Page 57 of An Angel's Share
“She doesn’t,” confirms Jackson. “I spoke to Mae at dinner. Plain old Aoife O’Clery, used Evie’s tactics and asked about baby names.” He grins at Evie and blows her a kiss.
We all sit in silence, each mulling over the problems. Evie reaches over onto the coffee table in the middle of the room to grab a pen and discarded newspaper, the crossword half completed. She starts to write. A.N. O’Clery in capitals, printed at first, but then she does a pretend signature.
A.N O’Clery,
A N O’Clery.
AN O’Clery.
Again and again different ways. Over and over.
She stops suddenly and looks at us all, turning the paper around so we can check out the signatures.
“I don’t think a life of forgery is your calling, Evie. We’re not adding that one to your repertoire.” Jude laughs at her.
She taps the third name—the one with no dots in between. “An O’Clery,” she states. “Someone thinks they’re funny.”
We all stare at the name. What a cocky fucker.
“Whoever did that thinks they’re untouchable. That they can’t be caught. That they’re far cleverer than anyone they know,” she states, her voice low. Serious.
We all sit back and take stock. Jackson brings over the decanter of whiskey and we all have a glass. Well, except Evie. He gives her water with an apologetic smile.
“And they think everyone else is stupid,” Jackson adds. “Who fits that bill here?”
No hesitation, not a breath between us, Evie and I at the same time say, with ultimate confidence, “Liam.”
27
Aoife
The boardroom waslast renovated in the 1950s, and remains a bastion to the ultimate in the old-fashioned patriarchy. Portraits of my family adorn the walls. Dark oak panelling gives the room a formal feel. The table, pulled out to its capacity, seats thirty comfortably. The chairs, bought for comfort, have never been changed, always restored. The only modern items are the high-tech coffee machine hiding in a cupboard, the fridge stocked to the brim with water and juices, and the projector screen which has been sympathetically incorporated into the ceiling. Points for laptops and presentations are again available, but have been hidden within the façade of the original decoration.
I’ve always loved this room, regardless of its masculine overtones. I played hide and seek in here when my daddy was working in the office next door. Made it my playroom. It was home for me.
Like the room itself, our team could be straight out of the 1950s. White, male, suits to die for. Not a woman in sight,until I strut in. A red fuck you dress, bump on full display, red pumps. I’ve won in the dressing-up stakes.
I nearly laugh out loud when I see Christy’s nemesis shuffle into the heavily wooded boardroom in a flowered dress that looks like it was also fashionable in the 50s. Where did she get that from? There’s no dress code atO’Clerys, surely she doesn’t think she has to wear that?
She gasps when she sees me, standing out like a flaming beacon on top of a hill, rocking my bump front and centre.
I strut over to her. “Hi, Suzanne. Are you here to take the notes?”
“I’m taking the minutes, Patrick asked me to personally.” She tries to big up her importance. I smile widely at her, not giving away how much I’d like to throttle her. But to be fair, she is a single woman. It’s Patrick at fault. He shouldn’t have even been looking.
“Well I’m pleased to have you here. Are you sitting at the table? Can I get you a drink?” I point to a chair at the table and the drinks cabinet. I’ve flustered her now. She expected me to be a fire breathing dragon, I’m sure.
“I’m supposed to sit in the corner and be unobtrusive, it distracts everyone if I’m scribbling away,” she answers as timidly as a mouse.
“Well it wouldn’t distract me, so please, sit where you want.” I can tell my friendliness has caught her off guard.
“I’d feel more comfortable out of the eyeline, if that’s okay.”
“Totally fine. Anything you need, just let me know.” I blind her with a smile, and for a moment, even I believe I like her.
I peruse the table and see Liam’s name plate next to mine. I don’t think so. I pluck it off the table and sashay my way down the room and plonk it next to Dermot andPatrick. Jonno’s name is on my other side, so again, I swap that with Marshall’s, putting at least one person between us. I shuffle the pack as best I can, grinning conspiratorially at Suzanne, who is watching me with a terrified look on her face. Yes, get ready. This is going to be fun.
I cried every tear I was ever going to cry last night. I know they say the body is three quarters water. Well, I squeezed every last drop out right through into the small hours. I cried for my idiocy, I cried because I’ve got what I deserved. I lied and didn’t do as agreed with the pill after the night in CAshO. I cried over the fact that my baby daddy is a liar, a scheming monster, who, regardless of anything else, thinks I am a thief. A fucking thief. That I would defraud my own daddy, his brothers—my uncles, whom I love and adore—of their hard earned cash. Yeah I cried big. I cried because I am a foolish woman, who, regardless of anything, wanted to be loved and cherished.
