It's All About Him (2 page)

'Yeah, well, that only works if you have the time and you can cook.' Carrie made a face. 'I'd poison myself!'

Dee laughed. 'You're not alone and some people are always going to depend on processed food, which is why there should be more restrictions on labelling.'

'How come you know so much about food?'

Dee rummaged in her bag and pulled out a business card.

'Dee's Deli Delights,' Carrie read. 'Oh, you're a chef!'

'A cook,' Dee said modestly. 'I'm self-trained. I cook all the food for the Happy Days crèche and the café in Better Books.'

'Yes, I know it! They have that amazing chocolate cheesecake, do you make that?'

Dee nodded. 'All natural ingredients and only three hundred calories a slice,' she said proudly. She glanced at her watch and groaned. 'I'm sorry, but I really have to go now.'

'Oh, of course. Listen, thanks a million, that was great.'

'No problem.'

Dee finished her shopping at break-neck speed. In little over an hour she'd returned home, put away the groceries and was walking with Sam towards the doctor's surgery. It was nearly twelve and surgery would be over soon so she quickened her step, tugging Sam after her.

He seemed fine but Dee wasn't taking any chances. She would never forget the time when Sam was just twenty-six months old, and she had put him to bed coughing. She had assumed it was just another cold – he got so many – but in the early hours of the morning he had been fighting for breath. Terrified, she'd called an ambulance and prayed as they sped down the motorway towards Dublin. The staff in the emergency ward had quickly eased Sam's breathing and within two days he was home again, the doctors assuring her that though it had been an asthma attack it had been a mild one and it was something he would undoubtedly grow out of. They had been interested to see the rough, red skin in the creases of his arms and knees and had told her that eczema and asthma often went hand in hand.

Dee had gone straight to see Bill Green, her GP, and though he had agreed with the diagnosis and told her that Sam might get mild attacks from time to time until he grew out of it, she'd pestered him as to what she could do to prevent it. He had told her that a healthy diet with plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables might help and that she should restrict Sam's exposure to additives. She could also keep a diary, noting when Sam's skin flared up or when he started wheezing, and see if there was any pattern to it.

Then Dee had begun a crusade, promising herself that she wouldn't rest until she found the causes of Sam's health problems. It turned out that dog and cat hair – some breeds more than others – were a trigger of some of his skin problems and also that processed food was definitely an issue. Dee spent hours in the local library researching food and the damage that additives could cause and began to cook everything from scratch herself, even their bread.

Bill Green assured her that Sam would probably be fine given time and that she shouldn't get too stressed about his condition, but Dee was determined to do everything in her power to cure her son. She never wanted him to go through such a horrible experience again. Her hard work paid off and with a change of diet and a bit more care around animals, Sam's attacks became fewer and milder.

'How are you feeling now, sweetheart?' she asked, putting a hand down to caress his dark head.

'Okay. I don't want to go to see Doctor Bill,' he grumbled.

'But Doctor Bill's your friend, Sam. I'm sure you're fine, but let's get you checked out just to be sure.'

When they walked into the surgery, the receptionist looked up and smiled. 'Hey, Dee, hi, Sam, how are you?'

Dee smiled at the girl who'd become a friend over the years. 'Not very well, Sheila.'

'Oh, dear.' Sheila shot Sam a sympathetic look. 'Well, you timed it well, honey. Doctor Bill is just finishing up with our last patient and then you can go in.'

Dee perched on a stool as Sam wandered over to the small play area.

'What's up?' Sheila asked when he was out of earshot.

'No idea; he's been vomiting half the night but I can't figure out why.' Dee stifled a yawn.

'You look terrible,' Sheila told her.

'Thanks a lot.'

'You need a break. Why don't you get away for a few days?'

'You are joking,' Dee laughed. Even if she could afford a holiday, who would take over her workload? Anyway, it would be too stressful, worrying about what was in the food Sam was eating, never mind the worry of him sleeping between strange sheets.

'Then at least let's have a night out,' Sheila was saying. 'I'll organize it; you, me, Lisa and Lauren.'

'I haven't seen Lauren in weeks, how is she?'

'Tired,' Sheila chuckled, 'but that's par for the course with six-month-old twins.' She turned her head as the surgery door opened and Bill Green shepherded out an elderly lady.

'Okay, Mrs Doyle, you take care now, bye-bye.'

'I will, Doctor, thank you.'

Bill Green turned to smile at Dee. 'Hello, Dee. Hey, Sam, are you coming in to see me?' Sam nodded and offered a weak smile. 'Ooh, you do look a bit peaky, let's have a look at you.'

Dee followed them into Bill's office and waited as Bill did a thorough examination.

'What do you think?' she asked anxiously after sending Sam back out to the waiting room.

Bill sat down in his chair and pulled his stethoscope off and shrugged. 'I'd say it's just a virus of some sort.'

'He definitely didn't eat anything out of the ordinary.'

'He's four,' the doctor told her, smiling kindly. 'Four-year-olds get bugs all the time.'

'I suppose,' Dee said with a tired sigh.

'You need a break,' Bill said.

'So Sheila was just telling me,' Dee said, smiling. 'I'll hop on the private jet and go down to the Bahamas for a few days.'

'A couple of early nights and a babysitter would probably do the trick,' he said, ignoring her flippancy. 'Just keep him on very simple plain foods for a couple of days.'

Dee nodded as she stood up. 'Will do.'

'And call me if you're worried.'

'Thanks, Bil,' she said and went back out to reception to pay Sheila.

'I'll be in touch about that night out,' the receptionist told her.

'I'll look forward to it,' Dee lied. She loved going out with the girls and it had been a long time since they'd done it, but the thought of the unnecessary expense when money was so tight put her off.

'Can we go to the playground?' Sam asked Dee as they walked out of the surgery and turned for home.

'Oh, I don't know, sweetheart, that might not be such a good idea—'

'Oh, please, Mummy!'

Happy to see him a bit more enthusiastic, Dee relented. 'Well, okay, then, but not for long. I have a lot of work to do this afternoon.'

As he played on the swings and the slide in the small playground next to the beach, Dee stared out to sea and went over in her head what she had to make that day. A vegetarian quiche, a steak and kidney pie for the café and a beef stew for the children's lunch tomorrow. To simplify life and her budget, Dee usually used similar recipes for both the crèche and the café. Although for the most part she kept the children's menu simple she had become adept at tailoring many sophisticated dishes to suit their tastes, too.

The owner of Better Books, Ronan Fitzgerald – Conor's dad – was delighted with Dee's food and his café had turned from a place for morning coffee to a thriving lunchtime venue largely because of her dishes.

It was Lisa who had first suggested to him that he should buy his cakes from Dee – homemade and local, she'd told him – and a few days later, he'd called and they'd struck a deal. He had steadily increased his order as the months had passed and now Dee was his largest supplier. While Dee was thrilled with this development – she needed every penny she could get – it was also a lot of hard work. Conscious of how little time she was spending with Sam lately, she'd taken to getting up at six and doing some of the cooking before Sam woke.

Planning was the key, she'd found in this business, and the freezer was her greatest tool. She always cooked greater quantities than she needed and then froze some of the food in small portions so that there was always something healthy for Lisa and the children and for her and Sam, too, on the rare occasion that she took a day off from the kitchen. Though Saturdays and Sundays were largely her own, she usually did some baking while Sam 'helped'.

Dee's thoughts returned to the bill she'd received that morning and she sighed wearily. Every time she seemed to get her head above water, something seemed to happen and it usually involved money or, rather, the lack of it. The house absorbed most of her income, but Sam's medication and creams and his frequent visits to the doctor added up, too. As she watched him climb up the slide she also realized that he would need a new pair of shoes before long; that would be another forty euros or so which she couldn't afford. Glancing at her watch, she called to her son. It was time to get back to the kitchen and earn it.

Lisa was in the dining room on her hands and knees cleaning up after lunch when they got back. 'So, is everything all right?' she asked Dee.

'Yes, it's just a bug.'

'Poor little man.' Lisa smiled affectionately at her godson. 'Why don't you go and play with Tom and I'll bring you some milk and crackers?'

'Thanks,' he said with a grin and skipped off to join his best friend.

Lisa got to her feet and she and Dee went back out to the kitchen.

'You look like you could do with a cuppa,' she said.

Dee yawned. 'I think I'm going to need a gallon of tea if I'm to keep going today.'

'Why don't you lie down for an hour? You'll be a lot more productive if you've had a rest.'

Dee rubbed her eyes. 'But I haven't made anything for lunch yet—'

'There's a plate of ham in the fridge and that lovely soda bread from yesterday, that's more than enough.'

'But—'

'Dee, just go.'

Dee saw the determined look in her friend's eye and gratefully capitulated.

She gave Lisa a quick hug and made for the stairs. 'Call me if you need me.'

'We'll cope.'

Dee collapsed on to her large bed and pulled the duvet up around her. Closing her eyes she tried not to think of all the jobs she should be doing. Lisa was right; she'd get a lot more done if she had a catnap, just a little one, an hour at the most . . .

Ronan and Julia Fitzgerald worked in companionable silence as they got ready for opening at ten. It was a beautiful spring morning and the sunshine lit up the pretty café with its yellow curtains, faded floral cushions and pine floors. The eight tables were draped in blue and white check oilskin cloths and four tall stools stood at the bar for those who came in for a quick cuppa and a gossip. Ronan glanced at his watch. 'You're going to be late, love.'

'I am,' she agreed, and hurried to get her bag, cardigan and keys from the counter. 'Right, is there anything else you need me to do?'

'No, you go. Zoe will be here in a minute.'

Julia looked at him from under raised eyebrows. 'The day that girl's on time I'll eat my hat. Now, I'll be going to the shops later, do you need anything?'

'No, love.'

'And if you want to go home for lunch there's some salad—'

'I'll have something here,' he said hurriedly.

'And don't be late home this evening,' she warned.

'Of course I won't,' he said affronted.

'Okay, then, see you tonight.'

'Glasses.' Ronan held up her spectacles and she hurried back to him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

'Thank you, darling.'

Ronan chuckled as she hurried off. Julia ran herself ragged between helping out at the church, working at the nursing home and looking after him, but if it made her happy then that was fine by him. He was grateful that she was such a busy woman. If they worked together too much they drove each other mad. Ronan was too relaxed and easygoing as far as Julia was concerned and she too critical and demanding in his view. Anyway, a bit of space was always a good thing for a marriage, Ronan thought. It was also quite pleasant working alongside a pretty young thing like Zoe. He liked to be surrounded by young people. They didn't moan or whinge the way his age group did, or if they did, it was in a light-hearted sort of way. Ronan had no doubt that Zoe's pretty smile and sunny disposition was very popular with his customers and not just the male ones.

'Hiya, boss.'

He looked up to see the young lady in question slipping in the back door and tossing her backpack behind the bar. 'Morning, Zoe, how are you today?'

'Don't ask.' She pulled a face. 'I was out last night.'

'Ah, feeling a little delicate?'

'Let's say I'd prefer if you didn't put on your big-band CD today.'

Ronan chuckled as he went behind the bar and opened the fridge. 'I have the perfect cure for you,' he said, extracting tomato juice, a lemon and an egg.

Zoe looked on suspiciously. 'Are you trying to kill or cure me?'

'You've a full day's work ahead of you; of course I don't want to kill you. So what was the occasion?'

Zoe pulled herself on to a high stool and dropped her head on to the counter. 'It was Tracey's birthday so we decided to have a few drinks and then we went on to a club in town and bumped into a few mates and, well, it's all a bit of a blur after that.'

'How did you get home?' Ronan asked, trying not to sound too much like her father.

'Someone poured us into a cab,' she assured him, a smile playing around her lips. 'Don't worry, boss, I didn't take any lifts from strangers.'

'Glad to here it. Now, try this.' He banged the foaming mixture down in front of her making her wince.

'I'm not sure I can.'

'Hold your nose and down it in one. Trust me, you'll feel better.'

Zoe sighed. 'That wouldn't be hard.' She raised the glass and lowered half of it before coming up for air, her face twisted in disgust. 'That is bloody awful!'

'It will be worth it,' he promised, glancing at the clock. 'Now, are you ready to open up or do you need more time?'

'No, no.' Zoe stood up and waved him away. 'I'll be fine, I just hope it's a quiet morning.'