Chapter 20

20

PATRICK

Saturday, 15 March

I lean against the counter in Mam’s kitchen drying a pot, trying to ignore the uncomfortable twist in my stomach. I might’ve been a bit too rough in the game this morning when I aggressively blocked a shot on goal and one of the other team’s midfielders got a ball to the face and a bloody nose. We have a few weeks off now, which is a relief as the weather’s been absolute bollocks. And the teams in town are all sick of us winning.

Deep down I knew it unlikely, but I’d hoped that Maddie would come to watch. But she didn’t.

I have the girls in a bit, so I can’t show up during her shift to apologize or charm her. I’m not a charming man, anyway. I’m tempted to invite her over to the cottage when she’s off. The girls would love to spend more time with Maddie. They seem to have the same goal as my sister—to force me to find a girlfriend.

But I have rules: no women at the cottage, and no women around Erin and Niamh, no matter how much they ask. It’s too personal. Too close.

“You’re dismissed.” Mam takes the pot from my hands. “I think that’s dry enough.”

“Mam?”

Her eyes flick to mine briefly. I’m so lucky to have this life. To live so close to my family after a dream career in professional soccer, and now I run a bar and a brewery. What more could I want?

“Yes?” She pauses in her squat to reach the lower cabinets, and I take the pot back from her and do it myself.

“When we were little, and you and Dad went through that rough patch...” I close the cabinet door and stand.

Mam patiently waits for me to continue.

“How did you get through it?” I lean against the counter and keep my eyes trained on my mother.

“You’ve never asked that before.” She picks up a dish towel and mindlessly wipes the wet counter next to the sink. “I didn’t know you remembered.”

“I know.” I should’ve asked earlier. How could I not have? Maybe there’s a secret here. A secret to how not to permanently break important relationships.

“I’d been unhappy, felt so swallowed up in childcare and housework.” There’s a faraway look in her eyes. “So your dad and I figured out a plan. I started working part-time. And when we were both home, we’d split the cleaning and the childcare. Right down the middle.”

“Hmm.” I do remember that. I thought it was normal for Dad to be just as involved in our lives as Mam, but eventually realized it was different for most of my mates.

“At the time, it was a big deal. Things are different now, thankfully. None of my friends could believe my husband was home cleaning the toilets. But he was.”

“And that’s why you started working at the travel agency?” For as long as I could remember, Mam would sit at the desk closest to the window at the one now-closed travel agency downtown and talk to people about their vacations. I always wondered why she didn’t just work at the brewery with Dad.

“Exactly. I needed to have my own separate life.” She drops the towel on the counter and takes one of my hands. “But it takes two committed people to make that happen. Cara was rubbish for you. She treated you terribly. She was not the one.”

I blink rapidly. Mam never talks badly about Cara and Liam’s family or New Dingle Brewing. It’s driven me crazy for years.

“It was her fault. You were committed, a stór. But that’s not enough. She wasn’t enough for you.”

I try to respond, but the words stick in my throat, and my heart squeezes at her calling me a stór , the term of endearment she used when I was a child.

“I did my fair share of convincing your dad not to sell Slea Head to that damn family.” Her voice has a bite to it. “They can piss right off.”

“Mam,” I say with a laugh. “I agree, of course.”

“Now this American girl? When do I get to meet her?” Mam releases my hand.

I groan. “She’s only in town for a few more weeks.”

And I’ve probably ruined that time for us.

“We’ll see. Now go sit on the couch with your father. He’s exhausted from cleaning the bathrooms this morning.” She winks at me.

“Hey, Mam?” I pause at the door to the kitchen.

She looks over with a clean dish in her hand and raises her eyebrows.

“What’s one really unique thing you’ve done in Ireland? For Maddie’s road trip.”

“Hmm.” She tilts her head to one side and absentmindedly slides the dish onto a stack in the upper cabinet next to the sink. “Ah. Here’s a dark one for you. There’s a cave in Kilkenny. It’s said that one thousand people died there in a Viking massacre. It’s haunted.”

“Christ, Mam. You and Saoirse with the creepy ideas.”

“Like mother, like daughter. It’s at least unique, no?”

I leave the kitchen with a chuckle and settle next to my snoozing father.

I could try to fix things with Maddie, short time left or not. Maybe this isn’t forever, but like Mam said, I could put in the effort and commit to the time we have left. I could invite her over. Apologize. Tell her I’m broken, that none of the pub drama is her fault, except for the fact that she is completely distracting me, and I don’t want that to change one bit.

I could ask her to be with me for a little while longer.

Dad makes a little snorting sound and flutters his eyes open for a second, smiling at me, then closes them again.

I unlock my mobile and stare at the quiet text chain with Maddie, then type.

Me

I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. None of that was your fault, and I was an arse. Forgive me?

The text changes from delivered to read , and I wait for her response. But there’s no dancing dots.

Me

I’ve got the girls tonight

I pause. This would be the time to invite her over. My thumb lingers over the keypad.

But with a heavy sigh, I realize I’m not going to do that. I can’t bring myself to. I need to protect at least a small part of myself.

Me

Can we meet up tomorrow? Breakfast? Lunch?

That’s three texts in a row, the second two not even showing as read. If she doesn’t respond tonight, I can show up at the pub tomorrow afternoon when she’s on the schedule.

I hate the feelings inside me, crashing around like rough waves in the Irish sea. I don’t do this. I’ve learned my lesson. And feelings like this don’t last.

In the end, Cara wanted something more. I wasn’t enough.

Not for her, or Noreen, or anyone.

Is Maddie different?

I push my mobile away and reach over to squeeze my father’s hand before heading back into the kitchen, where Mam is making tea.

“Bye.” I kiss my mother on the cheek. “Need to run to meet the girls.”

“I love you, dear. Let me know if you need anything tonight.”

I head home, my mind whirling.

Why would Maddie be different? I’ve let down my defenses with her more than I have with anyone else. It’s because she’s not a complete stranger. She’s connected to my life by three degrees of separation. And now, she’s a friend—someone I didn’t know I needed in my life.

But we’re also sleeping together. I’ve never done friends with benefits before. I know why—it’s a train wreck of emotions.

Jaysus, am I confused.

The girls arrive at my cottage shortly after I do. Saoirse has a date with Ian tonight as his kids are with their mother. But when she asks me how things are with Maddie, I can’t stop the scowl from my face.

“What did you do?” she asks.

“Why do you assume I did something?” I run my hand over my face, standing on the front steps with my sister, propping the door open with my body. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Tell me.” She glares at me.

“I mean, I guess I kind of did something.”

“What happened?” Saoirse crosses her arms and taps her foot on the concrete step.

“I was an arse to her.” And that’s all the explanation Saoirse needs.

“Don’t screw this up, Pat. Maddie’s good for you.”

“How is she good for me?” I genuinely want to know. “And why do you even care?”

“I dunno. You’ve actually, like, smiled over the past few weeks? Had some fun? Been happy for the first time in years? With a decent woman who is funny and sweet and kind?”

I groan and swallow the lump in my throat.

“Yeah, well, that might all be true, but she’s temporary. It doesn’t matter if she’s funny and sweet and kind and beautiful.” My voice cracks on the last word.

“So you think she’s beautiful?” A sly smile comes over Saoirse’s face.

“Christ, Saoirse.”

“Uncle Patrick has a girlfriend!” Erin sings from the kitchen, where I look back to see her swiping chocolate biscuits from a jar I fill just for my nieces.

“You’re all insufferable.”

“That’s a big word for a man who’s screwing things up with the woman he’s dating.”

“Am I dating her?”

“Bye, girls!” Erin and Niamh rush at their mother for quick hugs and dash back inside. I follow my sister a few steps away from the door, shoving my hands in my jeans pockets.

Saoirse pauses next to her car.

“You’re doing something with her. And it’s not just physical. Figure it out.”

After Erin grabs another cookie and Niamh snags two, we head to the backyard. Niamh throws her arms around Kitty’s head. The sheep was waiting by the back door and pushes her head against my niece, searching her sides for a hidden treat. I hand Niamh one of the bowls of oats.

“Where’s Turtle?” Erin asks, peering out to the barn.

“Hiding. He’ll come out eventually, probably to play soccer with us.” I juggle the ball from one foot to the other, the girls cheering me on as I balance Turtle’s oats in one hand.

“Let me try, Uncle Pat! I’ve gotten better.” Erin grabs the ball and attempts to juggle, getting four touches before the ball flies off toward Niamh.

“Nice work, Erin! I can tell you’ve been practicing.” My niece’s cheeks turn pink with the compliment.

Niamh tries. She only gets one and growls in frustration.

“It’s a tough skill, juggling. You have to practice every day.” I place the oats onto the grass and grab two more balls, tossing one to Erin so we can all practice at the same time. “Try to get it on the top of your foot or the inside. Not your toes. You’ll have more control that way.”

I show them how to gently tap the soccer ball up, one foot after another, kicking it just a few inches off the tops of my feet.

“I’ll never be as good as you,” Niamh whines.

“Right, because I’m almost forty, and this was literally my job for fifteen years of my life.”

She giggles again. “You’re super old.”

“That I am.” I shrug.

“When are we painting the wooden sheep you made, Uncle Patrick?” Niamh asks the question, but even Erin stops what she’s doing and looks for my answer.

“After dinner, loves.” I love that I’m here for this part of their lives. I wouldn’t change it for anything.

Five minutes later, my mobile vibrates in my pocket with a call.

“Be right back. Keep practicing.” Heart racing, I stride back to the house and pull my mobile out on the way.

“Is it Maddie?” Erin calls.

It’s not. It’s Sean.

Damn. Disappointment smacks me across my face. I should text her again. Or maybe call.

“Sean.” I slip into the kitchen. The girls give up on juggling and kick their balls into the pop-up goal.

“I’m handing in my resignation, effective immediately.” Sean enunciates each word, like he’s reading from a piece of paper.

“What?” Sharp panic feels like a ball to the gut.

“I’m getting too old for this nonsense.”

“Wait, Sean...” My heart’s beating so hard, I can feel it in my ears. “Let’s work this out. You love this job. Or you love Slea Head, at least. And you’re the best head brewer in town.”

Sean and I might not always see eye to eye, or be able to stand the sight of each other, but he’s damn good at his job. And Slea Head needs him.

I need him.

“Aye. But I’m just done, you hear? Cormac fucked up.”

I pause and swallow. “How?” Dread creeps up from my toes to my head like a slow icy wave.

“He changed the goddamn temperature on the fermenter.”

“What?” Oh, no.

“He said there was some handwritten note from you that he couldn’t quite read, so I guess he went ahead and changed it before calling me. Or you. He turned the lager fermenter up to an ale temperature.”

“Feck. When?” Lagers need to ferment at much lower temperatures than ales. This could have tainted the whole batch.

“This morning. It might be okay, but I don’t think we can take the risk. We need to trash the batch.”

My stomach drops out. “Both fermenters?”

“No, just one. And why would he do just one? I don’t care. That kid’s a fecking eejit. I’m gone.”

My brain whirls. What kind of note did I leave? Damn, but I should’ve been there today. Yesterday. I should be checking in with Cormac more often. He’s still new, and Sean’s too harsh with him to be a good boss or mentor. I’m hesitant to stand up to Sean sometimes, so I can only imagine how Cormac feels.

“Slea Head was fine just how it was before you came on board.”

I massage my temples with one hand spanning my forehead. He’s not right. Slea Head was not fine. It needed change. Progress. New brews. New distribution. Otherwise, we’d keep fading until we shut our doors for good.

But I keep quiet, because I have a feeling I’ll only make it worse if I speak.

“I didn’t need an assistant brewer. That lad’s driving me bonkers. You’re driving me bonkers. I’m gonna go home and tend to my wife and my dogs.”

“Sean, can we meet tomorrow morning and talk this through?”

“No. Good luck to you.”

And then he’s gone.

This can’t be happening.

“Fuck!” I whisper into my empty kitchen. I glance out at the girls. Erin shoots way too hard at Niamh, who takes a ball to the face. The younger girl bursts into tears. Turtle emerges from the barn and trots over to the goal, immediately nibbling on the netting, and Erin ignores her sobbing sister and casually strolls over to grab the cup of oats.

I need to get back out there, but first, I pull out my mobile. There’s a text waiting from Cormac.

Cormac

I fucked up. I’m so sorry. I thought your note said ‘raise temperature to 22 degrees Celsius, F1 by noon Saturday’

What’s he talking about?

Cormac

It was in your office. A Post-it on the autumn brew folder. I thought it meant fermenter 1

Me

Ah. That was for the IPA. Must’ve been an old note from February before the IPA brew day

I bite back a retort, when I really want to ask him why I would have changed the temperature on just one of the fermenters when we have identical batches of the same brew.

Cormac

I’m sorry. I thought maybe you were testing something out. I texted you this morning. And called you

I scroll back up and yeah, there it is, a text from ten in the morning asking to clarify the note, then a missed call, then another text confirming what he was doing after not being able to get ahold of me.

I was playing soccer and so totally distracted by my fight with Maddie that I didn’t read the messages from him. Didn’t even notice them, as I only had my text chain with Maddie open.

She was the only person I wanted to hear from.

Me

Sean quit. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, okay?

Cormac

I’m so sorry

I slip my mobile in my pocket and join my nieces in the backyard, plastering on a smile.

“Uncle Patrick!” Niamh jumps into my arms, the drying tears forgotten on her cheeks. “Can you teach us how to be goalkeeper again? So I don’t get hit in the face all the time?”

“Of course.”

What am I going to do about the brewery? About the pub? About Maddie?

Why is everything falling apart?