Niamh Egan prided herself on being a tolerant woman. Venerating, no. Compassionate, not always – but tolerant. Tolerant of other people and their foibles. Tolerant of her husband's houseguests who had overstayed their welcome. Tolerant, yes – but at the end of her tether also.

His name was Donovan Sinclair (Donovan – imagine!) and he'd been her husband Ambrose's international pen pal since they were all of thirteen years old. Hailing from Calgary, Alberta, Donny and he had been exchanging long-winded, poorly spelled letters for well over a decade and so, it seemed only natural that the pair should meet. At first, Niamh was all for the visit. Grand, she thought – a person to supplant her role as Player Two in her husband's vast array of video games. Plus, the congenial Donny wasn't so bad to look at – all pecks and chiselled cheekbones. Perhaps he'd encourage her husband to up his game – or at the very least, develop standards about wearing Final Fantasy pyjamas at the weekend.

But no. Sadly, none of this had occurred. Not even the video games. The truth was that Donny, off the back of a particularly bad break up back home, was only interested in lamenting his poor fortune to his unwitting hosts. Night after night, the Egan's had no other choice but to provide a sounding board, punctuated with strategically-placed "ummms" and "ahhs", while Donny recanted stories from his ill-fated romance.

"You know what I need?" he announced to the Egan's that Friday morning, four days into his burdensome visit. "A holiday fling. A date. Know anyone you can set me up with?"

As if on cue, Ambrose turned to his wife with an optimistic look all over his face. Seven years together and Niamh knew exactly how to read her husband. No, she mouthed. Assumpta would hate it…

"I know just the woman."

….

"No."

"Please Assumpta, just this once. You never know, you might actually get on…"

Ambrose had caught the publican as she was loading empty beer barrels into a van – a decidedly good situation to find her in since she shrewdly was never one to turn down free labour.

"I'm not interested in a set up." Assumpta rolled another keg to her friend as he loaded it onto the truck.

"It's not a set up – just some fun. Young folk going out for the evening. You never know, you might actually like it?"

"I'm not so young and neither are you."

"Okay, okay – look can I level with you? Donny, well, he's being going through a bit of a rough time, romantically speaking…"

"Be still my beating heart."

"Assumpta, he's really hurting – he could use a confidence boost, you know? Someone to laugh at his jokes and listen to his stories."

"How long have you known me, Ambrose? Since when do I laugh at anyone's jokes?"

" – but you do listen," he interjected. "You're a grand listener and that's exactly what he could use. An eligible woman to give him the time of day. It would mean the world to him – to us, even."

Assumpta turned to Niamh, sitting on the sidelines of this particular repartee. "And you – are you in on this too?"

Niamh shook her head. "Melancholy aside, he's not a bad bloke, you know." She punctuated the sentiment with a shrug. "Who knows, you may even fancy him."

"Said with so much conviction."

"Assumpta, I never ask you for anything – I work extra shifts at a moment's notice, I clean the optics when no one else does – " Niamh took a laboured breath. "Do this one thing for Ambrose and I, will you just? Come out with us tonight."

The publican grimaced. The Egan's were right of course. Collectively, they'd done more for Assumpta than the entire village combined. She owed them this.

"Fine…" she muttered reluctantly.

"Thank you!" Ambrose was positively giddy in response. "You're a good friend, 'sumpta. We won't forget this!"

"Don't go thinking I'll let you."

"I mean it – lock-ins, sorry Private Parties, all forgotten – have as many as you like. Throw one for the four of us tonight, even."

A sudden panic rose in Assumpta's throat. "Wait, tonight? I can't make tonight. I'm meeting Peter – "

Niamh shot her friend a confused look. "As in Clifford? As in the curate? What on earth do you have to do with him on a Friday night?"

Assumpta thought fast on her feet – "Charity" she blurted, unconvincingly. "We're arranging a charity sale... you know, a what-da-ya-call-it."

"Auction?" Ambrose added, always the know it all.

"Auction, yes." The publican retorted, gratefully. "A blind auction. At the pub. I'm donating a keg."

Niamh was less convinced than her husband, but accepted it anyway. "Well, he can come too then."

"Peter?"

"Sure – I don't reckon it'll take all evening to work out the specifics of your auction."

Just as she was about to think of another unconvincing excuse, Ambrose clapped his hands together and declared, "That's grand, then" signalling the end of the discussion.

"We'll pick you up around seven and all go to Cilldargan." Niamh ushered her husband to leave, before adding "Assumpta, weren't you given those dinner vouchers from your man at the Brewery? We can use those!"

"Now there's a thought" her friend replied, morosely.

As she watched them leave, Assumpta tried to quell the knot of disappointment that was forming in her stomach. It seemed entirely unjust – first Eamon and now the Egan's. Wouldn't anyone in this village give her and Peter a fighting chance?

It was all coincidental, of course. How were they to know? Perhaps if they'd gone public, the response would be different altogether. Assumpta shuddered at the thought. The idea of everyone knowing… the fear of being looked at and openly gossiped about. Assumpta Fitzgerald didn't like everyone knowing her business and once the news of this broke out, it'd be open season in Ballykissangel.

They would have to find out eventually of course but, more than anything, Assumpta wanted to break the news on her own terms – to her own schedule. Right now, Peter and she were just finding their feet – discovering new things about one another. For now, it should just be about the two of them.

The knot in her stomach tightened. How would she break the news to Peter about tonight? This was important – their first date. Could it be postponed? Not without raising suspicion from an already curious Niamh.

Assumpta glanced up at the relentless toll of the church bells, before deciding it was far too late to do anything about it now. She vowed to corner Peter later to explain the situation. For now, all she could do was pack up the last of the empty beer barrels and head inside to pour pints for the very same mouths which would be spreading idle gossip about her and the curate before long.

…

Thanks again for all of the love that this story is getting. Your reviews are the best! I've been away for some time so i'm catching up on all of the terrific stories supplied by some of my lovely reviewers - here's looking at you Flashsil, LMS5XP, Guiltypleasureffnet and Ezikiel28.