word? Replacement. Surrogate?’
‘Ma, that’s not logical. I’m getting blamed for … And I’m surprised, because they’re such lovely people. Decent.’
‘They’re grieving. You’ve had the luck to meet a man who might be Rory’s equal. But they’ll never get a replacement son or brother. And what about Johnny and Izzy?’
‘I didn’t think it was anything. But Izzy, her heart is broken. Maybe I should let her have him.’
‘Don’t be cracked. Anyway, you don’t mean it.’
She didn’t: her survival instinct had kicked in.
‘You’re alive again,’ her mother said, ‘and you like it.’
Over the following weeks and months Jessie continued to click off texts to Izzy, pleading her previous ignorance about Izzy’s feelings for Johnny; she sent emails full of abject apologies; she handwrote letters in which she swore she’d do anything Izzy wanted. Except give up Johnny.
Izzy ignored everything.
It was well over a year before they even clapped eyes on each other again: one of Michael and Ellen’s meticulously choreographed weekend handovers of Ferdia and Saoirse had slipped off its tracks. Mrs Templeton, the neighbour who most frequently acted as the go-between, was bedbound with pneumonia. It was Izzy who opened the door and let Ferdia and Saoirse into the house. Her glance slid over Jessie, in a way that was both dismissive and scathing, then the door closed.
It shook her, being that close to Izzy, feeling her hostility. On the drive home, she cried.
Then, from the back seat, eight-month-old Bridey began squawking and her heart lightened.
She wished she hadn’t hurt anyone; she wished she and Izzy were still friends. But in this life, you get what you get.
Now Johnny stole a look at Jessie across the office. For many years, missing the Kinsellas had been a low-level thing, frequently so faint it barely registered. But since that rainy Sunday back in June, when he’d driven Saoirse and Ferdia to Errislannan, that had changed.
He’d let Ferdia and Saoirse out of the car, done a U-turn and driven back along the narrow country road, heading for home. He’d gone barely fifty yards when he heard a muffled rhythmic noise, music with a heavy bass. A shiny, burgundy-coloured Range Rover Discovery was booming its way towards him.
There wasn’t enough room for both cars to pass: one of them would have to pull in and, from the attitude of that yoke, it would have to be him.
Suddenly his heart was pumping pure adrenaline – Izzy was the other driver.
It was years since he’d seen her. He watched her face change as she recognized him; abruptly her car stopped, blocking his path.
All of his muscles tensed, waiting for the confrontation.
Then she smiled.
ONE DAY AGO
* * *
NINETY-FIVE
He loves his grandpa, he must be in pieces, he’d want me to call.
But … What about Liam? What about my principles?
Yeah, but I can meet Ferdia just as a friend …
All day Wednesday, Nell back-and-forthed in her head.
Now it was Thursday morning and the mental table tennis continued with no let-up.
She realized that if she didn’t call, the agonizing would go on into infinity: if she rang him, it would stop.
Grand, she thought, awash with relief. I’m doing it.
He answered after half a ring. ‘Nell?’
‘Ferd.’ She exhaled, just from the pleasure of saying his name. ‘I heard about your grandpa. I’m really sorry. How’s he doing?’
‘Still hanging on. If he survives the next thirteen hours, he should be okay.’
‘Oh, God. Right. Fingers crossed.’
‘Yeah.’ Then: ‘Nell? Meet me?’
‘Okay.’
‘You will?’
‘Totally.’ Why else had she rung?
But where?
It couldn’t be a bar or a coffee shop. Dublin was too small – someone was bound to see them. Obviously it couldn’t be in Liam’s apartment and obviously it couldn’t be in Ferdia’s granny flat.
What about her parents’ house? No. That would be super-scuzzy. Garr’s place? No. It was wrong to involve any other person.
A fleeting thought zipped across her mind: this house she was decorating? Only like the sketchiest plan ever but it had given her an idea. ‘What about Johnny’s Airbnb flat? If someone isn’t booked in there today.’
Silence followed.
She was worried now: had she gone too far?
Then he said, ‘How would we get in? He must have a key in the –’
‘I’ve a key. From painting it in the summer. I never gave it back. Well, I tried but Johnny said a few of us should have one in case Cara lost hers.’
‘From what Johnny says, it’s really busy, nearly always booked.’ She heard him clicking. ‘The chances of it being empty are … Here we go. No. Someone’s there today. But looks