*

The caravan site was farther up the beach than the Spains’ house, maybe a hundred yards to the north. When Richie and I had walked through the dark to Conor Brennan’s hide, and back again with him between us and our case all solved, we had probably crossed over the spot where my family’s caravan used to stand.

The last time I saw my mother was outside that caravan, on our last evening at Broken Harbor. My family had gone up to Whelan’s for a big farewell dinner; I had made myself a couple of quick ham sandwiches in our kitchenette and I was getting ready to go out, to meet the gang down at the beach. We had flagons of cider and packets of cigarettes stashed in the sand dunes, flagged by blue plastic bags tied in the marram grass; someone was going to bring a guitar; my parents had said I could stay out till midnight. The smell of Lynx Musk deodorant hanging in the caravan, the low rich light through the windows hitting the mirror so that I had to duck sideways to gel my hair into careful spikes; Geri’s case open and already half packed on her bunk, Dina’s little white hat and sunglasses thrown on hers. Somewhere kids were laughing and a mother was calling them in to dinner; a faraway radio was playing “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” and I sang along, under my breath in my new deep voice, and thought of the way Amelia pushed back her hair.

Jeans jacket on, running down the caravan steps, and then I stopped. My mother was sitting outside, in one of the little folding chairs, her head tilted back to watch the sky turning peach and gold. Her nose was sunburned and her soft fair hair was falling out of its bun from a day of lying in the sun, building sand castles with Dina, walking by the waterline hand in hand with my father. The hem of her long skirt, pale-blue cotton dotted with white flowers, lifted and swirled in the breeze.

Mikey, she said, smiling up at me. You’re looking very handsome.

I thought you were up at the pub.

Too many people. That should have been my first clue. It’s so lovely here. So peaceful. Look.

I shot a token glance at the sky. Yeah. Pretty. I’m going down to the beach, remember I said? I’ll be—

Sit down here with me a minute. She reached out a hand, beckoning.

I’ve got to go. The lads are—

I know. Just a few minutes.

I should have known. But she had seemed so happy, all those two weeks. She was always happy at Broken Harbor. Those were the only two weeks of the year when I could be just a normal guy: nothing to guard against except saying something stupid in front of the lads, no secrets prowling the back of my mind except the thoughts of Amelia that turned me red at all the wrong moments, nothing to watch for except big Dean Gorry who fancied her too. I had relaxed into it. All year long, I had watched and worked so hard; I thought I deserved this. I had forgotten that God, or the world, or whatever carves the rules in stone, doesn’t give you time off for good behavior.