BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

The senior Quinlivans observed (what seemed to me) a punishing schedule of cultural events. They were forever off to the Wexford Opera Festival or Oberammergau or a Mozart recital in a deconsecrated church. They followed rugby, they were tennis fans, chess was a particular passion and they were freshly returned from Amsterdam, where they’d spent four days immersed in the Old Masters.

‘It was honestly bliss,’ Vivi said, backed up by Roly. ‘Although my favourite Bloemaert was away for restoration. But on our last day we visited the Moco.’

‘Oh-oh!’ Michelle made a disappointed face. ‘Emperor’s new art.’

Vivi nodded sadly. ‘What a shame.’

My eyes stayed fixed on my plate. I’d loved the Moco when I had gone a few years back, but best to keep that to myself around here.

‘What is it, Rachel?’ Sharp-eyed Vivi had noticed. ‘You disagree?’

I looked up and grinned. ‘I’m saying nothing.’

‘But do!’ Michelle urged.

Not a chance. I’d have loved to say, ‘I like it, you don’t, let’s leave it at that.’ But a dissenting opinion at the Quinlivan dinner table led directly to a debate—they adored that lark, me ‘defending’ my position while being savaged by a hail of philosophical questions: ‘But what is it saying?’ ‘Will it have merit in two hundred years’ time?’

For them, it was a simple intellectual exercise but one they really did like to win. To me, though, ‘debating’ felt too similar to confrontation. I just wanted to get in, eat my stroopwafel and get out again. Alive, preferably.

Quin’s family were really nice people, not a bitchy bone between them. Their confidence was the problem. They were so sure of who they were that they expected the world to reshape itself around them. Whereas I—being like everyone else—was in a constant process of recalibration, trying to negotiate emotional harmony with every new person I met.

Meeting Quin’s family had explained so much to me: until Shiv had fallen out of love with him, life had always delivered exactly what he wanted—a great job, healthy kids and a tight circle of friends, many from his days in junior school. Shiv’s departure had humbled him. Slightly. Like, you could never call him meek or self-effacing. But I was certain that if I’d met him in the Before Times, I’d have found him far too obnoxious.

32

‘…So there’s this hotel in the desert, it used to be a French Foreign Legion fort and—’ While we were waiting for Line of Duty to come on at 9 p.m., Quin was at one of his favourite pastimes: researching amazing holidays. This time, Morocco was in the spotlight.

While any sensible person yearned for a gorgeous riad, replete with fountains and lush gardens, in the centre of Marrakech, Quin had to be awkward.