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- Good so far. I’ve got to bake. Yours?

- I’m at work :-( busy night ahead

- You’re a barman, right?

- I work in a bar, yeah. I’ll be here a while at
least. Not sure about afterwards. It depends

- On?

Danny hesitated. In the time he’d been in his
self-imposed sexual desert, he’d wondered if he’d be able to
remember the rules of the game and the stilted messages he’d
exchanged with the other girls on the app hadn’t done anything to
help. But there was something about Claire that sparked the current
of anticipation and flirtation that was seemingly written into his
genetic code. Already, he was enjoying their light-hearted banter.
He wanted more and he didn’t want to do it through an app.

- It depends on what it takes to go from a guy you
just swipe right on and chat to, to one you want to meet

A stretch of Tinder silence descended and Danny
looked up at the noticeboard on the wall with pictures tacked to
it, charting the success of The Opal Bar from the day it was bought
and through its conversion from a neglected office space to
high-end bar. He couldn’t have done it without Joe, the Project
Manager who’d quickly become a firm friend.

He checked his iPad again and frowned. Nothing. He
must have jumped in too early. Maybe he didn’t remember the rules
as well as he’d thought. He opened up an email from his drinks
supplier. He might as well use the time Joe was away on the phone
wisely instead of thinking about the puzzling, sinking feeling of
disappointment about a woman he didn’t even know.

So, he wanted to meet. Claire stood in the
supermarket queue and put her phone away before unloading her
basket and paying for her shopping. It wouldn’t be the first time
she’d have met up with a guy from Tinder and the truth was, if
they’d both been out in a bar or a club, she’d have spotted Danny
with his good looks straight away. She might have even taken him
home with her but it would have been on her terms. This would be no
different.

As she turned onto her street, she opened up the app
and sent him a reply.

- You’ll have to prove yourself first

- Like a test?

- Exactly. Unless you’re not up to it?

- I’m always up for it and I do love a challenge

- Tell me a joke and make it good

- Lol, that’s easy. What’s orange and sounds like a
parrot?

- I have no idea...

- A carrot

- Lmao. That was awful!

- Yeah, but I bet you’re smiling

She put the phone in her pocket and let herself into
her building. He was right, she did have a smile on her face. His
silly humour was exactly what she’d been hoping for when she’d
asked him to tell her a joke. He could be as fit as he wanted, but
if he couldn’t make her laugh there’d be no chance of them even
doing so much as swapping numbers.

- Did you hear about the guy who invented the
knock-knock joke? He won the no-bell prize

With the shopping unloaded, Claire guffawed as she
read Danny’s last message.

- Ok, ok. Stop with the awful jokes!

- How am I doing?

- I’d say you’re at 60%

- Man, you’re hard work

- Well, I never said I was easy now, did I?

- And I said I like a challenge. What’s your
number?

- Who says I’m going to give it to you?

- I’ll help you bake

- Whatever. Can’t imagine you in an apron

- Tut, tut. Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to
judge a book by its cover? I look amazing in an apron and I bake
like a boss. It’s in my genes

- Lol. Irrelevant. You can’t bake me a cake over the
phone

- I’ll lick the bowl then. That’s the best part
;-)

The smile stretched to a grin as she pictured him
scraping a finger around the mixing bowl and licking it right off.
Not that she had a mixture for anyone to lick yet. If this was
happening face to face instead of over text, she would already be
anticipating the first kiss, the jolt of electric lust that would
pull them together.

- You’re distracting me. I need to bake

- You’re distracting me more like. I’m at work,
remember?

- Must be a sweet deal if you can spend all night
messaging on Tinder

- I’ve been on a break but I need to get back. It’s
busy tonight but if you give me your digits, I can distract you
some more later ;-)

Claire poured a glass of juice and flicked back
through his photos. Why would someone as fit as him would be on
Tinder? Then again, he was hot, twenty-seven years old and probably
wanted to get laid – of course he was on Tinder. She could hardly
begrudge him for that, not when she was doing the exact same thing.
Still, she didn’t respond straight away. Instead, she went back to
focusing on the task at hand. She had a bad batch of cupcakes to
bake.

Twenty minutes later, she slid the tray holding
cupcake mixture into the oven and closed the door. It had been easy
enough: Mix butter and sugar. Beat in the eggs. Give Danny your
number. She was pretty sure that wasn’t in the recipe, but she’d
done it anyway.

‘One batch of cupcakes, delivered.’ Claire grinned,
wedging the large Tupperware box next to a bag of potatoes on the
side. ‘Don’t blame me if they taste horrific.’

‘Did you use salt instead of sugar again?’ Sarah
smiled back, teasing Claire about the time they’d baked with their
dad when they were younger and Claire had mistakenly put salt in a
chocolate sponge cake mixture.

‘Of course not,’ Claire replied and stuck her tongue
out as she unwound the scarf from her neck.

It was like being a kid again, hanging out in the
kitchen with her twin as they cooked. Or, more accurately, as Sarah
cooked. Claire had done her duties and all there was left for her
to do now was eat. Her mouth watered as Sarah took the turkey from
the oven and basted it, sending its aroma around the kitchen. Even
if it weren’t for the contented smile that was permanently fixed to
her face, Sarah looked so happy. The only concession to motherhood
that Claire could ever see on her was the bags under her eyes.

Claire shrugged her coat off and draped it over the
back of one of the chairs at the dining table. ‘Where’s Mum and
Peter?’

‘Ava had an unsettled night so they’ve taken her out
for a bit. They should be back any minute.’

After years of torturing herself for the mistakes of
her childhood, Sarah had closed the fifteen year gap with her
family and returned to the fold. The enormity of them all preparing
to sit around a dining table at Christmas hadn’t been mentioned,
but the atmosphere was undeniable. It was charged with expectation
and hope that the past year, a year where they’d all gotten closer,
would continue into the next.

‘Hey, Claire,’ Adam said, walking into the kitchen,
still dressed in his pyjamas. His brown hair was ruffled and his
eyes looked tired as he leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.
‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas to you too, but what time do you
call this?’ Claire raised an eyebrow with a grin and looked down at
her watch.

‘I was up all night with Ava while this one slept.’
He nodded at Sarah and rolled his eyes, but his happiness was
clear. It was in stark contrast to the air of rejection he’d had
when Claire first met him last year after he’d split up with
Sarah.

Claire watched as he kissed the side of Sarah’s head
before making himself a coffee. Looking at them now, it was hard to
believe they’d ever split up at all. They were the vision of the
perfect family and it was only enhanced when their mum and step-dad
returned with baby Ava. After hugging them hello, Claire stretched
her arms out to scoop up her seven month old niece.

‘Hello, beautiful.’ Claire held Ava up to her face,
marvelling as she always did at how quickly her features were
changing. ‘She looks so different and I only saw her two weeks
ago.’

Sarah smiled and slung the tea-towel over her
shoulder. ‘I know. She’s growing so quickly and her attitude’s
growing with it. She’s a proper little madam.’

‘I wonder who she gets that from,’ Adam said,
swilling his coffee in his cup.

‘Must be you. She gets all the best bits from me,’
Sarah replied.

Claire blew raspberries into Ava’s neck, making her
squeal. What would her own child would be like, when she eventually
got round to having one? Would it inherit her thrill-seeking,
free-spirited nature, or the amber eyes that both she and Sarah
had? She held her niece in a hug. All this Christmas bonhomie was
clearly getting to her, just like it had in the supermarket. It was
easy to imagine herself all settled down when she was with Sarah
and Adam, getting a glimpse into how her life could be.

Her mind turned to Danny. Their messages had been
fun and flirtatious, as had the others she’d swapped with guys on
Tinder but this time, she wasn’t just thinking about someone to add
to her list of casual encounters. When he’d texted her that
morning, wishing her a happy Christmas, she’d started to think that
it
might
be nice to have someone for more than just a fling.
Someone who’d be there when she got back from a trip, waiting for
her to snuggle up to, someone to share her Christmases with, like
Sarah had.

‘You’re so good with her,’ Sarah said with a smile.
‘I can’t wait to see you with one of your own.’

That was the disadvantage of being a twin. Since
they’d grown closer, they always seemed to know what the other was
thinking, but Claire simply tutted and shook her head as if to say,
don’t be so ridiculous.

No boyfriends, no kids. She had an epic trip to
Singapore to look forward to and whatever this restless feeling
was, she needed to nip it in the bud.

Danny stood in the kitchen after washing the dishes.
He remembered the state the kitchen would be in after Christmas as
a kid. There’d be mountains of plates, pans, cutlery and glasses,
and his mum would almost be permanently attached to the sink. He
sighed and dried his hands on a tea-towel, looking at the apron
hanging on the back of the closed kitchen door, remembering how she
used to wear it like a uniform. Those Christmases were long gone.
From the minute his dad had uprooted the whole family to London
from the sleepy town of Athenry in Ireland, misery had decided it
liked their company.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he smiled after
unlocking the screen to see a photo of Claire, pulling a silly face
as she held her niece. They’d swapped messages on and off all
afternoon and it sounded like she was having a great Christmas. He
couldn’t say the same for himself. His dad had refused to entertain
the idea of spending the day at Danny’s spacious home, preferring
to stay in his cramped, gloomy flat instead. Danny had toyed with
the idea of trying to get his dad to move somewhere nicer again. He
could get another mortgage with no problems and it galled him to
think of his dad living like this, but he knew it was pointless.
His dad had vowed never to leave this place after his mum died five
years ago and Danny couldn’t see that ever changing.

He made three cups of coffee, adding a slug of
whiskey for his grandpa and headed back into the living room. His
throat tightened at the sight of his dad, dozing on the sofa with
his grandpa next to him. Both men were widowed and both were mere
shadows of the men he remembered from his childhood. Was this what
life held for him - sitting in front of a box while the world moved
past outside?

Dissatisfaction wrenched at him as he set the cups
down on the scuffed coffee table. It was as if his dad was intent
on simply existing instead of living as he’d used to do. He was the
reason Danny got into the world of bar work. Every weekend, he
would be made to work in the family pub back home. It was the hub
of their little town and his dad had been larger than life itself
but nowadays, he rarely set foot outside more than once a week.
Danny had fully embraced the hectic, cosmopolitan lifestyle the
capital offered but, as soon as he stepped over the threshold to
his dad’s flat, he was just Danny. A small town boy with nothing
behind him and nothing to look forward to.

‘When’s this young lady of yours coming?’ his
grandpa asked and Danny blinked. It was the first thing he’d said
for hours.

‘I don’t have a lady, Grandpa. Remember?’

‘Oh, yes. That’s right.’ His grandpa nodded. ‘But
why not? Sure, when I was your age I was already married with three
boys. Even your Da was married by your age.’

‘I know, but things are different these days.’

‘You still need to find yourself a woman. Settle
down, raise a family.’ His grandpa leaned on the arm of the sofa
and beckoned at Danny to come closer. ‘Are you...you know. One of
those homosexuals?’

Danny laughed. ‘No, grandpa. I’m not a
homosexual.’

‘Well at least tell me you’re cleaning your pipes
regularly?’

‘Grandpa!’ Danny groaned. ‘Really?’

‘What? Are you a man or aren’t you? Once a day keeps
the doctor away. How else do you think I’ve lived this long.’

Danny laughed again, shaking his head. It was
becoming a real juggling act with his grandpa. His Alzheimer’s was
getting worse and his lucid moments were getting fewer and further
between, marred by ever prolonged periods of forgetting who, where
or even when he was. But then there were times like this when he
reverted back to the Grandpa Gerry he remembered – outspoken and
full of bare-faced cheek. Danny looked at him as he slipped back
into his vacant expression and stared past the television. The
moment was gone as quickly as it had come. His phone vibrated in
his pocket and he quickly took it out, grateful for the
distraction. Thinking about his grandpa’s deteriorating health was
something he couldn’t deal with, not today.