Rory

They walked the kids to their gate. A quick hug and repeated instructions before finding their own gate.

‘This feels weird,’ Rachel said, looking back over her shoulder.

Rory agreed. They needed the kids to fill the silence between them, to smooth over the undercurrents of distrust and hurt.

The air vibrated from the thrum of disco music, suggesting that the volume would be unbearably loud once they got inside.

‘Emmet seems to have recuperated,’ he said, as the queue jostled forward.

‘The food and the walk would have helped,’ she replied. ‘Just hope he keeps a careful eye on Bridie.’

‘Bridie seemed confident that she could take care of herself,’ he continued, amazed that he could chat as though nothing were wrong between them.

‘I know. She’s trying so hard to look grown-up tonight. Oh God, I hope they’ll be okay.’ Rachel gave another quick glance over her shoulder, even though the kids were long gone. ‘There are so many people.’

For an intense moment, Rory wished Amy hadn’t told him anything, wished that he was oblivious, that they could enjoy this as a special night out without encumbrance.

The turnstile was just a couple of metres away when the sky lit up. A deafening crack of thunder followed seconds later. On cue, the rain intensified.

Rachel frowned. ‘Oh shit, here we go. Hope the kids have the sense to take cover.’

Wishful thinking. The kids would have neither the sense nor the patience.

‘A bit of rain won’t do them any harm. They’ll be fine.’

His shirt was damp on entering the venue. Rachel wiped the moisture from her face and grinned.

‘Well, that cooled me down.’

They took the escalator to the stands, queued at the nearest bar for drinks and shuffled into their seats, which had an excellent head-on view of the stage. Arcs of multicoloured light illuminated the rain as it pelted down on the half-filled field.

Rachel pulled a face. ‘I feel so guilty. The kids are going to get drowned.’

‘All part of the experience,’ he countered. ‘Anyway, the rain is warm, they won’t get cold, not really.’

Was this how they were going to get through the next few hours, politely talking about the weather, constantly wondering how the kids were faring?

Rachel touched her plastic cup of white wine against his plastic cup of beer. ‘Cheers. We made it.’

She was obviously talking about much more than the concert. She meant that they’d made it through a really difficult year; they’d made it through her illness; they’d made it through Emmet’s bombshell announcement. But they hadn’t made it, had they? Not if what Amy said was true.

‘Cheers,’ he replied hollowly.

She huddled closer to him, one hand outstretched, holding her phone. ‘Smile,’ she instructed, and he complied, his grimace captured for eternity.

She showed him the photo. ‘I’ll send it to the kids. If one of them answers, we’ll know they’re alive.’

Not a bad strategy, Rory conceded, although part of him hoped the kids were living in the moment instead of constantly checking their phones.

‘Send it to Sean, too,’ he suggested. ‘If he responds, we can assume that the house hasn’t burned down.’

Rory had cornered his brother before leaving home, begging him not to drink while they were gone. ‘Just one night. That’s all I’m asking.’

‘Rachel’s already given me orders,’ Sean had exclaimed, instantly aggrieved. ‘Neither of you trust me.’

‘No, we don’t,’ Rory admitted sadly.

Would Sean do as he’d asked? Could he even abstain for one night? From what he’d seen so far, Rory doubted it. But he had to ask: it wasn’t just the risk of Sean forgetting to turn off an appliance or falling and hurting himself. What if he was too smashed to react to a danger beyond himself? A rock through the front window, or a firebomb, or whatever gangs used these days to intimidate people? If Sean had been the kind of brother Rory could confide in, he would have told him about these other risks, the terrifyingly real dangers that even his wife knew nothing about.

‘Done,’ Rachel said, and slid her phone into her back pocket. ‘Oh my God, look at that lightning.’

An announcement came over the speakers: the support band would be delayed by thirty minutes, to give the storm time to pass over. The crowd chanted their disapproval.

‘Looks like we’re here for the long haul,’ Rachel said, and slid her arm through his. ‘At least we’re relatively close to the bar.’

Rory gulped his beer, disco music roaring in his head, his heart constricting with pain. What was her agenda with these sudden shows of affection? Holding his hand on the train, cuddling into him now, resting her head on his shoulder as though nothing had happened.

He wanted to extract himself from her touch, push her away, ask her what the fuck she was doing. But this wasn’t the time or place for an ugly confrontation. There were people all around them, including security guards sniffing out even the slightest altercation. They were a long way from home, with nowhere to go to lick their wounds. And they’d spent so much money on the tickets, he felt sick at the thought of ruining the night. He needed to suck it up, wait for a better time. If he decided to say anything at all.

Rachel burrowed closer. Every muscle tensed in protest.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

Her brown eyes looked into his, probing, provoking, and even though it was the wrong place, the wrong time, he found that he couldn’t pretend for a moment longer.

‘You know what’s wrong, Rach … I just want to know his name.’