The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,143

saying it but didn’t.’

‘Thing is,’ said Grace, ‘it’s part of showing someone you care. He didn’t say it and he didn’t show it and I spent most of my life thinking I wasn’t good enough for him because of that. And I sort of stopped saying it to him too. I regret that, Deira. Because if we’d talked a bit more, if we’d said how much we cared about each other, I’d never have felt the less important person in the relationship. And maybe he wouldn’t have felt the way he did when he got ill.’

‘It’s bloody hard to get it right, isn’t it,’ Deira said. ‘Telling someone they love them, not telling them. Doing the right thing, not doing it. How do we know?’

‘We don’t.’ Grace gave her a wry smile. ‘That’s why the shelves of bookstores are groaning under the weight of self-help books. We never really know what we’re doing. We’re all faking it. Even the best of us.’

‘Ken gave you more than the books and the ring,’ said Deira. ‘He gave you the chance to make new friendships. I hope we’ll always be friends, Grace, because I love the fact that we met and we did the journey together and that we shared our problems and that even if everything hasn’t turned out exactly how we wanted, we’ve ended up in . . . well, in my case a better place. In yours . . .’

‘I’m definitely better than I was before we took the trip,’ Grace told her. ‘I know my husband better, and even if I regret that we never had this conversation when he was alive, I’m glad to know how much he cared. I’m also glad that you were around, because without you, I mightn’t have got any further than Nantes!’

‘Friends forever.’ Deira grinned.

‘I sure hope so,’ said Grace. ‘Now, how about a cup of tea? Or,’ she added, ‘champagne. There’s a bottle in the fridge that’s been there for nearly a year. This seems like a good time to open it.’

‘Champagne all the way,’ said Deira, and followed her into the kitchen.

Chapter 38

Quay, Dublin, Ireland: 53.2038°N 6.1408°W

Deira stood in the new visitor space of the Arc Tech building and breathed a sigh of satisfaction. Her first project, the exhibition of old books inspired by Professor Kenneth Harrington’s collection, would shortly be opened by the newly appointed Minister for Arts and Heritage, and the guest list of attendees for the night was impressive. Apart from representatives from arts and culture organisations, it also included Grace Garvey and her three children, as well as Pat Rice, Gill, Bex and Tillie. Deira had also invited people who’d been involved in previous exhibitions with her, like Thelma Roache’s niece, Jennifer. She’d contacted Jennifer to congratulate her on showing her work in Amaya’s gallery, and Jennifer had come back to say how excited she was that six of her paintings had been sold. Deira was pleased for her, and pleased to keep the link with her very first successful project.

But now, in the moments before the exhibition was opened to the public for the first time, Deira was looking at it as a visitor and not someone who’d been intimately involved in designing the layout and selecting the books. She’d been almost overwhelmed by the professor’s collection, but more than that, by the content, which included many first editions of famous works, especially by iconic Irish writers. She’d divided the project into different eras, drawing a route from the past to the present. She’d read many of the books herself in her student years, but there were others that had passed her by, and she was grateful for the opportunity to learn about them and to add them to her own reading list.

The last four months had been too busy for much reading. After handing in her notice to Solas Life and Pensions, she’d been obliged to take time off before starting with Arc. Accompanied by Bex, she’d gone to Paris, where she’d hired a sports car, dropped the roof and driven around the Arc de Triomphe with ‘The Ballad of Lucy Jordan’ blaring from the sound system. It hadn’t been the most relaxing of experiences, as the Parisian traffic had been every bit as terrifying as Grace had promised, but it had been exhilarating all the same.

Bex had declared it one of the best times of her life. She’d been cheerful and positive throughout the stay, and even when she and Deira had a conversation