Erin Kaye - THE PROMISE OF HAPPINESS

She gave him a brief résumé of her skills and qualifications and he gave a long low whistle through his teeth.

‘That sounds pretty impressive to me, especially what you did at Edinburgh Castle, not that I’m an expert. The Belfast office of the Hays Recruitment Agency will be handling the recruitment process on behalf of Loughanlea and your timing couldn’t be better.’

Louise’s heart started to race. ‘How’s that?’

‘An advert’s going to run in the quality papers next week. If I was you, Louise, I’d get an application in pretty sharp.’

‘Well, thanks, Kevin. Thanks so much – for your time and for the advice.’

‘Anytime. I hope we meet one day very soon.’

‘Me too.’

‘Good luck, Louise,’ he added and the phone went dead.

Louise put down the mobile and wiped her sweaty palms on the fabric of her trousers. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get involved in something really exciting right from the outset. The only way to make Loughanlea into a world-class attraction was through professional, modern marketing techniques – the post of Tourism Marketing Manager was pivotal to its success. Louise suddenly realised, guiltily, how much she wanted the job.

‘That sounded very promising, Oli. And what I need to do next,’ she said, opening a file on the computer, ‘is to brush up this CV of mine.’

There was no response. She glanced at Oli. He was sitting on his bottom, his legs sticking out in front of him and his eyes glued to the screen. She loved him to bits, but sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice to have another adult to talk to. She liked the sound of Kevin Quinn’s voice on the phone – warm and friendly. And she found herself wondering idly if he had a wife – or partner. Almost certainly yes. All the good men, it seemed, were taken.

Oh, what was she thinking! Maybe she had never given up hope of meeting someone, not like some other single mums who more or less resigned themselves to celibacy. But she had to sort herself out first. She needed a job and a permanent home.

Louise turned her attention back to the computer. She only had a week – there was a lot to be done. Things were moving faster than she liked, but when would another opportunity like this present itself? If she didn’t go for it, she could end up unemployed for months. And that was completely out of the question.

The doorbell rang and Louise glanced at her watch. She couldn’t believe that three-quarters of an hour had passed or that Oli had managed to leave her alone undisturbed for that length of time. She glanced up – he was playing on the floor with his Planet Protectors from the Early Learning Centre – Max had bought him the entire collection for Christmas. An expensive gift to salve his guilty conscience.

Louise walked to the end of the hall, opened the door and frowned. It was her father, dressed in pressed slacks and an unzipped khaki blouson jacket with a crisp white shirt underneath. He had sunglasses on and sweat beaded his brow. The top of his balding head was sunburnt – it looked painful. He smiled widely, exuding a roguish, even boyish, charm with which he thought he could inveigle himself anywhere. ‘Can I come in?’

Louise said, unsmiling, ‘If you like.’ He hesitated just a moment at this frosty reception, then, when she turned and walked inside, followed her. He called for Oli and he came and stood at his bedroom door. Her father pulled a big family bag of Maltesers out of his pocket and Louise gasped. ‘You’re not giving him all those are you?’

Her father chuckled. ‘Sure I am. If his Papa can’t spoil him, who can?’

‘There’s more sugar in there than he normally gets in a month,’ said Louise sullenly.

Ignoring Louise, her father held the bag out to Oli. ‘There you go, son.’

Oli, who had never before received such a quantity of sweets all at once, opened his eyes wide in astonishment, then grabbed the bag out of his grandfather’s hands and held it protectively to his chest.

‘Here, let me open it for you,’ said her father. Oli handed it over.

‘Not so fast,’ said Louise. She snatched the bag and went into the kitchen followed by a whining Oli.

‘They’re my sweets. Give them back!’

‘Just a minute, Oli. I’m just going to—’

He stamped his foot on the floor and pouted his full, delicious lips. ‘Give them back!’ he screamed.

Something inside Louise snapped. ‘How dare you be so rude, Oli! Demanding sweets like that. Stop that at once! Do you hear me?’ She glared at Oli who lowered his head like a bull about to charge, folded his arms across his chest and glowered at her.

‘Don’t be so hard on him, Louise. He’s only a baby.’

‘Babies can’t talk and walk and demand sweets. He’s a toddler, Dad, and he has to learn what’s acceptable behaviour and what’s not.’ She took a deep breath, pulled a small green plastic bowl out of the cupboard and, addressing Oli, said, ‘I was going to say that I’m going to put some of the sweets in a bowl for you. And I’ll put away the rest for later. Okay?’ This was a lie – the rest would be binned. All that sugar and fat wasn’t good for anyone, let alone a tiny three-year-old. By tomorrow Oli would’ve forgotten all about them.

Oli nodded reluctantly.

Her parents had no sense – they always plied her son with excessive quantities of sweets. It hadn’t been a problem when they only saw him a couple of times a year. But if this was going to be a regular occurrence, she really would have to lay down a few ground rules. She held the bowl out to Oli, he grasped it and a short tug-of-war ensued until Louise commanded, ‘Say thank you.’

Oli complied and Louise released the bowl. He ran off into the bedroom clutching it in both hands.

‘What’s eating you?’ asked her father, who’d followed her into the kitchen.

‘Nothing,’ said Louise and she slipped past him into the lounge and went over to the table. She turned the papers she’d been working on face down and folded her arms defensively.

‘You and Oli shouldn’t be stuck inside on a glorious day like this,’ said her father, with a glance out at the cobalt blue sky. He acted as though he had not noticed her non-verbal signals, which only a blind man could’ve failed to see. ‘Why don’t we take a walk down to the front?’

Louise looked out the window, noticing properly for the first time what a beautiful day it was. On the other side of the street the grey-harled terraced houses, much older than the nearly new block she lived in, shimmered in the heat of the afternoon sun. Down on the street two small girls in vest tops and leggings played hopscotch on the pavement, their shrill voices rising like hot air. It was nearly two and she and Oli hadn’t set a foot out the door all day. It wasn’t, she realised, fair on the boy. ‘Okay. I’ll get him ready.’

Louise marched at a brisk pace down Tower Road. As they approached the promenade a light breeze, laden with the smell of seaweed and salt, played with her hair and clothes as she thrust the buggy forward like a weapon. Her father walked at her side, struggling to keep up. ‘Hey, what’s the hurry?’ he said, with irritation in his voice. ‘It’s supposed to be a walk, Louise, not a frog march.’

She sighed loudly and slowed down and they were both silent until they came to the promenade at the end of the road. Behind them lay the hulking grey building that had started life in the seventies as Ballyfergus Swimming Pool. With the more recent addition of a gym and two sports halls, it had been renamed Ballyfergus Leisure Centre. And straight ahead lay the Irish Sea, calm and inky blue, the surface of the water like ruffled lace in the breeze. On the other side of this sea, beyond her vision, lay Scotland – and Cameron. She wondered momentarily what he was doing now.