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His mother crossed her arms over her chest. “Now don’t you be taking that tone with me. I know you’re in a right state, but it may come as a surprise to you that other people are living their lives and have their own cares and worries and can’t be bothered to remember every little thing you say or every pub customer you get in a tiff with.”

Niall felt himself immediately cowed. “You’re right,” he said. “Sorry, Mam.”

She handed him the wine opener. “She seems like a lovely girl,” Fiona said, looking at the label on the bottle. “Oooh, and she brought us an excellent wine. How could I leave her all alone up at that cottage on a Sunday? No, that’s no way to spend the evening. You be nice to her now, d’you hear?”

Niall sighed and kept his eyes averted from the paper on the table. “Yes, Mam. I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise.”

She patted his cheek. “That’s my boy.” The doorbell rang again. “Oh lord, that’ll be Róisín. Better open a second bottle while you’re here. Pocket, come.”

She loaded up a tray with glasses and headed back to the front room, Pocket padding at her heels.

7

Róisín Callahan turned out to be real after all.

Cordelia had just gotten herself settled in a chair by the piano when a tiny woman with a puff of white curls burst through the door without waiting for anyone to answer it. Alison followed behind her looking harried.

“Owen O’Connor, you dumb bastard,” Róisín said, stomping into the living room. “How many times have I told you to pave that driveway?”

“It’s gravel, Róisín, for god’s sake,” Owen said. Cordelia was quite startled by this entrance and for a second she wondered if a fight was going to break out. But then the two of them embraced, Niall’s father towering over the tiny woman, both chuckling like this was how they always greeted each other.

“Let me take your coat,” Owen said.

“That’d be grand. Alison, darling, go fetch me a whiskey.”

Cordelia was having a hard time reconciling this firecracker of a woman with the friendly old grandma she’d pictured in her head. Róisín wore a plaid shirt under a pair of overalls, heavy brown boots, and a no-nonsense expression. Cordelia felt even more overdressed than she had before.

“We’ve got wine, Róisín.” Fiona appeared with a tray of glasses, Niall behind her, an open bottle in each hand.

Oh thank god, Cordelia thought, and gratefully accepted a glass from Fiona.

“So.” Róisín snatched her own glass and stomped over to peer into Cordelia’s face. She was so small she barely had to bend to be even with Cordelia sitting. “You’re the American who keeps banging on my door.”

“Oh, I—” Cordelia wasn’t sure what to say to that. She looked to Alison for help.

“She’s renting the cottage for the summer, Gran,” Alison said, exasperated.

“Is she paying you to spy on me?” Róisín snapped at Cordelia.

“Sorry?” Cordelia said, bemused.

“All I get from her is You can’t live up there by yourself, Gran and What if you fell? and You can’t drive with that eyesight. As if I need a car! Who needs a car when they have Brigid?”

“Who?”

“My horse! Christ on a bike, I thought Americans were meant to be smart.”

Colin snorted into his wine.

“I’m a New Yorker,” Cordelia said tartly, feeling a little irritated that she was being chastised for things she couldn’t possibly know.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“No, I—I’m not a spy, I’m here to help!” Cordelia said. Wasn’t she? She didn’t feel like she was helping anyone, though. She didn’t feel like she was doing anything useful at all.

“Niall, what did you tell Gran?” Alison demanded.

“Nothing,” Niall said. “Well, nothing Róisín hadn’t already guessed. Just that you’d brought someone to the cottage to keep an eye on her.”