feeling considerably more optimistic.
‘You like them?’
‘There aren’t words for how much I hate them.’
‘I get them hand-tailored in Hong Kong.’
‘By who? A – a plumber? A blind one?’
‘By whom. By a tailor who copies designer’s patterns.’
‘For really, really, really, really, really, really cheap?’
‘… Who are you ringing?’
‘Shush.’ She held up a finger, then spoke into her phone. ‘Johnny? Can you stay with the kids this evening? Late. Maybe very late. I’m fine, just out on the piss.’ Then, ‘I want to have fun. I’ll be sad again tomorrow but now I feel nice so can you stay there till I get home? Which will be at – God, I don’t know – something o’clock, but promise me you’ll stay and mind the bunnies, but don’t worry, Johnny, I’m quite drunk but very healthy and see you when I see you, as they say.’ Abruptly she hung up.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Me, my husband, my other husband, his sister …’ Jessie did her best to explain.
Karl Brennan’s frown deepened and at some stage he waved for more drinks.
When she finished, he said, ‘You’re being ridiculous. Nothing happened.’
‘How do you know?’
‘You’ve just told me what was in those messages. If he was looking for a booty call, he could have had one months ago.’
‘He was meant to be my friend.’
‘So he made a mistake, he got your woman’s motives wrong. But his intentions were good. She’s hurt you but you’re punishing him. That’s what’s going on here.’
Is it?
Maybe it was.
‘Are you a decent man, Karl Brennan?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Definitely not.’
‘Johnny says he’s a decent man.’
‘Maybe he is.’
‘Says he’s devoted to me. But he’s been on my case for ages about changing the business.’
‘Even if he was riding every woman in Ireland, he still did you a favour with that.’
Suddenly she felt sad again. ‘I’ll never forgive him.’
‘Are we getting another drink?’ he asked. ‘Or are you coming home with me?’
‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘That’s a maybe?’
She rolled her eyes and, briefly, saw double. ‘I’m drunk, I’m vulnerable, my life has fallen apart.’
‘That’s definitely a maybe. We’ll have one for the road.’
It was a bit late now for Nell to become a woman who owned lots of sexy dresses. Anyway, the weather was cold and rainy so, somewhat defiantly, she dressed in dungarees, a jumper and her warm padded coat.
But underneath was her new underwear, a lacy gold bra and matching pants. It was impressive, that sheeny thing they did to her skin.
In fairness, though, this wasn’t good, partaking of capitalism just because she was mad about Ferdia Kinsella.
For the last three stops on the rattly old train, she was the only person on board. Now and then the sea heaved into view, a grim, bleak expanse. Above it, in paler tones of grey, the huge sky went on for ever.
Two short platforms and an unattended ticket office made up Scara station. There he was. In his long coat and big boots.
‘Hey.’ His eyes shining, he took her hands. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’
He insisted on carrying her satchel, even though it was her literal handbag. Maybe all of this should be awkward, but he seemed so happy.
‘You okay for a bit of a walk?’ he asked. ‘Seven minutes. I timed it.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Local B-and-B with a judgey landlady and a crucifix above every bed.’
‘And a red-glowing picture of the Sacred Heart in the hall? Cool!’
Moving off the path and across a grassy plain, they were walking into the wind. Squalls of painful rain smacked against her face.
‘This wasn’t part of my plan.’ He sounded stressed. ‘I apologize.’
‘Seriously, where are you taking me?’ Surely we can’t be in a tent? We’ll literally be blown away.
‘You’ll see in a minute.’
They crested a gentle hill, which dipped into a previously invisible hollow. On the far side, the land began climbing again. Hidden until now by one of those tricks that uneven ground plays was an isthmus of land. On it stood a lighthouse. The lighthouse.
‘There,’ he said. ‘That’s where we’re going.’
A giant metal key opened a thick wooden door. Inside, in a bare-floored entrance hall, he shut out the sound of the wind. Stone steps curved up and around, out of sight.
‘They’re the worst part,’ he said, unlacing his boots. ‘Eighty-seven of them. After that, everything’s golden. Andiamo.’
A metal handrail, attached to rough stone walls, twirled up and up. She began to climb. And climb. Her thighs were turning to jelly.
‘Nearly there,’ he said. Then, ‘We’re here.’
‘Hold on, I just need to –’ She