Stand by Me by Sheila O'Flanagan

Maeve had been to Majorca, Dominique had wanted to go too. Brendan had given in on the honeymoon and Dominique had kissed him over and over again and told him that he was the best fiancé in the whole world and he was going to be the best husband in the world too. The flight wasn’t until later the following day, but now that the wedding was over, the thought of it was keeping her awake. She sat on the bed while Brendan snored gently and told herself over and over again that she had hit the jackpot the day Brendan Delahaye had sat at her table in American Burger. She told her baby that he (she’d decided that it was definitely a he) was a lucky boy because he had a mother and father who were crazy about each other and who’d be crazy about him too.
     
    She pulled the covers around her and tried to sleep, but she failed miserably. An hour later, with Brendan still out for the count, she got up, put on her loose jeans and a jumper and went downstairs. She expected the public areas to be deserted, and they almost were. But there was a man sitting in one of the big armchairs, holding a glass of whiskey in his hand and staring into space.
     
    ‘Greg?’ She walked over to her brother-in-law. ‘Are you OK?’
     
    ‘Domino.’ He looked at her in surprise, and she grinned at him.
     
    ‘I love the way you all call me that,’ she said.
     
    ‘It’s what Brendan calls you,’ said Greg. ‘We thought it was your real name. My mother wondered what sort of person would call her daughter after a game. That sort of game, anyway. If you’d been called Camogie, or even Hockey, she’d have understood.’
     
    Dominique laughed, and told him that she was named after a saint.
     
    ‘Having met your parents, that makes more sense,’ agreed Greg. ‘So why are you out of bed? Something the matter?’
     
    ‘No,’ she told him. ‘Just too excited to sleep, although Brendan is dead to the world.’
     
    ‘He’s a good sleeper, is Bren,’ said Greg. ‘Likes his eight hours. Gets up early, though.’
     
    Dominique scrunched up her nose. ‘Not good,’ she said. ‘I hate the morning.’
     
    ‘Night owl?’ asked Greg.
     
    ‘Only since I met Brendan,’ she told him. ‘Which kind of contradicts what you’ve said, because we usually stay out really late.’
     
    ‘Maybe you’ve changed him,’ Greg told her.
     
    ‘Maybe.’ Dominique smiled. ‘Though I’m not sure that people can change other people.’
     
    ‘You’re probably right about that.’ Greg took a sip of his whiskey.
     
    ‘Are you OK?’ asked Dominique again. ‘You seem a bit down.’
     
    ‘Me? Down?’ Greg shook his head. ‘No.’
     
    ‘You’re not thinking of becoming a priest, are you?’
     
    ‘What!’ There was complete astonishment in Greg’s voice.
     
    ‘It’s just that Gabriel goes all kind of thoughtful like you,’ Dominique told him. ‘You remind me of him sometimes.’ She grinned. ‘I told Emma that you were Gabriel-lite.’
     
    ‘Ah, Emma,’ said Greg.
     
    Dominique nodded. ‘She sort of has this unrequited love thing going on with Gabriel,’ she told him.
     
    ‘Oh.’
     
    ‘It’s just because she can’t have him,’ said Dominique. ‘Emma usually gets whoever she wants.’
     
    ‘So you introduced her to me even though you knew she was pining after the priest?’
     
    Dominique grinned. ‘I thought you’d take her mind off him. She only thinks she’s pining.’
     
    ‘I asked her out.’
     
    ‘Did you?’
     
    ‘She seemed . . . sympathetic.’
     
    ‘Not a quality I’d generally have attributed to Emma Walsh,’ said Dominique. ‘But maybe you’re good for her.’
     
    ‘You think?’
     
    ‘Possibly. Is she going to go out with you?’
     
    Greg nodded. ‘I’m meeting her tomorrow.’
     
    ‘I know I kind of threw her at you.’ Dominique frowned. ‘And I’m glad you asked her out, but it will be a bit awkward if you hit it off, what with you living in Cork and her in