Moments later Sarina, looking stressed, opened the hefty front door. ‘That bloody bell!’ She ushered me into the double-height entrance hall for a hug. ‘Teenage children with too much time on their hands. I don’t know how to reprogramme it.’
‘Nice to – ah, see you again.’ We’d once been sisters-in-law. Not close, but we’d got on. ‘Thanks for having me today and sorry about Margie.’ I spoke quickly. I wasn’t sure whether to be respectful or celebratory.
Christ, how awkward was this?
‘I know it looks weird having a thing but Brian put his foot down.’ She shook her head as she led me down acres of limed-oak flooring into a massive modern kitchen, a wonderland of granite and ash. To neutralize my uncomfortable feelings of phenomenal under-achievement, I tried telling myself that it was ‘soulless’ but it actually wasn’t. If I’d done a kitchen like this, it would look as uninviting as a quarry. Some people just have the gift.
The kitchen ‘flowed’ into a huge open-plan dining and seating area, with sectional sofas in stone-coloured suede and low tables of white resin, lit by statement pendants of glinting glass.
Plenty of people were there: Luke’s sister Vanessa, her husband and teenage kids; Kate and Devin, hand-in-hand and glowing with young love. （Kate and I hugged as if we hadn’t seen each other in twelve years instead of five hours.） In a low cluster around Mr Costello’s wheelchair were three older men.
Oh, and over at the far window, watching me, was Luke.
Our eyes met and the stare went on for a moment too long. Then, in a fluid movement, he pushed himself from the glass and crossed the room.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he said. ‘I’m … I appreciate it. No Quin?’
‘He already had plans. Rock-climbing. So,’ I said, ‘I’d better say hello to the birthday boy.’ And give him his gift-wrapped socks. （There had been no test drives available in any Aston Martins in Ireland so, instead, I’d gone with three pairs of Argyle-patterned wool-mix socks.）
Luke led me towards the quartet of elderly men. ‘Boys,’ he murmured to Mr Costello’s buddies, who discreetly withdrew.
‘Dad, here’s –’
‘Rachel!’
‘Mr Costello.’
‘Brian.’ He waved me onto a suede cube as Luke disappeared. ‘I’m always telling you to call me Brian. I saw you at the funeral. You were very good to come.’
‘The least I could do.’ I flushed. ‘She was once my mother-in-law. She was so nice to me.’
‘Is that right?’ I couldn’t really get a handle on his tone.
‘Happy birthday, Mr Cost– Brian.’ I handed over the gift-wrapped socks.
‘Aren’t you very good. Ah, there’s Kallie.’
I followed his gaze. Kallie, barelegged in a T-shirt dress and cowboy boots, was swishing her hair at Justin.
‘Tell me now.’ Mr Costello drew me closer. ‘What do you think of her?’
‘… She seems … lovely.’
What exactly was going on here?
‘Do you think Luke’s going to marry her?’
‘I … Mr Costello, Brian, I’m not the person to ask.’
‘I’d love to see him settled down. Happy.’
Oh, for God’s sake! Is he for real?
‘Tell me now, are you off all the drugs and that?’
The cheeky feck! ‘I have been for years and years.’
‘Good, good, good. It was an awful shame about you and Luke. We were very fond of you.’
‘I was fond of you too.’ But I was trying to calculate the number of people between me and the door. How easy would it be to leave?
‘The thing is, when a baby dies …’
‘Yep, that’s right.’ I was scrambling to my feet before the tears began falling in earnest.
‘Ah now, Rachel.’ He made a grab for my hand. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
What had he expected? The only way I lived with her loss was by keeping it private. ‘Could you excuse me for a second?’
‘Justin!’ Mr Costello summoned his eldest son. Christ, no, I did not want a song and dance.
Blind-eyed, I made for the door, hoping to escape without further ado.
‘Justin! Luke!’
Shite. Luke had been alerted and was looking annoyed.
‘What?’ He stepped forward to block my exit, and saw my face. ‘What did he say?’ He glared at his father.
‘Nothing.’
‘Yeah, it really looks like nothing.’ Irritably, he scanned the room and plucked at my sleeve. ‘Come on.’