‘Yeah. It’s only Torc we’re doing. Four hours tops.’
Off they went. Ed unfolded a map – Nell was starting to understand that Ed was a great man for maps, probably because of his outdoorsy job – and consulted Liam on a route.
‘These all done?’ A waiter began taking away abandoned crockery. He indicated several small plates bearing half-eaten Danish pastries. ‘This?’
That was the thing about buffets: people got overexcited and took too much food. It was only human. But when Nell thought about Kassandra and Perla, the waste felt painful.
Nell had met them at a bus stop, in the cold of mid-January. A dark little girl, crying quiet, oddly dignified tears, stood with her mother.
‘Are you cold?’ Already Nell was unwinding her scarf.
‘She’s hungry,’ her mother Perla said. ‘It was fish for dinner tonight. It makes her sick.’
‘Can’t you have something else?’ Nell asked Kassandra.
No, she couldn’t. Nell extracted their story. They were asylum-seekers. War had ousted them from Syria, and they’d come to Ireland, hoping for refugee status. But until that was – or wasn’t – granted, they had a non-person status. They shared a hostel with other broken, displaced people, from the worst parts of the world. There was no privacy. A single bathroom did for seventeen people. Visitors weren’t permitted. Meals were provided by a central kitchen. The quality was poor and choice was non-existent.
When Nell enquired delicately about money, she discovered that Perla got thirty-nine euro a week from the government and Kassandra got thirty. ‘Out of this we must buy clothing, medicine, schoolbooks for Kassandra, everything,’ Perla said. ‘I want to work, but I am forbidden.’
Nell gave her the nineteen euro in her pocket, got Perla’s number and arrived home to Liam in tears. Their situation seemed overwhelmingly bad. Nell had no idea how she could help, but she knew she had to try. The world would only improve if everyone made an effort.
Since then, they’d stayed in touch. Nell had little to offer in the way of material things but she did her best to be a friend.
TEN
The Dublin train chugged the last few yards into Killarney station.
‘Wake up.’ Ferdia nudged Barty. ‘We’re here.’
Ferdia, a lanky beanpole with a docker beanie pulled low over his hair, stood up, and gave his bag in the overhead shelf a whack so that it rolled off, landing neatly in his arms.
‘Do mine as well, fam.’ Barty was a shorter, more compact version of Ferdia. Even his hat and loose stevedore-style jeans were almost identical to Ferdia’s.
Ferdia passed the bag to Barty, then asked, ‘You and me? Are we good?’
Barty had been pissed-off with Ferdia for making them miss yesterday’s train – all because Ferdia had wanted to be at a protest. Barty was perpetually skint and really enjoyed his once-yearly weekend in the fancy hotel. ‘Ah, yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘Watch me pack four days’ eating and drinking into three.’
Tons of people were getting off. The Good Friday crowds were out in force.
‘Mum said Nell was coming to pick us up,’ Ferdia said.
‘Liam’s new wife? What’s she like?’
‘Dunno. I’ve barely met her.’ Ferdia spotted a woman in overalls. ‘That’s her.’
‘Your woman with the hair? Wow. Nothing like Paige, right? Like, wow!’
‘And shut up now. Nell! Hey.’ Ferdia grabbed her shoulders and gave an awkward half-hug. ‘Barty, meet Nell. My aunt. Sort of?’ he asked Nell.
‘I guess. By marriage.’
‘If Johnny was my dad. Which he’s not.’ He flashed a nervous smile. ‘So, Nell, this is Barty, my cousin. He’s my dad – you know, my dead dad’s sister’s son. Keeva’s son.’
‘Got it.’
‘You’re quick.’ Barty gazed in open admiration.
‘Over here.’ Nell strode to the car. The boys threw their bags into the boot, Barty jumped into the passenger seat and Nell reversed out in a smooth curve.
Don’t say anything, Ferdia thought. But – of course – Barty piped up, ‘You drive like a boss.’
Cringe. Nell was old. And married to his step-uncle. No way should Barty be … whatever he was doing. Hitting on her?
‘Should be a good weekend.’ Barty was being such a dick. A jaunty dick. ‘Looking forward to it.’
‘I’m not,’ Ferdia said. ‘But Mum would tear me a new one if I bailed.’
‘I get it,’ Nell said. ‘You’re a grown-up, you don’t want to do kids’ stuff.’
Wait! What, was she … patronizing him? Stung, he needed a moment. ‘It’s nothing to do with going on an Easter-egg hunt. I don’t want to be here because I don’t approve.’