‘Guess what?’ She sounds a bit giddy. ‘I see from Facebook that the loneliest woman on earth is home from South America.’
‘Who? Georgie Dawson?’
‘Back from her travels. Come to spread her largesse amongst us stumpy peasants.’
‘Great! That’s really great. Listen, Karen, I’m stopping pretending to write a book and I’m going to retrain as a beautician and learn all the new things.’
‘The book-writing is going that badly, is it?’
‘It’s not going at all.’
‘That’s a shame,’ she says. ‘No more going on the radio with Ned Mount?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, well. It was fun while it lasted. I’ll do a little research, find out what course is the best for you.’
‘Okay, thanks. And I’ll call Georgie.’
I rang the old mobile number I had for Georgie – and she answered. ‘Stella!’
‘Hello! Are you back?’
‘Yes. Back, like, literally twenty minutes ago. Well, two days ago. So what’s going on with Ryan?’
‘Oh, Georgie, where do I start?’
‘You must come and see me,’ she says. ‘Come to dinner tonight. I’m living in Ballsbridge – a friend of a friend had a spare house, you know how it is?’
‘No, not at all, but it doesn’t matter.’
‘Darling, I’m just going to get this out of the way: I know about you and Mannix being over. I’m very sorry. How are you doing?’
‘I’m fine.’ I swallow. ‘Maybe not exactly fine, but I will be one day.’
‘Absolutely. It reminds of when I was twenty and living in Salzburg and having a terribly sexy affair with a much older man, a count. An actual real count who lived in an actual Schloss. He wore black leather knee boots, I kid you not! Married, of course. With children, even grandchildren. I just adored him, Stella, and when he broke up with me I ran out into the snow – naked! – and waited to die. Then the Bundespolizei arrived and one of them was so hot and we began this incredibly passionate thing and the old count showed up with a Luger – Oh, I am sorry, Stella, I’m doing it again, making everything about me. What I’m trying to say is that you’ll meet another man. And You. Will. Love. Again. You will! See you tonight. Eight thirty. I’ll text you the address.’
She hangs up. She’s wrong: I will never love another man. But I have my lady friends. They will suffice … and hold on, there’s someone at the front door.
To my astonishment, standing on my front step is Ireland’s most popular broadcaster, Ned Mount.
‘Ned, hi … Are you looking for Ryan?’
‘No,’ he says, smiling at me with his shrewd, intelligent eyes. ‘I’m looking for you.’
19.34
Karen comes over to help me get ready to visit Georgie.
‘This isn’t necessary,’ I protest.
‘It is necessary. You’re representing all of us when you go to see her. Here, try on this top and let’s brush your hair out, so it’s smooth and shiny. I must say, you’re looking well, Stella. You’ve lost a few pounds.’
‘I don’t know how. I haven’t stuck to the carb-free thing. Well, I guess I have been sticking to it, in between the binges.’
‘And the anxiety you’re having about Ryan. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: anxiety is the fat girl’s best friend. Not that you were exactly fat,’ she says. ‘Just … you know.’
19.54
The doorbell rings. ‘Who’s that?’ Karen asks suspiciously.
‘Probably Ryan home from the zoo.’
‘You haven’t given him a house key?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’
It is indeed Ryan and there’s an air of barely contained excitement about him. ‘I’m not staying,’ he says. ‘Great changes are afoot. Firstly, I’ve found a person to take me in.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Zoe.’
‘My friend Zoe?’ I ask.
‘And my friend Zoe,’ he says. ‘She’s my friend too. Her little bitches of daughters have gone away for the summer and she’s got two spare bedrooms.’
‘And what other great changes are afoot?’
‘It looks like I’ll be getting my own house back. The charity realized that it doesn’t look good for them to benefit by making someone homeless, right?’ He really is in high spirits. ‘I’ll do some fund-raising stuff for them … we’re all pals! And there’s a good chance I’ll get my business back from Clarissa. I told her that I was going to found a new company called Ryan Sweeney Bathrooms, which would take away her business, and that she was better off working with me than cutting me out.’
‘And you came up with all these solutions yourself?’ Karen asks Ryan.
‘Yeah,’ he says, confidently. ‘Pretty much.’
‘Really?’
‘Okay. Maybe I’ve had an advisor, but basically it’s all down to me.’
20.36
Georgie’s friend-of-a-friend’s house is in a gorgeous little mews off the most expensive road in Ireland. She really is a class act. No parking, mind. The narrow lane is jam-packed with high-end cars. I squash my little Toyota into a space and refuse to be intimidated.
Georgie flings open her front door. Her hair is long and loose and she looks tanned and yoga-ish. I’m extraordinarily happy to see her and I reflect that if a friendship with Georgie is the only legacy from my time with Mannix, it’s not so bad.
‘You look great,’ she cries, throwing her arms around me.
‘So do you.’
‘No, darling, no. I’m so wrinkly. All that sun. I’m going to have a jaw-lift. I should have had it in Lima, but I was too loved-up. Twenty-six-year-old bodybuilder. Ended badly.’ Her eyes are sparkling. ‘For him! He wept when I left.’
‘While I think of it, Georgie, Ned Mount is trying to get in touch with you. He called to my house today – he knows we’re friends – and left a number.’
‘He did? What a sweet man. We met on a plane a few days ago. Mmmm, there was a bit of a spark! I’ll call him. So, come in, come into the kitchen. As you can see, it’s all very bijou here, but so cosy.’
There’s someone already in the kitchen, sitting at the table, and I’m momentarily irritated. Then, to my profound shock, I realize that the person is Mannix.
‘Surprise,’ Georgie says.
Mannix looks stunned. About as stunned as I feel.
He glances from Georgie to me, then back again. ‘Georgie, what’s going on?’
‘You two need to talk,’ she says.
‘No, no, we don’t.’ I’m trying to get to the door. I need to get away. Clean break. Clean break. The only way I can do this is by a clean break.
Georgie blocks my path. ‘You do. Stella, Mannix didn’t do anything wrong. There was nothing going on with him and Gilda.’
I’m finding it difficult to breathe. ‘… How do you know?’
‘I breezed through New York for a week on my way home from Peru and we arranged to meet. I spoke very firmly to her. I think she was quite frightened of me. Yes, she had a thing for Mannix.’ Georgie shrugs. ‘Each to their own. Hey, I’m joking!’
Because I’m fond of her I summon up a reluctant smile.
‘Come and sit down, sweetie.’ Gently, Georgie coaxes me, until I’m sitting at the table, opposite Mannix. She puts a glass of wine in front of me. ‘Don’t be so scared.’
I bow my head. I can’t look him in the eye; it’s too intense, just too much.
‘Gilda messed with your head, darling. She needed you to think that she and Mannix were having a thing. But they weren’t. Were you, Mannix?’
He clears his throat. ‘No.’
‘Ever?’
‘Never.’
Tentatively I lift my head and look into Mannix’s face. Energy flames between us.
‘Never,’ he repeats, his grey eyes locked onto mine.
‘So there you are.’ Georgie beams. ‘You both need to understand what happened. You we
re in a very messy situation. Roland was potentially dying and everyone was devastated. When I heard, I wept. We were all terribly upset – although, Mannix, you know I’ve always thought that you’re too attached to Roland. But you’re not my husband so it’s not my problem.’ She beams again. ‘You were running out of money, which you both worry too much about. You should be more like me – I never fret and something always comes along.’
Mannix gives her a look and she snorts with laughter.
‘Stella.’ Georgie becomes serious. ‘Mannix thought he was doing the right thing for you when he said he’d be Gilda’s agent. He was panicking; he wanted to take care of you financially and this was the only way he knew how. But you jumped to the worst interpretation, and, to be frank, I don’t really believe you have such a low opinion of Mannix, I just think you were afraid. You have that working-class chippiness thing,’ she muses. ‘You think he’s too arrogant and he thinks you’re too proud. You two do have communication issues …’ Her voice trails away, then she collects herself and says, brightly, ‘But you’ll sort it out. Okay, I’m leaving now. The place is yours.’
‘You’re going?’
‘Just for tonight.’ She swings her handbag onto her elegantly bony shoulder – a very beautiful handbag, I can’t help but notice. Perhaps I should tell her I like it; she’d probably give it to me – Oh, hold on, she’s speaking again. More advice.
‘One final thing: Gilda’s book will be published at some stage. Maybe it’ll be a success, maybe it won’t, but you have to wish her well. There’s a wonderful ritual I suggest – write her a letter and let it all out. All your jealousy and resentment – everything! Then burn the page and ask the universe – or God, or Buddha, or whoever you like – to remove the bad feelings and leave the good. You could do it together, you and Mannix. It would be a wonderful way to cleanse and re-bond. Okay, I’m gone.’
The front door shuts and Mannix and I are alone in the house.
We watch each other warily.
After a silence, he says, ‘She did that letter ritual when we were married and she set the bedroom curtains on fire.’
I laugh nervously. ‘I’m not really a ritual person.’
‘Neither am I.’
‘I know.’
Startled, we look at each other, shocked by the flash of our old familiarity. Then my mood darkens.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask. ‘Are you still Gilda’s agent?’
He seems surprised. ‘No … Don’t you know? I called, I left messages.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I clear my throat. ‘I didn’t listen to them. I couldn’t …’
‘I stopped being her agent the day you told me you were leaving New York. There was no longer any point. I’d only been doing it for you.’
‘Really? So how is she?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Honestly?’ I look hard at him. ‘Aren’t you even a bit curious about her? Don’t you run into her in New York?’
‘I don’t live in New York.’
I’m hugely surprised. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Here. Dublin. I’m building up my practice again. It’ll take a while but … I like being a doctor.’
Something has just occurred to me, some piece of information that’s slid home. ‘A mysterious friend has been helping Ryan today – is that you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘To help you.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because you’re everything to me.’
That silences me.
He takes my hand across the table. ‘It was always you. It was always only you.’
The touch of his skin makes tears start in my eyes. I thought I’d never again hold his hand.
‘… I can’t sleep without you,’ he says. ‘I never sleep. Please come back.’
‘It’s too late for us,’ I say. ‘I’ve made my peace with it.’
‘Well, I haven’t. I love you.’
‘I did love you. I’m sorry I never told you at the time. Now I’d better go.’ I stand up.
‘Don’t.’ Sounding panicked, he gets to his feet. ‘Please don’t go.’
‘Thank you, Mannix. My time with you was wonderful and thrilling and beautiful. I’ll never forget it and I’ll always be glad it happened.’ I give him a quick peck on the mouth and go outside and find my car.
I sit behind my steering wheel and wonder which is the best way to Ferrytown from here. Then I think, Am I completely insane? Mannix is in there, Mannix who says he still loves me, Mannix who didn’t cheat on me, Mannix who wants us to try again.
I switch off the engine and get out of my car and go back to the house. Mannix opens the door. He looks wrecked.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, helplessly. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m thinking straight now. I love you.’
He pulls me into the house. ‘And I love you too.’
A Year Later
I cradle the baby in my arms and stare down into her tiny little face. ‘She’s got my eyes.’
‘She’s got my eyes,’ Ryan says.
‘Guys,’ Betsy says. ‘She’s four weeks old. It’s too soon for her to have anyone’s eyes. Anyway, she totally looks like Chad.’
Kilda makes a mewling noise, then another and it looks like she’s going to launch into full-blown crying.
‘Betsy,’ I say, anxiously.
‘I’ll take her,’ Chad says. He gathers the tiny bundle into his chest and immediately Kilda quietens.
Dad watches this with keen interest. ‘You’ve a good way with her, haven’t you, son?’ He sounds a tad suspicious. ‘We had our doubts about you. Weren’t sure you’d be father material, but all credit to you, gameball!’
‘Gameball,’ Mum agrees.
‘Thanks,’ Chad says.
‘No bother. Well!’ Dad smiles around at us, all crowded into the front room of the beach house. ‘This is a fitting entrée to the world for my first great-grandchild. ‘Entrée being a French word … Hold on –’ He pauses, then taps himself on the chest and emits a robust belch. ‘This fizzy stuff is giving me the gawks. Have you any Smithwicks?’
‘Jeffrey,’ I say. ‘Get Grandad some working-class ale. There are a few bottles in the kitchen.’
Jeffrey obediently gets to his feet and Mum says, ‘While you’re in there, could I have a cup of tea?’
‘Sure, anyone else want anything?’
‘Can I have some cake?’ Roland asks.
‘Noooooo!’ a chorus of voices calls out.
‘Don’t, love,’ Mum says to him. ‘You worked so hard to lose all that weight, you don’t want to start piling it on again.’
‘Oh, all right.’ A little glumly, he toes the rug with his pink and orange trainer.
‘Why don’t you have a coconut water?’ Jeffrey suggests.
‘Okay!’ And instantly Roland is back to being cheery again.
‘And maybe you’d tell us a story,’ Mum says. ‘Tell us about the time you met Michelle Obama. Chad would like that, him being American.’
‘And then,’ Ryan glances meaningfully at Zoe, ‘we’d better get going.’
‘Yes.’ Zoe giggles. ‘We’d better.’
Riding. Non-stop riding. Last year, when Ryan moved into Zoe’s house, something big had ignited between them. Even after he managed to win back his house and his business, they remained together.
Over at the door, Karen is staring out at the waves. ‘Doesn’t it ever get to you?’ she says. ‘All that … water?’
I laugh. ‘I love it.’
‘I couldn’t live here,’ she says. ‘I don’t know how you do it. I’m not a rural person. Am I, Enda?’
‘You’re a city girl.’ Enda looks at her with solid admiration. ‘You’re my city girl.’
‘Christ, Enda.’ Karen’s look is scathing. ‘Whatever it is you’re drinking, go easy on it.’
Clark and Mathilde come thumping down the hallway and into the room. ‘Hey!’ Clark yells. ‘
What’s that funny swinging bed in the end bedroom?’
I colour slightly. ‘Just a bed.’
‘Do you and Uncle Mannix sleep in it?’
‘… No.’ I flick a look at Mannix.
‘No.’ Mannix clears his throat.
We’re telling the truth. We do very little sleeping in it.
Karen watches me and Mannix closely, then rolls her eyes. ‘I suppose we’d better get moving too. But before we go, Stella …’ She crosses the room to me and says, almost without moving her lips, ‘I need a word.’
She pulls me into a corner. ‘Look, I didn’t know if I should tell you or not but there was something in one of the British papers today. About –’
‘– Gilda and her book,’ I finish for her.
‘Oh, you know? You saw it? Are you okay about it?’
‘Well …’
Over the past year Mannix and I have had many discussions about how we might feel when Gilda’s book is published. ‘If we’re bitter,’ I’d concluded, ‘it would be like holding a hot coal in our hands – we’re the ones who’d get hurt.’
Today, when it finally happened, as I saw the photo of Gilda’s pretty smiling face and read the positive review of her book, my hands were shaking and my heart was beating way too fast. I showed the page to Mannix and I said, ‘Can we wish her well?’
‘Is that how you feel?’ he asked.
‘It’s the way I want to feel,’ I said.
‘Very worthy.’ Mannix gave a little laugh. ‘But also remember,’ he said, ‘that she really, really, really doesn’t matter.’
The last of our visitors leaves around seven o’clock. We wave the cars away up the boreen, up through the dunes and over the hill, until it’s just Mannix and me.
‘Where’s Shep gone?’ Mannix asks.
‘Running around in the field, the last I saw of him.’
‘Come on, we’ll all go for a walk.’
Mannix whistles for Shep and, after a moment, he comes bounding over the hill, his black tail waving behind him like a plume.
The three of us are alone on the beach. The evening sun casts a golden glow and the waves deposit a stick on the shiny sand, right at my feet. Shep barks and jumps with excitement.
‘A gift from the gods!’ I say. ‘I’ll throw it for Shep. The two of you, go ahead a little bit.’