‘I’ll be nice,’ Molly said.

‘We’re so lucky to have you,’ I said. ‘Right, I’m off to Luke’s dad’s birthday party.’

‘Just a minute now,’ Mum said. ‘If you’re going to Brian Costello’s birthday, can Luke come to mine?’

‘No!’ I was appalled at the idea. ‘No, no, no, no, no. Goodbye.’

*

To my chagrin, even though it was only three minutes past five, several cars were already parked on Justin and Sarina’s sizeable, cobble-locked drive. I rang the doorbell, which bellowed, ‘Intruder, intruder!’ followed by a wailing air-raid siren.

Moments later Sarina, looking stressed, opened the hefty front door. ‘That bloody bell!’ She ushered me into the double-height entrance hall for a hug. ‘Teenage children with too much time on their hands. I don’t know how to reprogramme it.’

‘Nice to—ah, see you again.’ We’d once been sisters-in-law. Not close, but we’d got on. ‘Thanks for having me today and sorry about Margie.’ I spoke quickly. I wasn’t sure whether to be respectful or celebratory.

Christ, how awkward was this?

‘I know it looks weird having a thing but Brian put his foot down.’ She shook her head as she led me down acres of limed-oak flooring into a massive modern kitchen, a wonderland of granite and ash. To neutralize my uncomfortable feelings of phenomenal under-achievement, I tried telling myself that it was ‘soulless’ but it actually wasn’t. If I’d done a kitchen like this, it would look as uninviting as a quarry. Some people just have the gift.

The kitchen ‘flowed’ into a huge open-plan dining and seating area, with sectional sofas in stone-coloured suede and low tables of white resin, lit by statement pendants of glinting glass.

Plenty of people were there: Luke’s sister Vanessa, her husband and teenage kids; Kate and Devin, hand-in-hand and glowing with young love. (Kate and I hugged as if we hadn’t seen each other in twelve years instead of five hours.) In a low cluster around Mr Costello’s wheelchair were three older men.

Oh, and over at the far window, watching me, was Luke.

Our eyes met and the stare went on for a moment too long. Then, in a fluid movement, he pushed himself from the glass and crossed the room.

‘Thanks for coming,’ he said. ‘I’m…I appreciate it. No Quin?’

‘He already had plans. Rock-climbing. So,’ I said, ‘I’d better say hello to the birthday boy.’ And give him his gift-wrapped socks. (There had been no test drives available in any Aston Martins in Ireland so, instead, I’d gone with three pairs of Argyle-patterned wool-mix socks.)

Luke led me towards the quartet of elderly men. ‘Boys,’ he murmured to Mr Costello’s buddies, who discreetly withdrew.

‘Dad, here’s—’

‘Rachel!’

‘Mr Costello.’