The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,78

heard Thomas Kinsella’s name, she’d taken a sharp breath and wondered if they would still have been together if it wasn’t for Gillian. Because she heard quite a lot about Thomas Kinsella, one way or another. His father, who’d worked as a bricklayer, had moved into construction and development just as Ireland’s economy started to boom. Over the years, Danny Kinsella had bought up small plots of land, which had suddenly become valuable as they were rezoned. Kinsella and Son became one of the leading developers in the county. And Thomas and his wife Sinead became well known on the social scene. They even appeared in the pages of the celebrity magazine RSVP, posing in their huge country house with their three adorable children. Deira didn’t begrudge Thomas one bit of his success. But in the last few weeks, she hadn’t been able to help thinking about him and his family, asking herself if it could have been hers, and resenting the fact once again that her older sister hadn’t minded her own business.

She shook her head and got up from the bench where she’d been sitting. Young couples were strolling hand in hand through the park, and as she made her way through the exit in the city walls, she wished them all happiness and joy in the world. But she wondered if she’d ever experience those emotions herself any time in the future.

It was shortly after seven when Grace returned to the Café Iruña. All the outdoor tables were occupied, and there seemed to be some kind of party going on inside, but she was quite happy to lose herself in the anonymity of the crowd.

The place reminded her of the Café de la Paix in La Rochelle, with its high ceilings, gold fittings and dark wood. She imagined Simenon at his marble table five hundred kilometres away, and remembered Deira’s comment about grizzled old men holding court in their bars and cafés. Hemingway, by all accounts, had enjoyed downing bottles of wine and mixing with wealthy expats while he wrote. Simenon had probably had a good time too. No matter what era you talked about, she decided, men generally seemed to allow themselves less responsibility and more fun than women. Or was it simply that women took it all too seriously? That they didn’t allow themselves to have fun?

As she walked through the café, she saw a life-sized bronze statue of the famous writer propped up at a bar counter. Thinking of Ken’s clue, she took a few photos and then walked back towards the entrance, where she sat at a high table beside the doors that opened onto the plaza. She ordered a sparkling water and waited for Deira to show up.

She could imagine Ken here with his academic friends, knocking back glasses of wine and discussing the literary greats. He’d have topped every comment they made with an observation of his own, always trying to be smarter and cleverer than everyone else. Ken had been a man who considered himself educated and cultured, who knew what he was talking about and whose judgements were valuable. And indeed other people must have seen him the same way, otherwise he never would have been invited here for his lecture tour.

Why did he marry me? wondered Grace for at least the thousandth time since he’d died, and probably the millionth time in their entire relationship. Why, when I’m so shallow by comparison? He would have been better off with someone like Deira. Someone who understood the things he understood. Who liked the same books. Who was knowledgeable about art – Ken had maintained a keen interest in art as well as literature. He’d enjoyed opera too. The only piece of opera that Grace liked was the chorus ‘O Fortuna’, which had been used in a beer commercial.

‘Oops, sorry!’

The exclamation caused her to turn at the same time as a man with a glass of beer in his hand narrowly avoided a large group of people entering the café. His manoeuvre had caused him to bump into Grace’s table, sending her water sliding towards the edge. She put out a hand to stop it falling.

‘Good save,’ said the man. ‘Sorry again.’

‘No harm done,’ said Grace.

He looked at her and smiled. ‘Irish?’

She nodded. ‘We get everywhere.’

‘Indeed we do. Would you mind if I shared your table for a short while? I’m meeting someone later so I popped in for a drink beforehand. I didn’t realise it would be so busy