She laughed again. ‘Well… I have a view of the sea from my room,’ she said teasingly. ‘So, if you want to inspect my view, let me know.’ And she slipped inside her room, leaving him wondering if there wasn’t another life somewhere available for him, something simpler and easier. Somewhere which wasn’t so confusing. He hadn’t always been the silent type. He and Rosie must have exchanged a lifetime’s worth of words that summer. And at night, they would lie in each other’s arms, talking until they fell asleep. They had so much to say. It was only at the end when he knew there wasn’t a future for them, and she knew it too, and they stopped talking. It had all been his fault, and now all he wanted to do was talk to her and make everything right again.
23
ROSIE
Grace had grinned at her as they loaded up the Land Rover. ‘First event done.’
‘With a few hitches,’ said Rosie.
‘No one is dead. Including Laurence. Unfortunately. I think he is in danger of ruining the wedding for us. Why is he behaving like this?’
‘Nessa thinks he’s having some kind of midlife crisis. He feels boxed in and bored,’ said Rosie. ‘But I think we’re just going to have to warn him to stay away.’
‘But he knows the bride and groom,’ said Grace. ‘He claims they’ve invited him to everything. Remember when he used to be quite sweet, when we were all teenagers?’
‘He still can be,’ said Rosie. ‘Nessa loves him. At least I think she loves him. Or she endures him, I’m not sure.’
‘The steroids ate his brain,’ said Grace. ‘And he was too in awe of his dreadful brother Benji. Remember once he jumped into the sea at the Forty Foot and landed on Gaz McCullough’s head? On purpose? I wonder if Niamh and Seán are really happy that he’s gatecrashed the wedding?’
‘Surely they would say something to him?’
‘I’ll mention it,’ said Grace. ‘To make sure. But they all seem happy, don’t you think? The sausages were a triumph. The cocktails, even if I do say so myself, spectacular. And the beach was beautiful. I think the rain added to the fun.’
Rosie laughed for the first time that day. ‘You are the biggest optimist I have ever met.’
‘I have to be, don’t I? I mean, if I wasn’t, I would be permanently depressed. No man, living in a rainy country, a bleak future of being single and relying on my mother for company.’
Rosie laughed again. ‘That’s never going to happen.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a little romance. Or a big romance. Or even a middling one. Don’t care what size actually.’
‘What about François?’ She raised an eyebrow at Grace.
‘I don’t think he’s into me,’ said Grace. ‘Il est trèshandsome, and all that. But he’s very food focused…’
‘He’s a chef. He’s literally paid to be food-focused.’
‘Yes, but I wouldn’t mind if he was a little me-focused as well.’ Grace sighed. ‘There are only so many times I can insist that we run through menus. Maybe it’s the kaftan? French women don’t wear kaftans, do they? They are all far too polished and stylish.’ She shrugged. ‘Love me, love my kaftan. I’m not taking it off for anyone.’ She paused. ‘Of course, if he asks nicely, I will.’
Rosie laughed, and for the first time in months, perhaps years, she felt a kind of surge within, perhaps of adrenaline, an almost reckless feeling. She hadn’t felt this happily unhinged in a very long time and it felt almost exciting.
The sun was already out again, the rain, which had saturated the sand and formed pools on the walkway, was now rapidly evaporating, the air hot and humid as a steam room. Rosie and Grace drove up the hill back to Cliff Top, zipping across the drive and around to the back of the hotel.
Rosie backed the Land Rover into the garage. ‘Back a little,’ yelled Grace, from behind the car. ‘Bit more… bit more… that’s it!’ She slapped the back of the car, and then once the car was stopped and the boot open, they began unpacking everything and putting it away.
Grace dragged the soaked canvas out of the back of the car.
‘The gazebo’s had it,’ she said. ‘It always was difficult to erect. The person who sold it said there was a knack to putting it up, but a knack takes too long to acquire, like inner peace or a spare tyre. Note to self, never buy a second-hand gazebo. That and never trust a man who doesn’t like dogs or a person who doesn’t read books.’
When everything was neatly stored away, the gazebo consigned to the recycling, Grace opened up two of the deckchairs and dug around in the cool boxes, where there was still ice and bottles of spirits.
‘Drink?’ she suggested. ‘A Cliff Topper? I have all the ingredients.’
Rosie sighed. A proper drink was exactly what she needed. And they were effectively off duty. ‘I’ll take whatever’s going.’
‘Really?’ Grace looked shocked. ‘I thought you were going to say no. You always say no.’
‘Well, today I’m saying yes.’
