Just then they heard the sounds of Isabelle and Killian. ‘Rosie! Rosie! Where are you?’
‘By the garage,’ called Rosie.
Nessa and the twins turned the corner. ‘What on earth is going on?’ said Nessa. ‘Rosie, you’re drinking… don’t tell me al-co-hol? Oh dear Jesus. I’m going to faint with shock. Grace, is this your influence, are you leading my sister astray?’
‘Afraid so,’ said Grace.
‘Well, then thank you,’ said Nessa. ‘This woman needs to be led astray more often.’ She glanced at Rosie’s clothes. ‘And what are you wearing? You actually look nice for once.’
‘My ego is going to be out of control,’ said Rosie.
‘Look, I’m rushing,’ said Nessa. ‘Laurence is AWOL, again, God knows where. I think there’s some crisis at the golf club because he’s been gone all day. He came home briefly and then said he had to go again. He did say he’d be finished at about 9p.m. and bring the twins home and get them into bed. Do you mind if they stay here in the hotel until then? They can go and help Dad in the garden for a bit.’
Rosie and Grace glanced at each other, knowing exactly where Laurence was.
Nessa turned to the twins. ‘You’ve promised me you’re going to be as good as gold, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ they said in unison.
‘We’re going to go and see Granddad,’ said Isabelle. ‘See if there are any tomatoes in the greenhouse.’
They ran off and Nessa sat down in the Adirondack chair. ‘I really appreciate it, Rosie,’ she said, looking at her sister. ‘I really do.’
‘Why don’t you ask Laurence to come home?’ asked Grace, pouring Nessa a drink.
‘I do! He doesn’t listen. Or he says he will come home but is always delayed. He’s a dog who won’t stay on the porch. I can’t keep him tethered down. He has to want to be at home and if he doesn’t then we may not survive.’
24
PATRICK
It was long after dinner, when Laurence began singing ‘The Irish Rover’ for the fourth time, that Patrick slipped out of the bar and into the garden, where he sat on the steps leading to the long lawn which ran to the cliff edge. There were two lichen-covered urns on either side, and he nestled his glass of whiskey among the tumbling nasturtiums. The night was falling in, the sun fading slowly, the sky forty shades of grey. He’d talked to everyone, caught up with Seán and Niamh, had the craic with their friends, told a few stories, laughed at a few more. But Laurence’s sing-song had finished him off.
In Boston, he was anonymous, none of this chaos of family life, all the drama, all the emotion. He’d spent the whole evening trying to avoid his father and pretending not to notice quite how miserable Sandra looked. And there was Seán, trying to do the right thing and get married with as little drama as possible. But when he was in Boston, he missed Ireland: Seán, a decent pint, the craic, the chats, sport… daily life.
He’d always believed life was simpler in Boston. And it was, he supposed, without family and the emotional rollercoasters that often accompanied them. And over there, he had few responsibilities, except to the business, and had so little to think about that his mind was clear to completely concentrate on Fitzgerald’s. But being back here, seeing Seán and Niamh, meeting their friends, having to face his father again, had been a lot. Except it was life and other people were able to deal with complicated families. If he had run away to Boston, perhaps he was only half-living and not experiencing life’s full force. Perhaps he was merely existing?
He checked his phone and among the different messages from the staff at Fitzgerald’s, some of the lads from Boston, a group chat about the next Gaelic football match they were playing, there was also a text from Kerry-Anne, as there always was. His life had been entwined around hers for so long now and she was part-sister, part-friend, partner, mentor. Without her backing, support and belief, he wouldn’t have lasted over there.
He wished she hadn’t made her proposal to him but he also understood why she had. She wanted a baby and she was never anything but practical. He could totally see why she’d asked him and he wished it was easier to say yes to her. Who was he to deny her anything, after everything she’d done for him?
Kerry-Anne had texted:
Just in Paris for meetings. How is wedding going?
He typed back.
Mixed.
He saw she was online.
Mixed how?
Complicated.
Buttons being pressed?
I have resisted so far.
