‘I’ve died and been buried and risen from the dead,’ said Killian. ‘And then died again from heat.’
‘I know what the answer is,’ said Isabelle, giving him a look which he immediately understood.
‘Yes, because otherwise we would be dead,’ he said.
‘We need to cool down. Not from the outside, like swimming…’
‘Although that is a very important part.’
‘It’s cooling down on the inside.’
Killian nodded. ‘My gullet is really hot. And my stomach is like a furnace.’
‘The only cure is…’
‘Ice cream.’ They grinned at each other, and then began whispering as though plotting something.
The beach was thronged this morning, but Rosie managed to find a parking space a few streets away and they made their way through the crowds towards the Forty Foot and found a place to change among the bodies and the towels and the chattering groups.
The twins stayed near the steps, splashing in the shallows, while Rosie was in the water a couple of metres away, her head out of the sea, her eyes scrunched in the sunlight, her hair plastered back off her head, sculling around, letting the cold water soak up through her body, chilling her down from the outside in, until there wasn’t a blood vessel or pore or atom which wasn’t perfectly cool. She thought about Patrick and what had happened last night. She had been right to refuse him, she told herself. It was insane. And yet the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, it all betrayed an intensity which matched that she was keeping deep inside herself. It was as though Patrick was willing to lay himself bare, while she could only stay completely covered up.
The sea was busy with other swimmers, some diving in, others floating, couples hanging off each other, the sun glinting off the sea, the seagulls circling. Rosie scrunched her eyes to check on the twins, who had devised a game where they were filling up a bucket they had found and were pouring it from the top step to make a waterfall.
‘Oh, Patrick, it’s really awesome,’ she heard an American voice saying, cutting through all the other chatter. ‘It’s just so sweet.’
And then she saw Patrick, in his swim shorts, walking with Kerry-Anne in a bikini, looking tanned and toned, a goddess among the usual Forty Foot regulars who were usually in swimsuits which were decades old and tatty towelling dressing gowns. It wasn’t a place to show off; as long as you were there, you were part of the club.
‘There’s Patrick again!’ Killian had spotted him. ‘Hi, Patrick!’
‘Hi, Patrick!’ Isabelle was waving to him and Patrick saw them but immediately looked around him, looking for someone, and then he found her, their eyes locked, her stomach leapt.
Oh God, she thought.I’m going to have to say goodbye to him again. I’m going to have to say goodbye for a second time and I don’t know if I can bear it. He’ll go back to Boston to his big life and I’ll stay here with my little one.
Patrick was now talking to Killian and Isabelle, calling over Kerry-Anne. There was nothing for it but for Rosie to make her way to the steps and be sociable. She swam to the water’s edge and plastered on her hotel smile, as she tried as elegantly as possible to pull herself up out of the water and up the steps.
‘Who are these lovely children?’ Kerry-Anne was saying.
‘We’re Killian and Isabelle,’ said Isabelle, pointing out Killian and then herself. ‘We live on the golf course.’
Kerry-Anne laughed. ‘Oh, I know some men who practically live on the golf course. Rarely leave the thing.’
Isabelle turned to look for Rosie, who was coming up the steps, the water draining off her body. ‘That’s our aunt Rosie, but we don’t call her Aunt Rosie. We call her Rosie.’
This was awkward, standing like a drowned rat next to one of those perfect women who look good even in a bikini. Especially in a bikini.
‘Good morning!’ Rosie said brightly.
‘Good morning.’ The woman was looking at her curiously. ‘We didn’t meet properly last night and I am so sorry for landing on you guys so late. It took a while to take off from Paris and clearance always takes too long.’ She smiled at Rosie. ‘That’s what I love about Europe. Everything is next door. Paris. London. Rome. Just a quick flight. It’s magical. You’re all so lucky in Europe. Maybe I will move to Sandycove one day. A vacation isn’t enough.’
‘You’re staying in the Sandycove Arms?’ Rosie tried to cover herself with her arms. ‘Isabelle, pass me my towel, please?’
‘Oh, yes, very comfortable. I had a gorgeous breakfast. Black pudding to die for. Irish tea with milk. Proper soda bread. Normally, I don’t eat bread, but this was so delicious. And then I had a wander around the village, chatted to some of the shopkeepers. Really, very nice.’ She smiled at Rosie again. ‘Well, what’s the water like? Hot enough for you?’
‘It’s never hot,’ said Rosie, wrapping her towel around herself. ‘Just slightly less cold than it would be in the winter. But it’s very refreshing, especially in this heatwave.’
‘Yes, it’s hotter here than I remember. We came here years ago with my dad. My dad wanted us to feel Irish. And all we used to feel was cold.’
‘Boston’s colder,’ said Patrick.
