Page 82 of The Last Saturday In July
‘You keep chickens?’
Adam laughed. ‘Mam and Dad keep about a dozen for themselves. They don’t sell the eggs. Let’s say hello, and I’ll show you around.’ He stepped back to usher Jess into an enclosed porch, which led straight into a large, warm kitchen.
A petite, dark-haired woman in jeans and an old T-shirt sat at a pottery wheel at one end of a large pine table, elbow-deep in pottery clay.
Jess recognised one of Ed Sheeran’s songs playing quietly in the background.
‘Adam, how are you, love? And you must be Jess, Adam sent me a quick message to expect you. It’s lovely to meet you. Mightn’t shake your hand just yet though.’ She grinned and blew a lock of dark hair out of her eyes, as she slowed the pedal at her foot, and smoothed down the rough pot.
Adam strode over and bent to kiss her on the cheek. They had the same shape and colour eyes, Jess noticed.
‘Where will you fit this one, Mam?’ Adam gestured to the old-fashioned dresser, overflowing with colourful earthenware.
‘These are all yours, Mrs Rourke?’ Jess walked over to take a closer look. ‘They’re gorgeous.’
‘Call me Anna. You’ll have to pick a favourite piece to take home. Adam’s right: I need to make room.’
Jess turned. ‘Oh, I couldn’t.’
‘I insist. Now, your dad’s having a bit of a rest, Adam, so you’ll see him at dinner. The pair of you should get some fresh air and let me clean up here. I’ve put a shepherd’s pie in the oven. It’s from our local deli and it’s very good. I’ve a vegetarian version, Jess, if you prefer?’
‘Oh no, I eat everything.’ Jess smiled gratefully.
‘That’s easy, so.’ Anna waved them away. ‘Go on, I’ll see you back here in an hour and a half.’
As Adam and Jess went back outside, the final sounds of Ed Sheeran drifted into the yard.
‘Your mam’s great.’ Jess tried not to compare her to Úna.
Adam looked over at her. ‘She likes you too. She tends to make snap decisions about people, and she rarely offers strangers her pottery. Choose something you really like; she’ll be offended if you don’t.’
Jess met his eyes. ‘She’s very different to how I might have imagined her. Not that I really had time to speculate about your parents, obviously …’ She felt herself flush.
‘Did you imagine someone feeding chickens with one hand, and milking cows with the other?’ Adam’s eyes glinted. ‘You know that milking is all done by machine?’
‘You must think I know nothing about farming.’ Or anything else, Jess thought as she followed Adam through the gate in the corner of the main yard.
He pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound dismissive. Do your parents have farming backgrounds?’
‘No,’ Jess admitted. ‘Dad’s from Wicklow and Mam’s from a village about ten miles outside Waterford town.’
‘They’ll pass as culchies, so.’ He winked. ‘Here’s the milking shed. We’ve come at the right time.’
A trail of straw and dried mud paved the way to the shed, and Jess lingered just inside the door, trying not to cough, as a mixture of smells invaded her senses.
Adam pointed to an older man at the other end of the long room, overseeing the rows of cows being milked. ‘That’s Michael.’
The man looked up, and came over, wiping his hands on dark overalls. He was younger than Jess had initially thought, mid-fifties, at most.
‘Not planning on getting your hands dirty dressed like that, are you, Adam?’ He raised an eyebrow at Jess. ‘You must be special, if he’s showing you around the farm.’
Jess shifted a bit uncomfortably, but Adam gave an easy laugh.
‘Jess and I work together. We had to come to Linford Castle for the day, so we stopped by on our way back to Dublin. Jess, this is Michael Brady, our manager of ten years.’
‘Eleven.’ Michael shook Jess’s hand. ‘Lovely to meet you, Jess. Watch this fellah, though. He’s a bit of a dark horse.’
Except Adam had already shown his hand, Jess thought with a stab of guilt. And he knew she wasn’t interested. Even if he didn’t know the real reason, he’d accepted it.
