Everything Has Its Time - страница 5

«Yes of course, Dad. I have decided that, when my heart starts to beat faster, this is a signal that the man of my dreams is in front of me, a real and whole souled man, like you, Dad… Someone who will not complain, won’t reproach anyone, or blame anyone for their failings.»

«I don’t doubt that you’ll find the right man in the end. Marriage is not a joke… It can change your life forever. But you will succeed. You deserve great happiness, Erin! Open your heart for the right person’s arrow. Just don’t forget, please, that whoever you choose, he must be…»

«Irish, Dad!» she stated firmly.

«Precisely! And what else?» Kevin quizzed her. His eyes stared straight into hers, reminding her that these criteria were of vital importance.

«And a Catholic!»

«Clever girl! These are the answers I was expecting. That you know them calms me,» he nodded with satisfaction. «Thank you, daughter!»

At that moment someone knocked timidly on the door, and came in without a hurry, his Kathryn.

«Happy birthday, dear! And happy St Patrick’s Day!» she kissed her husband first on one cheek, then on the other, and sat down quietly beside him, putting a stylish leather handbag on the floor, which was grey to match her dark blue dress. She reckoned the bag was big enough to accommodate all her essentials whilst being sufficiently elegant at the same time. It was noticeable, however, that in her choice of dress she was somewhat more conservative and preferred something more old-fashioned, colours towards the more modest end of the spectrum.

There are women of stunning beauty and charm, and then there are women who are simply adorable, the kind that one would not leave for anyone else. Despite the external coldness of her typically Nordic appearance, Kathryn was certainly one of the latter. Her air of aloofness, emphasised by her light skin tone, with hair to match, and her long face, made her look more like a being from Scandinavian folklore, be it a fairy, an elf, or a mermaid.

However, given her advanced age, one might even dare to call her a snow queen. She was of pure Irish blood, yet possessed none of the strong will, intransigence, or rigour which often characterise such women. Quite to the contrary, her character was sophisticated, gentle, and dignified.

«Why are we sitting in silence on such a marvellous day, eh?» she asked her daughter, turning to look at her. «Be a dear and put on some of Dad’s favourite music. You’d like that, wouldn’t you dear?» Erin looked at her father and suggested, «The Dance of the Elves to start with?» and she reached over to the tape recorder standing on the windowsill.

Here, however, in a neat little frame under a layer of glass, there was an old photograph, one of her parents’ most beloved pictures, from which they, still so young, beautiful, and perfectly happy, looked out at her… Her eyes fell on the picture, and her heart missed a beat…

Kevin announced his choice, «First I want Celtic Dreams, if it’s there. When I came to Birmingham, I couldn’t bring all of Ireland with me, so I just brought a longing for her…»

«I’ve brought you our trademark mutton ragù and Barmbrack cake shaped like a shamrock with emerald icing. Erin made cream to go with it. Tuck in! You’ll have some, won’t you dear…»

«Can I have a pint of Guinness?» he interrupted his wife impatiently, «I know you brought some…»