‘Bernadette! The Bernadette?’

‘What do you mean The Bernadette?’

‘Oh come on Dad. The Bernadette, no one has shut up about since we came home? The Bernadette, Claire never stopped talking about last night? The Bernadette, you abandoned when you mysteriously disappeared to England leaving her heartbroken? The same Bernadette I didn’t know existed until three days ago!’

‘Yes, that Bernadette. And I am sorry I never told you about her. It was just she was part of another time and place I never wanted to return to.’

‘So why do you want to now?’

‘I don’t know. The time is right for me to stop running. I am tired of running.’

He felt her hand on top of his.

‘I don’t understand, Dad. What are you running from?’

He placed his other hand on top of hers.

‘Annie, I’ve already said too much. I need you to trust me. When the time is right, I will tell you everything. Will you bear with me a little bit longer? I’m sorry.’

She stood up and moved around the table to him and he rose to meet her embrace.

‘Just for the record, from my ill-informed position, I’m glad you have a date with Bernadette. You deserve to be happy and if you’re happy, then so am I.’

‘It’s not a date.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because she hasn’t said she will turn up!’

‘Do you think she will?’

‘I really hope so.’

‘Well it’s a potential date. And if she turns up, then it’s a real date!’

He pulled away from her and found his seat.

‘Not quite?’

‘Why not?’

‘She hates me. And, oh yeah … she’s married!’

She moved behind him and placed her arms around his shoulders.

‘What a pisser!’

‘Not sure if I completely approve of your language, but my sentiments entirely!’

18

Cormac stepped into the bright sunshine of a Dublin morning. He made his way along the Georgian street, nestled beneath a clear blue canvas. He was wearing yesterday’s clothes and a jacket borrowed from Harry. The jacket was necessary to cover the stains of last night’s Guinness. It was at least two sizes too big, but was more than adequate for its purpose. He had some faith the concierge’s directions would prove to be more accurate than Pat Malloy from Tallaght’s had been. Nevertheless, he set out fifteen minutes early, partly due to his general lack of confidence in the Dublin population’s navigational capabilities, but more because he was too excited to stay still. He needed to be moving towards her.

Two events slowed his journey, but not enough to make him late. He stopped to rescue a distressed jogger who was being pinned against the beautiful red door of a Georgian terrace by an ugly black Rottweiler. Cormac, as a regular jogger, had acted the man’s part in this scene on too many occasions to remember. The dog owner, who was nearly, but not quite as big as her dog and maybe two stones lighter, was treating the exercise as a test of her handling skills. She was failing! It was clear to Cormac that she was oblivious to the sheer terror evident on the skinny man’s face. As Cormac approached the scene, the well dressed old lady was observing the dance between her beast and the frightened man.