That Gallagher Girl by Kate Thompson

it was rumoured to have changed hands a couple of times, and it now wore the look of an unwanted frock in a second-hand shop. Or that’s how Fleur – with her penchant for sartorial imagery – had put it. Río liked that the place was empty. She liked to be able to skinny-dip here unseen, she liked to be able to work in her garden unobserved, she liked to be able to lounge in the hammock she had strung up between two apple trees, knowing that she had this corner of Coolnamara all to herself. No one in the world could reach her here, except . . .
    From above, came the sound of her phone – the ringtone that announced that Finn was calling.
    . . . except Finn.
    Río was off the starter’s blocks, wrapping her towel around her, and sprinting up the beach towards the orchard gate.
    â€˜Your phone, Río!’ called Fleur. ‘Shall I answer it for you?’
    â€˜Please!’ The ringtone stopped, and Río heard Fleur’s low laugh. ‘No, Finn! It’s your godmother here! Hang on two seconds, she’s on her way. Here she comes, tearing up the path like Roadrunner.’
    Breathless, Río joined Fleur on the rug, and held out a hand for the phone. ‘Finn!’ she said into the mouthpiece. ‘What’s up?’
    â€˜Hey, Ma,’ came her son’s laconic greeting.
    â€˜Why are you phoning the mobile? What has you so flathulach ? Why not wait to Skype later?’
    â€˜I’m a bit all over the place, today.’
    Río did some quick mental arithmetic. ‘It must be eight o’clock in the morning in LA. What has you up so early?’
    â€˜The clock says four p.m. where I am.’
    â€˜So you’re not in LA? What’s going on?’
    â€˜Are you heading home soon, Ma?’
    â€˜In about an hour. Why?’
    â€˜Then I can tell you the good news in person.’
    â€˜What do you mean, in person?’
    â€˜I’ll be in Lissamore in a couple of hours, unless Galway airport’s closed again. I’m in Heathrow now.’
    â€˜You brat! You never told me you were coming home! Holy moly, Finn – that’s fantastic news!’
    â€˜Glad you think so, Ma. But there’s more.’
    â€˜More good news? What?’
    There was a smile in Finn’s voice when he replied.
    â€˜It’s a surprise,’ he said.

Chapter Three
    From: [email protected]
    To: Keeley Considine
    Subject: Re: Extended break
    Hi, Keeley.
    So you’ve got yourself a cottage in Lissamore?
    Nice. Pity about the tax on second homes though, ain’t it ;b
    Enjoy your ‘extended break’, but please note that I’m holding you to your contract, which has a further three weeks to run. (Not having broadband is no excuse. I Googled the joint: there’s an internet café in the village.)
    Yours (I mean it),
    Leo
    PS: Click here. You interviewed him once, years
    ago, didn’t you? How about nailing her?
    Keeley allowed herself a reflective moment, then refilled her coffee mug and clicked on the next email in her inbox. It was from her grandmother’s solicitor, to tell her that the keys to the cottage were ready to be picked up from his office, and reminding her that – as well as inheritance tax – she would now be eligible for the new tax on second homes. On the radio, some pundit was talking about property prices. ‘The reality is that prices have plummeted by fifty per cent in the Galway region. This includes holiday residences, which have been flying on to the market since the introduction of the tax on second homes . . .’ Keeley pressed the ‘off’ switch. She didn’t want to be reminded for the third time that morning about the new tax on second homes. The third email she clicked on was from her accountant, alerting her to the fact that she would now be eligible to pay . . .
    Click! The email went shooting off back into her mailbox.
    There would be more unpalatable stuff, she knew,