Lucy’s words from so many weeks ago, when we were in the taxi, just before I’d hoisted her to my shoulders and she’d subjected me to street meat. It was something about finding beauty in strength. A sentiment I’d rejected at the time, but which made a great deal more sense now, faced with her weak relation.
My cousin surveyed me for a moment, confusion etched in the way her forehead wrinkled. “What has gotten into you? I thought you despised Ronan?”
“He’s not so bad.” I glanced at the ceiling, deciding and saying the words at the same time.
If Ronan had been the one responsible—as Lucy had claimed—for keeping her protected from the influence of those awful people, giving her a loving home, support, keeping her safe, then I supposed I could do better than my constant badgering.
“I never thought I’d hear you say those words.” She was all astonishment. “You’ve always called him an ape.”
“Apes aren’t all bad.” I shrugged. “They’re loyal and strong, they take care of their own. He acts without thinking, takes risks, wears his heart on his sleeve, allows his emotions to overtake good sense. But perhaps . . .” I stared over her shoulder, my attention caught on a shiny, rainbow sequin dress, hanging on a return rack.
“Perhaps what?” Eilish prompted, trying to follow my line of sight.
I felt my mouth curve with an unbidden smile, because I was going to buy the dress for Lucy. Rules and decency be damned. Somehow I was going to convince Ronan Ape Fitzpatrick I was worthy of his sister.
“Perhaps, my dear cousin, good sense is overrated.”
Chapter Eighteen
@LucyFitz Simon Cowell is my weird celeb crush. There, I said it.
@Anniecat to @LucyFitz I always suspected high-waisted slacks put the float in your boat ;-)
@LucyFitz to @Anniecat It’s actually the twinkle in his eye. Makes me wonder what he’s thinking…
*Lucy*
“I suppose it won’t be long before we hear the pitter-patter of little feet,” Mam said to Annie as we sat in the sauna in our swimming costumes—sweating—because apparently it was good for the skin.
It was the day before the wedding and we were at the K Club, a gigantic period hotel and golf course in Kildare, where both the ceremony and reception were being held.
