Colin was sweating.
He hated formal meetings and he wasn’t keen on suits and ties and buttoned-up shirts that felt like a boa constrictor had taken up residence around your neck.
The room felt like it was set up to intimidate, though they probably hadn’t meant it that way. He sat in a hard, plastic chair facing three older, unsmiling gentlemen, whose suits looked like they cost a whole lot more than Colin’s annual salary.
He pulled at his collar again, and answered their question about how he’d found his year as manager. He’d told them that it was a lot more responsibility, but that he had very much enjoyed it. He liked being in charge. He liked making sure the service users (he hated that word, but that’s how the suits referred to the wonderful residents and he thought he’d keep it professional) had the best day they could possibly have.
The suits nodded along and then the head suit broke out into a wide smile. It was rather disconcerting.
‘Mr McLaughlin, the service users here are very fond of you. We conducted a number of interviews prior to our meeting and they couldn’t speak highly enough of you. A Mr, uh—’ he checked his notes, ‘McCullough…’
‘Barry,’ Colin interjected.
‘Yes, Mr. McCullough was adamant that we should give you a pay rise.’
‘That’s nice of him.’
‘So, Mr McLaughlin, how would you feel about continuing in the role?’
‘Continuing?’ Colin repeated. ‘But I thought it was fixed term. Isn’t Cindy coming back?’
‘We’re afraid not. Sadly, she’s still unwell and has handed in her notice, which we have accepted. We were going to put an advertisement in the paper this week, but it seems you are the man for the job. If you’d like it, of course.’
Forgetting the norms of an interview, Colin jumped from his seat and shook each of the men’s hands in turn, thanking them.
‘I take that as a yes?’ the lead interviewer asked, laughing.
‘A huge one.’
With the formalities completed, Colin drifted out of the room on a cloud and made a beeline for Barry, who he hugged. It wasn’t a normal patient/carer moment, and Colin was sure Barry—a ninety-year-old man who’d fought in World War II—probably felt rather uncomfortable with the level of affection bestowed upon him. For now, Colin didn’t care.
‘What’s all this in aid of, then?’ Barry asked, when Colin had released him.
‘You, you beautiful man, just secured my job for me.’
‘I only said what I thought, son. If I thought you were a prick, I would’ve said that too.’
‘And I appreciate it so much. You’re a hero, and I get a bonus! Don’t tell the others yet, though. Management want to do an announcement, you know?’
‘Don’t they know it’s a retirement home? The news of your job is already out and forgotten about—Doris knew before you did!’
Colin patted him on the shoulder, and walked off to get him his tablets. When he returned with the small, white container full of colourful pills and a glass of water, Barry thanked him and then leaned in, conspiratorially.
‘I’ve got an early Christmas present for you, young man.’
‘Oh aye? PlayStation 5?’
‘Ha! You should be so lucky. It’s some information, about your case.’
He leaned closer still.
‘It seems old Gerald was going up in the world before his untimely demise.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, word has it that he was due to be the Santa in Baldwin’s department store this year. He’d been for the fitting and everything.’
‘But that’s Tom Little’s gig. Has been since I was a wee boy.’
‘Twenty-four years,’ Barry agreed. ‘Would’ve been the big twenty-five this year. I don’t know what Baldwin was thinking, but that’s the word on the street.’
‘The street?’
‘Doris,’ Barry said, nodding his head at the old lady in the corner with the purple rinse and the mouth moving at a hundred miles a minute. ‘Nothing gets past old Doris.’
‘Did she say anything else?’
‘Plenty. But I can only just take in the headlines before I lose interest. Might be worth having a chat with Baldwin, if you can. He must have his reasons. Maybe something he says will shake a bit of information loose?’
‘Good man, Barry. I’ll see what I can uncover.’
‘And while you’re at the store, a nice bottle of brandy wouldn’t go amiss for your helpful pal!’ Barry shouted after the retreating Colin.
Adam was on one knee in the bedroom, looking in the mirror with the ring held aloft.
He’d always imagined proposing under the moon and stars, a picnic blanket laid out with a bottle of champagne waiting, but that was never going to happen in Northern Ireland. If he managed to find a moment when it wasn’t raining, the constant wind rattling in off the sea would blow the picnic away, so Adam had resigned himself to doing it indoors.
Of course, asking the big question inside, in public, was also a no-go, in case of a negative response or a dog stealing the ring at the vital moment or some other unforeseeable incident. Best to do it in the confines of your own home, where other rooms were readily available to sulk in, if the answer wasn’t what you wanted to hear.
He’d written a short speech on a piece of paper that was now damp with perspiration. It had curled at the sides and the ink was smudged, but Adam had read and re-read the words so many times that they were engrained in his head.
Now, all he needed to do was say them out loud and wait for an answer. One way or the other.
He puffed out his cheeks, slipped the ring box into his back pocket and walked out into the living room, where the unsuspecting Helena was lying on the sofa, half-watching Tipping Point and half dozing after her night shift.
Adam stopped suddenly.
He detested Tipping Point with every fibre of his being, and wondered if it being on television at the very moment he was going to pop the question was a bad omen.
‘You okay?’ Helena asked, peering over the sofa.
‘Ah, yeah. I’m just going to get a drink. You want anything?’
‘Ribena, please.’
Adam scurried away to the kitchen to regroup. He poured a drink but wasn’t concentrating and it slopped over the side of the glass and all over the counter. Cursing, he grabbed a tea towel off the oven door’s handle and wiped the spillage.
He couldn’t think straight.
Bloody Ben Shepherd was living rent free in his head.
He took a few calming breaths, but could still hear the presenter talking kindly to the machine.
This wouldn’t do. Maybe he’d wait until after the show, march in, turn the television off, get down on one knee and say his speech, and then show her the ring.
Yeah, that would do.
Having finished mopping up the puddle of lemonade, he threw the tea towel in the wash and returned to the living room.
‘What’s all the swearing about?’ she asked, as she took her Ribena from him.
‘Ah, spilled a load.’
‘Goodness, I thought from the words you were using, you’d discovered a body or something.’
‘Nah, all good. How’s she doing?’ he asked, nodding at the TV.
‘In line for a couple of grand, I reckon. Fumbled a few soap questions, but brought it back with some rugby knowledge.’
They watched the rest, Adam enjoying not a single moment of it. When the jackpot had been won and the credits began to roll, he turned the television off and turned to look at her.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Helena,’ he said, his voice betraying him. ‘I know you and me haven’t been going out that long, but...’
‘Adam, you’re being weird. Are you breaking up with me or something?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ he said. ‘Just let me finish.’
He composed himself and as he opened his mouth, his phone (which he thought he’d put on silent) started to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and pressed the red button.
‘Who was that?’ she asked.
‘Colin. I can speak to him later.’
‘It might’ve been important.’
The phone rang again and Helena told him to answer it.
‘But…’ he started.
‘I need a shower anyway. Talk to your friend.’
She got up from the sofa and walked to the bathroom, while an angry Adam put the phone to his ear.
‘This better be bloody good,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Oh, it is,’ answered Colin.