After we – eventually – said goodbye to Padraig, we got cash from the ATM, filled a prescription for Ree, picked up a plug for Brigit’s father-in-law’s haybob, then went to Femke’s mansion, where we were offered hot drinks from a machine designed by Dolce & Gabbana.
Driving back on the old bog road, I suddenly said, ‘Bridge? Have I ever thanked you for saving my life? Twenty years ago?’
‘… Yes.’ She looked surprised. ‘Lots of times. Why?’
‘I just wanted to say it again.’
‘Okay. You’re welcome. It’s being in contact with Luke, isn’t it? Bringing back memories?’
‘So I’ll be okay?’
‘You already are okay. Look at all the freedom you have.’
‘You’re right, Bridge!’ Suddenly it hit me. ‘I can do anything with my life.’
‘Like what? Go on, Rachel, tell me.’
This was what we used to do when we’d shared an apartment – construct beautiful futures for each other.
‘… Okay,’ I said. ‘I’d go to London, where I’d befriend some posh old lady, living in a grace-and-favour apartment, whatever they are. She has a giant stash of fabulous vintage handbags – Chanel, Hermès, Goyard, more Chanel …’
‘And she gives them to you?’ Brigit gasped.
‘Ah now. This is a fantasy but nothing is that easy.’
‘I have it! She’s down on her luck, I don’t know, a dispute with her son, or something. You propose that she sells some of the bags –’
‘– but she’d be mortified by going along to the local designer exchange, so I’d set her up online, running the whole show, loading the images to the site, setting up her PayPal account, dealing with all the admin –’
‘Colm could help, if you had any IT issues –’
‘That’s handy, thanks. So the old lady –’
‘What’s her name? Some posh thing. Persephone?’
‘Perfect. So Persephone would be impressed. But she doesn’t want to pay me –’
‘She’s stingy? Posh people are often stingy.’
‘Well, no, she’s skint. Because of the dispute with the son. But she gives me one free handbag in exchange for every ten I sell.’
‘Ah, not ten, Rachel! Every eight.’
‘Let’s make it seven. Six, then. And I’d always take a Chanel.’
‘I cannot believe there was a time when labels mattered to me …’
‘You’re an evolved being, Bridge –’
‘– but I’m still happy for you.’
‘Anyway, at some stage, Persephone will die and I don’t want to be sad …’
‘Maybe she wasn’t very nice? She hated the Irish? Only let you into her apartment because she thought you were Scottish?’
That made me laugh a lot. ‘Then I’d discover she’d left me all the unsold bags in her will. I’d feel a little guilty. Although I did go to her funeral –’
‘– the only person other than her chiropodist –’
‘But I’d own fifty Chanel bags and how could I be anything other than gloriously happy. Bridge, I will be fine!’
Back at the house, after a short savage downpour, the sun came out again, the whole world appearing squeaky clean.
‘Now would be a good time to ring Luke,’ Brigit said. ‘Before the next shower.’
It was eleven in the morning in Denver but Luke answered, seeming smiley and delighted. ‘Hey.’
‘I thought you might be out horse-riding,’ I said.
‘Nope. Sitting here all morning waiting for your call.’
I laughed. ‘Here’s Bridge for you.’ I passed her my iPad.
‘Luke.’ Her voice was weepy. ‘I’m so sorry about your mum. I sent a card to your brother’s address … you got it?’ Tears were flowing freely down her face. ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ she said, and now she was laughing. ‘Just an attack of nostalgia. It’s so nice to see you. You’ll always be my favourite seventies throwback.’
‘Setback,’ Luke replied.
‘Paperback.’
‘Hunchback.’
Brigit barked with laughter and replied, ‘Horseback.’
‘Niiiiiiiiice,’ Luke said.
‘You should come visit. Some weekend when Rachel’s here. We’ll have a reunion. We’re middle-aged now, that’s what middle-aged people do. Reunions. Will you come? Seriously?’