'There was no sign of him anywhere in the hotel or outside and I was about to go back to the room when I met one of the staff. He was laughing and telling me that I'd be moving to a four-star hotel in the morning because Neil was on a winning streak. I asked him where he was and he gave me directions.'
Dee had to stop and swallow hard as she remembered that awful night. 'I thought I must have got the directions wrong because I was heading out of the town and it was dark and deserted and obviously a poor area. I felt a bit nervous and I decided to go back when I heard a huge cheer. I followed the sound and suddenly I was in a square and there were thirty or forty people crowded around, screaming, shouting and whistling. I pushed my way through and then I saw them.' She shuddered and closed her eyes. 'It was a cock fight. It was nearly over by the time I arrived, one of the cocks was covered in blood and its eye was hanging out, the other wasn't much better.'
'Jesus!' Conor muttered.
'Neil was there, right in the thick of it. He had a bunch of notes in his hand and was jumping up and down like a madman but it was the wild look in his eyes that really scared me. I knew then that he had a problem and there was nothing I could do or say to fix it. I went back to the hotel and packed.'
'Did you not see him before you left, to confront him?' Conor asked.
'Oh, yes,' she said with a twisted smile. 'I was determined to explain to him why I was leaving and why we were finished. I suppose I thought it might bring him to his senses and he would get help.'
'But he didn't?'
'He said he would, he said he was sorry, he cried, we both cried, and he begged me not to leave until the next day. He said I was too weak to travel and that I should get some sleep before I faced the journey. I was tired and miserable and very weak and I realized he was right; there was no reason to leave in the middle of the night. The next morning when I woke he was gone and he'd taken all of our cash, a ring he'd bought me in San Francisco and my dad's watch with him.'
'The bastard! What did you do? Did you go to the police?'
She shook her head. 'I was too embarrassed and humiliated. Luckily I still had my credit card and so I could pay for my flight home.'
He sat back in his chair, shaking his head. 'I can't believe it.'
'Yeah, well, it took me a while to believe it myself. I knew he had a problem but I never thought for a second that he would actually steal from me.'
'I can't believe he had the nerve to show up here today.' Conor stood up suddenly and started to pace. 'What is it, is he looking for more money? He saw your face in the paper and thought you were good for another few bob?'
She shook her head. 'No, at least I don't think so. He says he's stopped gambling and he's now running his own business, he was driving this very flashy car and he did seem changed, more mature and in control. And he gave me my money back, with interest.'
'So you believe him?' Conor shot her an incredulous look.
'I really don't know what to believe,' Dee said, slumping back in her chair. Suddenly she felt exhausted as if she'd run a marathon. Conor was studying her silently. 'What?'
'You need to be very careful, Dee.' His voice was quiet but she could hear the fury in his words. 'All you know about this man is what he's told you and he hasn't got a great history when it comes to honesty, has he?'
'No,' she agreed, 'but then he hasn't asked me for anything and he gave me my money back.'
'But he's asked to meet Sam,' Conor pointed out.
'Yes.' She chewed on her thumbnail anxiously. 'And though I don't want to stop Sam from getting to know his father I'm afraid of Neil letting him down the way he let me down.'
'And you're instincts are spot on,' he said, leaning forward and staring into her face. 'Sam's done just fine with you up until now; he doesn't need a father.'
'But if I send Neil away and Sam finds out about it when he's ten or fifteen or twenty-five he may never forgive me.'
'And if you let him into Sam's life he might hurt him. Why take the chance?'
Dee sighed. 'It's not that easy. I lost my mum when I was only nine and I know how much I missed her, still miss her. How can I deprive Sam of one of his parents?'
Conor gripped her hands in his. 'It's not the same at all. You knew your mother, you had her for nine years! There was someone for you to miss, but Sam's never known any different. Look at him, Dee, he's a very happy little boy.'
Dee smiled. 'He is, isn't he?'
'Yes, and that's all down to you.' Conor touched her cheek tenderly. 'You're a fantastic mum and what makes you even more special is that you had no one to learn from.' He leaned across the table and kissed her lightly.
Dee's eyes glistened with tears. 'Thank you, that means a lot.'
'So what are you going to do?'
'I don't know, but I don't want to talk about it any more, is that okay?'
He nodded. 'Maybe you should sleep on it.'
She smiled, standing up and taking his hand. 'Maybe we both should.'
Sam shrugged off his pyjama bottoms and bent to scratch his ankles. Immediately Dee was on alert. 'What's wrong, sweetheart?'
'Dunno.'
Sam continued to attack his ankles and feet and Dee watched in alarm as the area grew red and the skin started to flake. 'Please try not to scratch, Sam,' she begged, hurrying out to the bathroom for the steroid cream. 'You said that you and Julia went for a walk after church yesterday, where did you go?' she asked as she applied the cream.
Sam didn't look at her. 'Just around.'
Dee shot him a look. 'Where around?'
'On the beach.'
Dee frowned. There was nothing on the beach that should cause him any problems, unless . . . 'Did you pet any dogs?'
'Of course not, Mum.' He looked at her reproachfully.
Dee smiled apologetically. Sam knew to his cost not to touch dogs and anyway, if he had, the rash would have been almost instant and it certainly wouldn't have been on his ankles. 'Did you do anything different?' she asked.
Sam reddened and kept his head down.
'It's okay, darling, you're not in trouble, just tell me.'
'I was messing down at the rock pools with a twig, pretending I was fishing.'
'Go on.'
He looked up at her guiltily. 'I fell in and my shoes and socks got all wet and dirty. But Julia said not to worry about it and that she'd clean me up and she did.' He beamed at her before reaching down to scratch between his toes.
Dee realized the rash stopped at his ankles. 'I see, and did Julia wash your socks in the washing machine?'
Sam nodded, smiling. 'Yes, she said it was no trouble, she was just putting on a wash anyway. She's very nice, Mum.'
'Yes, she is.' Dee sighed. 'Let's leave off your socks and shoes for a while until the cream starts to work. Do you want to go down to the crèche or stay with me?'
'Crèche,' Sam said without hesitation, 'we're making hedgehogs today.'
She bent to hug him. 'Okay then, off you go but come back to me if the rash gets worse.'
It had been nice of Julia to take Sam out and, indeed, she had probably meant well in trying to clean him up. It was just a pity that she hadn't hand-washed the socks in plain water for Dee had no doubt that her son's rash was down to the washing powder Julia had used. But then why would that even occur to the woman? She wouldn't have any idea of the simple things that could trigger Sam's allergies. Thankfully it wasn't too severe but she should really ask Conor to have a tactful word with his mother so that she didn't make the same mistake again.
It was so hard to protect Sam from everything, Dee thought as she searched under the bed for the offending socks. The only way to do it successfully was to forbid Sam to go out with anyone other than herself and that would be as cruel as it would be unfeasible.
And what if Neil came back into her life? Would he want regular access? Would he expect Sam to spend weekends with him, maybe even take him to Spain? She shivered, horrified at the thought of having to share her son. It had always been just the two of them and she wasn't sure she wanted that to change. She shook off her thoughts, gathered up the rest of the washing and went downstairs. The aroma of Irish stew hit her when she walked into the kitchen and, glancing at the clock, she realized it would be ready in thirty minutes. She would take it straight over to Better Books for lunch, collect her other Tupperware containers and also get Ronan's order for next week.
Dee made deliveries on almost a daily basis but, by Ronan putting in the order just once a week, she was able to organize her time to suit both her duties to the crèche and the café. She put on the washing, tasted the stew – it was excellent – and then turned her attention to the post which Martha had thrown on the kitchen table. As usual there were a number of brown envelopes and Dee steeled herself to open them. She'd much prefer to stick them in a drawer but that would be stupid, childish and irresponsible. Thankfully, there was nothing too scary today and once she'd sorted through them, she tidied the kitchen and went through to the crèche to check on Sam. He was busy painting his potato that would become Harry the Hedgehog before the day was out, stopping every so often to compare his efforts with Tom's.
Lisa looked up and smiled when she saw her. 'Hi, how are you?'
'Fine, just off to Better Books, but I wanted to check on Sam first.'
'I'm keeping his hands busy so he can't really scratch,' Lisa said with a grin, 'but he hasn't been complaining too much.'
Dee went over to her son and crouched down beside him.
'Do you like it, Mum?' He stuck the potato covered in orange paint into her face.
'Lovely,' she laughed. 'Just swivel around for a minute, sweetheart, and let me check your feet.'
Sam obediently swung around and stuck his feet out. They were still red but the angry blotchiness was already fading.
'Okay, Sam, we'll put on more cream at lunchtime and then you can put your socks and shoes back on.'
'But Mum, we're going out to the garden before lunch,' Sam protested, his lip trembling.
'Not today,' Lisa said quickly before the tears could start. 'We're going to have skipping in the hall and we'll go out to the garden this afternoon.'
Dee smiled gratefully before turning back to her son. 'So, I'll see you later.'
'Bye, Mum.'
Dee grinned as he rubbed away her kiss leaving a smudge of orange paint in its wake. 'Charming! Just as well he's not allergic to that stuff, isn't it?'
'They can even drink it – and they do – and it won't harm them,' Lisa assured her.
'See you later.' Dee waved at the children, who chorused 'Bye-bye, Dee', and then she went into the kitchen to fetch the stew.
'You shouldn't be carrying that.' Vi Valentine was sitting over a coffee and sketchbook when Dee struggled through the door with the vat of food, beads of sweat standing out on her forehead. 'Ronan!'
'Yes?' Ronan walked in and quickly went to relieve Dee of her burden. 'Smells gorgeous,' he said, taking it in behind the counter and putting it carefully on the hob.
'Just keep it on a low heat,' Dee instructed Zoe, 'and it should be perfect through lunch.'
'Great, thanks.' Zoe put on the gas and gave the stew a quick stir. 'It's a bit nippy today so I'd say it will be gone in no time.'
'Have you any soup left?' Dee asked, climbing on to a stool as Ronan poured her a mug of tea. 'Thanks.'
'Yes, there are about ten portions of tomato soup left and about a dozen of the mushroom.'
Ronan pulled out a notebook and pen, poured himself a coffee and sat down beside Dee. 'Keep an eye on the shop, will you, Zoe?'
'Sure.'
Zoe left them and Dee looked around at the few occupants of the café. There was one middle-aged man nursing a coffee and doing a crossword; a couple of young women with babies in buggies having a chat over a cake and a cuppa; and Vi, sketching away in her corner, oblivious to everyone. 'It's a bit quiet in here today, isn't it?'
'Monday.' Ronan shrugged, 'Lunchtime will be busier.' He grinned at her. 'Don't worry, business is very good, I'm not going to reduce the order.'
Dee smiled. 'Good.'
'In fact, I may have to increase it.'
Dee flushed with pleasure but at the same time she wondered how she would cope. They discussed menus for the following week, increasing quantities of hot food for the Friday and the Sunday – Ronan had told her that since that article in the paper they were much busier on Sundays – and discussing new possibilities.
'I'd like us to serve more vegetables, you know, a choice of potatoes and some other options, but not the usual boring carrots and broccoli.'
Dee frowned. 'Mash, baked or boiled potatoes are the only real options in an operation like this.' She already supplied the mash and baked potatoes on alternate days and adding boiled potatoes wouldn't be too much extra work. 'Then you could have ratatouille with the fish pie or chicken stroganoff and a purée of carrot and parsnip with the heavier dishes.'
Ronan beamed at her. 'That's exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about.'
'Okay, good. Let me have a think about it and I'll come back to you with some other options.'
'You're sure it won't be too much for you?' Ronan said. 'You look a bit tired today.'
'I'm fine,' Dee said, draining her mug and standing up. Ronan was studying her, his eyes dark with concern, and Dee wondered for a moment if Conor had told him about Neil. 'I'm just still reeling from my night out with the girls.'
He chuckled. 'That was two days ago. Where's your stamina woman!'
'I know, I'm past it,' she admitted, laughing. 'Right, Ronan, I'll get back to you in a couple of days about this.'
'That's grand, love, thank you.'
'Hey, stranger,' Vi called as she saw Dee heading for the door, 'aren't you going to say hello?'
Dee crossed the room and bent to kiss the powdered cheek. 'You looked so immersed in your work I didn't like to disturb you.'
Vi tossed her pad aside. 'This rubbish?'
Dee rescued the pad and flicked through it. 'Rubbish? I don't think so!' She marvelled at the line drawings of some of Better Books' customers, a wonderful depiction of the food display and a profile head and shoulders of the proprietor. 'You've really captured him,' she enthused, 'you should do portraits more often.'