Dublin Airport was a congested maze at the best of times, but during the summer holidays it was unbearable. And during an Irish heatwave, it was unimaginable. There was no way of getting through. ‘Do I drop you outside?’ said Grace.
And then there was a sign: ‘Executive plane departures’. They looked at each other. ‘There, that way!’
They headed around the airport, past the main terminal and to a building with a sign: ‘Executive Planes’. Grace slowed down and Rosie jumped out, heart beating, head pounding.
‘GO! GO! GO!’ shouted Grace, who seemed to think she was now in a heist film. ‘Run!’
Rosie turned and shouted back, ‘But are you sure? Am I doing the right thing?’
Grace was standing on the footplate of the Land Rover, shouting over the roof of the car. ‘Live your life! Didn’t you want a bigger life? Don’t you want to be brave? Just go!’
Rosie nodded. Yes. Yes, that’s what she wanted. Anything less was stultifying and small. She began running. Ahead was a security hut, where a man in a peaked cap looked down at her. Rosie was bright red, her face was burning, she was sweating and sticky and her hair a bird’s nest after being in the car with the windows open.
‘Not the normal way our clients arrive,’ he said, calmly. ‘Looking for someone?’
‘It’s a flight to Boston…’
The man looked at his computer screen. ‘One has just departed for Boston in the last few minutes.’
Rosie’s heart sank.
‘Actually, sorry, my mistake. The take-off was to Bolton. Little bit of a difference.’ He laughed. ‘Right, Boston, USA. You’re too late. It’s being cleared for departure now.’
‘Can you delay it? I need to say something to someone…’
The man observed her. ‘What do you want to say?’
‘I want to say that he was right to go that time and he was right to live his life but this time I’d like to go with him!’
The man rolled his eyes. ‘Not another one. Do you have your passport?’
‘No. But I need to talk to him. I promise I won’t leave.’
He sighed heavily and got on the walkie-talkie. ‘George, we’ve got another love story going on here. I’ll need your assistance.’
George’s voice crackled over the radio. ‘Roger that, Barry. Just call me Cupid. I’m on my way.’
Within seconds, there was George on one of those luggage transporting trucks.
‘Hop in!’ he shouted.
‘Good luck,’ called Barry, as Rosie made a dash for it. ‘Invite us to the wedding!’
George drove with even less care than Grace, skidding to a halt outside a smooth, white and perfectly formed jet. Rosie fell out of the truck, as George saluted her.
And there at the top of the steps, looking at her, was Patrick.
49
PATRICK
Patrick had arrived at the Platinum VIP area of the airport with plenty of time to spare. He was driven out to the plane and walked up the steps into the calm cream leather interior.
‘Welcome aboard, sir,’ said the steward.
Kerry-Anne was waiting, a copy ofThe Boston Globeopen in front of her. ‘You made it!’ she said, standing to greet him. ‘I thought there might have been some last-minute drama.’
‘Oh, you know me. Not a fan of drama.’
