had appeared around the doorway.
‘No. Nothing.’
‘You like a drink? I’ve cider!’
‘Sure.’ Why not? It was nearly six o’clock.
Ferdia was right about the signal. She connected immediately.
‘Lorelei, sorry about the lateness. Crappy Wi-Fi. How’s it all going?’
‘We can’t have the giant water tank. Health and safety.’
Ah, shite. She’d feared as much but Nell was ever the optimist.
‘But we can have five smaller ones in a line. We’ve done a mock-up –’
‘Show me.’
Lorelei demonstrated the line of smaller water tanks. ‘Taken together,’ she said, ‘it could still look like the sea.’
Nell wasn’t sure. It was frustrating not to be there. ‘Let me sleep on it. Maybe something will come to me. Thanks, hon, talk soon.’
‘Any time you need the signal,’ Ferdia said, once she was back downstairs, ‘come over. So you’re working again?’
‘Yep. I got back on the horse –’
‘Like I said?’ He sounded pleased.
‘Oh? It was you, right! Yep, got a gig for the theatre festival. Not as big as the one I was working on in Mayo, much smaller budget, but the work is interesting. I’m excited about it.’
‘It must be frustrating being here and not there?’
‘Yes –’ She caught herself and flushed. ‘Who wouldn’t want to be here? The most beautiful place ever. And Liam and I are going to the Uffizi on Tuesday. Does it get any better?’
‘I wasn’t throwing shade. I was just …’
‘… being nice?’
‘Yeah!’ He grinned. ‘Being nice.’
‘That’s new.’
The grin vanished. ‘I’ve been behaving differently for a while now.’ He sounded hurt. ‘More mature.’
Now that he mentioned it, he didn’t seem as touchy as he’d used to. Must be Perla’s good influence. And he’d been great that night in Gulban Manor, helping Cara. ‘You are different,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added. ‘I’m too caught up in my own stuff.’ Encourage the lad, why not? ‘You coming up to the procession later?’
Santa Laura was having some religious festival.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t miss it.’
She looked at him carefully.
‘I mean it. I’m not being sarky.’
After dinner, when all the kids had run off, Jessie set her elbows on the table with purpose. ‘Okay, can I talk to you about a thing? Last weekend in September? Harvest?’
‘What is it?’ Nell asked.
‘Festival,’ Johnny said. ‘A new one, only been on the go for the last two years.’
‘Is that the one in a forest in Tipperary? But it’s really –’
‘Nouvy,’ Jessie jumped in. ‘Yes!’
‘I was going to say upmarket.’
Ferdia laughed. ‘It’s not nouvy. It’s cool, boutique, eco-friendly.’
‘Grown-up,’ Jessie insisted.
‘For people who can’t hack hardship. The tents have actual beds.’
‘But the bathrooms are shared. All the same, they’re so, so clean.’ Jessie’s face took on a dreamy expression. ‘They’ve outdoor showers, wooden bathtubs in the forest fed from hot springs, fairy lights strung through the trees …’ To Nell, she said, ‘You’ll love it.’
‘What? Am I going?’
‘If you’d like. Here’s the deal,’ Jessie said. ‘Pop-up PiG cookery school with René Redzepi’s ex-sous-chef doing free demos. I need volunteers.’
‘To do what?’ Liam sounded sceptical.
‘Lure people in, pass around the food, then data-capture. Basically, persuade people to give up their email. There’s going to be twelve thousand well-off notion-y types gathered in one place. Ideal customers for the cookery school.’
‘I’ve a lot going on.’ Again from Liam. ‘Doing my course plus pretty much managing a busy bike shop for shitty pay.’
‘No one’s making you,’ Jessie said, a hint of vinegar to her tone. ‘The guys from work would kill to come, but family gets first dibs. You’ll have plenty of time to go to gigs or have your chakras realigned or smoke some really strong blem and lie flat on your back outside your caravan, looking up at the stars and talking shite for six hours …’ This last part was directed at Johnny.
‘You can take an acting workshop,’ Ed said. ‘Or listen to Angela Merkel talking to the head of the IMF or go swimming in the river –’
‘Nudey swimming.’ Bridey had reappeared.
‘It was only one nudey woman,’ Jessie said. ‘And I think she was just confused.’
‘It sounds amazing,’ Nell said. ‘Even the non-nudey swimming.’
‘And your accommodation would be free.’
‘Is that when we stayed in the caravan that looks like a cottage?’ Dilly had also slunk back to the table. ‘Oh, Nell, you must come. It’s glorious. The kitchen table turns into a bed. It’s magic. Bridey says it’s unhygienic.’
‘It is unhygienic!’
‘Are you going?’ Nell asked Cara.
She shook her head. ‘I’d love the music but I don’t do well in the outdoors. Camping, even glamping, it’s not for me. And it’s the