She’d drive you up the wall—only a fool would deny it—but at some point over the years I’d understood that she wasn’t doing it on purpose. She couldn’t help how she was. With her unmanageable impatience and robust opinions, life was often difficult for her. For every person she enchanted, there were about ten more who became instant enemies.

And the thing was, Helen would speak unpalatable truths when everyone else was too scared to open their mouths. The world needed more Helens.

I followed her as she opened the treat cupboard and a mini-avalanche of chocolate and biscuits tumbled out. ‘Mint Aero?’ she asked. ‘What is wrong with her?’

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘Me?’ She paused in her rummaging. ‘Grand. Apart from the appalling selection of candy in this house.’

‘Have you got cancer? Is that your big secret?’

‘What? No! Jesus. No. Nothing like that. Ah, for the love of Christ…’ She waved a packet of biscuits at me. ‘Mint Jaffa Cakes? She needs help.’

My phone rang.

‘Who is it?’ Helen asked.

‘Unknown number.’

‘G’wan!’ she teased. ‘Live a little!’

‘Okay. Hello?’

‘Is that Rachel?’ a male voice bellowed. ‘It’s Patch here. Patch Dooley.’

Who? Oh right, Dennis’s younger brother.

‘You were looking for me, I believe?’ he yelled against a background of chugging noises. ‘Juliet says you want me to come in about Dennis?’

‘Thanks for calling back,’ I said. ‘You’re aware that your brother Dennis is in a treatment centre for alcoholism?’

‘I’m “aware”, right enough.’ He sounded amused. ‘How does Wednesday morning suit you? I’ll be in your area, visiting a man in Baltinglass about some bagels.’

‘Bagels?’

‘Bagels. Dogs! For hunting rabbits.’

Oh, beagles. ‘Great. But we need to talk things through beforehand. Patch, how close are you and your brother?’

‘Best buddies. But I’ve to go now.’ Farm machinery—by the sounds of things—was revving away. ‘I’m fond of me leg, I don’t want to lose it.’

‘I’ll call you on Monday to talk—’

‘Do that! G’luck!’ He hung up.

Back in the sitting room, Mum was quizzing Margaret about what she planned to wear to the party.

‘I’ll see what I have in the wardrobe.’

Mum, an inveterate spender, was appalled. ‘But you have to buy something new!’

‘I don’t.’

Mum threw her a wounded look, then turned her attention to me. ‘If you show up in jeans, you can go straight home again!’

Claire and I exchanged a smirk. For weeks, Mum had been pestering me to ‘make an effort’ to wear ‘something glam’. And it was all coming together.

Two weeks ago, a dress from the Vampire’s Wife had arrived. Quin had been very pleased—it was everything he liked—expensive and beautiful, with cult appeal.