At First Sight by Hannah Sunderland (best inspirational books txt) 📗

‘Too pretty to be friends with if yer ask me,’ said the second.

No one did, I thought. Now go away.

‘Ah, right yer are, Agnes.’

Carrick reappeared on the pavement with a suit bag in hand and sent the old ladies a wolf whistle as he passed. ‘Lookin’ good, girls.’

The women both straightened and blushed, chuckling to each other like geese.

‘Pickin’ up yer suit for the memorial, are yer?’ Roisin asked him.

‘Right yer are.’

‘Well, we’ll see yer there, won’t we, Agnes?’

‘Ah, yer will,’ Agnes added.

‘It was nice t’see yer both,’ Charlie said, his finger poised on the window button, ready to block them out.

‘Nice t’see yer and t’meet yer new lady friend.’ Agnes sent me a wink and they quickly pottered back to the bus stop.

Carrick got back into the car, tossing the suit bag onto the passenger seat.

‘What you got there?’ I asked.

Carrick turned to me as if he’d been waiting for someone to ask just that question. ‘My suit for tomorrow,’ he said with pride, unzipping the bag and pulling back the sides. I raised a hand to my mouth to stifle the gasp that came out of it and my eyes rolled from Carrick to Charlie.

‘What the feck’s that, yer eejit!’ Charlie shouted at Carrick from the back seat.

‘My suit,’ Carrick replied with pinched brows.

Charlie turned his angry eyes up to mine and sighed loudly. ‘Would yer look at the state of it!’

‘Don’t get thick with me, Boyo. I put a lot of thought and money into this. I just thought I’d try to liven things up a little. We had the funeral and anniversary mass already. It’s about time we started celebrating her instead of mourning.’

‘What … erm …’ I mumbled, unsure how to word it. ‘What colour is that?’

‘Oh, I think the lass in there called it chartreuse. Had it specially made, I did. What d’yer think, Nell?’

‘I think it’s … very striking.’

Carrick’s chest seemed to puff out a little. ‘See! Now that’s how yer meant to react when yer uncle makes an effort.’

He zipped the bag back up and haughtily threw it back down onto the seat.

‘He doesn’t need any encouragement to be an arse,’ Charlie whispered to me.

‘Neither do you,’ I pointed out as the engine roared into life. ‘He’s only trying to make an effort and if anyone can carry a suit like that off, it’s Carrick.’

‘Right yer are, Nell,’ Carrick said, turning in his seat and sending me a serious look. ‘Now, are yer feelin’ strong? Because there’s no more puttin’ this off.’

‘Sure.’ I said. ‘How bad can they be?’

Carrick pulled his top lip between his teeth and looked, shiftily, between Charlie and me. I turned to Charlie and asked the question again in the form of worried brows.

‘Just … prepare yerself,’ Carrick said, patting my knee gently.

Chapter Eighteen

‘I think it’s best to treat this like a waxing strip,’ Carrick said as he got out of the car, his shoes landing on the satisfyingly crunchy gravel of the Stones’ drive. ‘It’s gonna be feckin’ painful no matter how you do it, but things will be smoother once it’s done.’

I jutted out my bottom lip and nodded, impressed with Carrick’s metaphor as I got out to join him. Charlie remained in the back seat, looking through the window at the house like he feared he might get murdered when he stepped through the door and right now, I wasn’t sure just how possible that might actually be.

‘They know I’m coming, right?’ I said, turning to Carrick.

‘Yeah.’ There was a slight hint of worry in his eye that made my stomach acid writhe. ‘They’re a little more – how can I put this? – by the book with things than I am. The Good Book, I mean, so don’t expect them to be too thrilled that you’re “livin’ in sin”,’ he said, air quoting the last few words of his worrying sentence.

‘Oh, we’re not … Charlie and I haven’t …’ I said, shaking my head.

‘Uh-huh.’ Carrick flexed his brows and rolled his eyes. ‘Yer mean, yer haven’t yet.’

I flailed in the embarrassment of the conversation, even more nervous now than I was before.

Would they be waiting by the door with pitchforks and torches in hand, ready to slap a red A on my chest? I guessed there was only one way to find out.

I turned back to the car to check on Charlie’s progress. He’d managed to take off his seatbelt, but that’s as far as he’d got. I popped the car door and bent down. ‘How you holding up?’ I asked.

‘Oh, just terrified with a side of panic, nothin’ I can’t handle,’ he replied, his words coming out too quickly and falling over themselves. ‘Just give me a minute to myself and I’ll be out.’

‘Okay,’ I said, closing the door to let him marinate in his own panic until he absolutely had to get out of the car.

I turned back and walked a little closer to the house and took in the place where Charlie had grown up.

The house was average in size and everything else for that matter. Average and pleasing to the eye but not winning any prizes for inventive style. It was painted a bright white that contrasted blindingly against the steel grey sky. The house was surrounded by plants, lovingly tended and flourishing with early spring buds. The front door, which sat inside a UPVC porch, was painted a bright red and a mud-speckled Land Rover sat a little further up the gravel drive near a detached garage. The door to the garage was open and soft classical music floated out into the air.

‘Eoin!’ Carrick bellowed, the sudden volume of it making me jump. ‘Oh, beloved brother! I’ve some guests for yer.’

The music quietened and a moment later, a stout man, who looked much older than Carrick, stepped out of the garage, wiping his hands with an oil-darkened rag.

He looked over for a moment, pausing as if he wanted nothing more than to stay hidden