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“Uncle promised one more story before bed.”
“He did! He did! He did!”
Mairead emits the theatrical, put upon sigh cultivated through generations of Tierney Mammies. Fiachra, the easy-going father, will allow this, his kindness a salve to her no-nonsense mothering. But wouldn’t it be nice to have them tucked up early for once? Wouldn’t it be nice to get an evening’s quiet?
“Wasn’t Uncle Michael fair foolish saying such a thing on a work night?” Fiachra winks at his co-worker, turns to the the window, a low whistle making a show of inspecting the rain lashing the glass. “It’s a hard night. He could stay another half hour and see if it eases off.” Fiachra slops a dram of Tully into Michael’s glass. They’ll both have sore heads tomorrow, thinks Mairead.
“Half an hour’s enough ti
