I catch myself again. After not mentioning Aimee or her death in the last decade, I sure am champing at the bit to tell Kiera about it. Maybe this is what would have happened if I’d truly let someone into my inner circle at any point.

“They broke up in my life,” I substitute. “And then he got with some other girl and that seemed the same too. Like he doesn’t care who it is. As long as there’s someone there.”

There’s a long silence, and then Kiera says, “Well, should be fun to see him tomorrow at his daughter’s birthday party!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I wake up the next morning to the sound of a metallic crash.

I shoot up in bed, my heart racing a million miles a minute, and rub my eyes until I can see clearly.

Kiera tiptoes into the doorway. “Feck, I hoped it hadn’t woken you.”

The sound would have woken Beethoven.

“It’s fine,” I say. Then, smelling the air, “Is something burning?”

Her eyebrows shoot up in alarm and she vanishes from my sight.

I walk into the kitchen and see that it’s been completely overturned. The faucet is running over a steaming pan, the gas stove is on but unoccupied, there’s a pile of cheese grated on the butcher block, and there’s been an explosion of flour. It has settled onto most surfaces like a fine dusting of snow.

“This is nice,” I quip.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. She actually has a swipe of flour on her cheekbone, putting me in mind of the harried women of rom-com lore who run around in a frenzy until they find a boyfriend who reminds them to take things one step at a time.

On the ground, Maureen licks up some spilled sugar. It strikes me as funny but I pull her away from it.

“I don’t care about the mess! It’s more like … how the hell did you even make such a mess?”

“I’m not a very good cook.”

“I’ll say.”

“I didn’t want to show up empty-handed! Last time I went to a party at Aimee’s, all the other lads brought somethin’ and I looked like an eejit.”

“Why don’t you bring something from the shop?”

“I thought it might— Well, it doesn’t matter now. I was trying to be thoughtful.”

I look at the clock that ticks from the wall of the living room. “We’ve got an hour.”

We both survey the kitchen.

“I’ll clean it up. Could you nip over and get something?”

“Sure.”

Kiera glowers at her mess. “Get a bottle of something and some of those chips. We’ll pay for it tomorrow. And chocolate maybe, even though she’ll hate us for bringing sugar over for the children. It’ll be locked, don’t forget.”

“Do I have a key?”