‘Yes.’ Zara’s eyes were wet now. ‘How could you do it, Fran? And for God’s sake, why?’

‘Me?’

‘Why did you tell my parents?’

‘I didn’t tell your parents! Why on earth would you think that?’

‘Because you’re the only one I told about being late.’

‘Zara, I swear to God I didn’t tell. Are your parents claiming it was me?’

‘No,’ Zara conceded. ‘They got a note. They won’t show it to me or tell me who it’s from.’

‘Oh God. What did it say?’

‘“Congratulations on your future grandchild. Will it be an accountant like its dad or a slapper like its mam?”’ Zara spat the words. Angry. Embarrassed. ‘When they read the note, they went mad. Tore through my room, searching for God knows what. A diary, love letters, I don’t know. And they found my journal, and saw I’d been doodling on it.’

‘And?’

‘Look, same as any of us. I’d been writing my name with his name, drawing love-hearts, the usual stupid stuff we all do. Putting our names with the surnames of boys we like.’

An accountant like its dad. ‘Oh, Zara. You were writing “Zara Murphy” on your journal?’

‘Yep. And “Zara Hogan loves Robbie Murphy”. And “Robbie Murphy loves Zara Hogan”. But the worst bit was the sketches I’d done of him. Pornography, my mother said.’

Fran clapped her hand to her mouth.

‘I know. It would be funny if it wasn’t so horrible. My dad’s threatening to call in to Robbie and beat him “black and blue”. My mam’s trying to talk him down – she said if he does something like that, everyone will turn against our family and it’s going to be hard enough dealing with me being branded a “whore” and having a “bastard” child. Her biggest concern is, of course, Mass. How’s she going to go to Mass once people find out – what’s the priest going to say?’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Yeah. And the worst thing is – among many worst things – no J-1 summer.’

Fran thought she might cry. Though how would that look – if after hearing all Zara’s bad news, the thing that set her off was losing her travel buddy. She swallowed.

‘I’m not going without you.’

‘Ah stop, you’re not cancelling. You’d lose your money, and think of all our plans – perfecting our American accents and kissing American boys and coming home mahogany after a whole summer on the beach? No way are you cancelling.’

No way am I going alone, Fran thought, biting her lip, still trying not to cry. And yet staying here for the whole summer … God.

‘So now we just need to pray my dad doesn’t see Robbie any time soon. Or God knows what he’ll do.’

‘You believe me that I didn’t send that note, right?’

‘Yeah. Sorry.’ She paused, picking daisies from the damp grass. ‘OK, I need to tell you the truth.’

Mary smiled around at their guests that Sunday night, wondering what they’d think if they knew how little she wanted to be there. Wondering where Robbie’s watch was and who broke her Alice figurine and why she had seated herself beside Ruth Cavanagh.