I visualise your penthouse, I picture a place that’s not cluttered with books and keepsakes and stuff. Like a showroom kind of joint.’
Río saw Dervla stiffen. ‘You don’t have the monopoly on art and literature, Río, just because of your boho credentials.’
Ow. Río had clearly hit a nerve here, by labelling Dervla as some kind of philistine. She’d have to backtrack. She realised with sudden alarm that she didn’t
want
to have Dervla revert to spiky mode. In the past hour they’d started to unravel a lot of tangled history–a cat’s cradle of loose ends and missing threads and dropped stitches. Río had her sister back in her life, and she wanted to keep her there: she needed an ally to help her through this horrible time. Frank may have been an irresponsible and neglectful father, but he’d still been family. Now that Finn was on the verge of disappearing from her life, Dervla was the only family Río had left.
‘I just–I’d just have thought you were the kind of gal who prefers minimalism.’
‘But I also like to surround myself with beautiful artefacts. I embrace the aesthetic that decrees that one should have nothing in one’s life that is neither beautiful nor useful. And I happento consider this book rather beautiful.’ Dervla hugged
The Turf-Cutter’s Donkey
to her bosom. ‘Mama used to read it to me.’
Río wanted to remind Dervla that Mama had used to read it to her too, but decided against it. She didn’t want hostilities to resume at any second. Instead she started to root through a cardboard box full of old books and papers, and said: ‘Whereabouts exactly in Galway is your apartment?’
‘It’s in the Sugar Stack development, by the docks. Do you know it?’
Río did. Privately, she thought the development was hideous. ‘Oh–the Sugar Stack! Of course I know it. It’s…astonishing.’
‘Yes. It’s been nominated for an award for best city-centre residential development.’
‘How do you find city life?’ Río was genuinely curious. The only time she had lived in the city had been in a kind of commune, with baby Finn and a load of arty vagabonds. She hadn’t a clue how it might feel to be a high-flying achiever type like Dervla. ‘I mean, I know you’ve lived there most of your life, but it’s so different from this sleepy ville.’
‘I love it. I love the buzz.’
‘Isn’t it stressful?’
‘Luckily, I thrive on stress. Did you never feel the urge to leave Lissamore?’
‘Never. I wanted to be somewhere I could put down roots for Finn, somewhere I knew people. I’d have hated him growing up as a latch-key kid in some inner city flat or commuter town semi.’
‘What makes you think you’d end up living in a place like that?’
‘Anything else would be out of my league, Dervla. Because I’ve no qualifications I’d have had to take some low-paid work and slog all hours of the day. Anyway, village life suits me–I love being part of a community. When Finn was growing up here there was always someone to mind him. And I couldn’t everlive more than a mile from a beach. Can you blame me?’ Reaching into the box, Río produced an out-of-date calendar that featured images of Coolnamara’s beaches and the islands on the bay. ‘I love to be reminded that we live on the most westerly stretch of Europe.’
‘Hey!’ said Dervla, peering at the calendar. ‘I sold that cottage last year–the little pink-washed one on Inishclare. Got a good price for it too.’
Beneath the calendar was a once-glossy brochure with red wine rings on the cover. ‘Look,’ said Río. ‘It’s a PR puff for the Sugar Stack. I wonder what Dad was doing with this?’
There was a moment of silence, then: ‘I gave it to him,’ Dervla told her in a rush. ‘I guess I wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted him to be able to show it to neighbours and say: “Look how my girl’s made good. Look where she’s living now.” Pathetic, isn’t it?’
Río shook her head. ‘No.
Río saw Dervla stiffen. ‘You don’t have the monopoly on art and literature, Río, just because of your boho credentials.’
Ow. Río had clearly hit a nerve here, by labelling Dervla as some kind of philistine. She’d have to backtrack. She realised with sudden alarm that she didn’t
want
to have Dervla revert to spiky mode. In the past hour they’d started to unravel a lot of tangled history–a cat’s cradle of loose ends and missing threads and dropped stitches. Río had her sister back in her life, and she wanted to keep her there: she needed an ally to help her through this horrible time. Frank may have been an irresponsible and neglectful father, but he’d still been family. Now that Finn was on the verge of disappearing from her life, Dervla was the only family Río had left.
‘I just–I’d just have thought you were the kind of gal who prefers minimalism.’
‘But I also like to surround myself with beautiful artefacts. I embrace the aesthetic that decrees that one should have nothing in one’s life that is neither beautiful nor useful. And I happento consider this book rather beautiful.’ Dervla hugged
The Turf-Cutter’s Donkey
to her bosom. ‘Mama used to read it to me.’
Río wanted to remind Dervla that Mama had used to read it to her too, but decided against it. She didn’t want hostilities to resume at any second. Instead she started to root through a cardboard box full of old books and papers, and said: ‘Whereabouts exactly in Galway is your apartment?’
‘It’s in the Sugar Stack development, by the docks. Do you know it?’
Río did. Privately, she thought the development was hideous. ‘Oh–the Sugar Stack! Of course I know it. It’s…astonishing.’
‘Yes. It’s been nominated for an award for best city-centre residential development.’
‘How do you find city life?’ Río was genuinely curious. The only time she had lived in the city had been in a kind of commune, with baby Finn and a load of arty vagabonds. She hadn’t a clue how it might feel to be a high-flying achiever type like Dervla. ‘I mean, I know you’ve lived there most of your life, but it’s so different from this sleepy ville.’
‘I love it. I love the buzz.’
‘Isn’t it stressful?’
‘Luckily, I thrive on stress. Did you never feel the urge to leave Lissamore?’
‘Never. I wanted to be somewhere I could put down roots for Finn, somewhere I knew people. I’d have hated him growing up as a latch-key kid in some inner city flat or commuter town semi.’
‘What makes you think you’d end up living in a place like that?’
‘Anything else would be out of my league, Dervla. Because I’ve no qualifications I’d have had to take some low-paid work and slog all hours of the day. Anyway, village life suits me–I love being part of a community. When Finn was growing up here there was always someone to mind him. And I couldn’t everlive more than a mile from a beach. Can you blame me?’ Reaching into the box, Río produced an out-of-date calendar that featured images of Coolnamara’s beaches and the islands on the bay. ‘I love to be reminded that we live on the most westerly stretch of Europe.’
‘Hey!’ said Dervla, peering at the calendar. ‘I sold that cottage last year–the little pink-washed one on Inishclare. Got a good price for it too.’
Beneath the calendar was a once-glossy brochure with red wine rings on the cover. ‘Look,’ said Río. ‘It’s a PR puff for the Sugar Stack. I wonder what Dad was doing with this?’
There was a moment of silence, then: ‘I gave it to him,’ Dervla told her in a rush. ‘I guess I wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted him to be able to show it to neighbours and say: “Look how my girl’s made good. Look where she’s living now.” Pathetic, isn’t it?’
Río shook her head. ‘No.
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