“I’ve been tossed out of most of those places at least once.” I unhooked the top of the frock and searched for the tiny zipper pull, my large fingers not quite nimble enough. “All you can eat never really means All Sean Can Eat.”
Eilish snorted an inelegant laugh just as someone said, “Oh! Pardon me.”
The exclamation and apology pulled my attention from the elusive zipper tab. Both Eilish and I glanced at the woman hovering at the entrance to the dressing area. I blinked at her, finding her familiar but not quite able to place her.
“Hello, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.” Eilish nodded politely, doffing her very best South Dublin air of superiority.
Ah, mystery solved.
The older woman inclined her head, now fully composed, in such a way that made me want to give her a recommendation for a good chiropractor, or perhaps someone who could help her remove the rod from her arse.
Lucy’s grandmother.
“Good afternoon, Eilish,” then to me, “Mr. Cassidy,” then back to Eilish, “How is your mother?”
I studied this woman as Eilish and she exchanged meaningless pleasantries. Truth be told, she looked a great deal like Lucy. Their eyes were the same shape and color. Lucy had inherited her grandmother’s ethereal grace and delicate pixie-ish features. Her appearance of fragility.
But this woman was not beautiful. She was cold and aloof. Controlled. Predictable.
Whereas Lucy was unequivocally stunning, warm, and engaging. Carefree. Impulsive.
Lucy was everything gorgeous and good. She may have looked delicate, but she wasn’t. She was steadfast, and loyal, and resilient.
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.”