The Object of My Affection: My Band Mate's Sister

You were Made to go Out and Get Her

Brona was in the midst of the hustle and bustle of Boxing Day as she rallied around Liverpool when the city had woken. She was running in and out of places at great haste and was exhausted by the time she met Patrick in his office in the Liverpool Echo head office. She sank down into the chair in front of his desk, gratefully accepting a cup of tea.

"You've had a busy morning," commented Patrick after listening to the recital of Brona's morning. He sat on the corner of his desk, folding his arms. "You're ran of your feet, love."

Brona lifted the small, white cup from the saucer. "No rest for the wicked," she replied, taking a cautious sip of the hot beverage. "There's still so much I 'ave to do."

"Here," he said with a wave of his hand, leaning forward. "That's why you have me. You can't plan this thing all by yourself, you know." He straightened up, pushing further back on to the surface of his desk. His eyes skimmed the desk before he located a yellow post-it. "I rang your man who's in charge of HR this morning. A very sound bloke, actually. They would like you to come up anytime from now to February just to settle in for two weeks, see how it goes and then you can decide if you want to stay permanently."

Brona lowered her cup and saucer down to her lap. "What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?!" asked Patrick, shocked. He stared at her for clarification, which he received in the form of a nod. He gained composure and shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose." He raised a brow. "Brona, are you sure? I know I was the one to encourage this job but you're really rushing into it. You haven't even told anyone."

The brunette offered a sigh, accompanied by a shrug. "They'll find out soon enough. Besides, I'm finished my book, more or less. I need a new project and, as a writer, I also need new experiences."

Patrick couldn't find any worthy grounds for an argument and he got the feeling her departure wasn't up for discussion. He nodded, resigning. He took the empty cup, left it back on his tea tray and sank into his office chair. He offered to book her train ticket, saving her a trip to the station. He pulled the phone book from the compartment underneath his desk and flicked to the appropriate page.

"Here," he said, facing the dialing phone to his shoulder. He put a pen and post-it in her reach. "Anything you want to send my way, please do." He saw Brona look hesitant at the offer. He covered the mouthpiece of the telephone. "It's grand," he assured her, tapping the piece of paper.

Brona left the office twenty minutes later when her ticket was book, details were sorted and a meaningful goodbye was exchanged.

Standing up in sync, still chatting, Patrick walked Brona to the door. She adjusted her handbag on her shoulder while he twisted the knob. They lingered in the doorway, contemplating. There was a real "this is it" feeling hanging in the air. As if their time together was up. They had achieved what they set out to do. The thrill of the chase was over and now they were at the finish line.

"I know it wasn't what we were hoping for, but this is a back door," said Patrick, significantly. "This will lead on the bigger and greater things. Just wait and see."

She smiled warmly. "You know, Paddy, I wasn't sure if I was goin' to like you. Little did I know you would be one of my greatest supporters. You've done so much and I am so grateful. You didn't 'ave to. You've never owed me anythin'."

Patrick returned the brunette's smile. "No, I didn't. But I know how hard it is out there. In Ireland, there's not many jobs going currently. A lot of the newspapers are owned by Fine Gael supporters. Well, I'm Fianna Fail so no way were they ever going to employ me and the Fianna Fail papers never seemed to have any vacancies. I'm young and no one over there is able to take a risk on the inexperienced. No money. No stability."