‘Tell him it’s only down the road!’ says Laura, so loudly Art can definitely hear her.
‘It’s only down the road,’ I repeat dutifully.
‘Sure,’ says Art cheerfully. ‘Sounds good.’
‘He’s coming,’ I say.
‘Excellent! See you at eight. And bring some posh crisps.’
‘Okay. Get your servants to set another place at the table for Art,’ I say. ‘In your dining wing.’
Laura laughs. ‘Oh, shut up. I’ll see you later. In mykitchen.’ She hangs up.
‘Does your sister actually have servants?’ says Art. ‘Or, like, staff?’
‘Of course she doesn’t!’ Then something hits me. ‘Well, they have a cleaner. And actually they have an assistant for work stuff. Shit, I suppose they do have staff.’
‘Seriously, though,’ he says, ‘are you sure you don’t mind me tagging along to your family thing? I don’t have to come if it’ll be weird for you.’
I do want him to tag along to this dinner. I’d like to just … hang out with him. Without any work stuff. Or, well, sex stuff.
‘I don’t mind,’ I say.
The evening sun is golden when Art and I arrive at Laura and Tadhg’s house in Marino Crescent. We actually got some decent work done this afternoon, but we’ve definitely hit our limit for the day, so I don’t feel bad about taking the night off. I hit the button beside the massive wooden gates and a moment later the buzzer sounds and the smaller pedestrian gate clicks open.
‘Wow,’ says Art as we walk up the gravel drive. ‘Nice house.’
The front door opens and there’s Laura, a summery retro vision in a belted eighties floral dress, holding a glass of wine. ‘Hello! You must be Art. I’m Laura.’
‘Great to meet you,’ says Art. He holds up a bag. ‘We brought posh crisps.’
‘I love you already,’ says Laura.
When we go into the spacious kitchen, Tadhg is putting something into the oven that smells extraordinary. I get on very well with my brother-in-law these days, though it took me a while. I was a bit suspicious of him when he and Laura got together after not talking to each other for years. But I can’t deny how sound he is or how happy they make each other. He’s like family now.
‘Nice oven gloves,’ I say. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a coconut and lime potato gratin,’ says Tadhg. ‘We’re going to eat it with some spicy roast chicken. If I haven’t dried out the chicken.’ He takes a cast-iron casserole out of the kitchen’s lower oven and sets it on a trivet on the marble counter. Then he raises an oven-gloved hand and grins at Art. ‘Hey. I’m Tadhg. Sorry, I’vegot to baste this chicken. I just realised I forgot to set the timer so it’s been in too long.’
Art laughs. ‘I’m Art. And no apologies necessary. That smells incredible.’
‘There’s wine open on the table,’ says Tadhg as he returns to the chicken, ‘and beer in the fridge if you fancy one.’
‘A beer sounds great,’ says Art. ‘Thanks a million.’ He turns to me. ‘Do you want one, Annie?’
‘Yeah, please.’
While Art rummages around in the fridge for some cans of IPA, Laura points at him and mouths the words ‘Not bad!’ at me. I mouth the words ‘Stop that!’ back at her just before Art turns around, bearing the cans.
‘So,’ says Laura, ‘I hearNorthside’s turning out to be a bit of a nightmare.’
Art laughs. ‘You could say that. But’ – he smiles at me – ‘I think Annie and I have it under control. Just about.’
‘Only just about,’ I say.
‘Well, says Laura, ‘I need to hear all about meeting Ma Cusack. Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul about your secret shoot.’
‘Who’s Ma Cusack?’ says Tadhg, joining us at the table with his own beer.