Evie watched him as he moved his pint to the side of the table, clearing space before he spoke as he thought about how he should begin.

“Ok. In the river Boyne, just north of Dublin, there was a legendary fish known as the Salmon of Knowledge. It was said that the spirits would bless the first person to taste its flesh with unlimited wisdom and become the wisest in the land. A poet named Finegas lived near the river, where he read books and poetry, and was amongst the wisest men in Ireland. Finegas had tried for seven years to catch the fish but had failed.

A young warrior, Fionn MacCumhaill, came to live with Finegas. Fionn knew nothing of the legend of the salmon. When Fionn asked Finegas why he spent his days fishing, Finegas just smiled and didn’t answer.

On a bright morning in springtime, Fionn heard a shout and an almighty splash of water; Finegas had caught a huge salmon. It was a beautiful fish. Its eyes sparkled like precious gemstones and its body shone like silver. Finegas immediately knew he had caught the salmon of knowledge.

Finegas was tired after the struggle, so he told Fionn to cook it. He warned Fionn not to eat the fish - not even a tiny morsel was to pass his lips. Fionn obeyed, and built a fire on the banks of the river and cooked the salmon carefully. He soaked the branches of a young oak tree and manufactured a cradle that could hold the fish above the flames so as not to char the flesh or burn the saplings.

He was determined that this fish would be a feast for Finegas. He watched it closely, turning it intermittently above the flames and sprinkling it constantly with the sacred waters of the Boyne that he’d infused with wild garlic and caper berries.

He was about to turn it the final time when he noticed a small blister rising on the skin just below the tail fin. Unwilling to serve a fish that was less than perfect, he pressed his thumb into the blistered flesh to push it back into place, but the heat of the flesh burned his thumb.

To ease the pain, he immediately placed his thumb into his mouth to soothe the discomfort before lifting the cooked fish onto a tray of bracken and wild leaves and serving the feast to Finegas. The wise poet noticed a difference in Fionn as he placed it carefully before him. There was a brightness that shone in his eyes – an ineffable maturity that belied his youth.

“Have you eaten any of the salmon, Fionn?” he asked. Fionn shook his head and said, “No.”

As Finegas ate the fish, he noticed the young warrior sucking on his thumb. “Why are you sucking your thumb, young Fionn?” he asked.

Fionn told him about the blister and what he’d done to alleviate the pain. Finegas knew at once that Fionn now had the wisdom of the salmon of knowledge. He knew then that he would never be the wisest man in Ireland, that fate had decided to favour Fionn over him.

Fionn left Finegas the next day and went on to become the leader of the Fianna, the greatest warrior they had ever known, and the wisest man in the land.”

“Did you just make that up?”

“No, it’s Irish folklore, and now it’s also a Greek, Mediterranean, faux Irish pub in Salford. Ironic.”

They ate in silence, Eve still retaining the remnants of a smile.

“Patrick tells me you stepped away from the project.”

“Yes, it’s best if I do.”

“Over a conflict of interest,” she said.

“Yes.”

“With what?”

“Sorry?”

“What were you in conflict with?”

“Oh! Sorry, yes, Emily’s parents and I are next-door neighbours. I’ve known Emily since she was a little girl.”

“Is that really a conflict?”

“It may or may not be, but it might appear so to an outside observer. I felt it would be better to recuse myself now before anything untoward occurred later.”

“You’re probably right, but you do realise that it'll set tongues wagging back at the office.”

“That’s what tongues do best, Eve.”

“One of them anyway.”

“True, depending on the tongue in question, of course,” he said with a grin, and she laughed with him.

An hour later, Emily was in her office when Evie walked past her open door.

“Another long lunch?” she shouted, laughing.

“Hardly long, just down to the Salmon of Knowledge. Tommy told me the legend, although I think he actually made it all up. He’s quite charming, isn’t he?”

“You had lunch with Tommy? Was it a date?”

“No, he asked me for suggestions on where to eat, so I ran into him there, quite by accident.”

“How was it?”

“The food was blah, but the company was … stimulating. He’s staying at The Lowry – I might go there for a few drinks later.”

“With who?”

“On my own. Why. Are you interested?”

“I’d love to, but I can’t tonight - I have to get some material together for him.”

“Ok, well I’d best get on, I’ll see you later.”

Emily craned her neck as she watched Eve disappear from her sight. She scribbled a note on the pad beside her and picked up her phone. She scrolled through her call log, found his number, saved it, and pressed the call button. He answered after the fifth ring.

“Emily!” he said quickly.

“You sound out of breath. Have you got company?”

“No, I just got back from lunch. What can I do for you?”

“I’m working up a few of the background projections. What’s a realistic estimate for professional fees?”

“Which profession?”

“Architectural and design.”

“It works on a sliding scale, Emily. Allow 6% up to £100,000, down to 1.5% after a million.”

“Wouldn’t we need to know the actual costings before we can apply that?”

“No, you can work on budgetary estimates. They’re usually quite stable overall, but add a small contingency to cover yourself.”

“How small?”

He smiled. “In my day it was one-nineteenth; now it’s 5% - with the same to cover something called ‘Preliminaries and Attendances.”

“What’s that?”

“Nobody knows – it’s a convention in the construction industry. They say it’s to cover insurances and costs in looking after subcontractors.”

“Weird.”

“It’s not really; it’s part of the dance, Emily.”

“Okay, what about project overruns?”

“You cover your arse with a liquidated damages clause that contains a 5% penalty. It’s standard practice, and doesn’t need to be itemised at this stage.”

“Where will that be itemised?”

“In the contract.”

“Well, that was easy,” she laughed.

“Yes, but you should also look at the paragraph titled ‘Engineering’. It currently reads like you’re giving them a blank cheque. Architecture and Design encompasses engineering and all other professional fees. Otherwise, you’re on the hook with them directly.”

“Thanks, I’ll have them delivered to your hotel later. What’s your room number?”

She heard him grunt as he reached for something. “447.”

She wrote it down. “Great, thanks for that. Have you any plans for this evening?”

“No, I’m going out to Old Trafford in a little while. Trevor, my boss, wants me to pick up a few things at the United Mega Store for his grandkids. He’s booked a stadium tour for me. I wouldn’t mind, but I prefer Rugby.”

“Are you dining at the hotel? The food is glorious there.”

“Glorious? I think I have to try that. Would you like to join me if you’ve nothing on?”

“Tommy Jones! Naked dining is frowned upon at The Lowry.”

He laughed. “You know what I mean, you little minx.”

“I know, and yes, I’d like that. 7:00?”

“Wonderful, I’ll press my good tie. 7:00 for a 7:30 table?”

“I hope you’re not trying to get me drunk.”

“As if …” he said. “By the way, I had lunch with your colleague, Eve Tate, today. You need to watch that one.”

“Why?”

“She’s a nosey cow. She wanted to know what the conflict of interest was. I told her that we were neighbours since you were born, and that your parents and I were friends.”

“Did that satisfy her?”

“I doubt it, so just be on your guard.”

“It’s not untrue.”

“I know, but it’s tenuous.”

She sighed then. “Imagine what she’d say if she knew the real reason.”

“I’d rather not.”

“We didn’t do anything illegal, Tommy.”

“I know, but be prepared, just in case.”

“She said she was going to The Lowry for a few drinks tonight. Should we postpone?”

“It’d be wiser, I suppose. What do you think?”

“We have to meet so I can give you this background paperwork anyway,” she said slowly.

“That’s true. By the time we’re halfway through, she’ll be asleep,” he laughed, “maybe all three of us will.”

She laughed. “Are you suggesting a ménage à troi now?”

“There’s not enough of me to go around,” he replied, laughing along.

“I know that not to be true, my good man.”

“Okay, we’ll work something out. I’ll see you at seven.”

“Don’t be late!”

“I live here. It’s impossible to be late.”

Midway through the afternoon, Emily realised she’d missed lunch. It was 3:00 and dinner wasn’t planned until 7:30, so she sent out for a sandwich and made a pot of tea. When she walked into the room, she saw Evie sitting at a table with a magazine open on her lap and a mug of coffee in front of her.

“It’s a hard life,” she remarked, breaking Evie’s concentration. “Didn’t you have lunch already?”

“Yes. Those spicy gyros are like fire. I needed a drink of something. Are you having another break?”

“I worked through lunch, and I’m starving. I think I’m owed a fucking break.”

“I just asked. There’s no need to bite my head off.”

Emily turned her back and started making tea. She liked Evie, but there was always something about her that didn’t quite fit. She was quick to make jokes, but even quicker to take offence, and she was inquisitive. ‘Too sweet to be wholesome’, her mother always said, and Emily found the veracity in that where Evie was concerned.

“So how’s Derek? Still working down in London?” she asked.

“Yes, only two more weeks until he’s home.”

“I bet he won’t be sorry when he’s finished down there.”

“Neither will I. I’m sick of contacting him on FaceTime and WhatsApp.”

“It could be worse. At least you’re in the same time zone this time. Where was he the last time?”

“Dubai. Yes, that was a fucking nightmare. How did you get on in Sardinia by the way? Any stray men?”

“They’re all strays, Evie, but it was a nice break.”

“Where to next?”

“I haven’t decided. Am I too old for Ibiza?”

They both laughed. “Should I answer that?”

“Maybe not, I’ve enough on my plate at the moment.”

“How?”

“With the new apartment and being under pressure to visit my folks. Now this latest hiccup with the restructuring.”

“The conflict of interest?”

“Yes, Tommy is such a sceptic. He’s paranoid when it comes to external perception and how the most innocent circumstance could be interpreted.”

“Does that matter, Emily?”

“It doesn’t matter. He won’t put himself, or us, in a potentially invidious position.”

“Maybe he’s right.”

“He thinks he’s right, and that’s the end of the matter, Evie. It also means that I have to get this paperwork done so I can get it over to him this evening.”

“Can he not collect it in the morning?”

“I think he wants to get his replacement up to speed before he leaves here.”

“What time are you going to see him?”

“I don’t know yet. Why?”

“We could have a few drinks, the three of us.”

“It’s not that kind of meeting. We need to get him up to speed, and we won’t do that if we’re only there for a jolly up. Besides, what would Derek think of you carousing about in hotels with strange men?”

Evie looked away, a look of suppressed anger on her face. Emily waited for a reply that never came - her phone buzzed, and she left the room to meet the food delivery guy. Evie was gone when she returned.

Tommy booked an Uber out to Old Trafford, his thoughts distracting him as he became a tourist for the afternoon. The initial feeling of dread that had shrouded him when Patrick confirmed Emily as project lead had dissipated following the apparently harmonious reception he’d received from her when they met at the office.

When Patrick gave him the folder with her contact details, he recognised her number immediately. He hadn’t made a unilateral decision to recuse himself; he’d called Trevor to discuss it first. He laid it out for him, keeping the intimate details back. Trevor sighed at first,

“What aren’t you telling me, Tom?” he said.

“I’m telling you that I don’t think I should be handling this file, Trevor.”

“Because you know the project lead from the past? Did you steal her purse or something?”

“Trevor …”

“Tommy, how long have we known each other? I know you better than I know my own wife. You’re one of the good ones, give me the headline.”

“Okay, but this stays between us.”

“For fuck’s sake, Tommy.”

“I’m serious, Trev. If I hear it back, you’ll never hear from me again.”

“I don’t discuss private matters outside this office, Tommy. You know that yourself.”

“Yes, I do. But you might tell your wife.”

“You have my word, now out with it. You’re starting to make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“You’re probably right. Emily and I are next-door neighbours. Her parents are almost lifelong friends of Cilla and me.”

“And that’s the problem?”

“No. Emily came home for Christmas last year, and we, eh, got together.”

“What does that mean?”

“Kath and Jerry went away for a few days and she and I … we … for the want of a better word – hooked up, as they say in America.”

“Hooked up?”

“Slept together.”

“Was it consensual?”

“Of course!”

“I don’t see the problem, Tommy. You’re just a lucky bastard.”

“I appreciate, outwardly at least, that it might appear very funny.”

“It’s not funny at all; it’s natural.”

“I’m almost twice her age, Trevor!”

“Who else knows about this?”

“Her parents, and now you.”

“Has she told any of her workmates?”

“I don’t know, we haven’t spoken since it happened. I doubt it, but she could have.”

“I really don’t see … look, the decision is completely yours of course, but I don’t see an issue here. You’re looking at it through the eyes of a different generation. This kind of thing is a hell of a lot more informal than it was in our day.”

“I get that, but Kath and Jerry haven’t spoken to me since they discovered us.”

“Is that why you sold the house?”

“No, the house was too big for me, but it was a factor too.”

“Jesus, Tommy, most of us would be bragging about it. I think you’re beating yourself up over nothing.”

“Maybe I am.”

“You certainly are! However, the decision is yours. You’re the man on the ground, and I’ll back you all the way, but think again before you do anything drastic.”

“It’s not that drastic, Trev. It’s appropriate. I’ll be on my way to Scotland tomorrow evening anyway, and I hope to have this back on track by then. Alan Watson will take it to the line. He’s flying in tomorrow, and I’ll get him up to speed before I leave.”

Trevor laughed. “Okay, hopefully none of your old girlfriends are connected to the Edinburgh file.”

“I’ll know by the morning – I’ve requested a personnel list.”

“I was joking, you prick!”

“So was I, but it’d save a lot of time, wouldn’t it?”

Emily stepped out of the cab at the corner of Dearmans Place and Chapel Street – a short walk from the hotel. She navigated the spaces between three large tour buses that had commandeered the road outside the hotel as she picked her way to the main entrance, mindful of her path and the French football fans that congregated outside, the acrid smoke from their cigarettes filling the air as she passed through.

She handled the lascivious grind and innuendo-laden remarks with a smile, and climbed the six granite steps warily, conscious of their slickness underfoot after an earlier rain shower. The welcome blast of cool air from the lobby’s AC brought relief from the humidity of the evening, and the controlled chaos of the reception area afforded an unhindered passage to the bar.

She was a few minutes early, so she lingered in the corridor between the glass doors and the elevators, her briefcase between her feet as she searched her bag for her phone. She heard a familiar laugh and her stomach muscles clenched as she looked in the direction from whence it came.

Evie stood between two tall Frenchmen, her hand on one of their forearms as she gazed up into his eyes. Emily stepped behind a wide pillar and watched as the three began to walk towards the bar, disappearing inside as the taller of the two men leaned down to whisper something that brought further mirth, just as his hand rested on her backside and ushered her through the doors.

“Poor Derek,” she thought, making up her mind and pushing the button for the elevator.

Tommy, freshly showered and shaved, had just left the bathroom when the knock came on his door. He pulled a polo shirt over his head and ran his fingers through his damp hair in an effort to straighten it. A second knock, louder this time, sounded.

“Just a minute, please,” he called, zipped his fly and walked briskly to the door before looking through the peephole.

He immediately opened the door and smiled at her. “This is a surprise. I thought we were meeting in the bar at seven.”

“I know, we were, but Evie is down there with a couple of French footie fans.”

“Oh, that’s right, City are playing PSG tomorrow night, Emily. Is Evie a City fan?”

“She might be for all I know, but from the looks of it she’ll be playing a different kind of sport tonight. I came up here so she wouldn’t see us together in the bar. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yes, of course it is. I won’t be too long. Would you like something to drink?”

“What have you got?”

“I don’t know, there’s a mini bar beside the TV.”

She picked up the menu and blanched. “Fucking £11.50 for a Heineken? That’s daylight robbery.”

“That’s mini bar prices, Emily. I can have something sent up from Room Service, and we can go out somewhere to eat.”

“Or we can just go out to eat and have a drink in the bar there?”

“Do you know anywhere nice nearby?”

“What do you fancy? Indian, Italian, Indian or Indian?”

He grimaced at that. “We have a booking at 7:30 downstairs. I say we ignore Evie and her petty little manoeuvres, open a drink while I finish making myself look presentable, and enjoy the evening.”

“We can go through this file at dinner.”

“Yes, that’s the idea. Besides, I checked the menu earlier and I quite fancy a bit of lamb.”

Emily stood at the window, a can of Heineken in her hand as she watched the last of the tour buses pull away from the building. A cab pulled in behind and stopped outside, engine running, obviously on call. Four PSG fans walked down the steps, and past the cab, then Evie and one of her Frenchmen skipped down behind them, chatted quickly with the driver, and climbed into the cab beside it as it pulled away from the kerb.

Tommy arrived behind her, jacket in one hand and keycard in the other. “Ok, this is as good as it gets, Emily, shall we go?”

She turned to him. “Yes, you look nice, Tommy.”

He laughed. “You’re very kind. I didn’t want to let you down. You’re a sight for sore eyes in that dress.”

She smiled. “This old thing?”

He squeezed her hand.

“Evie left in a taxi, French fan in tow.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw them through the window. I feel for poor Derek - he’s a nice guy.”

“Derek?”

“Her husband, he’s working in London.”

“Someone should tell him.”

“Me?”

“It doesn’t matter who, Emily. The least anyone can expect in a marriage is respect and honesty, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose.”

“You know I’m right, but that’s not going to cook this lamb medium rare for me, is it?” he grinned.

“True,” she said, placing the half-finished drink on a table. She checked her reflection in a mirror, fluffed her hair and made a face. “Can I hang this jacket in your wardrobe and collect it later? It’s almost a ball of creases.”

He opened the closet in reply and held her briefcase while she hung it up. “What have you got in this, Emily? It’s quite heavy.”

“It’s a big file.”

“I know, I read it, but we don’t need it. I’ve summarised everything into a PDF on my tablet.”

“But—”

“No buts. It’s two pages of suggested edits that will make it easier for you. You can use them or ignore them,” he said, reaching into his inside pocket. He handed her two folded pages. “I printed them when I got back today.”

She smiled and felt a bit foolish. “Thanks, let’s go eat.”

They worked as they ate. Tommy had written a fully outlined proposal that would satisfy his replacement. They read through it between courses, and it was close to 10:00 when they finally finished.

She took a brief, final read-through. “Are you sure this will work?” she asked.

“Yes, it aligns with what you sent me. Your file was very comprehensive. Believe me when I say that two pages will normally barely cover it.”

She smiled. “Thanks. Fingers crossed it’ll work.”

“A chap called Alan Watson will be in touch with you tomorrow. I’ve had a chat with him and given him a breakdown of the proposal.”

“Will you be here with him?”

“No, that wouldn’t be wise. Alan is a good lad. I wouldn’t be sending him over otherwise. Besides, I’m on the Ryanair flight at 3:00 tomorrow afternoon.”

“What’s in Edinburgh?”

“Something similar to what we’re doing here.”

“How long will you be there?”

“Until Saturday morning – my last meeting is over breakfast.”

She looked at him, her eyes betraying the calculations behind her smile. “A four-day trip? Why so long?”

He shook his head, then smiled. “I may as well tell you. I might be dipping my toe into the property game.”

“Wow, tell me more.”

“Not here – there are too many curious ears. Let’s talk in the lift on our way to collect your stuff.”

He gave her a brief overview of a proposal that Trevor had made to him, as they travelled up in the lift.

“That’s interesting. Are you just an investor, or will you be hands-on?”

They left the lift and walked to the door of his room. “I don’t know, that’s why I’m meeting them.”

When they went inside, Tommy retrieved her jacket and handed it to her.

She took it from him and brushed it mechanically. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“About?”

“Christmas.”

“Yes, what’s on your mind?”

“I need to apologise for ghosting you the way I did. It wasn’t your fault. I was an idiot.”

“It’s not necessary—“

“It is. It was unforgivable, Tommy.”

“I forgive you,” he said gently, “and I understand.”

“You don’t. I couldn’t get you out of my head … I still can’t. When Evie told me she met you for lunch, I wanted to scratch her fucking eyes out.”

“Emily—“

“Let me finish, please. The truth is I haven’t met anyone who compares with you, and I don’t mean your … equipment either.”

“Emily—“

She reached for him and held him tight, her face buried in his shoulder. He felt her body wrack in deep, heavy sobs as she clung to him, her warmth invading his hands as he held her. He soothed her with low whispers, caressing her shoulders gently until she lifted her head and looked into his eyes.

He smiled, and she kissed him quickly on the lips. She caught herself and made to move away, but he pulled her close and returned her kiss, their lips lingering and moving with renewed energy.

“You’re not wearing knickers,” he said, having touched her rear as they kissed.

She grinned. “It’s too warm. Sometimes I go commando in the heat.”

“I feel the same heat,” he said as he bent to kiss her again.

“I miss your lips,” she crooned.

“I’ve missed yours.”

“It feels like something else misses me too.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.”

She moved her fingers to his growing erection. Unzipping him and slipping her hand inside.

Her lips grazed his lower lip. “Do you mind?”

“How could I? I’ve thought of nothing else since Stephen’s Day.”

She slipped to her knees, opening his trousers and sliding them down. She took his cock in her hand and examined it, reacquainting herself with the reality of it. She gripped the shaft and brought it between her lips, swallowing it hungrily, exuding the sound of softly comforting moans as she feasted on the bulbous head. She heard a sharp intake of breath as she rolled her tongue around the sensitive glans and adjusted her approach as he reached his full length.

“That’s what I remember,” she breathed and smiled as their eyes met.

He pulled her to her feet, quickly removing her dress to leave her standing naked in front of him.

“Fuck!” he said in wonder. “I’d forgotten how beautiful and sexy you are.”

“My pussy is running like a tap. I need you to fuck me now.”

He pulled her to him, the feeling of his cock against her bare skin sending arrows through him.

“I won’t last ten seconds,” he said, leading her across to the bed.

“You will the second time,” she said as she eased herself back on the bed, pulling him with her as he removed his shirt.

The sensation of his cock sliding into her sent her into paroxysms of ecstasy as she clung to him. She’d dreamt of it, cried for it, longed for it. He still stretched her, but it felt comforting. His shaft touched every sensor inside her, quickly bringing her on a path to orgasm as he moved slowly and tenderly.

She heard his own suppressed moans as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, caught the light scent of his familiar cologne. Her eyes opened when his movements stilled.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed, “I’m going to come.”

“I am too. I’m trying to pace myself,” he replied in a ragged croak.

“We have all night – I’m not going home.”

He smiled and withdrew before quickly sliding his cock fully inside her. He heard her whimper as he thrust a little faster and a little harder before he felt his cock explode and heard her scream as a thunderous orgasm engulfed them both.

She woke the next morning to a knock at the door. She heard the hushed voices and the rattle of crockery as a trolley was rolled into the room. She covered her breasts with the duvet and raised herself onto her right elbow.

“What's going on?” she asked as Tommy poured coffee into a cup.

“Ah, you’re awake! Good morning, I phoned down for breakfast.”

“What time is it?”

“Seven o’clock.”

“What time did—“

He handed her a cup. “I don’t know, it was late, but we were busy.”

She smiled. “I know, thank you for that. It was amazing.”

“It always is.”

She nodded her head as she sipped her coffee.

“So what now? What time do you need to leave?”

“Soon – too soon. I have to go home first.”

“Yes, I thought so.”

“What time is your flight?”

“My flight’s at 3:10. I have to check out by noon. Why?”

“I doubt I’ll get out of my meeting before noon.”

He smiled and took her hand.

She looked at him, a nervous cast to her eyes. “Would you like some company in Edinburgh?”

He took a step back, weighing the intention. “Yes, I dearly would.”

“What time is Alan arriving?”

He checked his watch, then picked up his phone and made a call. He chatted quietly for a few minutes, then hung up.

“That was him. He’s scheduled to arrive at your offices by ten. He has to be in Liverpool by two.”

She downed the last of her coffee and jumped out of bed, grabbed a croissant and a sausage from the trolley and walked to the bathroom. “I’m going to shower and head home to change and pack a bag. Can you add me to your flight if I give you my card details and ID?”

He grinned in delight. “Just give me your ID, and fuck off home.”

She paused before moving. “This could get complicated, you know.”

“I’m up for it if you are. Life’s too short, Emily.“

“I know,” she said and stepped into the bathroom.

He was working at his tablet when she returned, a towel wrapped around her as she brushed her hair while she walked. He heard her approach and swivelled in his seat to face her. “All done?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s a lovely shower – I badly needed it.”

“There’s one just like it in my new apartment.”

“You could fucking run around in that!”

He laughed. “I know, but at my age I might break a hip if I fell.”

She poured another coffee and made a face when she tasted it.

“That must be cold, Emily. Will I get some more sent up?”

“No, this is fine. I really should get my arse in gear.”

“I booked your flight – the confirmation is in your email.”

“Thanks, are you sure you don’t mind me tagging along?”

“Are you sure you want to be seen in public with me?”

“Yes, I’m positive.”

He took her hand and guided her to stand between his legs. She leaned forward, and they kissed. She rested her forehead against his, her eyes wide and alive.

“I mean that, Tommy, I want to be with you.”

“What about Jerry and Kath?”

“Fuck them. I don’t care what they think. I’ve wasted six months worrying about them.”

“What about the distance? Can we handle it?”

“There’s a hundred flights a week between here and Dublin.”

He smiled. “Have you thought this through?”

“No, but it’s less than an hour of flight. It’s almost that on the bus into town from Stillorgan during rush hour.”

He reached behind and caressed her thighs. She sighed and closed her eyes. His hands moved slowly, softly ascending to just above the hem of her towel before returning to her thighs.

“Higher,” she whispered.

“Emily, you need to get to the office.”

“Fuck,” she said and stepped away.

“I’ll grab lunch here. If you finish early, come over, and we’ll share a cab to the airport. We can have lunch before we fly out.”

She nodded, kissed him again and dressed before leaving. At noon, Tommy checked out of his room and took a seat in the restaurant. He ordered a steak sandwich and a pint of Heineken and watched the room begin to fill with the lunchtime crowd.

At 1:10, he picked up his shoulder bag and pulled the handle on his cabin suitcase, spinning it around to face forward. The wheels struggled to turn through the pile of the hotel carpet, so he carried it to the exit doors instead of pulling it.

He lit a cigarette and sheltered under a canopy from the Manchester drizzle, watching the comings and goings of a posse of taxis going about their business. He checked his watch for the last time, sadness in his heart as he flicked the spent cigarette away onto the footpath.

He hailed an available cab and sat inside, giving the driver his destination through the window. He took one last look around as it pulled away from the hotel before sitting back, his gaze angled out the window at the surrounding streets that whizzed by.

The cabbie dropped him off outside the domestic departures entrance, and he made his way to the bank of Ryanair Electronic Check-In terminals. He waited a few seconds and collected his boarding pass when it popped out of the slot, eyes quickly scanning it to make sure it was correct.

“You do know that you can download your Boarding Pass to your phone, Mr. Jones,” Emily said from behind.

He spun on his heel and smiled when he saw her. “Yes, but what if my battery dies?”

She laughed, and they kissed. “I’m sorry I didn't get back to the hotel – Patrick waylaid me after Alan left to catch a train. He wanted chapter and verse on the meeting, so I came straight here afterwards.”

She held out her hand so he could see it shaking. “I tried to text you but—“

He took her hand and held it for a beat. “I guessed something like that might happen. Did you get everything sorted out?”

“Yes, Alan is very thorough.”

“I know, but was he happy?”

“Yes, he’ll be sending confirmation on Monday, but it’s all good.”

“Did you check in yet?”

She waved her phone in the air in reply, and he offered her his arm.

“We’d better get down to the gate. Do you know the way?”

“Yes, but we have time for a drink or a coffee – the plane was delayed.”

“What do you expect? It’s Ryanair.”

“That’s true. It’s not unusual, Tom Jones – is it?”

THE END.