The next day Alison heard Colm kick his boots off at the back door of Lantern Lodge. He strode in and parked himself next to where she was crouching down over the lacklustre fire that refused to catch properly. His closeness made her feel self-conscious, so she stoked a bit more until finally Colm broke the silence.
‘Alison, it’s always slow to take off when the wind is blowing up this way from the river. Give it a chance and it will get going.’
Her hair was damp. So much for being back at four, she thought. Ten minutes earlier he would have caught her at the kitchen sink scrubbing honey and oatmeal gunge from her face, trying to freshen her complexion a bit. Small mercies, she thought, extremely small mercies.
‘Are Tom and Lucy not with you?’
‘We were at the river building a dam. They are tormenting poor old Moll out there in the back yard. I think Lucy is going to ask you for a dog now. Sorry about that!’
‘I’ve told her before she can get a dog when I get the back garden sorted and a proper kennel put in, but patience is not one of Lucy’s best traits.’
‘I told them you would join me on quality control after they had finished the finer points of the dam. They have it decorated with weeds and everything. Are you up for a bit of judging? They are getting pizza in town and proper chips if they do well.’
‘Ah yeah, why not? Sounds like they are having a great time.’ The fire caught with an uproariously loud belch behind her. If she stayed there any longer she would lose the hem of her skirt to the inferno. She stood up, summoning the courage to look at him at last.
‘You’ve got something stuck on your face, Alison. Is it porridge?’ He peered closer at her. ‘Yup, it’s definitely porridge. Did you sneak some of this morning’s leftovers from the pot?’ His tone was playful, enjoying her mortification just a little too much.
‘It’s a face mask – was a face mask . . . supposed to be very invigorating . . .’ She trailed off, her voice deserting her.
Colm’s hand moved to stroke her cheek. He flicked the offending piece of porridge into the fire. The heat of his fingers startled her. Once more she was scorched by his touch. It had lost none of its power despite being imagined a thousand times in her head.
‘They do say porridge is wonderful, but I think you have to eat it rather than plaster it on your face to get the benefit. I’m no expert, but that’s what I have heard.’
He cupped her face in his hands and brought his lips slowly to hers. Her kiss was hot and gorgeous, just as he remembered their first kisses the night before. It had been such a relief that she had wanted his touch as much as he had wanted her from the first moment he had seen her. They settled into a lingering embrace, losing themselves in each other’s arms. They might not have heard the upward latch of the hall door as it clinked open but there was no mistaking Tom and Lucy’s presence as their excited voices hollered through the echoing house, thundering up the hallway to where their parents clung together.
‘Mam! Colm! Wait until you see this.’ Colm stepped backwards from her just in time to beam at the overexcited children who had hauled themselves back from the river. Their clothes were covered in mud and their faces smeared like child warriors. They were unrecognizable as the clean-cut children who had left the lunch table a few hours before.
‘Out you both go before you destroy the house,’ chided Colm. ‘We will catch you up. Are you coming, Ali?’
‘You go on with them. I will have to root out a pair of boots in the back kitchen. I’ll follow you.’
They kissed again. His hands rested snugly on the small hollow of her back.
She was first to break away. ‘Go on, they’re waiting.’
Iris’s wellington boots were standing to attention under the stray coats in the back kitchen. She knew they belonged to Iris because they were in sterile condition, smelling strongly of all-killing bleach. Oh yeah, and the name label on the inside was a bit of a giveaway. Who in the name of God labels their wellingtons? ‘IRIS LIFFORD’ in bold block capitals and the date as if they would some day be of historic significance. They pinched Alison as she pulled them on. The grand matriarch’s revenge, she thought, for helping herself to what didn’t belong to her. She couldn’t help but laugh to herself. An oversized knitted cap completed her agricultural look.