The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,70

spent a pleasant couple of minutes reminiscing about the times they’d been there as a family, and she told him about buying old copies of classic books, which made him smile and comment that she was more like his father than she knew. Unlike Aline, he wasn’t bothered by the fact that she was travelling with a woman she’d met for the first time on the ferry, although he did ask her to be careful when she was driving and to keep in touch.

‘Of course,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll send you a message every day.’

As she ended the conversation by telling him that she loved him, she vowed she would never stop telling her children how much they meant to her.

And how lucky she was to have them.

Her final call was to Regan, who was eating a roll at one of the big wooden tables on the tiled terrace of the ranch. Regan was the most happy-go-lucky of the three, thought Grace, as her younger daughter brought her up to date on life in Argentina; she was the sunniest in outlook too.

‘I hope you’re not overdoing it,’ said Grace when her daughter had finished.

‘I’m always overdoing it.’ Regan’s wide smile filled the screen. ‘But I love it. How about you?’

Grace told her the same things she’d told both Aline and Fionn and, like her brother, Regan couldn’t help reminiscing about their childhood holidays. She asked a bit more about Deira too, and said that she was pleased her mother had someone to keep her company.

‘It must be odd visiting places you’ve been with someone else.’ Her voice faltered a little.

‘It’s different,’ said Grace. ‘But we’ll be heading to other places shortly, so I won’t have those memories at the back of my mind. Of course it’s not the same without you guys with me. Still, I’m glad you have those memories and that you’ve all become independent people.’

‘And you?’ asked Regan. ‘How are you doing?’

‘It’s a struggle sometimes.’ Grace had always found it easier to confide in her youngest child than in either Aline or Fionn. ‘But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. How about you?’

‘The horses help,’ said Regan. ‘All the same, I wish it had been different. And I want you to be all right, Mum.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ said Grace again. ‘And I’m always here for you, Regan, you know that.’

‘I know. I love you, Mum.’

‘I love you too.’

When she ended the call, Grace stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes.

If nothing else, she thought, she had three great children. A precious gift from Ken. And she was very grateful for that.

Deira had changed her mind about phoning anybody. Initially she’d thought about calling Tillie for a chat, and then had been filled with a sudden urge to confess everything to Gavin, but in the end she hadn’t felt like doing either. She felt disconnected from Ireland and her life there, even though she’d only been away for a few days. And she felt disconnected from what had happened to the Audi too, as if the fire and its aftermath had nothing to do with her at all. In fact there was a part of her that was in denial about everything to do with taking the car and driving it to France, as though it had all happened to a different Deira, someone else entirely.

So instead of making phone calls or sending texts, she changed into a pair of shorts, pulled on her trainers and headed outside. Twenty minutes later, she’d reached the embankment of the Garonne, where many of the town’s inhabitants were strolling in the afternoon sunshine or eating ice creams at one of the small cafés. She continued to walk at a steady pace along the river. Walking along the Grand Canal on Saturday mornings had been a thing for her over the past few years as she tried to make her target of ten thousand steps a day (she never succeeded, though she did feel better after the walks). But ever since Gavin’s bombshell, she hadn’t wanted to walk anywhere. She hadn’t wanted to leave the house.

Now, as she headed along the Quai Richelieu, she felt her energy levels increase and found her rhythm again. She’d missed this, she thought. She’d missed feeling like herself. Deira O’Brien. A woman who knew who she was and what she wanted from life. A woman comfortable in her choices.

And then she saw the man walking towards her, holding the hand of a small boy,