me aaaages but, yeah, what clothes to wear, everything.’
‘So what should I wear tonight?’
‘A dress. Have you one?’
‘I borrowed two. My friend Wanda, we used to share a house, she works in costume design.’ She paused. ‘Listen, can I show them to you? Have you a minute?’
Cara followed Nell into the room. One glance at the beaded black gown was enough. ‘Too formal.’
‘So there’s this.’ Nell produced an off-the-shoulder sheath with a zip that ran from the back of the neck to the hem.
‘That’s beautiful,’ Cara breathed. ‘Put it on.’
Nell hastened to the bathroom, wriggled into it and returned, plucking at the fabric, weirded out by something so tight.
Cara looked stunned. ‘Nell! You utter goddess. And that aubergine colour goes so perfectly with your hair …’
‘There’s a “but”.’ Nell was anxious. ‘Not suitable for a family resort?’
‘That. You’re waaaay too hot. Anything more casual?’
‘Yeah, but …’
Nell’s brand of casual wasn’t cutting it. As well as the request to fix the toaster, her boiler suits were generating looks. Children flocked to her, attracted by her pink hair but confused by her masculine clothes.
‘I’ve this?’ Nell produced a dark-blue cotton box-shaped shift. It was a couple of sizes too big, but it had cost only four euro in Oxfam.
‘Put it on.’ Then, as Nell appeared in it, ‘Oh, wow. So cool. That’s the one. Shoes?’ She dismissed the borrowed high heels and fell on Nell’s red Converse. ‘These! You look amazing. Okay, see you at dinner!’
The lock clicked – Liam was back.
‘How are they?’ Nell asked.
He was always upset after talking to his kids. ‘Okay. I think. Hard to tell, really.’
‘Liam, will it ever be okay for me to try to get to know them?’
‘How do I know? But did you want to corrupt their happy memories of past Easters, in the thick of their cousins, by hogging FaceTime today?’
‘I just meant – sorry. Sorry.’ She kept getting things wrong. It was so important that the Caseys liked her but she’d already had that blow-up with Ferdia. He’d apologized, he’d acted normal on the walk today, but it was a reminder that she didn’t know these people, or how to behave with them.
‘Listen, get ready,’ Liam said. ‘It’s nearly time to eat.’
‘I’m ready.’
Liam stared. ‘That’s what you’re wearing? That – what is it, anyway? – giant shirt?’
It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.
‘It’s got a hospital vibe. You look like a nurse.’
‘And not a sexy one, right?’ She flashed her teeth. ‘But, wait, it gets worse, you haven’t seen the back.’ She pirouetted, displaying the line of buttons that went the entire length. ‘It’s more like those gowns for when you’re having an operation where your bum is hanging out.’
It worked. He laughed.
At first glance you wouldn’t think Liam had a taste for expensive threads: his look was low-key and muted. But when you drilled down, you discovered that his knackered-looking black joggers had cashmere in the mix and his anonymous tops were pure merino wool.
It was time to remind him who he’d married. ‘Liam, I love beautiful things – I’d love a truckload of new clothes. Getting them second-hand, it’s all a bit shit. I know it’s a pain, me and my principles. Seriously, I get on my own nerves, but I’m not doing it to be sneery.’
‘Yeah, I know, baby. I’m sorry.’
In the eleven months she’d known him, he’d never been this uptight. Up to now, almost none of their time had been spent with his brothers. Even their wedding had been family-free. Usually Liam was fun and wildly spontaneous. Their life was a million miles from five-star hotels, and they jumped on any opportunity for adventure. There had been an impetuous weekend in Tallinn. Another in Madrid, where they’d spent two days in the Prado. On 23 December, Liam had chanced on rock-bottom flights to Namibia, leaving the following morning. A frantic afternoon was spent racing around, borrowing camping gear and booking a jeep. By Christmas night they’d been drinking duty-free gin and gazing awestruck at the constellations of stars in the empty desert sky.
In the formal dining room, Jessie rushed at Nell. ‘Your dress!’
God, had she messed up big-time?
‘Acne?’ Jessie said. ‘No, don’t tell me. Filippa K? One of the Swedish designers? I adore that oversized look.’
‘Oxfam,’ Liam said. ‘Probably an ex-hospital gown. If this dress could talk, well, the haemorrhoid operations we’d be hearing about.’
Jessie tuned him out. ‘You’re stunning.’ She spoke directly to Nell. ‘You make everything your own. I wish I had your confidence.’
‘Bougie