Oh God. Having to do a deep-dive on my various dishonesties and fuck-ups was hard, painful work. It needed to be done, though.

‘…I need to apologize to Luke. I told everyone he was a terrible person but I was the one in the wrong.’

‘Lord save us, I’m blue in the face telling you that.’

‘I feel sick about my job, Nola. What kind of an addiction counsellor am I? I’ve been carrying around a huge big sack of my own denial. How could I have helped other addicts?’

‘But you know that you’ve helped. Unless you’ve been lying about the thank-you cards and Jo Malone candles? And all your promotions have only been a cock-and-a-bull story and you’re really working in a carwash, which would at least explain your’—Nola waved a hand at my jumpsuit—‘rig-out.’

The steady stream of cards from ex-patients was real. As was the fact that the high-ups in the Cloisters—Ted and the board—had, over the past five years, in several steps, promoted me from deputy counsellor all the way to head counsellor.

‘Maybe…’ I chanced, ‘because I was an addict in denial, I was actually better at my job?’

‘Arra, now…’ Nola wasn’t having that.

‘My past isn’t the past I thought it was.’ I was trying to articulate my exact fear. ‘This new knowledge, is that going to impact the present?’

‘In what way?’

Tentatively, I sought the right words, trying to assemble my precise emotions. ‘I feel this mad relief that Luke didn’t blame me for Yara. Except I’m also incredibly sad.’

‘No doubt about it, this is big stuff. But it’s already happened and you’ve survived. Your feelings just need to catch up with the facts.’ Then, ‘Listen to me now. Two important things, Rachel. Make your amends to Luke. And keep Quin in the picture every step of the way.’

‘Okay.’ I froze with unexpected fear: what if Luke had already returned to Denver?

As soon as I left Nola, I texted him. You still in Ireland?

He replied instantly. Can you take a call rn?

Yes.

My phone buzzed in my hand. ‘Luke?’ I answered.

‘Hey,’ he said. A pause. ‘I’m still here.’

Intense relief swept over me. ‘Do you think…Could you meet me? Can we talk?’

‘…Sure. Now?’

‘I can’t tonight, I’m sorry. How’s tomorrow?’

‘Any time after two is good. Devin’s spending the afternoon with Dad, I’ll be on the doss.’

‘I can finish work at about five thirty.’ Since the clocks had gone forward, the evenings were suddenly a lot brighter. ‘Can you come to Wicklow? We’ll go to Morrigan’s, she’s open till sevenish.’

‘Morrigan’s?’