Chapter 22

Poppy drove along the seafront road from Raheny towards Helen’s house in Howth. She’d nudge Helen into her early weekend start, offering caffeine and carbohydrates. She reckoned one of the cafés was bound to be open, even in this sleepy town. Alas, she was wrong.

She pulled into a car-park to do a U-turn. As her trusty Mini Cooper nosed back onto the road, it stalled. Restarting the ignition, she noticed a “To Let” sign hanging from the old stone building on the opposite side of the road. What a beautiful setting for a holistic centre! She checked her watch – she was already running late. “No time to daydream now, Poppy,” she said aloud and pressed the accelerator, to get back to reality. That’s when the second sign of the morning grabbed her attention – this one had the inviting word “Café”. Poppy didn’t remember it being there before.

“Thank you, Dahlia!” Poppy tapped the dashboard of her old car, in praise. “Government Scrappage Scheme, my backside! We’ll go to the knacker’s yard together, old girl.” Poppy climbed out of the small car, in which she’d managed to fit a fold-up table, a massage chair and boxes filled with paraphernalia required for her day ahead.

“Ciao, bella!” a thin man called out to her. He sat on a windowsill of the building, available for rent, next to the café. He had an espresso in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

Poppy approached him. “Hello, please say you are open?” she said with a grimace and looked at him with pleading eyes. Although his face was fresh, his eyes were wise and as dark as deep pools of chocolate.

“Domani, principessa.” He blew smoke in the opposite direction before he stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette.

Poppy looked at him blankly.

“Tomorrow, I open for the first time. But, as you can see, I test the equipment, make sure everything work okay. Would you like to try?” He raised the small cup.

“It must be my lucky day,” Poppy said, entering the small Italian shop. The aroma of fresh bread baking caused her stomach to growl.

“I hope everyone has that reaction to my shop – you like it?”

“Excuse me.” Poppy patted her stomach. “I love it. It’s little Italy.”

“Grazie, grazie. Now, you must tell me the truth about the coffee. I make sure the machine is set up right, although the secret is all with the barista. What can I get you?” He went behind the counter.

Poppy pulled out a heavy wooden bar-stool. “Coffee, please – black. And one for takeaway.”

“One or two shots?” He stood waiting – handle at the ready.

“It’ll be a long day – go on then – make it two!”

“And the takeaway, is it for your daughter?”

The question took Poppy by surprise.

He smiled. “Ah, but you don’t remember me! I am the waiter from Antonio’s.”

The penny dropped. He had looked familiar. He was their waiter the night Lily announced she was a lesbian. He looked different now in his paint-splattered jeans and T-shirt.

“Yes, I remember now. You look different without your clothes on – I mean the white starched shirt and tie. I thought you were Spanish?” Nice recovery, Poppy.

“No, I am Italian. No worries – everybody thought that. I was working in a Spanish restaurant after all.” He handed Poppy a weighty white cup.

Poppy blew the top of the liquid to part the caramel-coloured froth – underneath: black gold. She took her first sip. “Umh, this is really good! You can make that two takeaways!”

He beamed, pleased at her approval.

“So, you’re working in both places now?” Poppy asked.

“No, I finish in Antonio’s, just last night. I had to keep working, help make my dream real.” He waved his arm at the small interior.

“So, this is your place?”

“Yes, me and my partner. I am Angelo.” He extended his hand.

“Poppy. Pleased to meet you, Angelo.” She shook his hand. Had he been referring to a business partner or a life partner, she wondered.

“‘Puppy’ – what a beautiful name – like the flower.”

“It’s ‘Poppy’.” She laughed at Angelo ’s pronunciation as she climbed off the stool. “I’d better get going.” She fished for her wallet.

“No, no charge.”

“But then I won’t be your first customer.”

“Yes, you are and this way you’ll have to come back again.” Angelo shrugged, holding his hands out as though saying Mass.

A warm feeling coursed through Poppy, she wasn’t sure why. She often felt uncomfortable taking things from people, even though in this case she knew it was only coffee. Her wallet contained forty euro in notes, and then some change. “Tell you what, Angelo, this is an Irish tradition.” She handed him a twenty. “For luck.” She nodded, encouraging him to take it. She had enough left for parking today and probably wouldn’t have time for lunch anyway.

“Really?” Angelo hesitated, and then smiled broadly. “Thank you, Puppy. My place will be a big success!” He climbed onto the bar’s draining-board. High up, he wedged the note halfway behind his café’s name – Il Panorama Café.

Poppy she watched her lunch money be immortalised behind the slogan: Enter a stranger – leave a local.

Poppy walked back to her car loaded down with the two takeaway coffees and samples of Angelo’s fresh-baked bread. “You take it,” he’d said to Poppy, “I’m just testing the oven – this will go in the bin. Tomorrow I will bake a fresh batch.”

She placed the coffees on roof of the car as she unlocked the car door. As she sat behind the wheel she realised what she’d been doing but she couldn’t help herself – even as she turned the key in the ignition, she was still doing it – grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

Chapter 23

Helen spread organic cotton over Poppy’s makeshift stand. She had begged it off a supplier a few seasons ago. She stood back to admire her handiwork. The fabric looked much better as a tablecloth than a nightdress.

“Okay, Poppy, tell me what I have to do today.” Her eyes darted around the hall. Other stallholders were setting up. Many appeared to be wearing tie-dye T-shirts, and tie-dye trousers – on the same body: the designer in her balked. It also become apparent there was a lot of facial hair on display.

“Just be yourself, tell them what I do, hand them a leaflet and ask if they’d like to join my mailing list.” Poppy smiled, her arms outstretched as if it was all child’s play.

“Ah, right, see here’s the thing, what exactly do you do? You’re always on some course or other. You pick up new qualifications as often as other people pick up dry cleaning.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “What’s that smell?”

“Incense, obviously, get used to it, there’ll be a lot of it around today. I’m trying to cut back on massage and counselling, concentrating instead on Ayurveda and teaching meditation.” Poppy stared at Helen beneath lowered eyebrows. Helen had asked her to teach her how to meditate months ago, but had kept putting it off.

“I know I should be doing it. But it’s one of those things, isn’t it? You put it off until you reach crisis point. A bit like going to the gym after you’ve gained ten pounds.” Helen fanned out Poppy’s business cards on the table.

The first of their neighbours for the day had arrived. They bowed to Helen and Poppy but didn’t speak. This suited Helen just fine.

“Okay, the Ayurveda thing is: Vata – air-heads. Pitta – hot tempered. Kapha – need to lose a few pounds. Have I got it right?” she asked.

“I tell you what, why don’t you leave the explaining to me?” Poppy waved to a guy with a shaved head, bar a ponytail which hung from the nape of his neck. He had something painted on his forehead and along the length of his nose.

“You know the strangest people, Poppy Power – apart from me, that is. What am I again?”

“A Vata-Pitta, creativity with passion.” Poppy smiled at her. The corner beside them was filling up fast, as its occupants arrived in dribs and drabs. “Remember, Helen, the true purpose of meditation is to find out who you really are.”

“Eh, you’re Poppy Power.”

“Very funny. I think an easy way to explain it is that meditators make better choices. They start to notice coincidences – synchronicities – throughout the day. There’s no such thing as coincidence – the more you notice them, the more you know you’re in Dharma.” Poppy stood back and looked at the stand from the perspective of the public.

“Dharma?” Helen thought Dharma was the part-title of an old sit-com.

“Your life purpose – we all have one. We just have to figure out what it is. Synchronicities show us the way.” With that, the main doors opened and people started to flood in.

“It’d be easier if I had a sample, something I could physically show them.” Helen’s brow furrowed with worry, then she looked like she had a light-bulb moment. “Come to think of it, I did experience an unusual coincidence when buying a book on synchronicity! It was recommended to me by a stranger.”

“Go on . . .”

“Well, I saw him at the airport check-in, and then I bumped into him again in the bookshop. The thing is, he had an odd-looking briefcase that caught my eye.” Helen twisted the small gold ring on her little finger as she spoke. “It didn’t fit with the rest of him – with his image.” She looked to see if Poppy could follow what she was saying.

Poppy was nodding like a spring-headed dog in a car rear window.

“Well, I had this nasty experience in a bar in Hong Kong. I’ll tell you about it another time, I don’t want to talk about it now . . . but anyway just after that I spotted the man from Heathrow, or rather I spotted his straw briefcase, just as he was going out the door of the bar.”

“Please tell me you went after him?” Poppy asked, barely breathing.

“Yes, but he had disappeared. I didn’t see him or his straw case during the rest of the trip so it must have meant nothing. It was just a coincidence.”

“Nonsense, of course it meant something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. You’ve got to learn to trust the Universe, Helen, have faith.”

“You lose me when you start talking about the Universe, Poppy.”

An elderly lady carrying a large plaid shopping bag approached the table. “What free stuff have you got?” She pushed the leaflets around the table, looking for something to claim.

“A smile,” Helen beamed at her.

The woman stared, open-mouthed, her nose screwed up and lips pursed.

“And a ‘positive thought for the day’ card – from The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success. Let’s see – today is Saturday – The Law of Dharma. How apt.”

The woman scowled and grabbed the card from Helen before shuffling off to the next stand.

Poppy reached up and put her arm around Helen’s shoulder. “See, you’re a natural!”

“Give me knickers any day.”

The Mind Body Spirit Fair was in full swing. On the stand beside Poppy’s, a group of people wearing orange robes sat on cushions. Each of them held a different instrument, from cymbals to drums. More of them appeared to arrive every few minutes. They began their musical chorus of chanting and drumming: they had a lot of drums. To begin with, Helen found it rather soothing but by lunchtime, they still hadn’t stopped. They had a relay of volunteers to ensure continuity of the beat and of course the chanting – “Hare Hare Krishna Krishna”.

It was going to be a very long day.

Helen answered the phone on the first ring.

“Hi, it’s me. I’m ready to leave the city now – I’ll unload the car tomorrow. What do you fancy this evening?” It was Poppy. She had sent Helen home at four o’clock, saying she’d manage alone. The show had quietened down, bar a few stragglers and Helen had looked like she was losing the will to live.

“Oh, Poppy, I forgot to tell you, I’ve a date with Keifer.” Helen yawned to emphasise she had no intention of going out.

“Keifer?”

“Sutherland.”

“Don’t tell me, Helen, you’re staying in on a Saturday night, watching psychopathic murderers?”

“Yes, I think of it as a healthy way to release my dark side. So I don’t actually cause bodily harm to my fellow commuters on the Tube. Anyway, that’s what God invented Sky Plus for – I’ve a whole two weeks of quality programmes to catch up on.”

“But it’s Saturday night.”

“Exactly, amateur night on the town – the last thing I need is to feel like I’m old enough to be everyone’s mother.” Helen adjusted a cushion behind her head while balancing her mobile between her shoulder and ear. She stretched her legs along the dark purple couch. In perfect harmony, her Golden Retriever mirrored her action, on the deep-pile carpet. She had positioned everything just perfectly to be within reach of her horizontal position on the settee. The circular glass and stainless-steel table was within arm’s reach. On it, the remote control, a cordless phone (although the only one who ever rang her on the land-line was her mother) and a bottle-cooler containing a bottle of New Zealand’s finest. She placed the wineglass on the table as softly as possible – it made the all too familiar clink sound.

“You’re drinking wine already, aren’t you?” Poppy was dismayed to realise she was competing with wine.

“I just opened it a few minutes ago,” Helen said defensively. “Besides, I’ve had a tough week – I may not even have a job on Monday, after snogging the boss and running away. On top of which I’m refusing to run away with him to join Eden Hong Kong. He may well show me the door. I need to chill out.”

“Meditate then, don’t sit and drink wine at home. Alone.” Poppy cringed internally at her own double standard.

“Jeez, all this time I thought you were telling me to medicate. If you’re so concerned with my mental state, come over, and then I won’t be alone.”

JD looked up with dewy eyes.

“Besides, I’m not alone. I’ve got JD here to keep me company.” Truth was, the Hare Krishna drums were still ringing in her ears and Helen just felt like canine company this evening. She lowered her leg to rub JD’s soft blonde belly with her bare foot. She giggled as his hair tickled her toes. The movement caused her dressing gown to fall away from her body. And then she saw it.

Panic-stricken, she choked, “Oh my dear God!”

“Helen? Helen – is everything okay?”

“Noooooooo!” she wailed.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened –”

“Granny pubes, that’s what!” Helen sobbed. If she could see the tiny grey hair in the muted lighting of her living room, imagine how it’d look in stark bathroom lighting!

“What the hell are you on about?”

“My black box isn’t looking so black any more, that’s what. It’s more a paler shade of grey.” Helen’s voice quivered.

“Please tell me you aren’t examining your crotch while on the phone to me.”

“This is serious, Poppy. Have you ever heard of a pilot’s voice on the grey box? Do they search for the grey box? No, that’s because everyone’s only interested in the black box.”

“You haven’t answered my question and since when were you interested in pilots? I thought after that last one you met you said they were more interested in their throttle than the box, no matter what colour it is.”

“No, I didn’t. What I said was, some of them mistake their penis for their throttle, or whatever that thing they pull for lift-off is!”

“Take-off, you mean, unless you’ve bonked an astronaut and neglected to tell me that as well?”

“A cowboy, maybe – fly-by-nights, definitely – astronauts, no – I’ve never heard that line on the chat-up circuit. Listen, I’ve got to go, I’ve just the thing for such an emergency.” Helen was on the move.

“If that’s your idea of an emergency, remind me never to call you in a crisis,” Poppy said, hearing Helen running up the stairs. “Do you remember that time in New York, and the Irish President was in town? Those Secret Service guys gave us their cards. Do you still have them? Secret Service is nearly as good as an astronaut. I wonder were we considered a threat to national security after we rumbled them?” Poppy rambled on, to sounds of Helen ransacking her house. “That was a great night. Pre 9/11 mind. Probably wouldn’t happen these days.” Poppy sighed at the memory and wondered should she hang up.

“It’s in here somewhere,” Helen mumbled. “Here we go . . . The Black Betty!”

“Black Betty?”

“Yep, I was going to go for The Pink Betty, but it reminded me of that Sex and the City episode where Samantha ended up looking like Bozo the Clown.”

“Right.” Poppy was often in bed by watershed time and only recently, thanks to Lily’s protests, claiming she was a disadvantaged teen due to lack of Reality TV, had she succumbed and installed cable. Of course she’d heard of the programme, but she still had no idea what Helen was talking about.

Hiding her annoyance at her satellite-inept friend, Helen elaborated. “The last time I was in getting my Brazilian wax, they had this hair-dye stuff on sale at reception, called The Betty.”

“I’m nearly afraid to ask . . .?”

“Well, it’s especially formulated for the hair-down-there. Red for a heart-shape, pink for, em, I don’t know, maybe a fluffy box. They even had duck-egg blue for a Tiffany box. I was tempted by all of them, but then, as I said, memories of that Sex and the City episode come back to haunt me, so I decided to play it safe.”

“But why didn’t you go for blonde? To match your hair? Why black? I don’t know why –”

“Okay, so they were out of stock of Blonde Betty! And to be honest, it’s hard enough keeping up with highlights on my head, never mind anywhere else!”

“But black – when you’re blonde –”

“Oh, shut up, Poppy! I’d noticed a grey hair down there – I plucked it out of course but I bought the stuff just in case. Do you think I got more greys because I plucked one out? I seem to remember an old-wives’ tale: if you pluck one grey hair, seven grow back in its place.” Helen was getting worried as she remembered she had actually plucked three hairs.

“Helen, you’re an intelligent woman, well, at least you are most of the time, and that’s nonsense. But I’m sorry to tell you – you’ve brought this upon yourself.” Poppy sniffed.

“How?”

“You believed that you were going to go grey, so the Universe delivered. It’s the Law of Attraction: As the mind goes, energy flows.” Poppy was sounding rather smug.

“How do I un-manifest what the Universe has manifested then, oh Wise One?”

“Positive thoughts and meditation – but seeing as the grey is already there you may want to try your Betty-whatever in the meantime. Hang on . . .” There were muffled voices in the background as Poppy put her hand over the mouthpiece – then she was back. “Much as I’d love to stay and chat about your fanny, Helen, the Hare Krishna group have just invited me to join them for tofu and a cup of ginger tea. Saturday night with a difference – at least it solves the problem of drink driving – Dahlia can stay with me.”

Helen was pleased to be off the hook.

“Don’t forget about tomorrow, I’ll call you to make arrangements,” Poppy said.

“What on earth now – can’t I even get Sunday off?”

“Relax, it’s that mystic appointment we’ve waited so long to get.”

“Appointment? What –”

“I’ve room for one in my car!” Poppy shouted at the Hare Krishnas, who were trying to sort out drums, squeezeboxes and lifts.

“Poppy, please don’t go joining a new group – dragging you out of a kibbutz once in this lifetime was enough.”

“For God’s sake, I was eighteen and you’ll never let me hear the end of it, will you?” Poppy exhaled noisily.

“No.” One of Helen’s favourite pastimes was winding Poppy up – she made it so easy to do.

“Look on the bright side.” Poppy cheered up. “The psychic – he’ll be able to tell you if you’re sacked or not – save you an early-morning flight on Monday.”

With that, Poppy hung up.

Having lain down spread-eagled on a pile of old towels for thirty minutes, Helen hosed herself down with the shower nozzle. She looked in the mirror and admired her handiwork. The black box was back and it was blacker than she’d seen it in years. She was feeling warm and the familiar tingle of growing excitement ran through her body. She wasn’t sure if it was caused by the gushes of water, or the glass of wine she’d consumed. Or maybe Poppy was right and wherever you put your attention, energy flows. She’d been dying down below but now she could definitely feel the energy there.

Then, even though she knew she shouldn’t, she reached for her phone and began to text.

“Hi Rob, how r u? At home, bored. U got any exciting gossip r juicy bits 4 me?” It was an unashamed textual flirtation, with a man whose number she knew she should delete, along with their relationship. Within seconds, her phone bleeped.

“I’ve got something big and juicy all right. Have u eaten? @”

The “@” symbol at the end of the text was Rob’s way of sticking his tongue out at her.

She smiled and typed, “I’m out of batteries.” She waited ten minutes before she pressed send, lest she appear too eager.

Again, she received Rob’s reply by return: “Be there in twenty.”

Chapter 24

Rob pressed the bell next to Helen’s bright red-lacquered door. He ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. As he heard her footstep approaching, a shot of adrenaline hit him.

“Hey, Rob!” Helen half-opened the door. He could just see her face, blonde waves falling loosely around it. Bee-stung lips, glossed, berry-red.

Helen liked red.

Anticipation replaced adrenaline. He couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth – that was until he stepped inside and saw the rest of her.

“Wow, you look great, Helen!” was all he could manage to say. She wore a tantalising black silk robe. Its low cut revealed smooth olive skin and the curve of her cleavage.

“Pleased to see me?” Rob moved closer and nuzzled the side of her neck.

Helen shivered as she felt his warm breath on her skin.

“Come on, baby, let’s take this upstairs, I’m HD-Ready.” Rob whispered his usual catch-phase, comparing Helen’s initials to high-definition television.

His words had an unexpected effect. Maybe she shouldn’t have texted Rob – she pulled away slightly.

“Slow down there, soldier – what happened to pleasantries like ‘How are you?’”

“We can do those later,” Rob muttered. With one arm, he pulled her towards him and swiftly entwined her in a tango-like move. Behind her now, he wrapped his arms around her waist – pressing his hardness against her.

“I think it’s you who’s pleased to see me,” Helen giggled, weakening.

“You smell so good,” Rob said, inhaling deeply. He moved a hand under her robe to caress her breast, the other he slid between her thighs.

Desire replaced Helen’s fleeting attempt to have a conversation before sex – she turned her face to meet his, their kissing becoming more urgent as they explored each other’s bodies.

Helen closed her eyes and allowed herself to be elevated to a place she believed only Rob could take her. He slipped off his jacket, placed it on the polished oak floor and lowered her onto it. She reached up, releasing his belt.

Rob moved down her body. He knew every inch of her, what made her shudder – what made her tick. He lowered his mouth to her dark nipple and began flicking it with his tongue. She groaned as he began to suck. Licking his way down past her belly button until his head was between her legs, he spread them apart as he buried his face in what he called the origin of the universe.

He felt her melt in his mouth as he listened to the sound of her shallow breath, his ability to seduce her making him even harder. He could feel her body tense and, as she climaxed, he thrust himself deep inside her, moving to her rhythm – their rhythm.

They lay still, not saying anything, both waiting for their breathing to abate. Rob rolled off and lay beside her on the hall floor.

Helen was glad the housekeeper had been yesterday.

“Is that wine I see?” she said, as she propped herself up on one elbow.

“Very astute – one white, one red – take your pick. Hey, doggie!” Rob jumped to his feet and pulled up his jeans as JD waddled over to him.

“Hells, your dog was about to lick my butt.” Rob made a face. “Just as well you can’t talk, boy.” Rob tickled the dog under his chin. He sniffed his hand after rubbing JD and looked displeased. “Have you any anti-bacterial hand-wash in here?” he asked, as he headed for the downstairs loo.

Helen looked at JD and raised her eyes to heaven. The dog turned and went back to his bed in the kitchen and watched her from there. The silent treatment. Who says dogs can’t talk? You just have to tune in to them, at the right frequency.

Rob wasn’t one for pillow talk, but seeing as they hadn’t made it far past the front door, it wasn’t an option anyway. Helen knew it would be the same even if they had made it to the bedroom. Rob was expert at meeting her physical needs but emotionally he was a stranger.

By the time he emerged from the toilet, Helen had changed from her seductress silken wear into a fluffy baby-blue robe with matching slippers which she wore to shuffle around the kitchen.

“Excuse me – did you see where Helen went?” he said, his brow knitted in confusion.

“What are you on about, Rob? Do you want red or white?” She held up both bottles of wine.

“Helen, Helen? Is that you? I thought it was your long-estranged grandmother. I go to the jacks for five-minutes and my sexy vamp morphs into dowdy gramp!”

“Very funny.”

“I’ve got the car, so a Diet Coke will do me.”

Helen busied herself with the corkscrew in an effort to simmer down the irritation that was bubbling.

“You’re welcome to stay,” she said, trying to sound carefree. The familiar pattern emerged – friction replaced sexual tension, giving rise to a potential argument.

Rob’s expression darkened. “You know I prefer my own bed – besides, I have to work in the morning.” He looked away, having laid the seed for his escape.

“You’re working on a Sunday?” Helen’s voice was tight – she looked him in the eye. Damn! Why can’t you just let it go, Helen?

“Yes, unfortunately. No rest for the wicked. I’m working on contracts for a merger between two multinationals. It’s worth a fortune in fees, so merits a few Sunday hours.” Rob’s eyes came to life again. “It’ll firmly place us on the map, as the top corporate law firm in the country.” He pushed both his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans. “I can’t say too much, but you’ll be reading about it in the papers in the coming weeks.”

“As long as it’s not Eden, or one of our competitors, I really don’t give a toss.” Helen wouldn’t look up at him, twisting the gold ring on her little finger instead.

“Eden is small-fry by comparison. These are the big boys. Maybe I will have that glass of wine – it’s been a long week.” Rob leant against the kitchen counter, his ankles crossed and his body relaxed. He enjoyed talking about work, especially with someone outside of the office.

“Did you see the season finale of 24?” She handed him his wine.

“No, do you have it?” Rob’s night was getting better by the minute.

It was Helen’s turn to act smug. “I bought the box-set in a market in Shanghai. I got you the entire James Bond collection too: every Bond movie ever made.” She quickly added, “It was really cheap, it would have been a shame to pass it up.”

“Helen Devine, you are, without doubt, every man’s wet-dream.” Rob planted a kiss on her forehead. “Now, if you’d just agree to some girl-on-girl action, I’d die a happy man.”

“Come on, Don Juan, grab the wine. I’ll get the popcorn. I’m not ready for you to die – just yet.”

Rob drained the last drop of red wine into their glasses. They had polished off the bottle of white sometime earlier, neither noticing, engrossed in the heart-stopping action on the small screen.

“Told you he was a baddie!” Helen declared when the credits rolled. It was one of their favourite pastimes – trying to out-guess each other in spotting the plot line or the secret villain.

“I knew that,” Rob said, dismissing her comment.

“Yeah, yeah.” Helen flicked the off button on the remote-control. The light in the room softened without the glare from the TV. Now, the only illumination came from a sandalwood candle and a small table-lamp. With a click of another control, low strains of New Age ambient music filled the air. Rob kicked back and sank deeper into the couch. He swirled his wine around the glass, lost in thought.

“A penny for them,” Helen traced the tip of her forefinger along his temple.

Not needing further encouragement, Rob talked about what he always talked about, his work, which Helen understood was his life. And that was okay. His face relaxed so much as he talked, he looked years younger. He loved what he did – she envied him. Her passion for Eden was waning, she couldn’t deny it. Previously, if she wasn’t working, she was talking about work. She ate, slept and breathed lingerie. She had always been on the lookout for fresh ideas and new designs, no matter where she was. It could be watching TV and she’d notice a subtle curve of a seam. Or in a restaurant, perhaps a colour would catch her eye. She kept a small sketchpad in her handbag at all times in case she saw something that she could translate into a new bestseller – she still did but it wasn’t as crammed with inspiration as before. Maybe if she could get back to being more of a designer and less of an administrator it would fan the flames of her creativity again. But a niggling voice inside her told her it was more than that.

They continued to talk into the night and at one point they retrieved Mary’s re-gifted bottle of caramel Baileys. Rob liked his over ice – Helen took hers straight up.

“I don’t know how you drink it like that,” Rob said.

“I don’t like ice any more – Poppy says it’s better to drink liquids warm or at least at room temperature. You’re a Pitta, that’s why you like the ice.”

“Here we go!” Rob rolled his eyes. “Poppy and her mumbo-jumbo – no doubt Pitta is something bad – that woman hates me. How is the daft witch anyway?”

“Rob! Don’t be so mean. Poppy doesn’t hate you – she just hates what you did to me.” Helen immediately regretted what she had said as the atmosphere in the room chilled. “Actually Pittas are great leaders and have a fiery passion.” She rubbed her foot along his groin and let it linger, but got little response.

There was a silence, then he said, “So, what’s the story at Eden? Are you ready to fly the nest, start up your own business, rather than raking the money in for them?”

“Don’t start at me, Rob. The company has been very good to me over the years. Besides, after last week’s Hong Kong trip, I’ll be lucky if I even have a job on Monday and you certainly didn’t help things with that Perfect Pussy prank of yours – I could have lost my job! Fred had a right go at me over that.” She flinched as she said Fred’s name.

“What did he say?” Rob didn’t wait for a reply before continuing and so dismissing any retribution for his practical joke. “Legally, it’d be difficult for them to terminate your contract, based on the number of years you have been with them, unless you did something completely unethical. Did you? Embezzle funds? Supply the competitors with next season’s designs?”

“Rejected the advances of the managing director?” Helen said, leaving out the bit about the kiss.

“What, Fat Fred?” Rob burst into laughter. “Fred would never be able for a woman like you!” He had met Fred once, in London, during one of the brief on-again periods he and Helen shared. “Jesus, did he make a lunge for you? Between your tits and his belly you would have just bounced off each other.” He whooped loudly.

Helen playfully thumped him. “Oh shut up, you – it could have been yin and yang.”

“Please – no more Poppy-isms!”

“Needless to say, I’m dreading seeing him in the office. Fred can be great fun and good to work with, as long as he’s getting his own way. He can also be a nasty piece of work. I could be wrong, but I often got the impression he manipulates people, situations.”

“What exactly did happen between you two?” Rob suddenly looked serious.

“Nothing actually happened,” Helen said, looking at the floor, “but I’m sure he’s offended. I don’t think I’m going to brush this one aside too easily.”

“Bullshit. You’re exaggerating things again, Helen. They need you and they know it. You were the one who brought them out of the ha’penny place and into the big league.”

“Maybe, but I think I’ve lost my mojo. I don’t feel the excitement any more when it comes to designing. My job is more about cost-cutting, EU red-tape and bloody Chinese factories.”

Silence fell between them for a moment.

“Maybe if I’d made the move to come home and set up on my own a few years ago, it’d have worked out. Let’s face it, who nowadays is voluntarily leaving a six-figure salary with pension, healthcare and perks?”

Rob’s eyes narrowed. “You have a point there – how much are you on?”

Helen shifted uncomfortably. Her success was somehow a bone of contention between them – it always had been. “Plus, there’s this girl I’m working with now, Sarah. I have to admit she’s good. She’s young, enthusiastic, has a first-class honours degree in design. She lacks cop-on but they love her – and she costs about a quarter of my salary.”

“Is she hot?”

“Shut up!” Helen poked him a little harder this time.

“Ouch! That’s assault!” Rob rubbed his belly. “Sarah is exactly why you should think about being your own boss. Okay, so she hasn’t got your experience but she’ll be nipping at your heels. It’s only a matter of time before they try to oust you and your big pay cheque. Let’s hope Sarah’s not willing to shag Fred, or it could be sooner than you think.”

Helen looked troubled – was that really a possibility?

Rob cheerily added, “Don’t worry – we’ll sue their asses.”

“But the thing is – I think I’m knickered out of it. To start my own business I’d have to have drive, passion and belief in what I’m doing. Lingerie isn’t doing that for me any more. It’s time for phase two of my career. But what’s next? I feel like I should be doing more with my life but I don’t know what that is. Can I reinvent myself or will I forever be the lingerie designer?”

The conversation was getting far too deep for Rob’s liking.

“I’ve still got plenty of passion for your lingerie, baby, but if you’re ready to get out of knickers, I’m here to help.” He grabbed her hand and put it on his penis, which was stiffening again.

Helen took a sip of her Baileys and moved closer to him. She kissed him and, as he opened his mouth to receive her, she slowly released a trickle of the creamy liquor onto his tongue. She straddled him and with their lips still locked, she eased herself on top of him. They gently rocked, their lovemaking more sensual and slower than it had been hours earlier. He undid the belt of her robe and let it fall to the floor, leaving her naked. Her breasts were level with his face – he licked and teased each nipple to hardness. Her hair fell onto his face. It smelt of amber. He inhaled her scent as he softly groaned for the second time that evening.

Rob looked at her – his eyes glistened as he brushed her hair off her face. “God, you are the most beautiful woman, Helen. You’re an angel, with a devilish glint, my ‘Hell in the Divine’.”

Maybe it was the lovemaking that made her want to talk. It was gentler than their usual WWF style (wrestling, not wildlife). Or was it the wine that loosened her tongue? Somewhere, subconsciously she knew it was because there had been that rare glimpse of a tender moment between them, like the ones they shared so routinely when they were younger. So routinely, they assumed that it would last forever. It didn’t.

“Do you ever think about the baby? He’d be a young man now,” she said softly as Rob held her in his arms. She knew she was treading on a minefield. She felt him tense.

“Stop it, Helen. We’ve been through this a million times before. We did the best we could – under the circumstances.” Rob’s voice was cold, firm.

A tear escaped from Helen’s eye, she quickly wiped it away. “But was it the right thing? I thought there’d be plenty of time for children, but here I am nearly forty and guess what, Rob – no child.”

Rob pushed her away and stood to leave. Damn Helen, why did she always start this shit just as he was starting to relax?

“So that’s what this is about, Helen – your biological clock.”

“Maybe, but I’ve felt this way for nearly twenty years, so it’s unlikely.” Fighting back more tears, she continued, “You always say this crap, Rob – I’m your ideal woman, you could never feel about anyone the way you feel for me. But here we are – middle-aged – and what have we got to show for it? Nothing! We’re alone, for fuck sake, look at us. How did we go from being soul-mates to fuck-buddies?” She tried to catch her breath.

Rob went to the hall, picked his jacket off the floor where it still lay crumpled from earlier.

“I thought you were staying tonight,” she said, following him.

“I never said I was staying, you assumed that I would. Assumption, Helen, is the mother of all fuck-ups.”

“You can’t drive, you’re over the limit.”

“I’ll get a taxi.”

“Why do you always scurry off, like you’re suddenly standing on a bed of nails?”

“I am not! It’s after three in the morning – I’ve a lot on tomorrow.” Rob’s words hung like stale air. Then he changed tack in an effort to expedite his exit. He put his hands on Helen’s shoulders and looked down at her from arm’s length. “Look, we did the right thing. We were a couple of kids, still in college – we could barely look after ourselves, never mind a baby.”

“Mum would have helped us,” Helen said weakly, unable to look up.

“And what? You drop out of uni. Me working to make ends meet. Look where we are now. You’re design director in one of the UK’s top retail-chains. You’ve travelled the world ten times over. I’ve built the most respected law firm in the country. Do you think we’d have all this if we’d become parents barely out of our teens?”

“Maybe we’d still have each other.” She looked him squarely in the eye.

Rob swallowed and thought for a moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “We still have each other,” he said softly.

“This isn’t together, Rob. This is sex. I can’t even tell my best friend that we’re together and, as for my mum, she’d have a canary.”

“Ah, Mary – how is the old bat?”

“Shut up, Rob. I mean it. I need more than this. Maybe we should start dating again, stop sneaking around behind people’s backs. Talk to each other. Christ, we’re not even using condoms! How do I know you’re not having sex with other people?”

“Because we discussed it, Helen, we agreed we’d be sexually exclusive.”

Helen thought of her brief response to Fred’s kiss. Christ, had aliens kidnapped her brain, for those few moments, or was it Uncle Ron Bacardi? She considered telling Rob, but he’d always been so jealous of her around other men. Would he understand?

“It seems that’s all we have, Rob. It’s as if you want to have your cake and eat it. I don’t know who your friends are, what you do with your time during the week.”

“I seem to remember when we started this whole thing that it suited you just fine. You even laughed that your idea of commitment was to own a dog!”

“That is a big commitment. At least it shows I’m capable of caring for another living creature, other than myself.”

“Look, we have it good here, Helen. If it ain’t broke, why fix it? You’re in London all week – you’ve got your travel on top of that. Can you imagine a boyfriend whingeing at you that you don’t have time for him? Then there’s the singles scene, getting to know someone, dating, having to teach them what you like.” Rob smirked.

“Okay, so sexually we work. I’m not questioning that. All I’m saying is: I’m ready for more.”

“Helen, we were always fighting. This way you get all the good bits of a relationship – without the drawbacks.”

When Rob spoke, he had a way of making anything sound reasonable.

“I don’t know, Rob – I’m starting to think all that couple crap might be nice to try.”

Rob had known this moment would come sooner or later, but their arrangement suited him fine. Still, the thought of losing Helen didn’t appeal to him.

“I tell you what. After I finish the paperwork tomorrow, why don’t I take you to dinner, my treat?”

“I’d like that.” Helen yawned – they’d made some headway. “I’ll book somewhere local – how about that new fish place on the pier?”

“How about we go into Dublin?”

“Oh, all right so. I’m on the red-eye on Monday, but I haven’t been out in town in ages, so why not?” Helen got on her tippy-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Will I call you a cab?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just hail one down on the main road, cheaper than calling one.”

Outside, Rob waited for a few minutes. When Helen’s bedroom light went out, he turned the key in his ignition. Thankfully, as always, he had parked a few metres down the road rather than in the driveway. He’d be damned if he was forking out for a taxi after only a few glasses of wine and hours ago at that, but it wasn’t worth arguing with Helen about. He was pleased at how he’d handled her when she’d started to go off on one.

That’s what makes you so damn good in the courtroom, old boy! he thought as he drove into the night.

Chapter 25

Despite the late hour getting to bed, Helen woke early on Sunday morning. She looked out the window and noticed there was no sign of Rob’s car. He’s up early, she thought. She pulled on a pair of black track-suit bottoms and tied her hair back in a pony-tail, before running downstairs.

“Come on, JD, the beach awaits!” Helen called as she went into the kitchen to wake the dog.

JD bounced around in excitement, his tail wagging so furiously he knocked over several free-standing photos on a low windowsill. Helen loved her beachside home. She had the best of both worlds: city-life on weekdays, and escape from the rat race at weekends.

Helen and JD ran along the beach which Helen could access from the back of her townhouse. A light breeze was on their backs, sunshine on their faces. Thirty minutes of pure abandonment, where nothing else existed.

Getting back to the house, Helen put her key in the lock and opened the back door, just a fraction. “No chance, JD, you can stay out there until you dry off.” The tide was in, and the dog had swum in the sea. As if to protest, he shook his whole body vigorously, spraying Helen with sea water and dog hair. When he’d finished, he looked like he’d stuck his paw in a light socket.

Helen brushed the sand off, made a coffee and booted up her other baby, her white iMac laptop. This was her time: no phone, no people, just her, her coffee and her Mac. JD pressed his wet nose against the window but Helen didn’t budge. She was in her world of time-wasting internet sites, another Sunday indulgence.

There was something about looking at shopping websites, consuming caffeine and a week’s worth of cholesterol with one laden pastry, that made it all the better. She wandered onto her Facebook page, and laughed at some of the silly photos and comments her friends had up-loaded. A link at the side of the side of the computer screen caught her eye: Find Friends on Facebook. Start the search button and Facebook will identify friends from your email lists.”

She clicked on it. Dozens of profiles popped up on the screen. Poppy’s daughter, Lily, was one of them. Helen decided to send her a friend request, which she knew Lily would reject – how embarrassing being friends with your godmother! She pressed send anyway, if there’s one thing she enjoyed almost as much as annoying Poppy, it was annoying her daughter.

She was about to log off when another profile name caught her eye. For a moment, her world stood still.

She directed the cursor over the silhouetted faceless picture.

Sam Fisher the name said, but it had come up attached to Rob’s private email address.

“Sam Fisher only shares information with his friends. Click here to request Sam as a friend” the pop-up message box read back.

She double-checked. It was definitely Rob’s email all right: lawbreaker007@ . . . But he had used a false name. Hardly surprising. Rob swore he wouldn’t be caught dead on a social networking site. His profile was set to private but Helen could still see his friends.

He had only one.

And she was beautiful.

Her sparkling eyes and blinding white smile taunted Helen. Was she imagining it or did the girl look like she had, over fifteen years ago?

Nadia Rossi.

Helen wanted to slam her laptop shut. Instead, with a lump in her throat, the cursor appeared to glide across the screen of its own volition as she voyaged into Ms Perfect’s life. She could be anyone, Helen told herself. A work colleague of Rob’s – but if that was the case why did he hide his identity? Helen wanted to stop but she kept on delving. And then, as she’d feared, Helen saw the photo she had hoped she’d never see – Rob and another woman, heads tilted together, all shiny happy couple.

Helen closed the laptop and sat for a moment, dazed, not knowing what to think.

All the usual excuses came to her.

She’s just a friend.

Rob wouldn’t sleep with someone else.

And just as quickly, the counter arguments started.

She’s his lover.

He probably was sleeping with her.

Wanting to wash the Facebook image and negative thoughts from her mind, Helen stripped, to shower. As she removed her underwear, she could still smell Rob’s scent on her skin. She looked at her naked body in a full-length mirror – all she saw were flaws.

She turned the water pressure onto the highest setting and let the water beat down on her head, hoping the power of the water would wash everything away. But her thoughts just kept going back to Rob, the only man she’d ever fallen in love with.

Chapter 26

Helen and Rob: 1990

“Rob, I’m pregnant,” Helen whispered.

“How the fuck did that happen?” Rob shouted down the phone.

Helen began to sob. She had just done the home pregnancy test in the girls’ toilet of her college. Now she was on the public phone in the corridor. She twisted the curly cable around her finger. Rob’s reaction wasn’t what she’d hoped to hear.

“I don’t know . . . I must have messed up the pill or something.” Helen struggled to regain control. The phone started to beep – it needed more money. Calling mobiles was expensive.

“Okay, look, calm down, we’ll work it out.” Rob’s tone was softer.

They met up later that night. Helen’s eyes were red and swollen from crying.

Rob took her in his arms. “It’s going to be okay, Helen, don’t worry. You didn’t tell your mother, did you?”

Helen shook her head. “No, I’m not going to spoil her first holiday in years – it can wait till she gets back. What are we going to do, Rob?”

“Well, are you sure? I mean, did you get the result confirmed by a doctor?”

“No.”

“Then there’s no point panicking until we do that. Sure, it could all be a false alarm.” He was upbeat – he made Helen relax.

“Do you want something to eat, have you come straight from lectures?” she asked.

“Yeah, I have for all the good they were – I couldn’t take my mind off you all day.” He kissed her gently before pulling back. “But I can’t stop. It’s training night and if I’m a no-show Coach won’t give me my game on Saturday.”

“Rob, please miss rugby, just tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

“You never do, Helen. You’re always at this, trying to get me to skip training. It’s not a competition between you and the club.”

“Why does it feel like it is then?”

“Look, Helen, I’ve had the day from hell – I need to unwind. I’m going training.” Rob opened the hall door he’d stepped through just minutes previously. He paused. “I tell you what, I’ll drop by afterwards, instead of going for a pint with the lads. I’ve really got to go, beautiful.”

He left.

The next day came and despite holding on to a thin thread of hope, the doctor’s test confirmed Helen was indeed pregnant. A week passed. They had screaming matches that turned to lovemaking then back to screaming matches again.

“Marry me, Helen,” Rob said, as they lay in bed.

That evening had been calm. They’d watched a movie, eaten ice cream and gone to bed early. Mary would be returning from her two-week sun holiday tomorrow, so it was their last night in the same bed for a while.

“Are you mad?” Helen laughed.

“I mean it, Helen, why not? You’re the love of my life, I always thought I’d marry you some day – we’ll just be getting married a bit earlier than I’d planned.”

“Bloody hell, Rob, I haven’t thought about it. I mean, I always thought when we were older, sure, but I’ve still got another three years in college and your finals are coming up.”

“So? We’ve been together years now. And besides, I’ve never set eyes on a more beautiful woman in my life.” He gave her a crooked smile.

Helen blushed at the compliment, her heart skipping a beat.

“We would never forgive ourselves if we don’t have this baby. Terminating it, for me, just isn’t an option, Helen.”

Helen thought about what Rob was saying, realising she felt the same. Why, since she’d realised she was pregnant, had she stopped drinking coffee, and started taking folic acid, while at the same time saying abortion was their only option? Who was she trying to kid?

Rob jumped out of bed, naked as the day he was born. He got down on one knee and took her hand in his.

She giggled. “Get up, you big oaf!”

“Helen Devine, will you marry me?” He looked into her eyes.

She could see that he meant it and then, to her surprise, Helen heard herself say, “Yes.”

Rob didn’t want to wait and decided they should wed in the USA.

“We’re going to Vegas, Hells! Dad stumped up the cash!” Rob proudly produced two airline tickets.

“Las Vegas?” Mary Devine, who had returned from her holiday wearing a sombrero and carrying an over-sized straw donkey under her arm, was still reeling from Sangria withdrawal and the news she’d soon be a grandmother. “That’s in America.” Mary’s face reddened. She hoped she’d get the money together in time.

“Geography is obviously your strong point, Mary!” Rob laughed, putting his arm around her.

“It’s very far,” Mary said. Thank God for the Credit Union.

“Another brilliant observation, Mary. That’s why Helen and I are going – on Saturday. It’s far from this place and its red tape. We can get married and have a quick honeymoon, all in one.”

“This Saturday!” Helen and Mary said in unison.

“Rob, can I talk to you – alone, please?” Helen said.

Mary was happy to oblige. It might only be three in the afternoon but she needed a stiff brandy.

“Rob, this is all happening so fast,” Helen said, as soon as Mary had left the room.

“You’re not getting cold feet on me, are you, Hells?”

“No, it’s just, it’s all so much. I need to slow down – it’s a whirlwind. I can’t catch my breath.” Helen patted her chest, willing air to fill her lungs.

“Helen – I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you – it’s that simple,” he put his hand on her stomach, “and our baby too. As David Soul once said, ‘Don’t give up on us, baby.’” He broke into song but he had tears in his eyes. He was begging the woman he loved.

“Please, no singing, Mum’s crystal can’t take it,” Helen joked. She cleared her throat, “So, you’re really sure about this, Rob?”

“Helen Devine, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Helen and Mary spent the next few days in a flurry of excitement. They chose a simple, pale-pink dress for Helen to get married in. As always, Helen spent most of her time trying to choose the perfect underwear. After hours of shopping, the two women sat in Bewleys café, surrounded by shopping bags. On their table sat mugs of steaming hot coffee and warm scones with melted butter, whipped cream and strawberry jam.

“I shouldn’t be doing this really,” Helen said.

“Then don’t, love,” Mary jumped in. “It’s so far away, and you won’t have anyone with you. Wait until after the baby is born. If it’s meant to be, you and Rob can still get married then.”

“I was talking about the coffee, Mum.”

“Oh.”

“I know you and Poppy are disappointed you can’t be there, Mum. And, to be honest, I had my doubts too. But Rob’s been so supportive – it will be okay. Besides, when do you think I’ll ever get another freebie from tight-fisted Old Man Lawless?”

Mary wasn’t convinced, but put on a brave face. “Too true, love, too true,” she said, not looking up, putting extra butter on her scone instead. After a moment or two, she appeared brighter. “History repeats itself, and another Devine woman will wed in the States. So, if you’re sure, Helen, there’s nothing more for me to say except ‘Bon voyage’!”

Mother and daughter clinked mugs of coffee in salutation.

Later, as Helen had packed the last of her clothes and sat on her suitcase to try and close it, something didn’t feel right. She hadn’t heard from Rob all day. She had called him a few times but his mobile phone was off. Then she started to ring his parents’ house. His aloof mother said she’d pass on Helen’s numerous messages, when she saw him.

By the time Helen was going to bed, Rob still hadn’t returned her calls. A knot formed in Helen’s stomach. What if there’s been in an accident? she reasoned, but she knew that wasn’t the source of her fear. She tried to settle down to sleep – they had to leave for the airport early in the morning. She looked around her childhood room – it was hard to believe she would come back to it a married woman.

She had cleared out a load of old clothes and junk from her wardrobe to make room in her closet, and life, for her new husband, whom Mary was willing to welcome into her home, for they were to live with her for the first years of their married life.

It was nearly one in the morning when Helen heard the doorbell chime.

She jumped out of bed, ran to the top of the stairs, and was relieved to see Rob’s silhouette through the glass of the door.

“Who is it?” Mary called out.

“It’s okay, Mum, go back to sleep.” Helen dashed down to open the door, and thanked God for answering her prayers.

That was until she saw Rob’s face.

“Rob, what’s wrong?” She pulled her dressing gown tightly around her, feeling a chill.

“I can’t do it, Helen, I’m sorry!” Rob blurted out.

“What?”

“I can’t marry you, Helen. It’s all too much. I want to be a lawyer – it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I can’t do that if I get married now. I need to qualify and have at least a few years working before I consider settling down.”

Reeling, Helen sat on the bottom step of the stairs.

“But I thought the same thing – you convinced me I was wrong. What changed all that?”

“No one,” Rob said, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets.

“I didn’t ask who.”

“Look, I’ll still help out with the baby and everything, you don’t have to worry.”

“It’s your parents, isn’t it?” Helen asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

“My folks are just looking out for me, Helen, I can see that now and you will too – when you’ve had time to digest this.”

“‘Digest this’!” Helen spat.

She was on her feet, anger ripping through her body. She wanted to smack him across the face. But she didn’t. She had learnt years ago, when faced with condescending neighbours or stuck-up class mates, that hiding her true feelings, such as anger, worked better than showing weakness. It helped her survive. Charles Darwin’s Theory of Evolution – survival of the fittest, Helen Devine style.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, Rob, I’m too tired now,” she managed to say calmly. “We’ve a twelve-hour plane trip ahead of us – we’ll talk then.”

“Ah, well, here’s the thing – Dad managed to change the name on your ticket. We reckoned, with you being pregnant and us needing some time out . . .” Rob looked at his shoes as he stepped awkwardly from side to side.

“You’re going to Vegas – without me?”

“We couldn’t get a refund, but they allowed us a name change. Helen, I’m not discussing this now.” He tried to regain control. “One of the lads from the club was able to come up with the cash for the ticket.” He looked pleased but his smile soon faded.

“I think you should leave now, Rob.” Mary Devine stood at the top of the stairs.

“Mum, stay out of it!”

“No, I’ve stayed out of it long enough.” She started down the stairs.

Rob saw it as his signal to exit.

“I’m sorry, Helen, Mary. We’ll talk when I get back. This doesn’t mean we have to break up, just not get married – yet.” He swallowed hard.

Her earlier control disappeared and Helen lunged at Rob. “You miserable fucking prick!”

Rob jumped back – frightened Helen would hit him.

Mary held her back. “Don’t let yourself down, love, he’s not worth it!” She glared at Rob, before slamming the door shut, but he was already halfway down the drive.

Helen buried her face into her mother’s chest and sobbed. Mary rocked her, whispering words of comfort while struggling to control her own tears. She kissed the top of her daughter’s head, wishing she could somehow take away Helen’s pain.

Rob didn’t contact Helen while he was in Vegas, but his mother did, or at least she put something in the Devine household letterbox. Helen saw her car pull away from the house in the early morning hours, the day Helen should have been getting married. She had got up to pee, which she needed to do every few hours now.

She went downstairs and retrieved the large, brown, manila envelope which had landed on the mat. On it, the block letters read: HELEN DEVINE. Inside there was five-hundred punts in cash, an Aer Lingus airline ticket to Heathrow, and an elegantly written note with the name and address of an abortion clinic. A yellow Post-It was stuck on the note. Scribbled on it was a date and time of an appointment, made in Helen’s name. Abortion being illegal in Ireland, many a young girl found herself “on the boat to England” as it was referred to. More often than not they were alone, afraid and full of shame. It was as though, if people couldn’t see them, hear them or speak about them, they didn’t exist. The Lawless family had money – Helen could travel by aeroplane. Rob’s mother had decided that her grandchild be terminated the next day, at two o’clock.

A few days after returning from the States, Rob reckoned it was time to face the music, but contacting Helen was proving harder than he’d thought. He tried phoning the house a few times, but Mary had answered so he hung up. He let a few weeks pass before he stopped by her campus – it was an easier option than facing Mary Devine’s wrath. One of Helen’s classmates told him Helen hadn’t been around – rumour was she’d dropped-out. Rob stewed on it for a while, eventually biting the bullet and calling to Poppy Power’s house. Being into all that spiritual crap, she was bound to be more understanding. Boy, had he been wrong!

“She’s gone,” Poppy had said coolly. “Helen has moved to England to pursue her passion for fashion, or lingerie to be exact. Apparently, the only place offering a lingerie design course is in England.”

“What, she’s packed up her business degree in Trinity to learn how to make knickers in London?”

Poppy hadn’t said London, but Rob was hoping to whittle down his search.

Poppy’s eyes narrowed – she was on to him. “Let her go, Rob, leave her with that much.” She closed the door on him before he had a chance to walk away.

He stood staring at Poppy’s door for a few minutes, feeling completely at a loss, stunned as he realised that Helen must have got rid of the baby: his baby. Briefly, a wave of guilt swept over him but then he convinced himself there was nothing he could have done – he wasn’t to blame. How could she do such a thing to him? But the truth was he already missed Helen. He had started working in a well-known law firm. The hours were cruel – he had hardly any free time, not even for rugby. So maybe he’d give Helen some time to calm down, come to her senses. She was his woman, he had never doubted that, but he had other things to do in life – surely Helen could see that too?

They could start afresh, once he found her. Rob straightened up to his full height, and brushed his fingers through his hair. He was feeling better already. It will all work out, he told himself as he walked away from Poppy’s house. Helen will come back, she always does.

Chapter 27

Helen decided to get out of the shower before she single-handedly caused a drought in the greater Dublin area. She had bought Mary the Sunday papers on the way back from her run – what better way to take her mind off Rob than spend an hour or two with her mum, in their family home?

She pulled her car in at her mother’s house and, on seeing the rows of pretty flowers and hanging baskets bursting with autumnal colour, she felt able to breathe again.

She rang the bell, then opened the door. “This will always be your home, dear – you don’t need to ring the doorbell,” Mary Devine always said but, out of respect, Helen usually rang the bell anyway before she opened the door.

“Mum, it’s only me!” she called out.

The house was in darkness, the curtains still drawn. The alarm wasn’t set. Mary always set the alarm when she went to bed. Helen looked at her watch – it was after eleven in the morning.

That’s strange, maybe she’s gone to Mass, she thought. She pulled back the heavy cream curtains to check if Mary’s little red convertible was in the driveway. She had been too preoccupied to notice. It was.

“Mum?” Helen called louder this time, her heart pumping hard as memories of finding her mother in a diabetic black-out last winter came flooding back.

“Oh, God, please let her be okay.” Helen started up the stairs. Then she heard it, a faint groan. She took the stairs two at a time – bursting into her mother’s bedroom expecting to find her mother laid flat on the floor.

She was flat out all right.

Helen screamed.

Mary screamed.

The old grey man with the crinkly bottom screamed.

“Helen! What are you doing?” Mary scrambled to pull up the duvet for cover but inadvertently further exposed the mystery visitor. Helen wished her mother hadn’t done that – as now she had seen an old willy too.

“Oh God, sorry, I thought you were in a coma.” Helen covered her eyes – she’d seen enough negative images to last a lifetime. “I brought the papers, they’re downstairs.” Her hand shielded her face. “Nice to meet you.” She nodded her head although her gaze remained averted. She closed the bedroom door behind her. Nice to meet you! Where did that come from?

“Helen, wait!” Mary struggled to get out of bed but Helen was already halfway down the stairs. She hadn’t seen her mother’s boobs since she was in kindergarten, and she’d no intention of seeing them again now.

“Just wait for me in the kitchen, Helen, please – I’ll only be a moment.”

A few minutes later, Mary Devine came into the sun-filled kitchen. Helen was leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, love,” Mary said, as she smoothed down her bed-head hair.

“So am I.”

There was an awkward silence – then they started to talk at the same time.

“Cyril is a very dear friend – I meant to tell you, love, but you’ve been so preoccupied lately and there’s been so much going on –” Mary stopped short.

“Look, Mum, you’re free to live your life.” Helen drummed her fingers on the marble-top. “Who the hell is he anyway? How long have you been seeing him and I can’t believe I’m saying this but I hope you are using protection.”

“Cyril, three months and none of your business, madam.” Mary’s cheeks burned with two dots of pink.

Helen sighed. Her mother was right. “I’m off, Mum – I’ll call you later.” She managed a weak smile.

“Okay, love, and despite this little setback, I still want you to use your key in future. This is your home too and always will be, as long as I’m alive.”

Helen looked at her mother as if she’d announced she was running off to join the circus.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Helen, it’s just sex – it’s the most natural thing in the world.” Mary tried laughing it off.

“You’re pushing for the bus-pass and he looks like he should be pushing a Zimmer-frame!” Just sex indeed.

Mary fiddled with her hair again. “Sixty is the new fifty, and I can assure you Cyril’s very able-bodied – he’s seventy-five, you know.”

“Agh, enough!” Helen covered her ears, but that didn’t erase the picture.

Crinkly bottom,

Crinkly bottom,

Crinkly bottom . . .

“Most people get a roast dinner when they visit their parents on a Sunday. Look what I get – I’m scarred for life, Mother!”

“Stop being melodramatic, Helen, you’re forty years of age – get over it!” Mary retorted.

“Thirty-nine, and you should have been level with me!”

The onslaught just kept on coming.

“Is it safe to come in?” A hand waving a white handkerchief appeared at the kitchen door.

Great, now I have to deal with Casanova.

“You must be Helen – you’re even more beautiful than your photos,” Cyril said as he entered the room. He held his hand out, and smiled broadly.

And Don Juan.

Cyril didn’t look so creased with his clothes on and he had a twinkle in his old blue eyes that glistened with gentleness. Helen shook his hand.

“Who fancies a cuppa?” Mary feigned normality as she put the kettle on.

“Not for me, I was only dropping off the papers. I’ve arranged to meet Poppy for lunch.” Helen smiled and tried not to look at the wall clock. They all knew it was a fib but they went along with it. No one wanted to discuss the big pink hippopotamus in the room.

Helen got into her car, and waved goodbye to her mum and Cyril who had come to the door to see her off.

Crinkly bottom,

Crinkly bottom,

Crinkly bottom . . .

She pressed hard on the accelerator in the hopes it would beam her up to a planet far from “Pensioners-on-Viagra-Ville”. She set her sights on safe-haven number two: Poppy’s house.

“Helen, I wasn’t expecting you, this is a nice surprise,” Poppy said, pulling her dressing gown tightly around her body.

“It’s nearly lunch-time, are you only getting up now?” Helen’s eyes wandered towards the bird’s nest masquerading as Poppy’s hair. “I thought you got up with the dawn every morning to meditate or something.”

Poppy stepped back to let Helen into the house. “I try to keep my body aligned with the circadian rhythms, it’s healthier, but lie-ins have their benefits too. It’s all about balance.”

Here we go, Helen thought, and ignored Poppy’s attempt at education.

“Is Lily here?”

“No, she went into town last night – slept-over at her friend’s place.”

“What’s wrong with you? You seem tense.” Helen pointedly looked at Poppy who was tugging on a strand of hair. Poppy immediately stopped and looked wide-eyed back at Helen. Too late. The hair-pulling was, as always, a dead give-away. There was no need to answer.

“Namaste,” said the bare-chested Hare Krishna, as he lazily shuffled down the stairs.

“Morning,” Helen waved, her words a statement, not a greeting.

“Akasha, okay if I make us some peppermint tea?” The Hare Krishna yawned, giving Poppy a gentle kiss on her forehead, while at the same time scratching his manhood through his orange harem pants.

“Of course, Ry, you know where everything is. We’ll follow you in,” Poppy smiled, ignoring Helen’s glare. “Make some for Helen too.”

Ry, the Hare Krishna, seemed about to ask Helen what her infusion of choice was, but obviously thought better of it and trundled through to the kitchen without a word.

“Ry?”

Poppy put her forefinger to her lips before whispering. “He’s very sensitive about that. His full name is Henry, reckons his parents had hopes he’d be an accountant.”

Helen threw her hands up in the air. “You only met him yesterday – it looks like he’s moved in!” she hissed under her breath. “And what the hell does akasha mean anyway?”

“Akasha – Universal Spirit, space, air, angel.” Poppy let out a sigh of contentment. “Ry thinks it’s the perfect name to embrace my true essence.”

“Well, he’s got that right – space-cadet.”

“Oh Helen, always the cynic. Come on, have a cup of tea with us – you’ll like him.” Poppy hooked her arm through Helen’s to lead her to the kitchen.

“He drove me nuts, banging those bloody drums all day yesterday, so no thanks, I’ll pass. Isn’t casual sex against his cult anyway?”

“Sshh! It’s not a cult – honestly, Helen, you’re unbelievable!”

“Me! I’m not the one who’s bonking a monk.” Helen refused to lower her voice.

The visit to Poppy’s house wasn’t going quite the way she had planned.

“He’s not a monk and we didn’t have S-E-X. I found their music yesterday entrancing and they were all so peaceful. We got talking, then we went to that little vegetarian restaurant on Wicklow Street and, well, it went on from there. What’s got into you anyway? It’s not like you to take the higher moral ground.” Poppy noticed Helen’s normally smiling face was looking decidedly glum.

“Nothing, apart from Mum is having sex with Hugh Hefner, Rob is having sex with a barely legal nymphomaniac and you’re having sex with someone who’s married to God – how will that affect your karma theory by the way? Will you come back as a frog or something?”

“I didn’t have sex with him!” Poppy hissed. “And who the hell is Hugh Hefner – is he the man from the drama society? And why on earth would you give a toss about who the hell Rob Lawless is sleeping with? I assume it is that prick we’re talking about?”

“Tea’s ready.” Ry appeared in the doorway, bringing with him a whiff of incense.

“Nice to meet you again, Ryvita, eh, sorry, Ry.” Helen was delighted the interruption gave her the chance to escape. There – she’d said it again – nice to meet you. What was it, this Sunday morning, with its strange men and tea-making? What happened to going to Mass? She gave Poppy a kiss on the check. “Give me a shout later when you’ve finished playing doctors and nurses – sorry, I meant goddesses and priests.” She gave her friend a friendly wink.

Poppy hugged her. “Will do – don’t forget we’ve got that appointment with the medium in Meath this afternoon.”

“I’d completely forgotten about it.” Helen brightened. She’d been sceptical when Poppy mentioned it. But now, the timing was perfect.

“I’ll pick you up about two – we can stop and have a coffee in the tearooms at Tara afterwards.”

“I’ll collect you,” Helen added quickly and avoided looking at the clapped-out old mini in the driveway. She feared old Dahlia would splutter and die halfway up the motorway.

Despite the rocky start to her day, Helen cheered up. Whatever about the medium, she loved going to Tara, there was something about the energy there – it always brought her peace.

Maybe she wasn’t such a non-believer after all.

Chapter 28

“What if he tells me something I don’t want to hear?” Helen chewed the inside of her cheek.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Helen – you never listen to stuff you don’t want to hear,” Poppy chirped.

“According to this printout, his house should be just up here on the left!” Lily called out from the back seat.

“I think we’re lost,” Helen said flatly, tapping her mobile phone, which was currently doubling-up as a GPS. She slowed the car to take in where they were. The rolling green hills of County Meath stretched out before them. The sky was grey with dark clouds moving rapidly, as if being chased. A unique Irish sky that most people only saw as dreary, but in that moment looked mystical. A black-and-white cow stood in a field – she paused in her munching to look at the car, before she raised her tail and deposited a huge mound of dung.

“What a great life – eat, crap, sleep. I’m coming back as a cow in the next life,” Lily said as she watched her.

“Sounds pretty much like your life now, if you ask me,” Helen said.

Poppy shot her a warning look but Lily ignored the dig.

“Maybe a cow in India – I hear they’re sacred there and people treat them like royalty.” Lily looked as though she was wistfully imagining her ideal life as a holy cow.

“As I said, no change then – apart from the India bit.” Helen looked out the window at the ever-darkening skies. “I think I’ll get a nice piece of fillet steak tonight. All this talk of cows is making me rather peckish,” she said as the first drops of rain hit the windscreen. She flicked on the wipers.

Lily gave Helen a filthy look, but it was wasted on the back of her head.

“There on the left – where that wooden post is – I bet that’s it.” Poppy waved frantically as she spotted the barely visible gateway.

Helen edged the car forward and sure enough, leading from the small country road was a driveway to a modern bungalow.

“Doesn’t look like a wizard’s house,” Helen said, driving up the gravel entrance.

Whatever had got into Helen that morning, Poppy wasn’t finding her easy.

“He’s a healer and a medium, Helen – I thought you said you had an open mind?”

“I have. I’m just saying, that’s all.” Helen stopped the car.

“You said he was a druid or a witch or something like that, Mum,” Lily piped up.

Poppy threw her eyes to heaven. “Don’t be silly, Lily!” She gave her daughter a look that could have frozen hell over.

With that, a bearded man dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt appeared.

“There he is,” Poppy said, giving him a wave. “You go first, Helen, he’s expecting you.”

“A bit sceptical, are we?” the medium, Jeff, said without looking up. He shuffled a deck of tarot cards.

“I like to call it open-minded,” Helen said, determined not to say too much lest she make his job easier. She felt strangely comfortable in his room though. It was warm and welcoming. One plain white candle burned on the desk. There were bookshelves stuffed with books: it looked like a personal library. Jeff was around fifty, Helen guessed. He had a full head of curly, salt-and-pepper hair and a beard. Not a wizard-type beard though, Helen smiled to herself, an everyday run-of-the-mill beard.

“You’ve a red aura. Strong energy. You’re a fighter, with a strong Mars influence.” He continued to shuffle. “You live life in the fast lane. I see orange too. You’re a highly sexual person and apart from your physical appearance you have a strong sexual energy that draws both men and women to you.”

Helen opened her mouth to speak but Jeff raised his hand.

“I’ll answer all your questions, Helen, but for now just let it flow. Your spirit guide is here with you.”

Helen shifted a little uncomfortably in the chair, resisting the temptation to look behind her.

“He’s standing on your left,” Jeff continued. “There is also a young man with a crew-cut. He’s wearing some sort of uniform.”

“My father!” The words escaped her lips despite herself. A shiver ran down her spine. How could he know that? She struggled for her practical mind to find the answer but her heart longed for contact with her father.

“There’s another name coming through . . . begins with B, no it’s R, a lover of yours maybe?” Jeff stopped shuffling.

“My, em . . .” Helen couldn’t find the right word, she wasn’t sure if there was a right word, “friend.”

“You don’t have sex with friends. Tread carefully around him. Having sex with him is stunting you.”

Helen sat in silence. One thing was for sure, Jeff had her attention now.

Jeff laid down the tarot cards, one by one, unravelling her life and secrets with each one. “Your creative side is suppressed, that’s not good for you. You need to develop your creativity – you’re stagnating in work. Someone is jealous of you – watch your back.”

Helen regained her composure. He was wrong – her job was flying, they wanted her to help set up office in Hong Kong, for God’s sake.

“Beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Now he’s just being cryptic.

He lay down another card – the Grim Reaper.

“There are a lot of changes on foot for you. You need to decide what you want and where you want to be. Open yourself up. Now would be a good time to go on holiday, somewhere you haven’t been before, experience something new, clear your head, consider your habits – drinking and sex. You use sex as a barrier to intimacy. Alcohol is masking your true feelings, making it appear as though you’re happy. You need to make important decisions that you’ve been postponing.”

Helen wondered if her spirit guide and dead father had been in the room while she was having sex. Were they ever there when she was on the loo?

God, Helen, think of a worthwhile question! Her mind raced with inconsequential thoughts.

“The spirit world is very respectful of the living, you know,” Jeff said.

Was he a mind-reader as well?

It felt like only five minutes had passed when he asked her if she had any questions – she’d been sitting with him for over an hour. She studied the small gold ring on her little finger. The ring that her father had kept for her – it had belonged to his mother.

“So my father, he’s with me?”

“Yes. You have support from the angels and your spirit guides. But you also have free will. They’ll only help if you call upon them and ask them to.”

Helen Devine was not one to ask for help. She wondered if she could start now. She made a mental note not to think about her spirit guides when in the bathroom though, especially if she was Betty-fying, lest they appear at an inappropriate time.

She stood to leave, unable to ask the one question that burned. She thanked Jeff and wondered if her dad would leave with her.

“Helen?” Jeff said as she opened the door.

“Your dad asked me to tell you. Your son – he’s doing fine.”

Chapter 29

Helen and Lily sat in the car while Poppy had her reading.

“You okay, Helen? You look kind of freaked out?” Lily hadn’t gone for a reading. Jeff had thought, because she was still a teen, a healing would be more appropriate.

Helen stopped scribbling in her notebook. She looked up – her eyes were clear and alive. “Sorry, Lil, I’m not much company, am I? I wanted to write down every little word Jeff said to me – I’m already beginning to forget some things.”

It had been a long time since she’d been alone with her goddaughter. When Poppy rang her with yet another worry about Lily, Helen sometimes felt irritated, thinking the teen just needed a good kick up the arse. She felt a pang of guilt now for that.

“He said my father was in the room with me, he could even describe what he looked like,” she told Lily.

“Savage! Did you get to talk to him?”

“No, well, sort of – through Jeff – he told me things I needed to hear.” She put the notebook down. “What about the healing – how does that work?”

“Pretty cool, all I did was lie down on the plinth – Jeff covered me in blankets. He said he was doing Reiki, clearing energy centres or something. His hands hovered over me – the heat from them was amazing. He just touched my feet, head and shoulders though. Strange thing was I felt all warm and fuzzy. I think I fell asleep ’cos it was all over too soon.” Lily yawned as she tugged at the sleeves of her black hoody, conscious of the marks on her arms.

“Why did you cut yourself, Lily?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Lily said, looking away.

“Try me.”

Silence fell, while Lily struggled to find the words to explain why she’d been self-harming.

“The pain inside gets so bad, I can’t bear it. When I cut myself, it relieves it, lets it out.”

Helen didn’t understand, but she wanted to. “Do you hate yourself, is that the pain?”

“I guess so. Jeez, Helen – even my own family hardly know I exist. Other girls in my class, their grandparents want to spend time with them, buy them stuff their parents won’t. Mine, if I did see them, would probably ask what my name was and offer me a spliff.” Lily looked at Helen for confirmation, before rubbing one of her heavy black-kohl eyes. She pulled down the passenger sun-visor and started to apply more of the dark liner to the inner rim of her eyes.

Helen shrugged – she couldn’t deny it. She said nothing.

Encouraged, Lily continued. “I’ve no father. All Poppy knows is that his name was Massimo and he was working as a pizza waiter in Florence during his summer holidays.”

Helen winced slightly, remembering one of the first holidays she’d been on with Poppy, without Mary. “We were young and foolish. I think it was looking at all those naked statues – penises were everywhere you looked in Florence. That and the heat had us high on life. After we had been to see the Statue of David, we stopped at a pizzeria on the piazza.”

“I know. I’ve heard the story like a million times. Massimo was studying art, he’d beautiful big brown eyes and the pizza he served was sublime. The combination of which was intoxicating – blah blah. One night of passion, a burst condom and bingo! Nine months later, I pop out.”

“She told you about the condom then?” Helen said, rubbing her forehead.

“Yes, too much information, but Poppy’s all about open communication as you know,” Lily sighed.

Helen was stuck for words. Poppy had made an effort to contact Massimo but he was off the radar. The restaurant had paid him in cash – he was a casual summer worker from another town. Without a surname or address, he’d been impossible to trace.

Lily appeared not to notice Helen’s silence because she continued, “I’ve no brothers or sisters that I know of. My classmates think I’m weird and kind of avoid me. I think half of them are scared of me, to be honest.” She rubbed the corner of her mouth to fix a smudge on her Angel-of-Death lipstick. She popped the visor back up.

“That might be the whole dressing-in-black, being-angry-at-the-world vibe, Lil.” Helen was treading on dangerous waters. “You’ve got your mum, she’s better than most mums and dads put together.”

Lily stared out at the rain.

“Then there’s me and Mary – you’re the grandchild I never gave her.” Helen’s stomach tightened as she uttered those words, but she continued, “We’re not even blood and we want you around, so that has to say something, hey?”

“Yeah, it does – you’re just as weird.”

“Seriously, Lil, there are times you wreck my head but I love you – tell me what I can do to help.” She brushed Lily’s hair back off her face.

“I’m seeing a therapist now, she’s great. And, maybe it’s my imagination but after that Reiki session I feel good.” Lily smiled at Helen, a little shyly.

“Good, you deserve to feel better, Lily.” She took the girl’s hand in hers.

“What’s with the PDA?” Lily laughed.

Helen was puzzled. “The iPhone?”

Lily rolled her eyes, “PDA – Public Display of Affection – it’s not like you.”

“I can have my tender moments. Just don’t tell anyone – especially not your mother. She’ll see it as a sign to help me release my inner child or some baloney. I’ve got a Hard-nosed Bitch image to protect!”

Lily creased up with laughter.

“I’m not joking.” Helen tried to sound serious, but failed.

In the rear-view mirror, they could see Poppy approaching the car – her long emerald skirt billowing in the wind, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

“That was fantastic!” she declared as she opened the car door.

“You don’t look fantastic,” Lily frowned.

“Oh, I’m just so happy. Let’s go,” Poppy said, blowing her nose.

“Tara?” Helen asked, turning the key in the ignition and driving off, not waiting for an answer.

Chapter 30

It was late – the tourist buses had left. They were the only three on the Hill of Tara, except for the sheep.

“It’s amazing here.” Lily was looking all around her, taking in the layers of peaks and valleys, as far as the eye could see.

“It’s bloody cold is what it is,” Helen said, pulling her leather jacket tightly around her, trying to protect herself from the wind. “But do I love this place.” She took hold of Lily’s arm and huddled into her for added body heat.

“Ancient mythology says Tara was the entrance to other worlds of eternal youth, abundance and joy!” Poppy shouted above the noise of the wind.

“I should come here more often then – save myself a fortune on Botox,” Helen laughed.

“St Patrick came here to drive out the pagan gods where they were at their most powerful. Come on, let’s each make a wish.” Poppy took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tilted her face towards the dying sun.

Helen and Lily looked at each other, unsure what to do.

“I wish for love,” Poppy said.

“I wish for a new friendship,” Lily said, looking at Poppy to see was that the kind of wish she had in mind. Poppy’s eyes remained closed. Instead, Helen gave Lily the thumbs-up.

“I wish to be my own boss and be more Zen but still earn big bucks and be a sex goddess,” said Helen. “I also wish to lose ten pounds and fall in love with a really nice hunk, who adores me and isn’t a shit.”

“Helen!”

“What?”

Poppy decided to let her off. “Now release your wishes, send them to the Universe, the gods and goddesses, and let them take care of the details.”

“I like that,” Helen said. “Let someone else work out the details.”

The sun was a setting fireball – some grey clouds striped across it gave it an ethereal look. Darkness was descending on the hill. Sheep continued to graze, unperturbed by the people and their drums.

Drums.

“You know it’s the darndest thing, I swear I can still hear those Krishna drums ringing in my ears.” Helen rapidly rubbed her index fingers against her ears.

“I think that’s probably what you’re hearing, Helen.” Lily pointed in the direction of three silhouettes that were coming their way.

“What on earth are they wearing?” Helen double-blinked to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

“Cloaks,” Poppy said.

“Cloaks – as in witches’ cloaks?” Helen asked, her voice rivalling a soprano’s.

“Maybe they’re real-life druids?” Lily was wide-eyed.

“No, druids’ cloaks would be white – I’d say they’re Wiccan.”

“Wiccan, as in . . . ” Helen swallowed hard.

“Witches,” Lily and Poppy said together with jubilance.

Poppy has finally lost it, Helen thought, and wondered would they catch up with her via broomsticks if she made a bolt for it.

“Merry meet!” a cloaked man called out.

He wore a regal cape and carried a staff made from a tree branch. He stabbed it into the muddy grass with each step. With him were two women. All were apparently in their late fifties and, apart from their outfits, they looked like members of a book club. One of the ladies had a small bodhrán under her cloak. She was drumming as she walked.

“Ah, would you look at who it is! Poppy Power, great to see you,” the man said, adjusting his glasses as he approached them. “How’ve you been?”

“Barney, it’s yourself, sure I should have known! What are you celebrating?” Poppy gave him a warm hug.

They weren’t as Helen imagined witches should look. She couldn’t picture them having naked orgies on stone altars. Mind you, until this morning she wouldn’t have thought of her mother having sex either – gross, as Lily might say.

“It’s Mabon – the autumn equinox. We were giving thanks to Mother Earth, for the harvest.” He nodded hello to Helen and Lily. “Must be my lucky day, all you lovely ladies to myself. Will you join us for a cuppa?”

“We’d love to, wouldn’t we, girls?” Poppy didn’t wait for them to answer. “We were just on our way to the coffee-shop ourselves.”

Helen wished the pagan gods or St Patrick himself would come through the veiled world, and swallow her up right now. She wasn’t sure whether she was intrigued, mortified or scared.

The others chatted as they were slip-sliding off the Hill of Tara, towards the coffee-shop. Helen looked around her. It was rather dark now. A sheep bleated, causing her to jump. She decided Poppy and her band of witches were the lesser of two evils. She made after them, seesawing her arms as a balancing pole in an effort to remain vertical as she shimmied down the hilly mudslide. She thought about the people she’d met today: Ryvita, sorry, Ry, the Hare Krishna, Jeff the “I talk to dead people” and Barney the witch. Helen wondered who on earth Poppy would introduce her to next: Puff the Magic Dragon? Suddenly, life in London was looking very mundane.

A small light glowed from inside Maguire’s cottage-like coffee-shop close to Tara’s entrance. The owner laid out a big pot of tea and a selection of cakes on a round, wooden table. In the centre of the table lay a tied bunch of purple heather and a candle. He wouldn’t take any payment, saying that the cakes were left over at the end of the day anyway and he was glad not to have given them all to the crows. The group chatted happily for while but, aware the owner was waiting to lock up, they didn’t linger too long. As they left, Helen thought they must have looked like an odd bunch of people to anyone who might be passing by, but surprisingly she didn’t care. It was probably just as well that Poppy hadn’t brought the Hare Krishna along though.

“That was fierce,” Lily said, climbing into the back of Helen’s car.

“Fierce is good – right?” Helen asked Poppy, who nodded.

Lily had bought a book on the way out of the coffee-shop. “A Guide to Witchcraft,” she read the title out loud. “Mum, I think I’d like to become a witch.”

A vegetarian, Goth, lesbian witch, Helen thought – and she wonders why she doesn’t fit in? She looked around at Lily, who had already started reading the book, and decided to say nothing. She looked happy, so if that’s what made her happy who was she to judge?

“You never told me what Jeff said to you,” Poppy said as Helen steered off the slip road and onto the motorway.

“You never told me you had friends in a coven!”

“They’re not a coven. Anyway, could you imagine your reaction if I said, ‘Oh, I was just talking to Barney, he’s the witch by the way.’ You’d have had me locked up! Now that you’ve met them, you can see there’s nothing odd about it. People just fear what they don’t know, and propaganda has them painted as crooked-nose, green-faced hags.” Poppy stared out at the line of white car lights coming from the opposite direction, lost in thought.

“He said lots – Jeff.” Helen broke into her reverie. “He said it’d be a good time for me to travel, re-think my life at Eden. I’ve decided I’d like to go to Vietnam, see where Dad was killed.”

“Vietnam, imagine. God, I’d love to go there,” Poppy said.

“Go with her then.” Lily piped up from the back seat, without looking up from her book.

“How could I possibly take off to Vietnam? You’re back in school for a start.” Poppy turned to Lily. “And it is Leaving Cert year so I can’t take you out. Besides, where would I get the money?” She slumped back around in the front seat – her wishful thinking had gone flat.

“Poppy, the best things in life are free – ‘for everything else, there’s a MasterCard’,” Helen said.

“I’ll stay with Marma. I could do with a few decent dinners anyway,” Lily giggled.

“It’s true. Mary is always asking her to stay. Remember when she was doing her Junior Cert, Lily moved in for three weeks, to get away from the noise in your house.” Helen was thinking it might also put a hold on her mother’s libido.

“My chanting and drumming circles aren’t noise!” Poppy was indignant. “But, Helen, do you really think it possible? You’re just back from Hong Kong.” She was getting her hopes up again.

“That was work! I haven’t had more than a few days’ leave in nearly two years. Are you sure, if we can sort the details, that you’d be okay, Lil?” It could be just what everyone needed.

“Go for it – just don’t come back with a little Vietnamese man tucked into your suitcase, Mum.” Lily was definitely sounding like her old self again.

“Right, that’s sorted then,” said Helen. “Wishful thinking on the Hill of Tara is all well and good but I prefer to be in the driving seat of my life. If Mary’s happy to have Lily and JD stay with her, first thing tomorrow morning I’m telling Fred I’m taking a long-overdue holiday.” It would also be the perfect smokescreen to avoid the whole other mess with Fred. She was getting masterful at dodging him.

Poppy opened the car window to shout at passing traffic.

“Yeehaw! Vietnam, here we come!”