Barefoot Over Stones by Liz Lyons Page A

Anthony continued to use quantities that would dip a flock of sheep and cure them of all their infestations. When he came to think of it, Dan decided sheep dip probably had the edge on any of Anthony’s wooing scents.
    ‘I think, Ant, the only captivating you will be doing tonight is if they fall at your feet overpowered by the whiff of your aerosol poison.’
    ‘Control your jealousy, Abernethy, just because I have a line of hot babes waiting to succumb to my charms in pubs the length of Leeson Street and you, saddo, are taking yourself off to the cinema to munch your popcorn on your own. Why don’t you come with me and watch the master at work? Pointers, my friend, that’s what you need and I’m the very man to help you.’
    ‘I wouldn’t dream of cramping your style, Anthony. Talent like yours needs oxygen to breathe.’
    ‘Well, enjoy the subtitles, and I will take care of the ladies,’ Anthony replied before he swaggered out in search of his unsuspecting prey.
    At the bar there was a row of Guinness-sipping heads, lined up like soldiers on their high stools silently admiring themselves in the gilt whiskey-label mirrors that lined the back of the bar. It seemed that real men in Conlon’s sat at the bar because all the tables and chairs were vacant except for one in the corner, temporary home to a group of handbag-clutching, vodka-quaffing women who looked as if they were expecting the bingo numbers to roll any minute now.
    ‘Did you say Leachlara?’ Alison asked, knocked sideways by the coincidence that she had willed not to be the case ever since Ciara had disclosed to her the details of Leda’s involvement with the dodgy politician in their home town.
    ‘Yeah, I’m from Leachlara. Why, have you heard of it?’ Dan was a bit taken aback. Anybody he had mentioned it to in Dublin had never heard of Leachlara, which didn’t surprise him really. It was, after all, only a crooked miserable street with more pubs than it needed and precious little else. Columbo’s battle cry was that Con Abernethy had put Leachlara on the map and it had struck Dan that it was a curiously pointless achievement – even if it were the case. Truly there was no point in going there unless you had the misfortune to call it home. Now it seemed to have followed him here and he didn’t know how to react.
    ‘My best friend is from Leachlara. She’s my flatmate too.’ Alison knew that he might be uncomfortable with the mention of her name but she thought it best to get it out of the way. Hopefully it would not scupper this thing with Dan before it even got started. She had to be honest. He was going to meet Ciara sooner rather than later and this whole thing would be better aired beforehand. ‘I think you might know her. At least, she has spoken of a family of Abernethysfrom Leachlara. Ciara Clancy is her name.’
    Dan was stunned. It couldn’t get much worse than this. He had run from the mess that his father had created at home with Leda Clancy. He had sought refuge in his independent life in Dublin but it had followed him here like a bad smell and it could ruin the nicest thing that had happened to him in ages. Ciara Clancy was not likely to be impressed with her flatmate’s choice of company.
    Dan felt his throat tighten and his mouth dry but he forced himself to form some sort of an answer. ‘I’ve heard of her. I mean, I know the Clancys and where they live. I don’t think I have ever spoken to Ciara. She was at the same school but she was only starting when I was doing the Leaving.’ Dan was rambling because he didn’t know how much, if anything, Ciara might have told Alison about his father. There was no point in him blurting it all out to her if she was blissfully unaware. She would just think his dad was a creep, a point he might well have to concede, but he wasn’t ready for her to think badly of himself too, not when they had only just met.
    Anticipating how awfully this could turn out, Alison thought she had