‘For feck’s sake! Jesus! Do I have to do everything here? Didn’t Laurence bring them home? He promised he would come and get them at 9p.m.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at my book club. I told you. We’ve been…’ She sounded vague for a moment. ‘We’ve been reading books and whatnot. Got carried away… reading.’
Rosie could hear the voice of Nessa’s best friend, Siofra. ‘Ness, pass us the corkscrew… quick, before I die of thirst…’
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Nessa. ‘We have to get on with the next… chapter… Look, will you mind the kids? Please? It will take me ages to get a taxi. And I will kill Laurence in the morning. He’s probably the laziest man on the planet.’
Rosie put the phone down. ‘They can stay at mine,’ she said to Grace. ‘Will you carry one of them?’
Grace gently lifted up Isabelle. ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ she said softly, as Rosie picked up Killian, carrying him like a baby, and they began walking out of the hotel, towards Rosie’s cottage.
‘Where is the nice man?’ asked Isabelle sleepily, as they laid the children down on Rosie’s bed. Rosie would be consigned to the sofa for the night. She didn’t care where she slept, all she wanted was to lie horizontally.
‘He was very nice,’ agreed Killian. ‘He put the blankets over us and told us a story about when he was little.’
‘What was the story about?’ Rosie asked.
‘Oh, magic cows. And a pair of wellies that when you put them on, you’d be invisible.’
‘Did he tell you his name?’
‘Patrick, I think. He said he was a farmer and he used to have a pair of magic wellies.’
Rosie’s heart nearly stopped.
‘I want to be a farmer when I grow up,’ said Isabelle. ‘Or perhaps a dustbin man.’
‘Dustbin girl,’ corrected Killian, his eyes closing. ‘And we had chocolate mousse and trifle on the same plate. And Rosie…’ Killian’s voice was sleepy. ‘Remember you promised to bring us swimming tomorrow?’
‘Yes, you promised,’ said Isabelle, still curled up in Rosie’s bed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to anything more in my life.’
‘Yes,’ said Killian. ‘This wedding has been brilliant so far. So many nice things have happened. And now we’ve got swimming to look forward to and ice creams.’
And he and Isabelle both fell straight back to sleep. Rosie made herself comfortable on the sofa, unable to sleep, thinking about the day. She wasn’t going to be able to avoid Patrick because they kept coming across each other, as though fate was bringing them together, as though they weren’t quite done. But as she lay in the dark, listening to the deep breathing of Isabelle and Killian from the bedroom next door, one day, she knew, she and Patrick Power would no longer have anything to say to each other, and that would be an unbearable one.
FRIDAY 27 JULY
ONE DAY TO THE WEDDING…
26
ROSIE
The sofa in the cottage hadn’t been quite wide or long enough to accommodate Rosie, so she had slept slightly hunched on her side, her knees poking off the edge and in permanent danger of crashing to the floor.
At first light, she rolled off the sofa, onto the floor and lay there for a moment, thinking about Patrick. The birds were singing outside and she made another tea in her newly fixed cup and brought it outside and sat on her bench. It was still barely light, but the garden wasn’t just alive but joyous. This tiny part of Ireland was heaven on earth. She made straight for the bench she had sat on yesterday, half-hoping that Patrick would come again. This morning she was bringing the twins to the sea and then there was the garden picnic after lunch, and this evening was the rehearsal dinner. The wedding tomorrow and then, by Sunday, they’d all be gone. If they only had three days to see each other and this was their only chance to meet privately, then of course she was going to sit and wait.
Except, what if he didn’t come? She could almost feel the crushing disappointment at the thought of him not showing up, his jet lag cured, and him sleeping through the dawn. But there was a feeling inside her, one she barely recognised. It was excitement.
Hold on, she counselled herself.Don’t get carried away. What is the point of you sitting on a bench, hoping some man who ended your relationship ten years earlier might deign to spend a few minutes with you? Where is your pride?
But she didn’t care about her pride, not this morning. All she wanted was a chance to talk to Patrick again, however fleeting, however inconsequential.
She waited for a while, sipping her tea, listening to the birds, when she heard the sound of someone coming along the path and then a voice. ‘I’m trying to walk as stealthily as possible so I don’t startle you again.’
It was Patrick. Rosie felt a surge of joy, like a salmon leaping up a waterfall. ‘I’m prepared,’ she said. ‘I mean…’
