CHAPTER11
Alex didn’t remember the lough being so close to the house, but as she stepped out of the taxi, she was greeted by a long, wide stretch of pale blue water, just beyond the garden path which led to the beach.
The beach.
‘Rebecca Murphy, I love you, but I swear if you start summoning demons or walking on water, I will leave.’
The memory escaped from her brain and settled in her throat, forming a lump. She hadn’t thought about that in years: the affirmations they’d made for the life they hadn’t lived yet.
Taking her case, she wheeled it to the front door and rang the bell. The house had been given a much-needed fresh coat of paint since last time, but it still looked as charming as ever, with quaint dormer bedroom windows at the top of the house and the large tinted living-room window which might just have the best view in the whole of Kerry.
Within seconds, the door flew open and a familiar face greeted her.
‘Alexandra bloody Moran!’ Erin squealed, flinging her arms around Alex. ‘God, it’s good to see you!’
‘You too!’ Alex replied, squeezing her back. ‘It’s been so long. You look great!’
Alex was surprised at just how well Erin looked. Not that she expected her to answer the door dressed head to toe in black, wailing and clutching her rosary, but she seemed cheerful. Happy.
‘I’m so pleased you made it,’ Erin gushed, grabbing at the handle of the suitcase. ‘Come away in, Becky and Beth are already here. We’ve already had a wee cocktail, so you’ll need to catch up.’
Alex stepped over the threshold and back into the house she’d last stayed in a decade ago. The fresh air followed her in and filled the hall, mixing with the musky smell from the hallway candle. Sandalwood perhaps? It smelled like the little spa in Portobella where she’d once had her eyebrows done and they’d coloured them in ten shades too dark.
‘I hope there’s a wee margarita with my name on it,’ she said, glancing around the room. Beth, Becky, Paul and another woman she didn’t recognise. The sound of her name being screeched was joyous. She couldn’t remember the last time people had genuinely been this happy to see her.
‘One margarita coming right up,’ Erin said as Alex was surrounded by Beth and Becky. She breathed a huge sigh of relief. Everyone was just as wonderful as she remembered. Erin handed her the pre-made cocktail and took her coat.
‘Paul, would you be a love and take Alex’s case to her bedroom? Top of the stairs, door on the left.’
Paul obliged, likely happy to get a quick respite from all the hugging.
‘Beth, are you alright?’ Alex asked, noticing her leg brace. ‘My first editor had one like that, but she’s got foot drop from hip surgery.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Beth replied. ‘Parkour is trickier than it looks. I’m in physio, but it’s getting better!’
‘Great news! I’m sure Paul can carry you if you get too pissed.’ Alex said, her lips tingling from the salt on the edge of the glass. ‘Although if I don’t get these shoes off, I might have to borrow that stick. Honestly, I love them dearly, but they’re killing me.’
Everyone glanced down at her feet as she kicked off her shoes.
‘Look at you, Miss Fancy Feet,’ Beth remarked, happy to steer the conversation away from her. ‘They’re gorgeous.’
‘Are those Louboutins?’ Erin asked, snatching one up. ‘I’m absolutely having a shot of those.’
‘No Tara yet?’ Alex asked, watching Erin slip off her ballet pumps. ‘I thought she’d have been first here. She could always sense a cocktail from a hundred kilometres.’
‘She’s coming,’ Erin replied, ‘At least I hope so. Bringing a lad with her too.’
‘Oooh,’ Beth replied, ‘How nice. Anyone with you, Alex?’
‘Nope,’ she replied. ‘I’m free as a bird. Although, I did meet this absolute ride at the airport. We had a drink, we sat together on the plane. He gave me half of his KitKat and I gave him my number.’
‘Seems like a fair exchange,’ Erin replied.
As Paul returned to join Beth on the couch, Alex couldn’t help but notice how he’d changed, probably more than anyone. The last time she saw him, he was skinny and clean-shaven with a small amount of acne which had followed him from his teenage years into his twenties. Now he had a proper salt-and-pepper beard, a thicker waist and a much less gangly look about him.
Erin brought through a massive jug full of margarita mix and plonked it down on the table. ‘So, Christine, what do you do?’
‘Psychologist,’ she replied. ‘Mainly clinical but I run a private practice twice a week from home.’
