When Tommy Met Ally

If you’ve read My Big Greek Island Ex-scape, here’s a little something for you – a bonus scene that happens long before the book begins…

I almost didn’t go out the night my life changed forever.

But with my best mate, Duncan, standing in my doorway giving me shit about studying on a Friday night – going on and on for at least five minutes – I finally relented. If only to shut him up.

Turf Tavern was stuffed to the gills that night, but Duncan pushed through the crowd to the bar to get us each a pint while I did my best to stake my claim a square foot of floor near the back.

A Britney Spears song came on – ‘Womaniser’ – and that’s when I saw her. A gorgeous girl about my age – long dark-blonde hair, heart-shaped face, enormous blue eyes, and her body… she was tiny in stature but curvy and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Neither could anyone else – unsurprising considering she was standing on table belting out the song. Badly. She couldn’t sing to save her life, and she only knew half the words, filling in the gaps with made up lyrics and gibberish. But none of that stopped and she performed the hell out of that song.

When it ended, the crowd erupted with hoots, whistles, and cheers, she took a bow, and I rushed over to offer my hand to help her off the table.

She locked eyes with mine and I swear to god my heart stopped for at least five seconds. Then she took my hand and carefully stepped onto a chair then the floor. I towered over her, even though she was wearing these super high heels.

‘That was amazing,’ I said, stooping to talk in her ear.

‘I know,’ she replied, and I burst out laughing.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’

She was about to answer when Duncan found me, shoving a pint at me and sending a tiny wave of lager onto the floor.

‘Sorry, mate,’ he said, then he noticed her – the girl I’d already fallen in love with – and a sly grin spread across his face. ‘Hi, I’m Duncan.’

He stuck out his hand and she shook it.

‘I’m Ally, and your friend just asked if he could buy me a drink.’

Duncan’s gaze swung in my direction, then he looked between me and her – twice.

‘Ah. Well, then all yours, mate,’ he said before patting me on the arm and disappearing into the crowd.

When I turned back to the girl – Ally – she was watching me with an amused look on her face. I shook my head quickly to clear it.

‘Sorry, uh… let’s get you one of these, eh?’ I asked, holding up the pint.

She broke into a smile that lit her from within, and the entire Turf Tavern – the people, the music, the bar – receded into the background. There was just Ally and me. I was a goner.

‘Lead the way.’

I didn’t want to lose her in the throng – or ever – so I reached for her hand. Her tiny hand fitted into mine perfectly and I led her towards the bar where I asked her what she wanted.

‘A pint’s good,’ she replied – not a white wine, not a vodka soda – a pint. If I hadn’t already been falling hard for this girl, that might’ve sealed the deal.

While we waited to get served, I spent every second trying to think of something clever and interesting to say and failing miserably.

When we each had a drink, she signalled for us to move to end of the bar and I followed.

‘Cheers,’ she said, tapping her pint glass against mine.

‘Cheers.’

I watched in awe as she drank deeply, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. I took a sip, sensing I’d need to keep my wits about me.

‘So where did you learn to do that?’ I asked.

‘Drink from a glass? I’ve been doing that since I was about two.’

I sniggered, taking the jibe good-naturedly. ‘I meant the performance,’ I said.

‘Ahh, my sister, Claude. She’s been sneaking me into pubs and clubs since I was sixteen. My first time was a duet.’

‘She sounds a bit wild.’

‘Oh, she’s a lot wild. You have no idea.’ And that was coming from the girl who’d just performed to the entire bar.

‘So, you’re studying here?’ I asked. It was a fair assumption but not everyone in Oxford who was my age was a student.

‘Yep – English Lit and PPE.’

‘PPE?’ I asked.

‘Philosophy, Politics, and Economics,’ she replied, giving me a funny look. I probably should have known that. ‘What about you?’ she asked, eyeing me up as if my appearance alone would reveal the answer.

‘Engineering,’ we said at the exact same time.

She nodded at me knowingly – some might call smugly.

‘How did you…?’ I asked with a laugh.

‘Engineering students have a certain way about them.’

My brows shot up. ‘Is that so? Should I be insulted by that?’

‘Absolutely not. Without engineers, the world would literally fall apart.’

She took another drink of her pint, her eyes fixed on mine, and I basked in the glow of her compliment.

I knew right then that I never wanted the night to end.

And if that has you intrigued and you haven’t read My Big Greek Island Ex-scape, check it out here.

Hunger by Laura McKendrick

This weekend I am honoured to be able to share a beautifully-written short story by a fellow romance author, Laura McKendrick, who also writes under the name of Eilidh Lawrence.

Author bio

I am an aspiring romance author, songwriter and contributor to the Pink Heart Society (PHS) e-zine. I was a co-founder of #UKRomChat, a weekly live Twitter chat for romance writers, and co-hosted the chat for its first year. In 2018 I finalled in the TARA and WisRWA Fab Five romance writing contests. I’m a former prosecutor and hold a Diploma in Forensic Medical Sciences, but, no, I would not rather be writing crime! I’m all about happy-ever-afters.

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She recently entered the (UK) Woman’s Weekly Fiction Short Story Competition, which was co-sponsored by Mills and Boon and she was one of the runners up with her story, Hunger. I loved it and wanted to share it with you.

Hunger by Laura McKendrick

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Image by Alan Poulson Photography

The Oregon Trail, near Fort Hall, Idaho, 1849

“Your cooking smells of home.”

The unfamiliar voice drew Órlaith’s attention from the pot where she stewed elk over an open fire. It took a moment for her to realise the man had spoken in Gaedhilge. Shadows danced across his gaunt face. A face she didn’t know.

“I’m Liam.” He bent closer, offering his hand. “From Donegal.” His fingers were long, his grip firm. His dark hair contrasted with his pale skin.

“You’ve the charm of an Irishman, to be sure,” she replied in English. They were in America now. “But we both know half the women in this camp are stewing game tonight. It was a good day for the hunting.”

He laughed, a sound she didn’t hear so much these days.

“Well, there’s none cooking it as well as you.”

A charmer indeed.

She returned her focus to the stew. The scent of wild garlic mingled with the ever-present woody, smoky smell that had clung to her hair and dust-coated clothes for months now.

“It really does smell good.” He hesitated. “Can I buy some?”

She studied him. “I’ve not seen you before.”

“No. We joined you today. My boy was exhausted. We rested, the two of us. Our party went on.” He shrugged. “That’s how it goes.”

“Your boy?” There were so many children on this wretched journey. “How old is he?”

“Danny’s but four years.”

“You both must eat with us. As our guests. No charge.”

“Us?”

“My brother Ruaidhrí and I.” She paused. “We’re all that’s left that were still in Ireland. And there’s my babby, Hope. She’s asleep.” Órlaith nodded towards their canvas-covered prairie schooner. The wagon was the closest thing to home little Hope had experienced so far in her hard, infant life.

“I’m sorry.” A respectful silence hung in the air. The clicking of the cicadas seemed clearer. Then he smiled. “Hope’s a pretty name.”

“Will you sit?” she invited, and he did. “I always wanted a baby girl called Caoimhe. But then I had Hope on the crossing. A babby born on the Western Ocean. Who would’ve thought? We were bound for America. Caoimhe seemed too…”

“Irish.”

A moment of understanding passed between them.

“Yes.”

“And what do they call you?”

“Órlaith.”

“Was it The Hunger took your people, Órlaith?”

“Disease.”

The fire crackled.

“I see.” A horse whinnied, and he turned towards the sound. When his face returned to Órlaith, she saw sincerity etched across his strong features. “My Nancy, she made it through the workhouse. Made it through near-starvation. Made it through the crossing. But she didn’t make it beyond Boston.” A single shake of his head conveyed loss and disbelief. “Cholera. Little Molly too. Buried three thousand miles from home.”

He did see.

“We none of us would’ve expected this, when we were young. This loss.” She picked up a stick and poked the fire. It sparked. “My sister and her husband left in ’44. Went to Oregon to farm. I could never leave, that’s what I thought then. But when my husband Ciarán and my parents died everything became so bleak. It didn’t seem like life would ever get better.”

A dark time. It wasn’t the smoke that caused tears to well in the corners of her eyes.

“There’s such misery in our country,” she continued, a catch in her throat. Their eyes met. Her pain was reflected in his. “That’s when Mary finally convinced us to come join them. My brother-in-law arranged it all. It was a good boat, at least. We were lucky.”

He looked away from her and tugged at the left cuff of his worn shirt. Had he not been on a good boat? She knew of the coffin ships and thanked God she hadn’t given birth in those squalid conditions.

From behind them, Ruaidhrí coughed. “I see you’ve met our new friend.”

She hadn’t noticed her brother’s return.

Ruaidhrí stepped from the edge of the fire’s light and slapped Liam on the back. He made friends easily, always had done.

“Well, I’ll get back to my boy.” Liam stood. “We’ll take you up on your dinner offer.” He glanced at Ruaidhrí. “If your brother doesn’t mind.”

Ruaidhri grinned. “The more the merrier.”

She was in dire need of merriment.

“You’re both very kind.” Liam lingered. “And Órlaith, perhaps later, I might have a dance?”

She looked at the Irishman, tall, not yet old, a survivor. But gentle too, and familiar. Like home. She smiled. “That’d be grand.”

The flames between them flickered and leapt.