“If you want me, come and get me. I’ve been driving all day.”
Entre nous, I’m delighted he’s back in the country especially if, as seems to be the case, Andrei is off. I have plans for Hathaway. Oh yes, big plans.
Day 2 . . .
She could actually run in them. Four and a half inches—although she would admit they had a half-inch platform, which made the descent less steep, but four inches was still very high—and she wasn’t just walking fast, she was actually running. Not every woman could do that, especially not every woman over forty, and it was a handy skill to have because right now she was very late. She’d managed to talk Fionn out of his gloom so she was on her way home to get changed into a cocktail dress, then she had to race across town to meet him for a knees-up at the U.S. embassy. They were still going to every party they were invited to because she was defiantly refusing to think about the future and was determined to keep enjoying herself, right up until the last minute, whenever that would be. But all this socializing was time-consuming, and she was already late when she left work, then she’d stopped off to buy milk and other basics and she’d got lured into a drugstore. She’d actually needed iron supplements (she couldn’t sustain this pace for much longer without something), but she’d got sidetracked in the nail-care aisle and went into a trance. God, they had good stuff there, excellent stuff: a new brand of topcoat and emery boards patterned with Marimekko designs . . . She’d lost a lot of time but at least she was finally home and—
“Conall!” Oh my God. It was Conall. Hathaway. Standing outside the front door of 66 Star Street, looking huge. She hadn’t seen him in ages.
He seemed just as shocked to see her. “Katie?”
“Conall.”
“You look fantastic.”
“You look . . . wrecked.” His suit was rumpled and his hair was all over the place.
“Just off a plane from the Philippines.”
“Nothing changes.” She pointed her key at the lock. “Can I . . . Do you want me to let you in?”
“I’m waiting for . . . Ah—”
“Lydia?”
“Yeah, she’s on her way down.”
She’s your—” Katie proceeded with caution, like she was crossing a broken old bridge with rotten slats that could snap beneath her without warning. “She’s your girlfriend?”
“Um, yeah.”
There, Katie thought. The words were said and she was fine. She hadn’t plunged into a terrible abyss; in fact, she’d felt nothing. Fionn, what a fabulous painkiller he was. Better than anything on the market. He should license himself; he’d make a fortune.
“And,” Conall said, “I hear you and—Fionn, is it?—are an item?”
“We are. Anyway, gotta go. I’m late.”
“And it’s going well with him?”
God, Conall—so competitive, always. What did he expect her to say? No one could ever be as good as you, Conall? Because they could. Fionn was. She contented herself with an enigmatic shrug and went on her way.
Day 2 . . .
Slippers, shower caps, soaps, night-time chocolates, pens—a cornucopia of beautiful things all lifted from Conall’s hotel rooms.
“Hathaway, this is good gear.”
“Any time.” Deftly, he unclipped Lydia’s bra. He’d done a fine job of almost entirely undressing her while her attention was focused on her goody box.
“Oh!” She gasped with delight: Molton Brown shower gels. Far better than the own-brand shite he’d included.
Conall laughed and gently bit first her right nipple, then her left. “You love it, don’t you? The pleasuring?”
“Mmmm.” He’d thought her gasp was sexual, she realized. She’d better focus. She had a naked Conall Hathaway before her, with a frisky-looking erection keen for action. The free shower gels could wait.
“That’s what Katie used to call it,” he said, lowering her to the bed.
Lydia froze. “Katie called what what?”
“Pleasuring. It was her word.”
Lydia rolled away and sat up. “Don’t ever mention Katie again. You mope.”
“... Oh ...”
“I don’t care. But when I kick you into touch, you’ll never keep another girl. Mind you, the saps you’ve had in the past, maybe they put up with it because you’ve a house in Wellington Road. But if you want me to stick around—”
“Right . . . sorry.”
“Have you forgotten that I told you Katie and Goldilocks are an item?”
“No.”
“They’re mad about each other. At it nonstop. Having baths in the middle of the night and chasing each other round the house and screeching and keeping hardworking people like me from their night’s sleep.”
Day 1
“What time will you be home?” Maeve asked.
“Could be quite late,” Matt said.
“Oh Matt.”
“You know what it’s like.” He smiled apologetically. “Potential clients, private room, tasting menu, expensive wine. These things drag on.”
“Friday night’s a funny one for that sort of do.”
“Only night we could all manage. But you’ll be grand. You’ve got Shrigley, right?”
“Mmm. And there’s a leaving do at work.” She didn’t know why she’d said that. It wasn’t as if she’d go.
“You could go to it after Shrigley. Then you wouldn’t be on your own here for so long.”
Maeve paused, a spoonful of porridge halfway to her mouth. Matt didn’t usually try to persuade her to go out with her work colleagues.
“Why not? Try it for an hour,” Matt said. “Might be good for you. If it gets too much, you can always leave.”
Maeve looked at him doubtfully.
“Half an hour, maybe,” he said. “You never know, you might find you’re enjoying yourself.”
“But Matt . . . even normal people don’t enjoy leaving parties.”
“Maeve, look.” She saw desperation in his expression. “We’ve got to keep trying.”
She dropped her eyes. No, no more trying. He was on his own with that particular mission.
“Maeve?”
She had to say something. “What restaurant are you going to?”
“. . . Ah . . . Magnolia.”
“I thought that had closed down.”
“. . . Ah . . . no, it hasn’t.”
Matt snapped two antidepressants out of their foil package and rolled one across the table to Maeve. “Like I say, I’ll be late, so take your time.”
Maeve threw the pill into her mouth and chased it with a gulp of water. She passed the glass to Matt. “I’ll just brush my teeth and we’ll get going.”
She left the room. Matt tensed and listened hard to the sound of a tap running in the bathroom. When the buzzing sound of an electric toothbrush reached him, he threw himself on her satchel, rummaged urgently through it, produced a bunch of keys, clattered them into the cupboard under the sink, dumped the satchel down on to the floor and shoved himself back in front of the breakfast counter.
I’ve just noticed that something’s wrong, something’s terribly wrong. Matt and Maeve, well, their shared heartbeat . . . I can’t feel it any more. It’s gone and I realize it’s actually been dead for a while, for a long while. What I was feeling wasn’t the real thing, but something like a recorded message, an echo from the past. Like the light that reaches us from a long-dead star.
Day 1 . . .
Lydia threw herself onto the floor, flat on to her stomach, to check there was nothing left under either of the beds. She wanted every last microfiber of the lads out of here. A couple of dust balls were rolling around, but other than that, nothing. The packing had been thorough; the last few days had been a frenzy of activity.
“Jan, don’t forget your poster of the pope.” She hopped up to unpeel it from the wall.
“You can have,” Jan said. “It might help you.”
“Me?” She couldn’t stop grinning. “I’m beyond redemption.”
“That looks like it.” Andrei did a last sweep of their bedroom.
“If you’ve forgotten anything, you can pick it up when you come back.”
She hadn’t cared even when she’d discovered that Andrei’s new billet was just one floor away. He was an engaged man now and that operated like a repellent force field for her. That messy business was all in the past, a baffling little dabble, over for good.
She was so cheerful about getting rid of them that she’d helped carry the last of their boxes down to the van.
“Goodbye. Goodbye.” Now that they were leaving, she felt almost sentimental. “Safe journey, all that.”
As she watched the van disappear up the street, her phone rang. “Hathaway?”
“Tonight?”
“Cleaning. I’m moving into my lovely new big room. Sissy’s calling over when she’s finished work to help me kick over the traces. You can come too, seeing as you were such a dab hand at the cleaning down in Mum’s. Not.”
“I’ll come. I can help.” He sounded a little huffy. “Then do you want to come to my brother Joe’s? To give Bronagh her birthday present?”
“Who’s Bronagh?”
“My niece. I told you about her.”
“Oh yeah.” No, no memory. “The answer would be no.”
“No?”
“I hate kids and kids hate me.”
“But she’s a laugh!”
“Believe me, Hathaway, not to me she won’t be.”
“Ah . . . all right. I’ll go there on my own and then come over to you.”
Day 1 . . .
“. . . so then I flew back to Manila again and—”
“Yeah?” Joe said, drinking his tea and staring sightlessly around his kitchen.
Suddenly, Conall realized that he sounded like he was boasting. His brother had never been to Southeast Asia, he never would go there; it was just a faraway foreign part of the world that might sometimes be mentioned on the news. Conall abruptly shut up.
Without speaking, they drank their tea, Conall slurping energetically to demonstrate that he hadn’t lost touch with his roots. He considered cracking his knuckles but feared it might be misinterpreted as a hostile gesture.
“Where’s my present?” Bronagh’s appearance broke the tension.
Conall reached into his pocket and produced the little box.
“Wicked,” Bronagh breathed, unknotting ribbons and unpeeling silver paper. “This is a proper present.” Reverentially, she removed the lid and gazed at the winking sparkling jewels.
“What the hell?” Joe asked.
“Are they . . . what are they?” Bronagh asked.
“Sapphires.”
“Ah, for jayzus—”
Bronagh was wide eyed. “Are they real?”
Conall nodded.
“She’s eight, bud.” Joe sounded angry. “Her ears aren’t even pierced.”
“Adopt me, Conall.” Bronagh began flinging herself dramatically around the kitchen, holding the sapphires to her earlobes. “Take me into your house as your ward. Rescue me from these smelly peasants.”
“Ah, hahahah.” Conall flamed with embarrassment. God, he’d messed this right up. Sweating with the need to fix things, he grabbed Bronagh and said, right into her eyes, “My brother is the best da you could have.”
“You could be a good da too, if you didn’t work so hard,” Bronagh said. “But then you mightn’t have the money to buy sapphire earrings. Hmmmmm. Tricky choice.”
“I’ll tell you something, Conall,” Joe said hotly. “You might be going to the Philippines and all them places but I never have to leave the house. Having kids, that’s the greatest adventure of them all.”
“You’re right, bud. Bang on. I’m beginning to think that way.”
Joe’s face softened. Then froze. “—Oh no, Conall, bud. Having kids, it’s not like buying a motorbike. You can’t give it back when you get bored.”
All my ducks are in a row for tomorrow. I think I’m going for Hathaway and Lydia. I know she says she doesn’t like kids, but when it’s her own baby, it’ll be different. And Hathaway, he’s ready. Well, he’s fast coming round to the idea. By the time I arrive, I’ll be welcome. Just in case things go unexpectedly skew-whiff, I’ve got Katie and Fionn as backup. But as for Matt and Maeve, I’m afraid we’d need a miracle.
Day 1 . . .
“Anyone mind if I shoot off early today?” Matt asked. “Got my packing to do.”
Good-natured, office-wide jeering sparked up. “Only ten past five and he’s out through the door already! That’s International Sales for you.”
“Nothing left for me to do in Homeland Sales.” The new name that had been given to the department selling systems within Ireland. “No point me hanging around, twiddling my thumbs.” He grinned, pale and sweaty. “So, see ya.”
“What time?” Salvatore asked.
“Say seven o’clock? At the Aer Lingus check-in?”
Salvatore and Matt were due to fly to Shanghai on Monday morning.
“Good stuff. So see you at the airport!” Salvatore whooped. The start of a new venture, an exciting business.
“Yip,” Matt said cheerily. “See you Monday morning at the airport.”
Does Maeve know anything about this?
Day 1 . . .
“How are you, Maeve?” Dr. Shrigley asked.
“Okay.”
But she was far away, inside her head. She couldn’t shake an image of herself being tossed up in the air, light and limp as a rag doll. The pictures were becoming more and more elaborate. She kept seeing it, the moment of impact, as a car hit her bike and she was sent flying, blood gushing from her mouth, her skull shattering like an eggshell as she landed on the road, and the light suddenly vanished from her eyes. The thought of the pain didn’t concern her; she was so numb that she couldn’t imagine feeling any.
She’d had four panic attacks in the last few weeks and with each one she’d felt the presence of death. She’d been afraid at the time, but she wasn’t any longer.
She was looking forward to it all being over.
This was her last visit to Dr. Shrigley. She didn’t know how to tell her, so she wouldn’t bother. Dr. Shrigley would figure it out when Maeve stopped showing up. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
She cycled home, fast and carelessly. When she got to Star Street she hopped off the bike and wheeled it the last few yards to the front door. It was amazing to her that she was still alive. I mean, what do you have to do to get killed around here?
For once she was glad that Matt wouldn’t be home for a few hours. That way he wouldn’t know that she hadn’t gone to the drinks yoke at work. Although he couldn’t have thought there was any real chance she’d go. Poor Matt. He wanted evidence that she was getting better, when everything indicated that she was getting worse.
She flicked a quick look over each shoulder to check that no one was lurking behind her, ready to bum-rush her into the empty flat, then she reached into her satchel for her keys. But she couldn’t find them. Her hand clawed and closed, clawed and closed, like those swizzy things at a funfair, but she came up with nothing. Carefully setting her back against the front door, so she could keep an eye on all passers-by, she emptied the bag on to the step. No keys. Definitely, no keys. Her wallet was there. Why would someone take her keys and not her wallet? Creepy. Unless no one took anything and maybe the keys just fell out. But wouldn’t she have heard them jingling?
Of all the nights to lose her keys. She fired off a quick text to Matt. He’d have to put his keys in a taxi. But the thought of a big burly taxi driver showing up with access to her flat . . . Quickly, she fired off another text.
Come home.
There was no point calling on any of the neighbors. None of them had a spare key. She didn’t trust anyone with her keys.
Four men passing along the street stared at her, sitting on the step, her knees pulled up to her chest. She couldn’t stay here, advertising her vulnerability t
o all and sundry. She should at least get into the communal hallway.
She hesitated about ringing the old woman because Hungry Fionn was living with her. What if he answered? She couldn’t chance Katie in the top flat either because she and Fionn were an item. The only option was to ring the flat on the second floor. She was nervous of the Polish guys who lived there, but then she remembered that they were moving out when she was on her way to work this morning.
She pressed the buzzer and someone, probably the impatient taxi-girl, said, “Hathaway?”
“This is Maeve from—”
The door clicked open. “Thanks,” Maeve said to dead air, wheeling in her bike and leaning it against her door.
She sat on the bottom stair, gazing at her phone. Why hadn’t Matt texted her back? What was keeping him? After a while, she rang him and it went straight to voice mail. He never turned his phone off. Why, today of all days? Sod’s law.
A jingling of keys at the front door had her sitting up hopefully, but it was Katie. She tumbled into the hall, followed by Hungry Fionn. They were both in convulsions at something.
“Oh, sorry!” Katie laughed. “Didn’t mean to nearly stand on you there. Maeve, isn’t it? Are you all right?”
Maeve didn’t want to tell, not with Fionn standing there.
“Are you locked out?” Katie asked.
Why else would she be sitting on the fecking stairs?
“Come on up to our place,” Fionn invited.
Maeve suppressed a shudder.
“Do,” Katie said. “We’re going out in about an hour but you can stay as long as you like.”
“I’m okay. My husband will be home soon.”
“Do you need to ring him?” Already, Katie was reaching in her bag.
“He’s on his way.” Maeve displayed the little phone in her hand. “Thanks. I’m grand.”
Matt still hadn’t texted her back. It was weird. It had been ages. She checked the time on her phone—nearly fifteen minutes—