Something in Common by Roisin Meaney Read Free Book Online Page A

making his usual jokey speech about how hard he’d had to work to afford the birthday dinner, and about how he and Martha looked forward to the day when they could retire and be supported by their children. Same speech every year, same everything every year.
    ‘Won’t be long,’ he said to Sarah, ‘with your new job, and Christine marrying into money, your mother and I will be heading off on the world cruise any day now.’
    Briangrinned. ‘I think you might have to wait until Sarah writes her bestseller.’
    ‘Any day now,’ Christine added, cutting the cake into slices.
    ‘You can laugh,’ Sarah told them, ‘but I
am
going to write a book.’
    She was. She just had to find the time. After work tomorrow she’d make a start for sure, or sometime very soon anyway. A period tale she thought, set in a big house with servants – that kind of story was always popular. All she needed was to sit down and make a start.
    She joined in as they sang ‘For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow’ and wondered, not very seriously, when she would finally get to meet Neil Flannery. Might be a big let-down, not her type at all, but it would be nice to find out, either way.
    She didn’t have long to wait. The following Friday, as she was helping Donna, the kitchen junior, to wipe down the stainless-steel worktops after the lunch clear-up, she glanced out of the window that overlooked the small car park. There was Nuala Flannery on her usual visit to Stephen – but the car was wrong: that wasn’t her blue Mini. And Nuala wasn’t getting out on the driver’s side.
    Sarah watched as the other door opened and a fair-haired man emerged. Long legs, tall, slim. Grey tweedy jacket, blue jeans, too far away to make out facial features. She watched him take his mother’s carrier bag from her – it must be him, it must be the son – as they walked together in the direction of the main door.
    She waited twenty minutes, making out the following week’s menu plan and writing up the shopping list for Dan, the nursing-home driver and general handyman, before making her way down the corridor towards Stephen’s room. She would have been dropping in anyway, she told herself. They’d think it odd if she didn’t appear: she always put her head in when Nuala was there to ask if they wanted tea.
    Shetapped on the door, her stomach fluttering slightly.
Stop, don’t build it up.
    ‘Come in.’
    Stephen’s voice. She opened the door. ‘I just wondered,’ she began, not looking in the direction of the man who stood by the window, not looking at him at all, ‘if anyone wanted a cuppa.’
    ‘Sarah,’ Stephen said, reaching a quavering hand towards her. ‘Come in and meet my son. Neil, this is the best cook in Ireland – apart from your mother, of course.’
    ‘Oh, shush.’
    Grey eyes, magnified behind large, thick glasses that gave him a scholarly look. Regular features, longish nose, fairish hair. Outdoorsy complexion, a ruddiness to his cheeks, not surprising given the job he’d chosen. She was conscious of both his parents observing them as they shook hands, could feel her own cheeks becoming hot. Hopefully he’d think it was from the kitchen.
    ‘Hello,’ she murmured, having to look up several inches to meet the grey eyes. His palm felt slightly rough – from wielding a spade, she presumed. She wondered if he wore the glasses when he worked. They’d look a bit incongruous with his gardening gear.
    ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he said, their hands still clasped together. ‘Apparently you make a terrific scone.’
    She smiled, glad of the opportunity to turn towards Stephen. ‘Well, your father seems to like them.’
    ‘He must have gained half a stone since Sarah came along,’ Nuala put in.
    ‘And you should taste her lemon meringue pie,’ Stephen added. ‘I made Nuala get the recipe, didn’t I?’
    ‘You did – and mine didn’t turn out half as nice.’
    ‘Get away, it was lovely.’
    It seemed to Sarah that along