gripping the wheel, I cross the Call bridge and watch the clear blue sky lead the way to the city. Nothing much was said last night. Conor admitted he left the house to fix the alarm, but with all the excitement around Shay’s early entrance into the world, he hadn’t even thought about it until Fintan rang to tell him what Pat said. I spent the whole night with my heart hovering close to my mouth. What does this mean? Surely the cops will believe him, the alarm going off is probably traceable. So why is he so worried?
I wanted to tell Conor I knew the circumstances around his father’s death, but it wasn’t the right time, not with what had happened with Pat. He did ask how I’d got on with his mother, and if everything was in place for Sunday, but I could see a lot of the spark had gone out of him. I told him she was doing a great job and seemed to have everything in hand. I was hoping he’d suggest we cancel it, but no, the show must go on, and with Maggie directing it, I’m sure it will.
Which is why I’m going to Dublin. Having handed over all control of the party, I’m claiming the christening gown. Maggie doesn’t know yet. She’ll probably arrive with some yellow dress, bragging about the intricate lace-work, handmade by virgins at sunrise a thousand years ago on the side of a mountain, and worn by generations of the Caldwell family. Well, she can keep it. I’m putting Shay in something I want.
The traffic builds the closer I get to Dublin. Shay sleeps in his car seat by my side, the hood on his blue jumpsuit cloaking his tiny face. I picked it specially to complement his eyes. It’s his first time meeting my old work colleagues and I want him to impress.
In the distance, the familiarity of a world that used to be mine slowly appears. I see the Ha’penny Bridge, its timber gangway a monument to the rare old times, and the Millennium Bridge, a more modern affair, reflective of the progress we’ve made. Or have we? People still seem eager to get to the other side.
Nostalgia loosens my smile the closer I get. I miss this place: the buildings, the crowds, the choices. Ballycall is too low-rise; the church is the tallest building. The forest surrounding the village means you can’t see the place until you’re actually in it. Like it was built to be hidden from the rest of the world. I wonder, was that planned? Did some old farmer decide hundreds of years ago that he didn’t want his neighbour looking in at him? Don’t let your right hand know what your left hand is doing. It wouldn’t surprise me. Even now there’s a sense of secrecy about the place.
The car park isn’t too jammed so I find a space where I can comfortably take Shay out of the car and put him in his buggy without breaking my neck.
Out on the street, my steps are slow. I want to enjoy this walk to my old office, take note of everything I pass. There’s a new doughnut shop open on the corner, rows of colourful, tempting treats arranged in the window.
Beyond that, an array of cafes and restaurants that I regularly passed on my way to work, my eyes glued to the footpath or the phone in my hand. I should have visited more of them, instead of always going to the same place – Luigiani’s – ordering the same food and expecting the same result. It’s too easy to appreciate what you had, after the fact.
The smell of spicy food wafting out from one of the restaurants makes me want to go inside and eat straight away. Maybe Amanda and I could go there for lunch?
With more pace in my rhythm, I arrive outside Imanage a little bit earlier than I expected. Pushing my backside into the door, I open it, dragging the buggy in with me.
The foyer is empty except for a young girl sitting behind a large multicoloured reception area to my left. I don’t recognise her – she must be new. I’m disappointed there’s no one here to greet me and my baby. I wasn’t expecting a band to be playing but a familiar face would have been nice.
‘Hi,’ I say, watching the young girl lift her head from whatever she’s doing.