Kerry airport was where they were to meet. I bought a car, he’d told her. Well, my dad mostly bought it. Eight hundred and twenty euro, bargain. He’d turned his phone so she could view it, and Tilly had seen a small blue hatchback – a Fiat, she thought he’d said. It looked a bit dented, and the paint had flaked off in patches, but it had a working engine, and it was bringing him to the airport on Tuesday, and then it was taking both of them back to Roone, where Tilly was staying for three and a half glorious weeks.
She couldn’t wait.
I’ve got a summer job, he’d told her. I had to, to pay Dad back for the car. I’m working in an ice-cream van at the pier. An ice-cream van: how perfect was that?
Show me, she’d said, and he’d shown her a van that was painted bright yellow with a big window at the side, above which was written Soft Whip and Cold Drinks in coloured cartoon letters. She imagined the two of them there, he passing out the orders, she taking the money and making change. This would be her fourth visit to Ireland: she was well used to euros and cents by now.
She thought back to her first trip, two and a half years earlier. So afraid she’d been, so desperate as she’d flown halfway across the world, pregnant and heartbroken. Abandoned by the man she’d fancied herself in love with, and who’d professed to love her, until he’d taken what he wanted and vanished.
On discovering she was pregnant she’d fled from her adoptive parents to the only place she could think of, on a mission to find a sister she’d never met, knowing just her name and that she lived on a tiny island, located off the coast of another tiny island. Clinging to the faintest of hopes that this complete stranger would help her, would somehow make everything right.
It hadn’t begun well. Her money had been stolen in Heathrow airport as she’d slept, a disastrous start to the whole hastily planned endeavour. But the kindness of various strangers on her onward journey had eventually enabled her to make her way to Roone, and to her sister Laura.
And things had sorted themselves out on the island, but not in the way she’d imagined. Her pregnancy had come to an end of its own accord, the life that had begun a few weeks before her trip slipping out of her one evening, the miscarriage leaving her unaccountably bereft – her head told her it was a good thing, her heart disagreed – but ultimately grateful.
And of course, not only had she tracked down Laura, and been welcomed into Walter’s Place Bed & Breakfast, and made the acquaintance of Laura’s husband Gavin and her delightful children, she’d also been introduced to Andy Baker, the boy who lived next door to them all.
She remembered her first sight of him like it was last week: shovelling snow from the path outside his front door, bundled into a padded jacket and a woolly hat, nose pink from the cold. Not exactly eye-catching, not particularly arresting – but all the same that first encounter, the first time their eyes had met, the brief greeting they’d exchanged, had caused a delicious swoosh in her heart, had sent a warm rush of blood to her cheeks.
Love at first sight, no other explanation for it – and miracle of miracles, he’d been drawn to her too. Not as dramatically as she’d been to him, but before her far too short stay on the island had ended they’d formed a connection and agreed to keep in touch, and they had.
Their relationship had been carefully nurtured through daily emails, and FaceTime chats that involved juggling time differences and schedules, and occasional actual letters in actual envelopes with stamps on them. Their feelings for one another had survived and grown, and with each of her subsequent visits to Roone she’d fallen more deeply in love with him.
And now she was preparing to meet him for the fourth time. A week on Tuesday, at ten minutes to seven in the evening Irish time, her plane was due to land in the quaint little airport at Farranfore, County Kerry. She would walk down the steps and cross the tarmac. She would collect her luggage and enter the tiny arrivals hall, her insides turning somersaults every step of the way, and he would be waiting for her with the keys of his dented blue car. She closed her eyes and imagined their embrace on meeting. She could almost feel his arms tight around her, the wonderful warmth of him as she nestled in. They belonged together – anyone could tell you that.
And before her time in Ireland was up, she was going to ask him to marry her.
It had come to her some weeks earlier when she was sitting at the hairdresser’s, waiting for her usual trim. Flicking through a magazine, she’d come upon a feature on various celebrity weddings – and as she’d turned the pages and regarded the smiling faces of the alarmingly thin but impeccably dressed brides, she’d thought, I want to do that. I want to get married.
The thought had sat in her head for the rest of the day. She’d looked at it from every angle, and there was nothing she didn’t like about it. She ticked off the reasons it made sense. After two and a half years of thousands of miles between them, and only brief periods of actually being together, their love and commitment was a given. They were in perfect sync, so at ease with one another, both inclined more to the quiet than the vivacious. She got on well with his family, particularly with his stepmother Nell, who seemed to approve of her. She adored his accent, and the funny way he worded things sometimes. She loved their differences every bit as much as the things they had in common.
Their physical attraction was undeniable. They’d come pretty close, last summer, to going all the way: she’d been the one to call a halt, whispering that maybe they should wait. She’d regretted it afterwards; on the plane that was carrying her away from him she’d called herself every name she could think of. But when she’d given it more thought, she’d understood that it was a legacy from the disastrous outcome of her encounter with John Smith, the man who’d used her so badly. Not that she didn’t trust Andy absolutely, but crossing that threshold again with anyone was always going to be momentous.
And really, what was their hurry, now that she’d decided to take matters into her own hands and make things permanent? They had their whole lives to enjoy one another – and there was something utterly romantic, she felt, about waiting until their wedding night. Some might say they were too young to marry – she’d be twenty in December; he’d passed that milestone in March – but as far as she was concerned they were plenty old enough to know what they wanted.
She’d move to Ireland, of course: she was only dying for a reason to do it. She’d hand in her notice at the Indonesian restaurant where she’d worked part time since her mid-teens, and full time since leaving school. Initially she’d relocate to Limerick, where he was studying computer science. He currently lived on campus, so she probably wouldn’t be able to move in with him, but they could find a place together, be it ever so humble. She’d hunt down a job, it didn’t matter what. She’d scrub floors, clean toilets, if it meant making enough to pay rent and buy food, and be together.
But Limerick would only be temporary: when Andy graduated in two years they’d return to Roone. The beauty of computer programming was that it could be done remotely, so he could live anywhere, and they both loved the island, despite neither of them having come from there. Andy had spent the first eleven years of his life in Dublin, and Tilly, of course, hadn’t laid eyes on Roone until she was seventeen – but she couldn’t imagine them living anywhere else once he qualified.
And on Roone, she would finally realise her other dream.
For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to be a writer. She’d kept a diary as a young girl, and written short stories as a teen, and dabbled in poetry here and there, but her heart was set on writing a novel. She hadn’t got round to starting it, hadn’t yet come up with a big enough idea, but on Roone she would. Once she became a permanent resident of the island she’d be inspired: she was certain of it.
It was perfectly feasible, all of it. It was what she wanted, and she knew he wanted it too. And in the twenty-first century, the second millennium, she didn’t have to wait for him to pop the question. She’d pick her time carefully, wait for the perfect moment. An
d he’d say yes. He had to say yes.
She’d return from Roone engaged. The thought, whenever she allowed it in, sent a thrill shooting through her. For the umpteenth time she slipped off the ring that Laura had given her on her first visit to the island, and moved it to the third finger of her left hand. It was too loose for that finger but it didn’t matter. She could still imagine that the small blue stone was a diamond, and that it had been placed there by Andy.
The wedding would be on Roone. With him having so many more people to invite than her, it made sense. No way would Ma and Pa make the trip – she didn’t have to ask them to know that. They’d never left Australia, never flown anywhere at all: the long trek to Ireland would be out of the question. This would also rule out Robbie and Jemima, at ten and five far too young to travel such a distance alone – so apart from Lien, who would definitely jump at the chance to visit Ireland, Tilly would have nobody at all from her side.
Or rather, she’d have nobody from Australia. Laura and her family would be there – and Susan, the stepmother Tilly had acquired along with a sister, would come from Dublin with Tilly’s little half brother Harry, who would make an adorable pageboy. And it was certainly not a given, but Luke Potter might just show up too.
Tilly had yet to meet him in person, the famous artist whose face looked out sternly from so many sites on the internet – but what father would refuse to give his daughter away on her wedding day? It was true he’d shown scant interest in her up to this, but she’d live in hope.
Laura would be supportive, Tilly was certain of it. Just nineteen herself when she’d married for the first time, Laura knew about love, how it caught you up, how it couldn’t be ignored or put on pause. Laura would be happy for her.
The news might not go down so well in Australia. Tilly could already hear the reaction when she returned home and told them she was engaged. You’re too young, you hardly know him, it’s too soon. Even Lien, she suspected, didn’t rate her chances of anything lasting with Andy. A holiday romance was how they all looked on it, even though it had survived this far. But she’d show them: she’d prove to everyone that it was more than a fling, more than puppy love.
She’d miss home, of course she would. She’d miss Ma and Pa, and Robbie and Jemima. She’d miss Lien, her closest friend since early childhood – but Australia wasn’t the moon. She’d go back every now and again, and Robbie and Jemima could make the trip the other way when they were older, and Lien would be a frequent visitor.
She pulled open the drawer in her locker and retrieved her sister’s last letter. Laura was one of the few people she knew who didn’t have an email address – Tilly’s emails had to go via Gavin – and who still wrote letters. The handwriting was erratic, with a hurried look about it, and the pages often featured smudges and marks of unknown origins, but Tilly looked forward to their arrival once a month or so. She’d picture Laura scribbling down the news at the big kitchen table, tucking the finished pages into an envelope, sealing it and addressing it to Tilly. Pressing her face to it when it arrived, Tilly would swear she could smell the sea.
Tilly –
Won’t feel it now till you’re here. I’ve lost track of the number of pictures Evie and Marian have drawn for you: they’re all stuck up on the bedroom wall for your viewing pleasure. It’s been raining away for the past week, bring the wet gear – although the postman in Donegal who usually gets it right says we’re in for a sunny July, so fingers crossed. And Gav pulled up a twin carrot yesterday, which he says is another good weather omen. Can’t say I ever heard of that one, but you never know. Andy got his hair cut lately, I presume in your honour. He looks mighty fine, and just about deserving of you. He’ll have told you about his summer job – we’re all expecting lots of free ice-creams, with our connection. And you’ll have been told that he has a car, so you won’t know yourselves, swanning around like royalty.
Con Maher, I don’t think you’ve met him, he used to run the creamery, has just become a grandfather to triplets, so he’s Roone’s current celebrity. Henry in the hotel is having a giant party for his seventieth, the day after my birthday, so you’ll be here for both. I told Henry as long as he was splashing out we might as well do a joint one so he’d get value from it, but he only laughed at me, so it looks like I’ll have to buy my own cake and candles. What’s new?
Ben and Seamus are counting the days to the summer holidays – can’t get my head around the fact that they’ll be starting secondary school in September. My little men. Evie lost a tooth the other morning; Marian was raging when the tooth fairy didn’t leave anything for her. I’d swear she’s been pulling at one of hers since. Poppy is finally out of nappies, can you believe it? Certainly took her time.
Just to prepare you, poor Nell is still very upset over Hugh. Those two were very close, more so since Nell’s mam died a few years back. Never know what’s coming, do we?
Well, I think that’s all my blather. It’s after ten here and I’m cross-eyed with tiredness and I have nine guests to feed in the morning, so I’ll sign off and see you soon, safe trip,
love Laur, and the rest of the gang xxx
She folded the pages and slipped them back into the envelope. She reached for the rattan bag that held the presents she’d bought, and spread them out on the bed. A necklace threaded with amber beads for Laura, more boomerangs for Ben and Seamus – how they managed to keep losing them was a complete mystery. A peg doll each for Evie and Marian, a sweet little furry koala for Poppy, and a book on Australian animals for Gavin, who’d been working in Dublin Zoo when he’d met Laura.
Chocolates for Andy’s parents, picture books for their two small children, his half-siblings. And for Andy, a leather wristband with his initials engraved on the small silver disc that hung from it.
AB. Andy Baker.
TB. Tilly Baker.
It was only a matter of time.
Laura
SHE PICKED UP THE PHONE AND PRESSED THE ANSWER key. ‘Susan – everything OK?’ Twenty to ten, late for her stepmother to be ringing.
‘Hi, Laura. I’m just letting you know that Harry and I are coming to Roone on Saturday for a little while.’
‘What? This Saturday?’ Unheard of for her to visit them in the summer. Spring and autumn were her times, when the B&B was closed and Laura had plenty of spare rooms. ‘Susan, you know I’d love to see you both, but I’m completely full, and Tilly is due—’
‘Don’t worry, I knew you’d be busy. I’ve booked a room for us in the hotel.’
And then it hit her. Susan knew. Laura’s father had told her what he’d told Laura, and she was trying to process it. She needed the space from him to figure out what lay ahead for them.
‘Well, it’ll be wonderful to see you.’ Laura would make no mention of it, not until Susan did, but it loomed like an elephant in her head. ‘How long will you stay?’
‘Two weeks.’
Longer, much longer than her usual visits to Roone. ‘We’ll see you Saturday then.’ Odd, was it, that she’d be happy to be away from him for that length of time? ‘Give a shout from the ferry so I’ll know you’re on the way.’
‘I will. It’ll probably be late afternoon.’
After hanging up, Laura resumed her scone making. It was a relief that Susan knew; now there need be nothing unsaid between them. Presumably he’d also told her that Laura already knew: if not, it would come out soon enough.
In the week or so that had passed since his unexpected appearance, Laura had been unable to keep him from her thoughts. In idle moments – changing sheets on a bed, filling little dishes with marmalade, mopping a bathroom floor – he’d drift into her head, prompting a wash of the mixed feelings she’d always had about him. His coming here, and what he’d told her, had unsettled things, had stirred up emotions that she’d patted down and tidied away.
Gav had seemed to believe her clumsily concocted reason for the visit – or at any rate, he hadn’t brought it up again. Perversely, Laura had found herself sl
ightly annoyed by this: why hadn’t he seen through her, and pestered her until she’d told him the truth? This wasn’t a secret anyone should be asked to keep.
A sudden sharp rap on the back door startled her. Who could that be? Her guests all had keys for the front door. Nell used the back way, but she never knocked.
Laura set down her rolling pin and wiped floury hands on her apron. She glanced across the room at Charlie, fast asleep in the bed that Gav had fashioned from driftwood. Some guard dog; just as well Roone was as safe as it was. ‘Come in,’ she called.
Let it not be Michael Brown, their farming neighbour who showed up every so often, claiming to have run out of sugar or milk or whatever when what he was really looking for was someone to talk to. Poor Michael was lonely, God love him, stuck in that rambling farmhouse with nothing to keep him company but memories of a dead wife, and a son who seldom bothered to come over from Killarney – but Laura’s alarm was set for half six, as it was every night she had paying guests under her roof, and she was most definitely not in the mood to be neighbourly.
It wasn’t Michael Brown.
‘Sorry,’ Eve said. ‘I know it’s late.’ Twin pink spots in her cheeks. Hovering in the doorway, a hand gripping closed the collar of her jacket from the evening chill. ‘Can I come in? Just for a few minutes.’
‘Of course you can.’ Poor love, still so shook after Hugh. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Is Gavin here?’ she asked, sweeping the kitchen with a look, as if he might materialise from the fridge, or come crawling out from beneath the dresser. ‘Are you on your own?’
‘For the moment. Gav’s gone to collect the boys, but they won’t be long. What’s up?’
‘I … wanted to tell you something. At least, I have to tell someone, and you were the only person I could think of.’
The Birthday Party: The spell-binding new summer read from the Number One bestselling author Page 3