have a drink, he should really be studying, but he was so fucking low. Sammie had got a year’s placement in MIT. In six weeks, she was leaving Ireland. They’d talked it out, their most mature discussion ever. No shouting, no accusations, just a sad admission that they would never survive a year apart.
If he could just hold her for five minutes, he’d feel better, but that was off the cards this weekend. Since her move to the States had been confirmed, she’d become far more serious about her work.
Ferdia, though, was struggling. Too much of his time was spent wondering if his degree would be worth anything.
If only the exams were over. Living under their impending shadow was a killer – all he wanted was to get drunk and switch his head off for a while. Surreptitiously, he slid two more bottles from the fridge. He’d slope off quietly to the bottom of the garden, lie on his bed and smoke some weed …
‘Hey!’
Fuck. His mother had spotted him.
‘You can drink whatever you want in company, like a civilized person. But you’re not sneaking off to get scuttered on your own. Come over here and join us.’
Ferdia hesitated – then gave in. At least that guaranteed a steady supply of alcohol.
Ed, Liam and Nell budged up to make room on the bench.
He swigged steadily from his beer, tuning out their boring bullshit talk. God, how had his life come to this? A Saturday night, trapped with this bunch …
‘And they came from Syria?’ Johnny was quizzing Nell. ‘Just the mother and daughter? What happened to the dad?’
‘He was killed.’
They must be talking about Dilly’s asylum-seeker.
‘Honestly?’ Jessie said. ‘Christ, that’s horrific. We don’t know how lucky we are. We should organize a play-date with Dilly and the little girl – is it Kassandra? And what’s the mother like? Can she … you know, speak English?’
‘Perfect English,’ Nell said. ‘But she’s very quiet. Understandably. She’s been through an awful lot.’
‘… Has she?’
Scornfully, Ferdia watched his mother wrestle with her desire to know the gory details against the need to be respectful.
‘Maybe she’d like to come over for dinner, some night.’
Ferdia snorted.
‘What?’ Jessie asked.
‘You’re so … bougie. Inviting people for dinner, so you can show off and say you’re “friends” with an asylum-seeker.’
‘Ferdia,’ Johnny growled. ‘Shut it.’
The scuffle was interrupted by a buzzing noise from Johnny’s wrist. His smartwatch. Jesus, he was tragic.
An expression flickered across his face that made Jessie ask, ‘What now?’
‘Marek and Natusia have given notice. They’re going back to Poland.’
‘That’s a shame. They were lovely. No trouble.’
‘What’s up?’ Cara asked.
‘Ah, nothing,’ Johnny said. ‘Just my flat in Baggot Street, the one I lived in before me and Jessie, the tenants are leaving.’
‘You’ll have no trouble letting it again,’ Nell said. ‘People are desperate.’
‘I should redecorate it. Now’s a good time.’
Nell jumped in. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Absolutely not. You’re a set designer. Not a decorator.’
But Nell wasn’t letting this go. ‘A lot of the time, painting and decorating is exactly what I do.’
‘We’ll pay you, then.’
She coloured. ‘Please, no. It’s on me. You and Jessie give Liam and me so much. It’s the least I can do.’
Jessie said, ‘The only way you’re doing it is if you let us pay you.’
Nell fixed Jessie with a bold stare. ‘We’ll see,’ she said, and gave a small smile.
‘You know, you should Airbnb it,’ Liam said.
It had been only a matter of time before someone suggested this, but it was no surprise to Ferdia that the person was Mr Arsey McArse of Arse Town, Liam.
‘You’d make much more money that way,’ Mr Arsey McArse of Arse Town continued. ‘Perfect location. City centre, you’d be full seven nights a week.’
Nell looked stricken.
‘Ah, no.’ Johnny shrugged off the suggestion. ‘It’d take loads of micro-managing. Organizing cleaning and keys, and if a pipe burst or something …’
‘I can take care of all that,’ Cara said.
Surprised, everyone turned to her. ‘In work, I’ve access to great housekeepers, Dublin’s finest plumbers, electricians. The Ardglass is five minutes’ walk from your flat. If anything went wrong, they’d be there in no time.’
‘But you’ve a job and two kids.’
‘I wouldn’t have to do anything, except delegate. They’d have to be paid, though, the cleaners and such.’
She looked at Johnny, who nodded vigorously, ‘Course! Of course they would.’
‘But me?’ Cara said. ‘All I’d need is a key.’
‘What about the host malarkey?’ Johnny asked. ‘Airbnb reviews are always going on about great hosts who leave them freshly baked apple tarts and baskets