front door on the latch, that sort of thing. Dublin’s a cess pit and our kids are swimming in it.”
“All Emily thinks about is returning to live there.”
“Keep her here. She’ll settle eventually.” She sensed him hesitating, choosing his words. “Young people. I don’t understand what the hell they’re on about most of the time – or what they want from life. Our son went badly off the rails for a while but he’s out the other end, thank God.” He shook his head vigorously. “I was running my first travel agency when I was his age. Eighteen years and I could already smell my first million. But Lorcan! Even if luck bit him hard on the arse he wouldn’t recognise it.”
He left the studio and faced the farmhouse where Hobbs was once again making his presence heard. “Some people make a lot of noise but they say nothing. Keep your eyes on the future, Lorraine.” She had expected a bone crushing handshake but his grasp was firm and oddly comforting. “I’ve been on the ropes a few times in my life. Yet I’ve always known when it was time to rise again and face the next round. You will too. Ring me when you get to Dublin and we’ll talk again.”
Máirtín Mullarkey kept his word. The following week he rang Lorraine and invited her to a barbecue on Sunday afternoon. As soon as they arrived at his bungalow, Emily disappeared with the goth twins, whose appearance suggested they had ventured forth from the confines of a vampire’s bridal suite. Apart from a brief dash to the patio for sausages, burgers and baked potatoes, Lorraine did not see the young people again until it was time to return home. Coloured lights had been hung around the garden where friends and neighbours gathered. Some of the people were local but Lorraine heard other accents, an Australian twang, the deep, melodic cadences of an African voice and the heavily accented English of a young Italian couple who had set up a holistic health centre in the village. She heard, also, a London accent, the inflection so reminiscent of Virginia that for an instant she thought her cousin was sitting on a deck chair, her face shaded by a wide-brimmed straw hat. During her childhood summers a visitor from Dublin was a stranger in Trabawn. Now, only two decades later, Lorraine was simply another unremarkable face in a multicultural gathering.
She sat beside Sophie, a Sudanese woman married to an Irish farmer. They had met in Sudan, she told Lorraine, when he was engaged on an agricultural project and she was working as a nurse in a local hospital. They had moved to Ireland sixteen years ago.
“A big adjustment?” Lorraine asked.
“At first, yes. Now, not so bad. I ignore what I don’t want to hear and draw strength from those who are close to me. And you?”
“I don’t know why I’m here.” She made the admission frankly. “I came to escape from a marriage that was no longer working. At the time it seemed a good idea. Now I’m not so sure.”
“The house where you live, it’s lonely, yes? A woman on her own, now that, I know, is definitely not a good idea.” Sophie’s laugh rolled across the garden. “You must come to dinner soon. I have many handsome friends who would love to meet you.”
“Dinner, yes. But no friends, handsome or otherwise.” She smiled, spread her hands as if to brush away an unwelcome idea. “I’m not ready for anything like that, Sophie.”
“How do you know? Stuck down in that lane.” She touched Lorraine’s hair, smiled. “Don’t let the fire die, girl.”
The fire is well and truly quenched, Lorraine thought, preparing for bed that night. She stood naked before the mirror and stared at her reflection. Outwardly there was nothing to suggest she had become a dried up prune. It should show on her face but, apart from the dullness in her eyes, she looked refreshingly healthy. Her hair, still tossed from a late-night walk along the beach, glowed red under the bedroom light and her skin was tanned from
“All Emily thinks about is returning to live there.”
“Keep her here. She’ll settle eventually.” She sensed him hesitating, choosing his words. “Young people. I don’t understand what the hell they’re on about most of the time – or what they want from life. Our son went badly off the rails for a while but he’s out the other end, thank God.” He shook his head vigorously. “I was running my first travel agency when I was his age. Eighteen years and I could already smell my first million. But Lorcan! Even if luck bit him hard on the arse he wouldn’t recognise it.”
He left the studio and faced the farmhouse where Hobbs was once again making his presence heard. “Some people make a lot of noise but they say nothing. Keep your eyes on the future, Lorraine.” She had expected a bone crushing handshake but his grasp was firm and oddly comforting. “I’ve been on the ropes a few times in my life. Yet I’ve always known when it was time to rise again and face the next round. You will too. Ring me when you get to Dublin and we’ll talk again.”
Máirtín Mullarkey kept his word. The following week he rang Lorraine and invited her to a barbecue on Sunday afternoon. As soon as they arrived at his bungalow, Emily disappeared with the goth twins, whose appearance suggested they had ventured forth from the confines of a vampire’s bridal suite. Apart from a brief dash to the patio for sausages, burgers and baked potatoes, Lorraine did not see the young people again until it was time to return home. Coloured lights had been hung around the garden where friends and neighbours gathered. Some of the people were local but Lorraine heard other accents, an Australian twang, the deep, melodic cadences of an African voice and the heavily accented English of a young Italian couple who had set up a holistic health centre in the village. She heard, also, a London accent, the inflection so reminiscent of Virginia that for an instant she thought her cousin was sitting on a deck chair, her face shaded by a wide-brimmed straw hat. During her childhood summers a visitor from Dublin was a stranger in Trabawn. Now, only two decades later, Lorraine was simply another unremarkable face in a multicultural gathering.
She sat beside Sophie, a Sudanese woman married to an Irish farmer. They had met in Sudan, she told Lorraine, when he was engaged on an agricultural project and she was working as a nurse in a local hospital. They had moved to Ireland sixteen years ago.
“A big adjustment?” Lorraine asked.
“At first, yes. Now, not so bad. I ignore what I don’t want to hear and draw strength from those who are close to me. And you?”
“I don’t know why I’m here.” She made the admission frankly. “I came to escape from a marriage that was no longer working. At the time it seemed a good idea. Now I’m not so sure.”
“The house where you live, it’s lonely, yes? A woman on her own, now that, I know, is definitely not a good idea.” Sophie’s laugh rolled across the garden. “You must come to dinner soon. I have many handsome friends who would love to meet you.”
“Dinner, yes. But no friends, handsome or otherwise.” She smiled, spread her hands as if to brush away an unwelcome idea. “I’m not ready for anything like that, Sophie.”
“How do you know? Stuck down in that lane.” She touched Lorraine’s hair, smiled. “Don’t let the fire die, girl.”
The fire is well and truly quenched, Lorraine thought, preparing for bed that night. She stood naked before the mirror and stared at her reflection. Outwardly there was nothing to suggest she had become a dried up prune. It should show on her face but, apart from the dullness in her eyes, she looked refreshingly healthy. Her hair, still tossed from a late-night walk along the beach, glowed red under the bedroom light and her skin was tanned from
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