He was deeply shaken. He’d thought he and Izzy had recovered plenty of their old easy intimacy. But it wasn’t just Izzy he was upset about, it was all of them.
Ferdia’s intel said that Michael likely wouldn’t survive, and Johnny was confused: he’d always thought that at some stage he and the Kinsellas would be okay again. How could that happen if Michael died?
On Wednesday and Thursday he brooded on everything, moving back and forth along his memories, like fingers up and down the keys of a piano, wondering how he could have averted that long-ago falling-out.
In the middle of it all, Ed had texted, asking if he could borrow ten grand. He was so distracted that he gave a vague I’ll have to see as a reply, then promptly forgot about it.
Suddenly, around nine o’clock on Thursday night, Jessie’s phone buzzed, the family WhatsApp chimed and Johnny’s phone started to ring. The person calling Johnny was Izzy and he went light-headed with hope and dread. Either Michael had died or …
He hadn’t.
The relief of that, coupled with Izzy considering Johnny meaningful enough to be told, rocketed him back into hope. This was fixable. All of it.
Izzy said, ‘We really need to meet up soon!’
And his response was, ‘Yes! Remember my old apartment on Baggot Street? Hold on a sec, I just need to check … Wait, this is great. Tomorrow? One o’clock? One thirty?’
‘Okay. One thirty. See you there.’
Jessie appeared before him to tell him the good news, which he already knew, and he was so overwhelmed with hope and guilt and the past accelerating into the present that weak tears dampened his face.
It was almost 5.30 a.m. and she was already better by the time it was confirmed that Cara had had a concussion, which was why she’d said those cruel, out-of-character things.
As Ed drove them home, the previous night began revisiting her in bursts of vivid imagery. Telling Liam that he was a terrible masseur. Oh, my God, dropping Nell and Ferdia in the shit. Admitting that she’d been all set for a food binge. Upsetting Saoirse, whom she loved so much, by saying she had a face like the moon. Instigating some revelation about Johnny and Izzy Kinsella …
It was hard to fathom – actually horrifying – the damage she’d unleashed. She had a lot of apologetic calls to make as soon as people were up.
In the darkness, Nell looked at her phone: 5.35 a.m.
Three missed calls from Ferdia.
She was finding it hard to believe that she’d gone ahead and met him in that apartment. Last night – my God, was it really only last night? – when their thing was revealed to everyone around the dinner party, the spell had broken.
Everything seemed entirely different this morning. She felt older, wiser, far less starry-eyed.
She must have been temporarily crazy. Ferdia was waaaaay too young for her. To think that if Cara hadn’t shown up, they’d definitely have fucked.
She liked Ferdia. Objectively she could see that he was hot, but her feelings for him had reverted to the way they’d been before Italy. He was only a kid. She’d got an insane crush on him because her marriage was falling apart. Maybe he’d be on the same page as her, realizing that there was nothing real here. She needed to call him but couldn’t summon the nerve yet.
There was nothing from Liam, not a text, WhatsApp, nothing. She wondered if she’d ever hear from him again.
None of it had played out like she’d hoped. She’d expected that when ‘the end’ eventually showed up they’d be civil to each other. But her business with Ferdia and Liam’s with Robyn …
She couldn’t deny her sadness: the initial sweetness with Liam had turned very ugly. And Robyn was so astonishingly young that she felt ashamed of Liam.
What wacko way had the planets been aligned last night? Every marriage around the table had hit the skids.
‘You okay?’ Garr whispered. ‘Will I turn on the light?’
‘Thanks.’ She was very grateful to have him to talk to. ‘I cannot understand how I got married and eleven months later it’s over. Who does that? I’ve been thinking about all the stuff when people split up. The two names on, like, a mortgage, bank account, bills? Liam and I own litch nothing together. His ex-wife pays for the apartment, but the bills are in his name. I paid half of them but nothing document-y connects us.’