“Am I speaking with Daisy O’Donnell of The Lucky Shamrock bar?” I glanced up to the ceiling because I’d taken it for granted, everyone knew my name already.
“Indeed, you are … and who might you be?”
“My name is Donna Forsyth. I’m an executive assistant working for the management company that deals with the business and personal affairs of the fabulous rock band, DistRoyed. One of the band members has asked me to reach out to you with a proposal that I’d like to run by you.”
My heart lurched to the point where I coughed, like the beat had risen to my throat, with shock from the instant jolt of electricity that ran through me.
Receiving a sudden phone call from someone connected to the man who had broken my heart and I’d been trying hard to forget, was a bolt from the blue. I cleared my throat and tried to remain calm, but anger got the better of me and I gave her a sarcastic reply instead.
“Oh, is that so? Right, Lorna, I hope you’ve got a pad and pen handy to take notes, because you’ll need them to record my reply to Barney.”
“Donna,” she corrected, but I already knew this. Anyone who knew Jamie deserved to be fucked with after the shit move he’d pulled on me. “All of our calls are recorded for quality of service, training purposes and to reduce the incidence of litigation. But, Ms. O’Donnell, I have to inform you there is no band member called Barney.”
“Well, Lorna, you're obviously not very well informed because most of Dublin knows Jamie Fontaine by that name. So, are you listening? I’d like you… or your recorded message, to tell Barney to take his proposal and shove it right up his arse. In fact, after he does, he can feck right off and I hope his arsehole fuses closed.”
“Ms O’Donnell! Can I please remind you this call is being recorded?”
“I haven’t forgotten, and when you play it back, you’ll see I just reminded you of that fact. Please play it to Barney at maximum volume, so he can get it into his thick lying-arsed skull, that Ms O’Donnell has made it quite clear she wants nothing to do with him. I mean, the man doesn't even have the decency or courage to call me himself. Oh, wait, he’s too fecking famous to do his own dirty work, and uses his unsuspecting assistant to do it for him.”
“Executive assistant … I’m an executive,” she huffed, and I stopped for a second. None of what had happened between Jamie and I was the poor woman’s fault. She’d had nothing to do with how Jamie had left me, but she was guilty by association from the moment she’d mentioned who she was.
“Ms O’Donnell, our clients are well-known, and much respected international public figures. They have very busy schedules of commitments, and as such, they need people like me to look after their interests. Having dealt with the members of DistRoyed over a number of years, I find it difficult to reconcile that my client would have asked me to call had he known he’d receive this response. If you’d just let me explain…”
I scoffed in disbelief, picked up an empty beer bottle and lobbed it at the bottle bank. The sound of it landing told me I’d smashed another already in there.
“Well, Lorna, it’s clear you don’t know all of their interests. Oh, then again, perhaps you do and that’s why you don’t know about me. I guess I was one of his disinterests. Did you know Barney told me he was falling in love with me, messed with my head, then disappeared, leaving me feeling vulnerable for being such a prat?”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that Ms O’Donnell,” she replied, trying to sound professional but clearly shaken by my outburst. “That doesn’t fit Barney’s… I mean Jamie’s character at all, but I hear your distress. I know this is probably rather delicate, but does your hostility require a DNA paternity test? If so, I can instruct our legal team to start the process.”
My temper rose to fever pitch, insulted by her suggestion. Her suggestion made me sick to my stomach because the casual way she had mentioned this, it had sounded like she was well versed in dealing with claims of pregnancy and questioning paternity from women toward band members.
“I’m not pregnant. Why would you even think that? You called me, remember, not the other way around. Wait? You sound pretty relaxed about suggesting this as a possible issue. Does that kind of thing happen a lot? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Just tell Barney to go feck himself.” Breathless and fuming, I slammed the phone down.
The sound of a heavy wooden barstool clattered onto the floor and I spun round at the sound, my eyes darting toward the customers at the far end of the bar.
Terry had opened the other hatch and was already standing at the other side of the counter.
“It's okay, Daiz, it’s only Archie falling off the stool again, he's fine, I think … just had a dram too many and lost his balance.” As I took in the scene, I realized all conversation in the bar had stopped.
The five other customers present along the bar sat wide eyed and open mouthed, like a row of clowns from a fairground sideshow where you throw ping pong balls in their mouths to win a prize.
“Are you okay, Daiz? Do you need a drink?” Terry asked, glancing at me before dragging Archie back up to his feet.
I stood dazed for a moment before I shook my head and forced a tight smile.
“No thanks, I’m fine … just fecking fine,” I muttered, tight mouthed. I stared my customers down with a pointed look and when no one looked away, I huffed. “And for everyone's information, you heard none of that call. It. Never. Happened. Understood? Repeat it and you’re barred from my pub,” I threatened and scowled.
“Absolutely,” Terry replied and quiet mumbles in agreement came quickly from the other loyal regulars.
“What phone call?” asked one.
“Never heard a thing,” said another.
Archie was practically steaming drunk and reprimanding the barstool for falling over of its own accord, so I knew he was no threat, either. I figured he wouldn’t even remember falling the following morning.
With my chest still heaving from losing my temper, I took a measured breath and reminded myself this was my place of work and my patrons came to my bar as a means of escape. Plastering on my best landlady smile, I began lining up some glasses knowing I had to turn my mood and that of the bar’s atmosphere around.
“Excellent, drinks are on the house, as my penance for using not enough curse words in that call … that none of you heard.”
“We love you, Daisy,” came a joint reply.
Chapter 2
The bar fell quiet just after 9:00 p.m. and I used the time to take an early night, leaving Terry to lock up on his own. While I ran a bath, I fired off a text to Maria.
Me: Bath, pj’s, bed, wine, chocolate. I’m charging my phone because I really need to vent.
As soon as I sent the message, Maria replied.
Maria: It's a date, call me when you’re ready… it had better be good. I have an essay due for college tomorrow. xx
Fifteen minutes later, I’d filled her in on my details from the call.
“You gotta be fecking kidding,” Maria cried out in disbelief. “He has some nerve popping up out of the blue. So, you’re not going to talk to him?”