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Nola hadn’t changed either, it seemed. Georgie spotted her as she got out of the carriage, a flurry of long copper hair, breezy clothes – and she could have sworn she could smell her strong perfume from where she stood. Somehow, at almost thirty-five, Nola still looked carefree. She pulled off the Boho-babe look as if she was born to the role. Georgie could feel the resentment – okay, maybe it was a touch of jealousy – digging a deeper furrow in the thin line that cut into the space between her eyebrows.
Along the platform, Nola stopped for a moment, dropped her bag and ran back to the carriage, then alighted again with a separate set of cases, followed by an elderly man who looked as if he might be a hundred and four years old. Typical Nola. Everyone’s friend, so easy-going. From where Georgie was standing, it seemed everything just fell into her younger sister’s lap.
*
Oh God. Nola just wanted to race back onto the train. Sweat oozed out of her every pore and panic erupted in her stomach so it felt as if she might throw up right there when she saw Georgie and Iris standing on the platform. In blind panic, she turned back in the hope that they hadn’t spotted her, praying in one mad moment that she might be able to hide in the toilets until the train pulled out of the station again and headed back to Dublin for its afternoon journey.
But then, she’d seen the old man standing there. Honestly, he looked like Professor Dumbledore in a golfing jumper that had managed to outgrow him before he got a chance to change it. He must have been a hundred years old, hardly able to manage the step down to the platform, never mind actually get his bags off. He looked nothing like her father and yet, as she helped him with his cases, she felt a rising bubble of loneliness lodge itself at the back of her throat, tossing up even more devastation than she’d bargained for. Bless him, but he was so thankful. In the end, there was nothing for it but to stride down the platform with as much confidence as she could muster.
She had spotted Iris first. Standing there, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, pink sweater and too-baggy jeans. Perhaps she’d recently lost weight. She’d certainly lost something of the woman she’d once been – Nola could tell that just from one glance.
She tossed her hair and with that felt an unfamiliar wave of self-possession. She could fool herself into thinking she was the same girl who left here all those years ago. It was no harm if it gave her a little extra confidence for dealing with her sisters. Oh God. Her hands were sweating already at the thought of what lay ahead.
And then right on cue, Georgie. As cool and collected as ever. Nola felt a thrill of anger at the sight of her, but fought hard to suppress it.
‘Hello,’ her two sisters managed in a tight chorus that certainly didn’t give way to anything like welcome.
‘Hey.’ It was all she could manage. Her stomach was flipping somersaults. How on earth would she get through the next few days with them both?
‘We haven’t had breakfast yet,’ Iris nattered as they made their way to their father’s ancient Mercedes.
‘Iris thought you’d be famished, long journey and all that.’ Georgie grabbed one of her bags and tossed it in the boot.
‘Well, yes, I suppose I haven’t eaten since…’ Actually, she hadn’t been able to face food since she’d read that letter, and everything here was so bloody expensive. Honestly, Dublin prices – she’d nearly need to take out a loan to buy dinner and a decent glass of wine.
‘Good. Pancakes back at home so…’ Iris said and it felt as if a tuning fork had been touched on the words – it was so long since any of them had beenhome, or certainly in Nola’s case had considered it to be home.
Awkward stabs at conversation followed by long silences punctuated the journey back to Soldier Hill House. Nola hid behind her giant sunglasses, even though the day was overcast. This meant that everything was cloaked in even greater shadow, which suited her mood perfectly, even if she had no intention of letting either of her sisters guess she was anything but fine.
It was depressing; looking out the window. How on earth could so many years have passed and Ballycove seemed to have stood still? The long line of houses, leading from the quay end of the town to the well-appointed houses on the hill, they were still standing, crumbling but holding on like obstinate old men, glaring out at the bay. She rolled her eyes at the humdrum rhythm of it all. God, she couldn’t wait to get back to London and sort out her life once and for all.
They gave her half an hour to unpack before Georgie called upstairs that breakfast was ready.
‘So, how have things been with you?’ Iris took a careful step into what might have been a normal conversation between most sisters.
‘Great. Things have been really good.’ Nola flushed slightly, but the kitchen was dark and she figured her sisters were coming to an age where flushing would soon be normal.
‘Oh?’ Georgie raised her eyebrows and then quickly lowered them.
‘Yes. I’ve been working, mainly in the West End, but busy you know.’
‘Acting?’ Iris’s voice was high-pitched, surprised.
‘Well, of course, acting. What on earth else would I be doing?’ Nola shot back.
‘Any more TV work in the pipeline?’ Why wasn’t anything ever good enough for Georgie? Nola felt a surge of resentment.
‘Actually, yes,’ she lied. ‘I’m pretty confident that I aced my audition, so I could be back on the small screen again in the autumn.’ The lies really did just trip off the tongue. Well, Nola supposed, she was probably playing the finest role of her career. It had started out with an off-the-cuff remark about the possibility of a role on a new Irish television series. Unfortunately, she’d hinted at names that were too big not to warrant further interrogation. She should have known better. Iris probably spent most of her married life glued to the telly. That was what came of being married to a man who liked to socialise while she stayed at home keeping his dinner warm. To be fair to both her sisters, they were managing to keep up a civil front, even if she did sense the thread of disbelief from Georgie.
‘Well, that would be good. Is it with RTE or Virgin Media?’ Iris asked.
‘Virgin,’ Nola said absently.
‘I have some contacts there – we book a lot of advertising over here.’ Georgie hesitated.
‘No. Please don’t contact anyone,’ Nola almost shrieked with panic. She’d be mortified if Georgie ever found out that she’d been lying through her teeth. ‘I wouldn’t want it on anything but my own merit.’
‘Well, fingers crossed for you,’ Georgie said evenly. ‘Are there many other actresses going for it?’
