My hand is shaking. It’s hard to hold the phone to my ear.
“Will you come, Callan?”
“Yes. Now?”
Niamh laughs. It’s a nervous sound. “No. Not now. I told you. It’s due in a month.” There’s a pause. “I’m in London.”
My heart stutters. “London?”
I live on the outskirts of Dublin, half an hour from where Niamh and I shared a flat. I didn’t know she’d moved away, let alone gone so far.
“Will you come?” she repeats.
“I’ll have to arrange to take time off.”
“But you’ll come?”
My mind races. I’m not sure how long my boss will let me take off. It’s a crappy time. This is one of several houses that must be ready over the next two or three months. There’s an embargo on taking time off until they’re done. My boss will make an exception. He’ll have to. I’ll need somewhere to stay, and I’ll have to figure out how to get there. Should I fly or take the ferry?
“Callan?”
“Sorry. Aye. I’ll come. I need to sort things out here first.”
“You’ve got a month.”
“What if the baby comes early?” What if it comes late? Would I be able to extend my time off?
She tells me the due date that’s been worked out from her scans.
“I’ll be there,” I promise.
“Thanks, Callan. I knew I could count on you.”
She says that, yet she’s spent up to seven months not telling me because she didn’t think I’d want to know. I guess she’s had a change of heart. She’s entitled to it, but surely I had a right to know she was pregnant sooner? Not that it matters. I know now, and I’ll figure out a way to be there when the baby—my baby—is born.
This is the reason Mam never liked Niamh. According to Mam, if Niamh said jump, I’d say how high. I hadn’t seen it then, but now, as I’m about to turn my life upside down, I realise she was right. What choice do I have? Niamh is having my baby. I have to be there.
Half an hour later, I’m done talking to my boss. He’s not happy, but I’ve got the time off. A week. No more. I must be back on site, or I’ll lose my job. It’s bad enough that he has to find another electrician to cover me for a week.
My next problem is figuring out somewhere to stay. I spend my lunch break looking up hotels, but even the cheapest are expensive enough to make my eyes water. I look up flats to rent short-term, so at least I’d be able to cook, but they’re just as bad. If only I knew someone in London.
I inhale sharply.
I do. At least I knew him a lifetime ago. I scroll through my texts with Mam until I find the exchange we had a couple of months before.
Mam:We saw Bridget at the funeral. Did you know Brayden had died?
I remember reading Mam’s text for the first time. I’d gone cold as my heart had turned to ice. Then I’d cried. Back in the day, I’d been as close to Bridget and Brayden as I had to Mam and Dad. They were my best friend’s parents. I’d spent as much time at theirs as I had at my own house. Rory and I had been thick as thieves. We’d spent nearly all our time together for fourteen years, and then we’d been torn apart. Thinking of him always made my chest ache.
Mam’s question seemed like a daft one. How could I have known Rory’s dad had died? We hadn’t spoken to each other in seventeen years. Not since Mam and Dad made us leave Wexford without warning. I’d been too numb to ask what had happened to Brayden, and Mam hadn’t volunteered the information. Maybe she didn’t know. More likely she was waiting for me to ask. I still haven’t.
I read the next text in the conversation.
Mam:Did you know Rory’s living in London now?
Another daft question.
Mam:Bridget gave me his number. She thought he might like to hear from you.
