‘Ha! Imagine that!’ said Toni with an air of hysteria. Lou was turning out to be very good at making stuff up at short notice. That was a turn-up for the books. ‘We might have to kill the hacker!’
‘I have gardening shears that might do the job!’ said Lou cheerfully.
Both sisters laughed so heartily at this that the receptionist briefly reconsidered his belief that reception was a promotion from being in charge of the small kiddies’ pool. Customers were mad, no two ways about it.
They went back into the restaurant, where Lou took charge and ordered an espresso for her sister.
‘Can you check your credit card balance online?’ Lou whispered to her sister.
Toni nodded. There had been money in her normal accounts on Friday and she’d taken out as much as she could but, stupidly, she hadn’t checked yesterday. She’d been too busy avoiding the phone and the texts and emails. She didn’t want to speak to Oliver. She couldn’t bear to talk to him yet. She logged onto her bank and inhaled swiftly.
‘My credit card’s on stop,’ she breathed. ‘The balance is—’ She could hardly say the words: ‘Nine thousand euros and change. I only just paid the bill on Tuesday. No way have I spent any of that in the past few days. I used the card for parking in town, and got lunch the other day. Thirty euros max. I’ve spent nothing else ... Oliver has taken money out. Look – cash withdrawal. He must be mad! Taking cash out of this credit card means you’re instantly paying interest. It’s insane.’
Toni’s breathing was becoming quicker and quicker.
‘It’s addiction,’ said Lou quietly. ‘What are we going to do?’
Toni squeezed her eyes shut. She had wanted to bury her head in the sand, had wanted to run away from the problem as long as she could. But it felt real now. And she couldn’t run anymore.
‘I need to go to Dublin,’ she said. ‘Talk to the pension and investment people – speak to Oliver.’
The task ahead felt overwhelming. She turned to her sister, her eyes wet with tears.
‘Will you come with me?’
Lou nodded.
‘Of course.’
She’d been thinking that she had to stop fixing people’s lives for them. But this was different. This wasn’t doing a small errand for Toni to save her time – this was being there when Toni seriously needed her.
‘Of course, I’ll come. You need me.’
She thought for a minute. ‘I’ll phone Emily and get her to pack a bag with more stuff – but how will we get it to Dublin?’
Toni took back control. ‘I’ll get it picked up,’ she said. ‘Leave that to me.’
Chapter Thirteen
Trinity Rose McNeil took all the cash from the fake can of cola on the shelf behind her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend’s – desk and stuffed it into her zipped purse. It was mostly twenties, with a few fifties. Possibly six hundred, because Pete was saving for a car. Or at least he’d said he was saving for a car. She was currently of the opinion that he was actually saving for a new guitar. Because what else would a guy want all that money for? Not for a sensible future, no. But for worldwide fame and a career onstage – that was the future!
Trinity found she was pursing her lips the way her aunt Dara did and almost laughed. If Dara could see her now, she’d be angry. Trinity had screwed up. She’d believed everything Pete had said. So much for thinking she was a clever cookie. She was an idiot. Well, not anymore.
Trinity decided she’d count Pete’s money later. She didn’t have time now and time was money, she thought with a slightly crazed laugh.
‘Girl, you’re losing it,’ she told herself, opening the drawers in Pete’s desk to see if there was anything useful she could take.
His bone-handled penknife was there but she left that. She hated knives. There were pens, receipts and the old bottle opener he’d got from Orlando when his family had gone on that US trip when he was fourteen. That was coming. Bottle openers were useful. Plus, Pete would hate that it was gone and, even though Trinity was not a bad person – she’d been on the college entertainment committee for the past two terms and had been voted Friendliest Ents Officer Ever – she wanted to upset her erstwhile boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. He needed to suffer.
Of course, she could always damage his guitars, but the noise of smashing a Gibson Les Paul, standard ’61 in classic ebony might attract attention. The desk yielded a wallet with dollars and sterling in it, which she imagined was money from relatives abroad. Where had that been at Christmas when they’d been so broke? She removed the cash and put it in another part of her rucksack. Pete deserved to be cleaned out.
When she’d gone through the tiny flat and taken everything she thought she could possibly need, she packed up her big box of leftover possessions, taped the lid and dragged it outside the hall and up to Ferdie’s apartment. Ferdie was out – she knew because she’d run to his door as soon as Pete had gone to work – but she left a note on the box:Ferdie, please take care of this stuff for me? Do not give to Pete. Will explain and will call. Trinity xx. PS If on the weird off-chance that my aunt Dara phones, tell her nothing, promise? Love ya.
Ferdie had been amazing to them when she and Pete moved into Boyle. Ferdie was a transplant too – a hair colourist from Belfast and running away from a chaotic love life and the bosom of his family.
‘They all want to set me up with friends’ sons and nephews,’ Ferdie groaned. ‘It’s the gay wedding thing: straight weddings are dullsville and everyone wants to go to gay ones. I’m flat out saying I’m never getting married. I mean, really? Can you see me married?’
Trinity had laughed. She could totally see Ferdie married, possibly him and his bridegroom dazzling everyone with matching white dinner jackets.
