Chapter 49

“Hello, Mr Jack! How are you this evening?” the ever-friendly reception clerk enquired.

“Great, thanks – better after a nap and shower.”

“Very good, very good. Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m just going to access the internet if that’s okay?” Jack cocked his thumb towards the guest computer, which sat off from the entrance lobby.

“Of course, Mr Jack, be my guest. How was Halong bay – you like?”

“Highlight of Asia so far, Quan, I loved it,” Jack grinned.

“You want me to book another tour, Mr Jack, just let me know. Please.” Quan nodded and motioned Jack to the computer seat.

“Any chance of a beer, Quan?”

“You got it! Coming up, anything for our favourite guest – good to have you back again, Mr Jack.” Quan patted Jack’s shoulder.

Jack logged on to his email. He’d promised his mom he’d make contact. “A postcard won’t cut it, Jack,” she’d said. “If you won’t take a cell phone with you, at least email me, let me know you’re safe and how and where I can get in touch with you.”

Fair enough, he thought. He set about reassuring his mother of his whereabouts and painting with words the beauty of Halong Bay. That was until another email caught his eye.

Inbox

From: Amy Forbes

Subject: Hello

It hit in his stomach. Every day for the past year, he had thought about Amy. Hell, he’d moved to Dubai to try to forget her. But it hadn’t worked. Jack considered pressing delete. It occurred to him with renewed force that in the last two days he hadn’t been plagued with thoughts of Amy. And now, here she was with a “Hello” and all the old feelings came rushing back, as if he’d only lost her yesterday.

He opened the email.

Hey Handsome, How are you? I heard on the grapevine you’re on vacation in Asia. When will you be back in New York? I miss our connection. Jack baby, I feel I’ve made a terrible mistake.

Helen spotted Jack’s distinctive frame as soon as she entered the hotel. She felt a gush of relief that he was there. Thank you, God, she said silently.

“Can I help you, ladies?”

“Hi, we’re here to meet Jack.”

“Ah, Mr Jack! Of course – there he is.” Quan smiled broadly,

The best bit of Asia, indeed, Mr Jack, the lucky man.

On hearing the voices, Jack clicked the x, to shut down Amy’s email. He turned and saw Helen. Little wonder he hadn’t thought of Amy.

“Wow, what’s with the bags?” he laughed and got up to help the girls with their load. They were still in the same clothes and were laden down with luggage.

“I know we’ve just met and all but I was thinking . . .” Helen teased but then reddened. Was she imagining it, or was he distracted, disappointed to see her?

“Don’t mind her, Jack, there was a cock-up,” Poppy said and she blew air on her face. “Our bags were left at our last hotel down the road. Can we borrow your room for ten minutes to change?”

“Sure, no problem.” Jack rubbed the back of his head.

“This hotel is lovely – I thought you said you were backpacking around Asia,” Helen said.

“I like it here and they gave me a great rate. Besides, it’s good to mix it up. Little bits of comfort between the hostels. Here, let me help you with those.” He picked up both bags and made for the elevator.

Quan looked on, bemused at the interaction. Mr Jack and the two pretty women disappeared out of sight, headed for Jack’s room. Lucky, lucky man.

The lift was minuscule and Jack had to push up against Helen to fit in with the luggage. He smelt good and she could get the same scent as soon as she stepped into his room. The room was small, neat and decorated with carved dark-wood furniture, traditional Vietnamese style. There was a small balcony that looked out on the buildings opposite – pressed together they looked like crooked tubes that might crumble at the slightest touch. Yet somehow they held each other up, as a group of drunks might, TV aerials and washing lines dotted along the rooftops. The heavy red drapes and fine furnishings of the room seemed a world away from the scene outside.

Jack put the bags down. “The bathroom is in here.” He flicked on the light.

“Great, thanks,” Poppy said, already unzipping her bag.

Helen and Jack looked at each other. Suddenly, the double bed felt like the only item in the room. Helen sat on the end of it and loosened her ponytail. She began to brush her hair.

Jack watched her for a moment before he looked away.

“I have to finish sending an email, so take your time,” he said as he headed out the door, lightly bumping into the frame. “I’ll leave the key with you in case you need it.”

“Thanks, Jack, fifteen minutes tops,” Helen said.

“ It’s okay – I’ve got a sister – I’ll see you in an hour.” He smiled, closing the door behind him.

Helen looked around the room. There was a notebook, a travel journal maybe, on the nightstand, but that was all. Jack kept the room neat, evidence of personal belongings minimal. She wandered into the bathroom. Jack’s wash-bag was on top of the toilet cistern – unzipped. Helen hovered over it, to see what she could see, without actually touching it. Is that where the condoms are? Stop, Helen, be nice!

She distracted herself by getting washed. As she brushed her teeth, her eyes wandered back to the bag. She used the handle of her toothbrush to open it up a little further, as if not touching it directly made it less of an infringement of privacy. The bag contained the usual guy stuff as far as she could make out before her conscience got the better of her and she stopped. Why she wasn’t tempted to touch his diary, yet was fascinated by his toiletries, was beyond her. Until it dawned on her.

Damn it. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and the truth stared back at her. She had fallen for Jack Taylor. Fallen hard.

“What are you doing?” Poppy stood in the doorway.

Helen jumped. “Bloody hell, can I not pee in peace!”

“I’d say you were having a good old-fashioned nose around.”

“I know, I know I shouldn’t have.” Helen spat into the sink. “He’s very tidy for a bloke, isn’t he?”

Poppy knew Helen well enough to know that despite her protests she liked this guy, which made what she wanted to say easier.

“Helen, would you mind if I bailed on tonight?” she said, wincing.

“Why, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just a headache is all. I was going to say it earlier but we’d to come over to get the bags and everything.”

Helen swallowed hard. “It’s alright, Jack will understand. Maybe we can catch him tomorrow instead.” She looked away.

“Honestly, Helen, I’m a big girl, I’d feel awful if you missed out on your night. I’d book in here in a heartbeat but we’ve left our day bags back in the Army. I don’t want to get court-martialled.”

“I’d feel weird letting you go off on your own when you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m grand, it’s only a headache and no offence but I’m feeling out of sorts and could do with some alone time.” She scrunched her face as though preparing for an onslaught of coaxing.

“Are you going to invite Keith over?”

“Lord no – in the cold light of day we both realised we weren’t going to be getting our rocks off – with each other. I’ll text him – he’ll be cool with it.”

Helen knew that though she and Poppy loved each other, being with one person, that you aren’t bonking, twenty-four-seven got a bit difficult after a while.

“You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?” She raised an eyebrow and Poppy nodded sheepishly. Helen sighed, Poppy was easygoing but once she made her mind up, she was stubborn as hell, which she often conveniently blamed on her red hair.

Jack didn’t return to the computer, opting instead to wait in the bar. He thought about Amy, and all the months he’d have given his right arm to hear the words, “I’ve made a mistake, I love you, and I want you back.”

Now, when he had finally started to feel normal again, she came crashing through cyberspace, to rain on his parade. It was as if she had a sixth sense that he was interested in another woman for the first time since the break-up. Amy didn’t like other women – she used to say she was more of a man’s kind of woman. She was right there. Problem was – she liked all of them.

He took a gulp of beer and looked vacantly around the room, lost in his world. From the small bar, he could see into a dining area that had more wait-staff than customers. A Western woman was holding a Vietnamese baby, who looked to be about ten months old. The woman, weighed down with baby paraphernalia, was gently bouncing the baby in an effort to ease its crying. The staff tried to help her. The waiter lifted the baby and spoke gently in Vietnamese. This appeared to reassure the baby. The other waiter got something from the buffet, a local dish. Whatever it was, it worked and the baby started cooing.

“The babies here, they like this. Do you want to take some with you for the journey?” the waiter, now involved in the scenario, asked.

“Yes, thank you. That’d be great. Is it sterile though?” The woman’s voice was tense. She was about forty and appeared to be alone. Presumably, the baby was her newly adopted son. It wasn’t the first that Jack had seen on his travels here and wordlessly he wished them both well. The woman expressed her thanks to the staff, gave a generous tip and left.

Her exit left a void – not physically – it was something else. The waiters looked after her and waved goodbye to the baby, who watched them from over his new mother’s shoulder. They stood in silence, looking out the door, long after the woman and baby were gone. It can’t be easy to watch so many of your nation’s babies leave, to start a new life abroad. From the look on their faces Jack detected a mix of hope and regret. Or were they his own feelings?

“There you are, Jack, thanks for the room, you’re a lifesaver.” Poppy handed Jack back his key.

“Why the bags? Are you not leaving them there until later?” he asked, his face not hiding his disappointment.

“I’m afraid I have to love you and leave you tonight, Jack. I’m shattered and I have a headache. Bed, my book and a chat with my daughter on the phone is all I want tonight. We’ve still got tomorrow night in Hanoi, so hopefully I’ll catch you then.” She reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which he returned with a hug.

“Would you still like to hang out tonight, Helen? I mean, I’m free if you are?” Jack rubbed the back of his head.

“Of course!” Helen blinked rapidly, giving a visual hint of her heart rate.

“Right, you two go have fun but help me get these bags into a taxi first.”

As she was about to get into a taxi a few minutes later, Poppy paused.

“Oh, I’ll give you Keith’s number,” she said. “You can text him and let him know where you are.” She suppressed a smile – she loved to stir it.

Helen and Jack remained as silent as two kids caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Didn’t think so,” Poppy said under her breath as she got into the taxi.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she waved goodbye. She sat back, alone at last. She shuddered though. She had an uneasy feeling she couldn’t identify, and it was nothing to do with the headache. This was a feeling of apprehension that she had never felt before. She picked up her phone and called home.

Chapter 50

They decided to start the evening with a drink, to take in the lights and life over by the lake, a ten-minute walk from Jack’s hotel.

As they turned to go, Jack gently put his hand on the small of Helen’s back. A simple touch, but it broke the nervous tension between them as they walked together.

Soon they were in a section of Hanoi where the Old Quarter was behind them, the commercial area of the Hoan Kiem district was beside them and the lake by the same name lay in front of them. That is, if they could cross an open mass of thoroughfare, fed by several roads. Cars, bikes, cyclists were honking and weaving their way from the numerous different directions that converged on this one corner. All focused on where they were going but appeared unaware of the other road-users. In the centre of the intersection, petrified tourists clung to each other paralysed with terror, rabbits caught in headlights as the traffic whizzed perilously around them.

“Oh God, I hate this bit!” Helen shouted above the roar of traffic. She stood precariously at the side of the road, edging a foot out, but stepping back again.

“It’s pretty awesome.” Jack was enjoying the pandemonium.

“Is ‘awesome’ an Americanism for certain death?”

Jack just chuckled.

“Apparently there’s an art to crossing here,” said Helen. “I read it in The Rough Guide.”

“I know and it works. Here, take my hand. Whatever you do don’t stop. Walk at a steady pace and keep looking straight ahead. They’ll go around you, but if you stop or hesitate, you’ll either get stuck in the middle of the road,” he nodded towards the tourists to reiterate his point, “or you’ll get knocked down.”

Charming.

But Helen enjoyed playing the role of damsel in distress.

With a deep breath, and not looking left or right they stepped into the mêlée.

A local woman with two baskets of flowers hanging from her shoulders walked before them, peacefully, with a tick-tock rhythm. Apparently unperturbed by her surroundings, she reminded Helen of the women they’d seen on the country roads early that day. So alike yet it seemed to be a world away.

“Stick with us,” Jack said to the stranded tourists, still rooted in the middle of the road. They followed in Jack and Helen’s steps and soon all four were safe, by Hanoi standards, on the footpath. Helen took a breath of relief and thought the old saying, Be sure to wear clean underwear in case you get knocked down crossing the road, must have been coined in Hanoi. She thought of her mum.

Helen and Jack climbed four flights of narrow stairs to the restaurant-cum-bar. They got prime seats on the balcony, overlooking the lake and the road they’d managed to survive. They ordered two cocktails.

“They’re the same price as a main course, so they won’t mind us hogging a table with a view.” Helen pointed out.

“You’re all heart.” Jack grinned at her. “I love the way you’re convinced we’re drinking cocktails for the good of the establishment’s turnover.”

“I can tell you, Jack, I’ve done a lot of charitable drinking in my day: charity lunches, gala balls and what not. It’s tough work, but someone has to do it.”

One cocktail became two, as they sat for an hour watching the world go by. They laughed at the numerous tourists negotiating the minefield below. They placed bets on which ones would make it and who would get stuck. Sometimes they sat in silence and watched the world go by. The streets were illuminated with street lights, neon signs and colourful street vendors’ stalls.

“That ring you wear is pretty. It looks old – sentimental value?” Jack asked. He’d noticed Helen absently twisting it since he’d first met her.

“It was my grandmother’s, on my dad’s side. Apparently he said I was to have it when I came of age, whatever he meant by that.” Helen held out her hand, gazing at her ring.

She looked content. Jack didn’t pry.

“He died when I was just a tot. My mum gave me the ring when I . . .” Helen’s voice trailed. “When I was older,” she smiled. “It’s after getting loose on this holiday though, look.” She pulled the ring off easily. “Virtually my sole source of nutrition since I got here has been cocktails and rice.” She nodded, grinning. “Yes, I simplify my diet when travelling – rice and alcohol are least likely to give me Delhi Belly – even in Hanoi.”

But Jack was more interested in hearing about Helen the woman – not her strange dietary plan.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Jack said simply. “Coming of age – what age is that in Ireland – sixteen, eighteen?”

“Traditionally twenty-one, but now eighteen is the legal age for voting etc. And, in fact, some have big parties for sixteenth birthdays also.”

“Any excuse for a party, hey?”

“What can I say, it’s Ireland,” Helen conceded. “From what my mother told me about my dad, I think coming of age meant something else to him – maturity, not a chronological age.”

Jack watched as Helen revealed another layer. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to know about her. Her phone buzzed.

“Sorry, Jack, it’s the office. I want to set up a meeting for a Vietnamese factory – do you mind if I take this?” Helen pointed to the phone – Jack waved her on.

Helen stood in a quiet corner as she talked. Jack stole quick glances at her. She fiddled with her hair a lot as she spoke. He admired her commitment to her job – he reckoned it showed her loyalty. He wondered why she wasn’t married – so far, what he’d seen of Helen Devine indicated she was the ideal woman. She seemed wise beyond her years yet had the vivaciousness of someone young at heart. She pressed a hand over her free ear and turned further into the corner, her back to him. And she had a cute butt too.

Helen rejoined Jack. “Where to next?”

They drained the last of their drinks as they stood.

“Fancy a jazz club?” Jack asked.

Jazz agreed on, they headed back down to street level.

“Taxi?” A cyclo-driver had pulled up beside them.

“How much to Pho Luong Van Can?” Jack haggled.

The driver – or more accurately, the cyclist – quoted a crazy price. Jack started to walk away. True to form, a minute or two later the two men agreed a price. The driver pretended to be disappointed and Jack knew he’d paid too much.

Helen and Jack climbed into the red upholstered carriage attached to the front of the bike.

“Are you sure he’ll be able to move with both of us on here?” Helen was dubious.

Jack had to stoop as he sat to avoid his head hitting the flower-printed canopy. The driver’s spindly legs pushed the pedals and the cyclo was propelled into the throng of the traffic, with apparent ease. The driver kept pinging the lever on the bike’s bell, though it was impossible to hear it amongst the din of traffic.

“I had a bell like that on my bike when I was about five!” Helen laughed.

Soon they were back into the narrow streets of the Old Quarter. The street kitchens smelt inviting, and the driver agreed to stop to let them eat. No more Dong were required for his wait time, if they would order from his sister’s stall. Agreed, they set off in the opposite direction.

“The best bun cha in Hanoi!” the driver reassured them, which was just as well as it turned out the only thing she served was bun cha, a noodle dish of vegetables and barbequed meat. Helen and Jack sat with the driver and his sister and chowed down, kerbside. Helen didn’t ask what type of meat it was.

“Where you go after, I wait for you,” the driver insisted as he dropped a full-bellied Jack and Helen at the jazz club.

“Thanks, man, but I intend to take my time.” Jack smiled as he peeled off an extra note as a tip. The driver gave Jack a knowing smile, pinged his bell and cycled away.

“I love it!” Helen said as they hit the smoky interior of the club.

They sat on two high stools at the bar. Having had his year’s supply of cocktails in the past forty-eight hours, Jack ordered a beer. Helen decided not to mix her drinks and ordered vodka, figuring it to be the basic roux of all cocktails.

“I feel like we’ve stepped into a time warp,” Helen said with child-like enthusiasm as she scanned the room.

The clientele were an eclectic mix of genres and age groups. A young Vietnamese girl danced as if she was the only person in the room and no one was watching her. Her black hair cropped tight, it stood out in spikes thanks to strong-hold hair gel. She wore a short skirt and her feet were bare – she was lost in the beat. She reminded Helen of a pixie were it not for the cigarette in her right hand. Also Helen wasn’t sure if a pixie would be stoned.

At a table next to the band sat a group of people in their mid-fifties. There was a tall, elegant Western woman in the group. Her hair was naturally grey but rather than aging her, it gave her an air of cool sophistication. She wore bohemian jewellery and clothes that hinted at a hippy-spent youth. She pulled on her cigarette and tapped her foot in time to the bass. The main man in the band appeared to have eyes only for her.

“I think it’s the prohibition vibe that makes it feel old-world.” Jack leaned closer to Helen. Her hair tickled his nose.

“Or Paris, in the twenties – decadence after the war years!” Helen lifted her glass. “Whatever it is, it works. I salute it.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

They were sitting very close. Their knees touched – neither moved away. Helen’s eyes sparkled, a little girl at a funfair. She chatted, laughed and moved her hands a lot in big gestures. She was warm and funny – Jack felt at home with her, at home here.

Strange, he thought, how things can change when you least expect it. Who’d have guessed that sitting with a woman who’d been a stranger a mere two days ago, listening to Vietnamese sounds mixed with classic jazz, in a communist country, would feel like home?

Chapter 51

“Yeah, Mum, sure, see you next week, eh, love you too.” Lily put down the phone.

“Is your mum gone already? I was hoping to talk to Helen.” Mary Devine came into the living room, drying her hands on a chequered teacloth. “She sent me a text saying she and Poppy are committing to Save the Pig. And that was all was said – what am I to make of that? I think she’d had one too many myself. Honest to God, they should have breathalysers on mobile phones, stop people sending cryptic texts like that. They’ve every other useless bell and whistle on them as it is, at least a breathalyser would be handy.”

Lily giggled but her eyes remained on the TV.

Mary’s brow creased. “Is that some kind of modern lingo – Save the Pig? I don’t know what the young ones are saying half the time these days.”

“Not that I know of – but Mum and Helen are kind of on their own unique wavelength. Helen wasn’t there anyway. Mum stayed in because she was tired or something. I think she’s homesick. She was even asking about Angelo – the coffee in Vietnam must be lousy.” Lily tucked her feet under her bum and flicked on the TV remote for day-time television.

“So who’s Helen out with?” Mary twisted the tea towel in her hands.

“Think Mum mentioned Freddie. That was it – Freddie Kruger,” Lily joked, more interested in flicking between Judge Judy and MTV.

“Don’t be so cheeky, madam!” Mary pretended to hit her with the towel. “You’re not too old to get a clip around the ear.”

Lily raised her arm in self-defence. “Hey, we’ve got Childline these days, you know!” she laughed.

“Honestly, Helen should have stayed in with your mother rather than going gallivanting around a communist capital at night. That girl will be the death of me!” Mary sighed. “Tea?”

“No thanks, Marma.” Lily had resumed channel-hopping.

“Oh, I’ll wait and have a cup with you in a while then.” Mary liked having the teenager stay even if it meant Cyril had to take a back seat for a few weeks.

As she moved to the door, quite unexpectedly, a wave of nausea came over her and she stumbled on her feet.

“You okay, Marma?” Lily got a fright as she saw the colour drain from Mary’s cheeks.

“Fine, love, just a bit dizzy.” Mary steadied herself against the settee.

“Here, sit down, I’ll make the tea.” Lily jumped up. “Did you do your bloods today?” She took hold of Mary’s arm and led her to the armchair.

“Look at you clucking like a mother hen – yes, and they’re fine.” Mary’s colour returned. “I do quite enjoy Judge Judy, though. I’ll just watch this one programme.” She adjusted a cushion to get comfortable. “Maybe I will have that cuppa, nothing like a good cuppa to make you feel better I always say. Do you know how to make tea, love?” She looked up at Lily, who had relaxed a bit.

“Yes! I love a cup of tea when I come in from school, with a Moro dipped in it. I’m not my mother, you know – I can make tea.” Lily smiled. “Though now I’ve been going to Angelo’s place, cappuccinos are kind of what I’m into.”

“Tell you what, why don’t we go to Angelo’s for our tea this evening?”

“Lethal.” Lily left the room.

“Not too strong!” Mary called after Lily. “I like my tea weak and my men strong!”

“Too much information, Marma!” Lily shouted out, as she put the kettle on.

Chapter 52

In Hanoi, the jazz club was swinging. Helen and Jack enjoyed their seats, with full view of the live band, but away from the core of the action.

“How come you’re here, Jack? Are you not lonely travelling alone?”

“Sometimes. I like my own company though. I wanted to see a bit of the world before heading back to the US – I might never get the chance again. Not until I’m retired anyway.” He smiled down at her.

“How come you chose to move to LA? It’s a long way from New York.”

“Exactly – I want to be,” he said seriously.

She waited for him to expand on that but he didn’t, so she sought for the right way to ask him why.

Then he grinned and added, “But it’s not as far as Dubai – and they’ve got surfing, or so I hear!”

“Are you from the city of New York?”

“No, New York State, Nyack. Do you know New York?”

“I’ll have you know, I was born in St Vincent’s Hospital on 13th Street!” Helen said, tilting her chin up.

“Wow, a real live New Yorker! You are full of surprises, Helen.”

Helen sipped on her drink. “Is it surfing you’re chasing or a woman you’re running from, maybe?” There, she’d said it!

“Maybe.” He looked away from her and shifted a little uncomfortably. “But it’s a fresh start. I don’t really know anyone in California. What about you? A good-looking lingerie designer, surely you can’t be single?” He tried to sound casual. Corny, Jack. He felt awkward flirting because he was terrible at it, or so he’d been told, but he was doing his best.

“Shocker, isn’t it, but that I am. Now,” Helen said.

“Now? Was it a man that had you packing your bags for Vietnam?”

“That, amongst other things.”

“What’s his name?”

“Rob. And the girl?”

“Amy.”

They smiled at each other.

“Was it serious?” she said gently.

“Yes, for me it was anyway. We were engaged to be married.” He swallowed some beer, avoiding eye contact again.

“I’m sorry, Jack, that must be tough.” Helen touched his arm gently.

“It was for the best, I guess. Amy and I were childhood sweethearts, I never questioned that we wouldn’t spend our whole lives together.” He stopped short of telling Helen the full extent of Amy’s cheating. It still made him feel inadequate. When Amy left, his confidence left with her. He wondered what another man offered her that he had been unable to provide.

“It’s not your fault if she cheated,” Helen said, thinking of her own situation. “I’m sorry – I don’t know where that came from, Jack.”

“And this Rob guy, what went wrong there?” Jack asked, steering the conversation away from Amy.

Helen shrugged. “It’s complicated. Rob was married – to his job and his bachelorhood – I just couldn’t see that.” It was true. She had lied to herself that Rob and she had a special connection. Now, here in Hanoi, thousands of miles away from him, she realised that he was probably seeing other people all along.

“When did you guys break up?”

“About a month ago,” Helen sighed, “but we weren’t even properly together. As I said, it’s complicated. We’ve a lot of history together.”

Ouch, Jack thought. His heart sank.

“You guys may still work it out, Helen – it’s early days.”

“I don’t want to sort it out. It’s time to move on – I’ve wasted too much time on something that was never going anywhere. It’s hard though, we live so close to each other, go to the same bars – when I’m back home that is, which is nearly every weekend when I’m not travelling with work.”

“I know that one!”

“Hence LA?” Helen asked.

“Hence LA,” Jack nodded.

As the Jazz Club filled up, they sat closer together until Jack gave his seat to a lady who was standing. He put his hand on the pillar behind Helen, his arm protecting her. Someone bumped into him and his hand ended up on Helen’s shoulder. He left it there. Now his body acted as a protective shield from the good-natured, albeit high-spirited crowd. They watched as the bar around them continued to rock. Then the band did a set of pop songs. It sounded strange to hear the familiar tunes given a jazz makeover but somehow it worked.

“Do you want to dance, Jack?”

Jack looked horrified at the suggestion.

“Come on, I love this song. There’s more room on the dance floor anyway.”

“I’ve got two left feet,” Jack protested.

“Excellent. Bad dancing competition, it is! I haven’t done one in ages!”

She held out her hand. How could he resist?

“Just follow my lead.” She pursed her lips. She wiggled her index finger and hips in exaggerated moves to a jazz version of Tom Jones’s “Sex Bomb”. “Get it, the worse dancer you are, the more likely you’ll win Bad Dancing!”

She still looked pretty good to Jack but he stuck his butt out anyway. To his surprise, it was easy to act like a dork, and before long he was jutting and throwing as many of his body parts as possible in various directions.

John Travolta, with ants in his pants.

“See, you’re a natural,” she laughed as he twirled her around. “A clear winner, Jack Taylor!” She flashed a smile as she tried to catch her breath.

The lights dimmed and the music slowed in tempo. People coupled off.

Helen and Jack looked at each other.

Perfect timing.

He put his arms around her waist and pulled her towards him. They swayed gently, hip to hip. She rested her head on his chest, feeling safer than she had in the longest time – if ever before. He closed his eyes and let go of his awkward feelings. He inhaled the scent of Helen – a heady mix of exotic amber filled his nostrils. He felt the softness of her breasts pressed against his ribs.

“So what’s my prize?” Jack whispered.

She looked up at him. For a moment, they held each other’s gaze. Slowly, naturally, their mouths found each other. The kiss was soft, as if happening in slow motion. Tingles coursed through Jack, as he tasted Helen for the first time. Helen flicked her tongue lightly against his teeth. The kiss became deeper, hungry.

They stood in the middle of the floor, not speaking, lost in each other. Time stood still for them.

It was only a kiss – but the passion was explosive.

The cool cat on sax led his seven-man crew to a grand finale. Helen and Jack remained locked in their moment, oblivious that the slow set was over. The place erupted with applause, whistles and good-humoured demands for the band to play on. Reluctantly, Helen and Jack broke away from each other but they didn’t break eye contact. Smiling they pressed their foreheads together and stood embracing as the club continued to buzz around them.

“Bon nuit et merci!” the velvet voice of the lead player announced. He was every bit a caricature of a jazz player, the look finished off with an oversized moustache.

The woman Helen had noticed earlier was standing now and clapping enthusiastically. “Encore!” she shouted.

The lights went up and the main doors opened – the night was over.

“I’m all hyped up now,” Helen said, looking at her watch, “and it’s only just after midnight!”

“Come on, Cinderella!” Jack took hold of Helen’s hand as he walked back to the bar.

That would make you my Prince Charming.

“Any chance of a few drinks, buddy?” Jack asked the barman.

“Sorry, we’ve stayed open late as it is. Curfew tonight.”

“Curfew?” Jack looked at Helen to see if she knew anything about this.

“That happened to Poppy and myself the first night we were here. We were expecting a swinging nightlife, instead the whole town shut down by half past ten.”

“They must have been tipped off you and Poppy were coming to town – my first few nights here were curfew-free.”

They headed out into the night air.

A motorbike taxi driver approached them. “You want nightclub? Out of town – no curfew, more drink.”

Helen and Jack looked at each other.

“Well, I don’t really want to end up in a brothel outside city limits, but if they serve late drink I might consider it.” She flashed Jack a wicked smile.

“You’ve definitely travelled the world, hey?”

“You better believe it. I’ve ended up in some very dodgy places in search of the Holy Grail.”

“Holy Grail?”

“Depends on the timing – the Holy Grail is usually rum in the first half of the evening but it morphs into a Big Mac as the evening progresses,” she said. “Remind me to tell you the story of when I brought a blind man to a strip-club-cum-brothel. That was my first and last attempt at charity work, before my lingerie life took over.”

“You’ve been to more then one brothel then?”

“Yep, it appears to be a hidden talent I have – sniffing out after-hours illegal drinking in the most unusual places,” she said proudly. “The brothels just happened to be attached. Which reminds me – I’ve got hooch!”

“It’s safe to say, Helen, I never met a girl like you before.” And didn’t he know it.

Helen started taxi negotiations without clarifying for Jack what exactly she meant by hooch or where she was taking him.

“So, it’s the French Quarter first – you wait for me. I’ll only be a few minutes, – okay?” Helen instructed the driver, arms pointing in various directions, having found her feet in the Hanoi ways.

“Okay, okay, get on!” the driver ordered.

Jack and Helen climbed on the back of a motorbike that wasn’t much bigger than a moped. As the driver only had one helmet, it was decided that they’d both go without. They sped through the streets, the wind blowing Helen’s long hair into Jack’s face. He couldn’t see a thing but was quite happy with the experience of Helen’s butt wedged between his legs. On cue, Helen writhed on the saddle.

“Yeehaw! Hello, Hanoi!” she shouted at the empty, rain-drenched streets, throwing her arms in the air. Liberated by the Bad Dancing contest, she was free to do whatever she wanted, without worrying how she looked. Her energy was infectious and Jack joined her in greeting the sleeping city.

The driver pulled up to a side entrance of the hotel, to avoid being seen by the guard on the door, with two slightly crazy tourists on board.

“Won’t be long,” Helen said, disappearing into the dark grounds.

Jack and the driver sat in silence. The driver offered him a cigarette. Jack shook his head. Minutes passed. Jack tapped his foot and tried to see if Helen was coming back. It was too dark. Even though he hadn’t actually agreed to whatever it was Helen was offering, so far he was enjoying the ride.

Soon after that Helen reappeared, much to Jack’s relief.

“I’d ask you in,” she said, “but Poppy is sleeping.” She held up a couple of cans of Coke and a battered old plastic bottle, which was full of a clear liquid.

Jack was intrigued.

“Mother’s milk.” She sniffed the bottle and wrinkled her nose. “Devil’s firewater might be more accurate actually,” she admitted.

“Where now?” the driver revved the throttle.

“Hong Ngoc Hotel, please,” Jack requested.

Right answer, Helen thought, the perfect answer actually.

Chapter 53

Helen insisted on paying the driver and gave him closer to the original amount he requested – a combination of goodwill and inebriation, which often made Helen feel extra generous. That and the fact they hadn’t ended up arrested or in Hanoi’s Accident and Emergency room. Job well done, the driver sped off.

“Goodnight, Mr Jack, Miss,” Quan nodded and smiled as they entered the lobby.

“Night, Quan.” Jack tried to look casual as though bringing a woman to his room was no big deal. He felt a tinge of apprehension. The kiss with Helen had been firecracker hot. That excited him but also scared him somewhat, if he was being honest. They’d talked more than they drank tonight, but he didn’t want her to think him presumptuous, by asking her to his hotel. She was so confident and wonderful. What if he disappointed her?

Helen couldn’t stop thinking about the taste of Jack’s kiss. Was she imagining it or was it something special? She’d thought things like that only happened in cheesy Hollywood movies. Yet, here she was, Helen Devine, cynic extraordinaire, wanting to touch her mouth, which still tingled as if sprinkled with pixie dust. This felt strange – her usual cynicism replaced by nervousness and anticipation. She liked it.

“Have you any ice?” She looked at Jack hopefully as she pulled the ring of the Coke can.

He shook his head, “I do have two plastic cups though.” He went into the bathroom and retrieved them. “So are you going to tell me what we’re drinking?”

“I’m not sure – call it hooch or moonshine. I bought it for a dollar from an old man at the back of a market – he made it himself, or his wife did, over an open fire. It must be organic.” Helen poured the clear liquid into the cup. “Straight or with coke?”

Jack took a sniff – the pungent smell of earth, smoke and alcohol accosted his nostrils. He coughed but simply said, “Interesting.”

“With Coke so,” Helen offered the can. She kicked off her shoes and settled on the bed. The overhead light in the room glared. Jack turned on the TV, instead of the table lamp, to spread a gentler glow. The channel set to MTV, he pressed mute.

“How about some Coldplay?” he tapped through his iPod and the soft sounds of “In My Place” flowed from the travel-dock.

“I like it, Pussycat Dolls on visual, real musicians on audio, best of both worlds.” Helen laughed.

They sipped their drinks. It was rank but neither admitted it.

“I think it’s made with potatoes, so one of your five a day.” She winced as she swallowed the foul-tasting hooch.

As the room was small, the only seat was the bed. Jack sat beside Helen but didn’t move to kiss her. There was an awkward silence.

“Are you excited to be moving to LA?” she asked.

Jack considered this for a moment, “I don’t know about ‘excited’ to be honest, I guess so. I love the sea and it’s south of LA I’m moving to, not the city – I don’t think I could handle the traffic and smog.”

“I admire your courage to try new things. Me, I’ve stayed stuck in a job I lost interest in long ago, unwilling or unable to move on.” She swished her drink in the cup.

“Now how can you say women’s underwear isn’t interesting?” he laughed.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Helen playfully punched at him. “I worked hard to get where I am, I thought getting to director level was what I wanted, and it was for a while. Now though, there’s no challenge. It’s well paid but other than that it’s, well, empty.”

“If you could do anything in the world, anything at all, if you’d no commitments, no contracts to fulfil, no financial restrictions – what would you do?”

“Gosh, part of me wants to move back to Dublin, part of me still loves lingerie and yet another part of me wants my life to account for something – to give something back to the world. I’d like a better work-life balance – as you said, actually use the Dubai apartment, enjoy the fruits of my labour.” She hugged her knees in as she thought of her possibilities outside of the box. “I don’t want to end up retired with nothing to show for life except a gold-plated bra – I reckon that’s what I’d get instead of a gold watch – home alone, with just my cats for company.”

“You’ve got a cat?” Jack asked, remembering how Carine, the French girl he’d met in Cambodia, had talked about her cat. If she hadn’t mentioned Halong Bay, he might not have even considered coming to Vietnam. Thanks, Carine.

“God, no – I’m allergic. I have a dog, JD.”

This appeared to please Jack. “I’m a dog person too.” He observed Helen, whose glow could have lit the room – no TV required. “And what about when you were a kid? What did you dream for your life?”

“Oh my God! Would you believe, I wanted to be a nun?” She waited for his reaction.

“Not possible! I don’t believe it,” he teased.

“Honestly, I wanted to be closer to the Highest Power and, anyway, apart from my dad, all boys were smelly and I would never want to touch one. Especially not after Roger the Dodger, as I called him, took out his willy in the garden shed – and it had a rash on it. Imagine, the first willy I ever saw had a red rash on it from Roger wetting his pants!” She hooted with laughter at the memory she had long forgotten.

“I can’t say I’d approve of you joining the convent as a career change. Maybe have a look at your other options though.”

“Are you mad? I’ve got a massive mortgage on my place in London plus an expensive addiction to anything with the word Prada on it.”

“I don’t know, Helen, maybe it was this moonshine that had you aglow, but you should have seen your face when you talked about what you really want in life.”

Jack had hit a nerve.

“I thought so many times about quitting and going off to travel the world – ride horses in Patagonia – bring Poppy to an Ashram in Kerala (and make sure she came back this time). Get on a plane to New York with Mum – take her back to the lights of her beloved 42nd Street. And then, maybe consider starting my own business.” Helen sat up straight. “You know, I still love designing, it’s the red tape and office politics I’m tired of. Anyway, it looks like I’ve missed the boat now – I should have done it a few years ago when world economies were flying high.” She sighed. Settling back into the pillow, she stifled a yawn.

“I don’t know, I think if you really want something you’ve just got to go for it.”

“Is that what you do? See something you want and go for it?” Helen’s question was loaded with double-meaning.

Jack wasn’t sure if she was being seductive or if it was wishful thinking on his part. Rather than risk looking foolish he answered at face value.

“Pretty much. Before, I had my whole life mapped out. Good old reliable Jack. Look where it got me. Now I’m happy I moved on. Hey, I’m moving to Southern California, that can’t be bad!” Despite his words, his tone lacked lustre.

Helen laid her head on her arm. She willed him to ask her to stay but she couldn’t read him. Maybe she was imagining it, but it was as if the atmosphere had turned more into friendship than lovers? Something was holding him back and she couldn’t figure it out. Maybe he just didn’t find her attractive – there was a big age gap after all. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for Jack to be with someone in their early twenties.

He carried on chatting as she studied his face. He had all the bits – good body, tanned skin, blond hair – but he didn’t have chiselled good looks. His baby face gave him more of a charm than a drop-dead gorgeous appearance. Helen liked that. But, probably what she found most attractive about him was his openness to life. It appeared as though no scepticism had crept up on him – whether that was to do with his age or his personality, who knew. She had a feeling with Jack Taylor that what you saw was what you got, no game-playing – unlike Rob. If she was right, then why couldn’t she work out what was going through his head now? What about that kiss?

There was a moment’s silence as Helen closed her eyes. Willing herself awake, she opened them wide and nipped at her drink. She scrunched her face inadvertently. “The hooch is really awful, isn’t it?”

Jack had hardly touched his. “Maybe it’d be better if we had ice,” he said politely.

They both laughed.

“You know, I’ve really enjoyed these couple of days with you,” he said. “I’ve felt at ease. When I was stuck on Halong Bay with those guys on the junk, I started to think travelling alone wasn’t such a good idea after all. But with you, I feel I’ve known you all my life. That sounds corny, doesn’t it?” His eyes scanned Helen’s face for a reaction.

“I know what you mean, Jack. It was very synchronistic. I’m glad we bumped into each other – you’re a great guy.” She smiled.

Jack thought now would be a good time to kiss her.

“So, before I go, tell me something, Jack – what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Very funny. I’m a big boy now, you know.” He took a gulp of his drink. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Helen’s voice was slightly husky.

Jack felt hot – he was embarrassed. “A cowboy.” Where the fuck did that come from? He’d meant to kiss her, not say something so bloody dumb.

“So where’s your lasso, Cowboy?” Helen laughed as she lay back on the bed.

“Hold that thought.” Jack nudged her playfully on the hip. He got up and went into the bathroom. He’d been holding off peeing for ages – it was getting to crisis point. Plus he was aroused – he needed to go now while he still had some chance of hitting the toilet bowl, instead of the ceiling.

After he used the toilet, he washed his hands and splashed water on his face. He dampened down his hair, put a tiny daub of toothpaste on his index finger, and manually cleaned his teeth. He didn’t want to make it too obvious to Helen what he was doing. She could easily hear him from the bedroom. He wondered if she’d notice if he put on aftershave. He tilted the bottle onto his other index finger and put the smallest touch of fragrance on his breast bone and just below the belt of his trousers. He slipped a condom into his back pocket. Was that presumptuous? Christ, he didn’t want to be disrespectful either. Why hadn’t he left one in his bedside locker? He checked the expiration date on the wrapper. It was okay – he was good to go. He took a deep breath and a final look in the mirror. Had it really been a year since he’d had sex? He hadn’t slept with anyone since Amy. He was ready.

Jack stood in the doorway of the bathroom trying to think of something witty to take attention away from his quick grooming. He watched Helen who was propped up against the pillows. She had her antique ring between her thumb and forefinger, and she watched it, trance-like, as she gently turned it over. He stood, soaking in the curve of her mouth, the way her hair fell in soft curls around her face. He took a deep breath and tried to rationalise the emotion he was feeling. He couldn’t. She looked over at him.

“You’re back then,” she smiled.

Responding with just a smile, Jack walked over to the bed and snuggled in beside her as he adjusted the pillows behind their backs. He put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to his body before running his fingers down her arm until his hand covered hers. She moved her fingers to mingle with his. They watched their hands exploring, as though they were blind and discovering a new lover’s face. The ring, at the tip of Helen’s little finger, looped around Jack’s as their fingertips met. He flipped it back on hers. It moved between them, back and forth with a tick-tock motion. Its effect was hypnotic. Jack bent, kissing the top of Helen’s head before kissing the nape of her neck as she pulled her hair aside. He could feel her goose bumps meeting his lips.

She shifted her leg, intertwining it with his. Slowly she slid her foot along the inside of his calf. Half-turning to him, she placed her hand on the inside of his thigh before it travelled upwards until she could feel his hardness through the heavy cotton of his jeans. She gently kneaded him before placing her hand to his face. She brushed her thumb along his cheek, as his fresh stubble tickled her. She brought her mouth to his, kissing it lightly. He responded to her kiss.

“I don’t want this to end,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t have to, Helen.” He traced his hand along her body, slipping it inside the top of her jeans, letting it linger before retracing his movements back up inside her T-shirt to the side of her breast.

She pulled away ever so slightly. “I mean it, Jack. We’re literally heading in different directions the day after tomorrow.”

Jack brushed away a loose strand of hair from Helen’s face. “We don’t have to do this, Helen. It’s okay.”

“I want to, it feels right. I just want it to be more than a one-night stand fuelled by jazz, cocktails and hooch.”

Jack knew he couldn’t say the real words that were tumbling to leave his mouth, for fear she’d think he was manipulating her. He hardly believed he could feel this way for a woman he’d only met. Yet, there they were – feelings of love, which defied logic. Instead he said, “I’m on my own timetable – which direction would you like me to go, Helen?”

Her eyes darted back and forth, searching his face.

“And I’m willing to carry the suitcases,” he added.

Helen’s face broke into a Pretty Woman style smile before lowering her hand. She had started to let it glide inside his T-shirt, exploring his chest, when he took hold of it.

“I mean it, Helen. You’re worth waiting for.”

“You’d take it slowly?”

Smiling he said, “I’ve waited for you my whole life, what’s a while longer?”

She grinned.

“My buddies say I should have a thirty-second time-delay installed on my mouth. That sounded pretty corny, hey?”

Helen threw her head back in laughter. “No . . . well, yes, but I loved it anyway.”

He pulled her to him and tickled her ribs. She resisted and the pillows fell away from the headboard. Jack wrapped his arms around her as they spooned. They lay in silence for a while, until Helen’s breathing became even, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. Her shoulders were bare where her T-shirt had slid off.

Jack hadn’t had this strong an attraction to an older woman before. Because he’d thought his life was with Amy he hadn’t thought about other woman as partners, period. Sure, he’d noticed attractive women but that was it, he’d been totally devoted to his girl. Thinking back he realised the women he’d found most interesting in the past were a little older than him. He looked at Helen again and it dawned on him he wasn’t attracted to her because she was older, he was just attracted to her, no story. Jack Taylor had finally moved on.

Gently he pulled part of the bedcovers over her as best he could before resuming their foetal position. Instinctively, even in slumber, Helen took his hand in hers. He savoured the moment of intimacy, until he too succumbed to sleep.

Chapter 54

Helen woke and tried to focus on the unfamiliar surroundings. It was the familiar feeling that business travellers often wake with, when hotels and cities start to blur into one. But this time warm memories of last night quickly replaced her confusion when she looked down and saw the strong masculine arm draped around her waist. She lay, not moving, and studied Jack Taylor’s forearm: that’s all she could see of him.

Helen loved a man’s hands, it was the first thing she noticed – that and shoes. Jack’s arms were muscular, with fine blonde curly hairs. He wore a practical, robust watch – it looked new. His hands were as a man’s should be in Helen’s book, strong with short-cut, spotless fingernails. She stayed in the stillness of the dawn for as long as she could and relished the moment, somehow knowing she’d remember it, always.

As time passed, she saw daylight break through the cracks in the curtains. She felt around for her phone, moving as little as possible and eventually found it under the pillow – its battery dead.

“Bugger,” she muttered. She figured it to be around seven in the morning. Poppy would be worried if she woke and Helen wasn’t there and hadn’t even sent a text.

She nudged Jack’s arm, to get a look at his watch, it read fifteen after seven.

Now Helen had a dilemma. Should she wake Jack and make mad passionate love to him, in the fresh light of a new day? Or, would she be a good friend and let Poppy know all was well and the day could go ahead as planned – once she’d had sex, that is. It was a difficult call. But then she had a brainwave.

Jack stirred and Helen turned to face him.

“Hey,” was all he managed to say.

“Hey,” Helen replied, playfully mimicking his Americanism.

She leant over and gently kissed him on the mouth. He responded.

“I’ll be back in a minute. I’ve got to call Poppy, let her know where I am.”

Jack edged his tongue between her lips. Helen kissed him back, before pulling away slightly.

“My phone is dead – I’ll pop down to reception.”

He pulled her closer to him. “Don’t be long.”

She felt his arousal through the bed covers – she kissed him on his forehead, and then, just as he had said to her last night, she added, “Hold that thought,” as she flicked the tip of his nose with her forefinger, teasing him. She grabbed her handbag, and stood at the door for a moment looking back at him. The anxiousness from last night was gone – she felt compelled to make love to this man.

Helen sang to herself in the lift. She laughed when she thought about what Poppy would say. Poppy would get great satisfaction from being right.

The same man was on the reception desk. “Good morning, Miss.” He smiled at her before shouting at some workmen in the small lobby. He turned back to her. “Some work being done today, to keep hotel nice.”

Helen fumbled in her bag for the card of the Army Hotel. She retrieved it and handed it to him, with a shy smile. It was her Walk of Shame smile.

“Could you ring this number for me, please?” She produced a few notes.

“No problem.” He pushed her money away. “Local calls – no need to pay, Miss. Room number?”

“It’s 311. I think.”

There was a crash – one of the workmen’s ladders had smashed into a mirror.

Seven years’ bad luck.

The poor desk clerk looked like he was about to have a heart attack. He handed Helen the receiver before he went running towards the destruction behind her.

“Helen?” Poppy’s tone sent shivers down Helen’s spine.

“Is everything all right, Poppy?” She pressed her hand against her ear, as she tried to cut out the hullabaloo of the argument going on behind her.

“Oh God, Helen, oh God . . .” Poppy sounded breathless.

“Poppy, can you please tell me what is going on! Are you okay?” Helen tried to keep the panic out of her voice. The workmen were all shouting at each other. She reached over the counter, picked up the phone, and brought it as far away from the din as the cord would allow.

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you,” Poppy sobbed. “There’s been an accident – it’s Lily. I’ve got to get home but no one in this fucking country can help me!”

“Poppy, stay calm,” Helen said with authority. “I’ll get us home. I’m on my way, Poppy. Just stay put till I get there.”

Helen headed to the street to hail a cab. It flashed through her head to run back up to Jack.

She went back and tugged at the hotel clerk as she tried to be heard above the noise of everyone shouting at the same time.

“Can you give Mr Jack a message? Tell him I had to leave, an emergency. I’ll call back later, okay?”

“Yes, yes, emergency, I tell him,” Quan said and returned to the shouting match.

In the short journey across town, Helen struggled with a barrage of thoughts but she engaged her usual survival tactic and decided not to think too much until she had all the facts. Thankfully, she’d taken her bag down with her to call Poppy because the hotel card was in there somewhere, under make-up, headache pills, pens and the mini-sketchpad that she carried everywhere. She hadn’t wanted to go rummaging in front of Jack.

Jack.

Helen opened the hotel-room door and saw Poppy’s tear-streaked face as she ran to her.

“Thank God you’re here, Helen!” Poppy sobbed.

Helen held her for a moment and rubbed her hair, as a mother would a child’s. “Poppy, I need you to tell me exactly what’s happened.” Her voice was soothing but firm. “I need you to calm down. Take a deep breath. Until I know what we’re dealing with I can’t help you.”

Poppy wiped her eyes – she looked dazed. “A garda, from home, called my mobile – only half an hour ago.” She stopped as she tried to remember exactly what he’d said. “He asked if I was Lily Power’s next of kin.” Her eyes welled up again.

“Go on.”

“He said she’d been in a traffic accident and is in intensive care. They’d been trying to contact me. I was asleep, I didn’t hear my phone. She’s there, alone, Helen, and I’m the other side of the world.” Panic rose in her voice again. “I tried calling you, I tried Mary but her mobile is off and there’s no answer at the house. I couldn’t even get the bloody airlines to pick up their fucking phones!”

“Okay, look, here’s what we’re going to do.” Helen took her friend by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Poppy. You’re in shock.”

She sat Poppy down and fetched a small brandy from the minibar fridge. Pouring it neat, she handed it to her.

“Mum’s with Lily,” she said. “That’s why you can’t get her at the house. You can’t use mobiles in ICU. Did the gardaí leave a phone number to call?”

Poppy pointed to a number she had scribbled down.

“Good. I’m going to make the call. Then I’ll call Eden’s head office. It’ll be open now and they’ll get us on the next flight home. Okay?”

Poppy looked numb but questions raced through her mind, quicker than she could process them. But now that Helen was here, everything would be all right. Helen was already on the phone getting the details of Lily’s condition, saying she was Poppy Power to avoid bureaucracy snags. Yes, there was someone at Lily’s bedside. Lily was stable, for now.

True to her word, Helen had Poppy in a taxi to the airport within the hour. They’d fly from Hanoi to the Middle East and from there they could fly directly into Dublin, cutting out the excruciatingly slow transfer through Heathrow. The two women sat in the back of the taxi, in silence. Helen held Poppy’s hand. There were no more reassurances to give – she just prayed the journey would go smoothly. Even with Eden’s travel department behind them it would still take nearly twenty-four hours to get home.

Helen looked out the window at the by-now-familiar Hanoi traffic chaos, her thoughts returning to Jack and how life can change in the blink of an eye. She still had the scent of his skin on her. In her head she relived the last few days over and over, then she stopped, feeling guilty that Lily was in hospital and all she could think about was a man she’d just met. Lily. Please, whatever power is up there – Jesus, Buddha, Krishna – Universe – just let her be okay.

The taxi broke free of the city-centre snarl and picked up speed towards the airport. It started to drizzle as they left Hanoi behind. As she left Jack behind, Jack whom she’d never even asked for a phone number as she thought she’d all the time in the world.

Chapter 55

Jack had fallen back into a semi-conscious sleep, one where he felt he was awake but he was still dreaming. He fantasised about Helen – she had blown his socks off. And in a few minutes, Helen would be back in his bed.

He stretched out his arm and realised that the bed was still empty, bar a few strands of long fair hair. How long had she been gone – five minutes? Maybe ten? He lay in bed for another few minutes before an uneasy feeling made it impossible to stay still. He looked around the room. The only sign that Helen had been there was the half-empty plastic bottle of hooch.

And the ring.

Helen’s ring, the one she always twisted, was entangled in the bed-sheet. She’d be in a panic when she realised she didn’t have it.

Jack pulled on a T-shirt and headed down to reception. He noticed a guy sweeping broken glass away from the main doorway.

“What’s going on, Quan?” Jack asked, rubbing his head.

“Mr Jack, how are you?” Quan replied, polite as ever. “Workers broke mirror. They supposed to be here to make hotel look nice, instead it look like bomb site. Not to worry, Mr Jack, it will all be fixed soon.” He smiled reassuringly.

“Quan, my friend, the tall girl, did you see her?” Jack asked uncomfortably.

Quan smiled. “You all very tall, but yes, I remember her, very lovely lady. She used the phone, then she left.” Quan hesitated. Was there something else? He couldn’t remember.

Jack looked bewildered.

“I wrote down the room number. Here, I call the hotel for you.” Quan, eager to please, dialled, despite Jack’s protests. Soon Quan looked as dejected as Jack did.

“They said the ladies have checked out already – sorry, Mr Jack.”

Jack checked his watch: it was a little after eight in the morning. He thought it odd that the girls had checked out so early, especially since they were scheduled to be in Hanoi until tomorrow. Had he misread the situation so badly? His face burned with embarrassment.

He tried to sound casual. “No worries, man, my mistake. I’d forgotten she’d mentioned something about moving hotel.” Anxious to escape Quan’s sympathetic eyes, he headed back upstairs.

In the background, a phone rang.

“Mr Jack! Mr Jack!” Quan’s excited voice called after him. “It’s the lady – she’s on the phone for you!” Quan was just short of jumping for joy, as he waved the phone, his hand over the mouthpiece.

Jack felt a rush of relief. He knew something had gone wrong. Helen wouldn’t just leave like that, especially not leaving her ring behind.

Quan cleared his throat. “One moment please, madam,” he said coolly before handing the phone over to Jack. With the excitement of winning the lottery, Quan nodded and winked. Everyone loves happy ending.

“Hello, Jack?”

Jack heard the unmistakable voice of the woman on the other end of the line.

“Amy?”

Quan resumed his duties but kept looking back at Jack, who nodded, smiled and gave him the thumbs-up, to indicate everything was good.

“Jack, you’ve been a hard man to trace,” Jack’s ex-girlfriend said softly.

“How did you find me? More importantly why did you find me?”

Amy sighed heavily. “Don’t get mad. Your mom gave me your hotel’s number. She knows how I’ve been trying to get hold of you. I need to see you, Jack.”

Jack’s mother thought Jack and Amy were a match made in heaven, despite recent events. This was obviously her idea of necessary intervention.

“Just hear me out, Jack, please.” Amy’s voice was strained. “I’m coming to see you. I just need you to wait in Hanoi for one more day until I get there.”

“Don’t be crazy, Amy. It’s the other side of the world – besides, it’s not exactly up to your standards.” He was remembering Amy’s dislike of all things non-sterile.

“Surely that tells you how serious I am. Hear me out, Jack, that’s all I ask – if you decide to walk away, I’ll let you go. For what we had, Jack, our childhood together. Our seven years as lovers, just give me this one little thing.”

Jack twisted Helen’s ring around the top of his little finger. Where was she?

He weakened, the hostility left his voice. “I’ve moved on, Amy, I met someone here.” He wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth.

There was a pause. Jack imagined Amy bristling – another woman.

“I’m pleased for you, Jack,” she said tightly. “I’ve booked into the Hanoi Hilton. All I ask is that you hear me out, and then the decision is yours.”

The Hanoi Hilton, how apt.

“The prison or the hotel?”

“I’m heading for my flight now. I’ll be there in less than a day. Twenty-four-hours – that’s all I’m asking, after all our years together.”

Amy knew how to manipulate – the gentleman in Jack would not let her down.

He sighed.

“And, Jack?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Chapter 56

Poppy felt like throwing up. Now back in Dublin, she wasn’t sure she could hold herself together any longer.

The flights had gone smoothly enough – they had travelled first class because Helen said it would ensure minimum cock-ups. As they disembarked from one plane, they directly boarded the next. With Helen’s phone dead and hers an out-of-credit pre-pay, they’d tried to swap SIM cards only to realise their phones were locked into different networks. If God was trying to test them, She was doing a sterling job of it. They got to a public phone long enough to leave a message that they were on their way. But the flight was on last call so they hung up, for fear of missing it. They’d run all the way to the gate.

Despite the tight flight connection, every minute had felt like an hour, every hour like an eternity. She had watched people laugh and felt angry that they were happy. She wanted to scream at the businessman in the row in front, who complained his duck was overcooked and his champagne not quite chilled to the correct temperature. Usually she’d have laughed at the triviality of it.

Helen had tried to get her to eat but instead she asked the air-steward to leave the full bottle of wine, in the hopes it would numb her pain or at least make her sleep for a while. It did neither.

When they landed in Dublin, a steward approached them.

“Ms Power, Ms Devine, please follow me – our VIP service has been requested for you.”

Helen and Poppy were ushered from the plane to a waiting Mercedes with blacked-out windows. The other passengers gawped and whispered as they tried to figure out in which movies they’d seen either Helen or Poppy.

The black limo sped across the tarmac to a private security gate. They had their own two uniformed officials, one from passport control, and the other from customs.

“Welcome Home, Ms Power, Ms Devine,” the officer said, handing them back their passports.

Bewildered, they entered the softly lit lounge.

“Eden really must value you, Helen,” said Poppy. “I’ll never be able to thank them enough.”

That’s when Helen spotted him – standing waiting.

“Rob?”

Rob Lawless came rushing forward. “Helen, Poppy. I have a driver waiting outside – we’ll go straight to the hospital.”

In all the years Helen had known Rob, he’d never waited on anyone.

“Poppy, they’ve taken Lily out of her induced coma. She responded well. She has a few broken ribs, but they’ll mend. It was the knock she took to the head that was the main concern. But the swelling has gone down – she’s asking for you. She’s going to be fine, Poppy.” Rob’s expression was grave, his eyes filled with compassion.

Poppy hugged him hard – this man she’d spent so many years disliking. Relief flooded every sinew of her body.

But Helen knew Rob – his face was still etched with worry.

There was more.

“What is it, Rob? There’s something you’re not telling her,” she asked quietly out of Poppy’s earshot.

“Your phone has been off, Helen – we’ve been trying to reach you,” he said under his breath. “Get into the car, I’ll explain on the way to the hospital.” He held the car door open and they climbed in.

Helen’s momentary feeling of joy quickly left her as a renewed sense of dread crept back. Rob hadn’t come for Poppy. He’d come for her.

“There was a bit of confusion as to who to contact,” he said. “Your phone was off.”

“You said that already. Christ, my battery died! Poppy left a message with the hospital.” Helen tried to keep the irritation out of her voice.

“The cops didn’t realise you were with Poppy. By the time we cleared up the confusion, you were over the Middle East somewhere. We decided to wait until you got here.”

“Wait for what?” Helen shouted, her mouth dry.

Poppy linked Helen’s arm, taking on the role of carer. “What kind of traffic accident was it, Rob?” she asked urgently.

“A car crash. Mary was driving. I’m so sorry, Helen, she’s in a coma. They’re waiting for you to arrive. You’ve got to prepare yourself.” Rob put his hand over Helen’s – she looked devastated. He hadn’t wanted to destroy her world, with his words – again.

Her surroundings swirled out of control – she couldn’t breathe.

“She’s alive though, right?” Poppy clutched at straws.

Rob looked at her and gave an almost undetectable shake of his head.

Helen looked at him.

“She is alive,” he said.

He hoped he was telling the truth.

Helen approached Mary’s bedside. The beautiful, brave Mary Devine lay battered and broken. Her chest heaved up and down as a machine pumped oxygen in and out of her lungs. Cyril sat beside her, his eyes bloodshot.

“I’ll leave you alone with your mother,” he said when he saw Helen. “I’ll wait outside – call me if you want anything, pet.”

“Thanks for staying with her, Cyril. I’m glad she wasn’t alone.”

Cyril nodded and patted Helen’s hand as he left.

Helen sat alone with her mother. Poppy had gone to Lily. She took Mary’s hand in hers and began talking.

“Hi, Mum, it’s me. Sorry I was late – it’s as you always say – I’ll be late for my own funeral.” Helen’s voice shook. “So, this was a bit of an extreme way to get me home, hey?” She thought she saw her mother’s eyelids twitch. “Anyway, Vietnam was beautiful – you’d love it – I thought maybe we’d go together some day. What do you think? We could go to one of those luxury spas in Thailand along the way. Chiva Som? Wasn’t that the one you always admired in magazines?” Helen continued to talk and watched for signs of recognition from Mary.

The machines continued to beep. Oxygen continued to pump. Helen counted the tubes that were keeping her mother alive. There were sixteen of them: Helen’s lucky number.

“Please don’t leave me, Mum,” she suddenly pleaded. “I’m not ready to be alone. I’ve been a lousy daughter. Please, Mum, just wake up. I’ll move back to Dublin, I’ll do anything, just please don’t die.”

The beeping continued.

Two doctors approached Helen. The nurse who’d been monitoring Mary looked pleased to see them. “Here’s your mother’s surgeons now, Helen, they’ll be able to explain everything.”

The first doctor, a tall man in his mid-fifties, shook Helen’s hand. “Seán Flood, cardiologist, I operated on your mother,” he introduced himself. “This is Mr Paul O’Reilly, her neurologist.” Their handshakes were firm and strong. Helen took comfort in that. “Your mother is a strong woman, Ms Devine.” He paused. “It would appear Mary suffered a heart attack at the wheel. We managed to contain the bleeding but there were added complications. There’s a room just outside the ICU. If you follow us, we can go through everything with you, in privacy.”

Helen hesitated as she looked back at Mary. “I always worried about her diabetes, her having a stroke –”

“Is there someone who can come with you?” Paul O’Reilly asked. “It can be a lot of information to digest.”

The nurse had gone to get Cyril. He entered the ICU as the doctor spoke. “I can go with her – if Helen would like me to, that is.” He looked at Helen.

She nodded, with an almost imperceptible smile. “I’ll follow you in, doctors – I’ll just be a moment.”

She returned to Mary and whispered something into her ear as if she was telling her a secret.

Helen finally understood how Lily had felt when she was cutting herself.

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

Helen had wanted to understand but couldn’t. How could emotional pain be felt physically?

Now she understood. Now she wanted to cut her heart out – just to stop the feelings. Her breathing quickened as her heart-beat raced. The more she struggled to breathe, the harder it became. She sat in the small windowless room with three well-meaning men. Strangers to her. One was her mother’s lover, the other two her mother’s doctors.

The doctors sat opposite her, their expressions grave. Cyril sat beside her. She couldn’t see his face, just his shoes, meticulously polished brown brogues. His slacks looked slightly too short, the way the men had worn them in the sixties.

Dr Seán Flood interlaced his fingers as he rested his hands on the table as though praying in a church pew. His colleague mirrored him. Their words came at Helen as if they were talking through a long foggy tunnel . . .

“Chances of full recovery are slim . . .”

Helen went further down the rabbit hole.

“Survival percentages are low . . .”

A kaleidoscope of colours whizzed around her head as she gasped for air.

“Better to prepare yourself . . .”

“She’s having a panic attack.”

The doctors were on their feet now.

“Ms Devine? Ms Devine, Helen, can you hear me?”

They were touching her shoulders now. She couldn’t see Cyril’s shoes anymore.

“Helen, relax, just breathe.”

But Helen didn’t want to breathe.

Poppy sat by Lily’s bed. Rob was right. Lily’s injuries turned out to be relatively minor. Lily had been put in a temporarily induced coma. Mary wasn’t so lucky.

“You can’t know how much you staying with Lily until I got here means to me, Angelo.” Poppy smiled across at her Italian barista, her friend.

“No worries. When I heard about the crash, I wanted to be here.”

Lily continued to doze. She still had concussion.

“Could I ask you one more favour?” Poppy asked.

“Of course.”

“I want to check on Helen. Will you sit with Lily – I’ll only be a few minutes?”

“Via! Go!” Angelo smiled. “I say a lot of prayer for Mary – I think she will be okay. You have a beautiful family, Poppy.”

Poppy suddenly felt tearful. Angelo had called her “Poppy”.

Chapter 57

Helen screamed – she couldn’t stop. Nor would the gut-wrenching pain in the pit of her stomach subside. It was Tuesday morning, a month after the accident, in the frozen-food section of Tesco Extra – a super-sized supermarket.

“Excuse me, dear, I just want to get to the frozen peas.” A small stout woman with thick glasses had waited patiently for a few minutes for Helen to move on but instead she had stayed staring at the cabinet doors.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Helen was flustered – thankful that her screaming was internalised, otherwise security would escort her off the premises. Or arrest her – then she’d have to call Rob to get her out of jail. He’d be the hero, she’d be the nut-job, but at least she’d have an excuse to ring him.

“Are you alright, dear?” the woman asked – the stranger in the supermarket, buying petits pois.

Tears stung Helen’s eyes and for a second she considered pouring her heart out to the kindly woman. Instead, she smiled. “I’m fine – thank you. I get electric shocks from freezer doors.” She pushed her shopping trolley on.

From freezer doors and a man I once met, in a previous life.

She wandered around the aisles aimlessly – screaming, still screaming. She wondered if anyone else felt the same, normal on the outside, dying on the inside.

The Dime Bar commercial came to mind, crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside – armadillos. She was losing her mind. An armadillo disguised as a lingerie designer. Or maybe she was a Dime Bar, which she’d only seen on sale in IKEA these days. Suddenly, she fancied a Dime Bar – or Daim Bar as they called it now. Maybe Tesco did stock them. She moved on from the freezer section, fairly confident she wouldn’t find them there. Poppy was right: she had wasted too much of life watching TV.

“Helen? It is you – I’m surprised to see you here.” Cyril walked towards her, holding a wire basket, which contained bread, milk and broccoli.

Helen had no idea why she noticed that.

“I didn’t know you liked broccoli, Cyril.” A stupid thing to say but at least she’d stopped screaming.

“Your mother got me into it, said it was a super food, stop me getting cancer when I get old.” He chuckled.

“Pity she smothered it with bacon bits and butter then.” Helen felt guilty as soon as she uttered the words.

Cyril looked uncomfortable. “I see you like Blu Tack then . . .” he said, looking into Helen’s sparse trolley.

“Always handy to have, you know, Blu Tack – it saves the walls from pinholes – great for putting up posters,” Helen babbled. She hadn’t put a poster on a wall since she was fifteen.

Helen’s hair was unwashed – she was wearing an old tracksuit that had stains down the front of it. She wondered whether Cyril noticed.

He jiggled from side to side, looking unsure of what to do. Maybe he wanted to give her hug, mind her, while Mary couldn’t. Either that or he needed to use the bathroom. Or did he just find her a little scary?

“Chickens are on special – half-price and it feeds six people according to the wrapper – I never could resist a bargain,” Helen rambled.

“I tell you what. Seeing as you’ve got only two things in that big trolley of yours, why don’t you give them here to me? We’ll go home and eat the chicken and broccoli together – how does that sound?”

“Okay,” Helen said simply.

Not scary at all.

They decided to cook dinner in Mary’s house – it felt right. They sat at the kitchen table as the aroma of roast chicken wafted through the air.

“It’s almost as if she’s just out in the back garden picking herbs to make stuffing,” Helen said, taking a sip from the wine Cyril had put in his basket after she’d gone to get her euro back for returning her cart. She was doing a lot of mundane things these days.

“I know, in a way it’s a nice feeling but on the other hand it’s quite painful, isn’t it? To the wonderful Mary Devine, may she sit and eat with us, even if only in spirit!” Cyril raised his glass in a toast.

“To Mum!” Helen cleared her throat. “And if you can appear for real, Mum, that’d be great, otherwise the two of us will be eating chicken for a week.”

Cyril smiled – Helen always cracked a joke.

“So, how have you been, Helen?”

“Okay, I guess, drinking too much of this stuff,” Helen said as she tilted her wineglass. “The doc gave me tranquillisers but they made me feel spaced. The worst bit is waking up in the morning. You know, before your mind can focus?”

Cyril nodded.

“Everything is fine for the first few seconds, then boom! You remember and that disgusting pain punches you in the stomach and you realise it wasn’t a bad dream, it is waking reality, a living bloody nightmare. And then the wine-head kicks in and I take a couple of paracetamol to ease that and hope they’ll erase everything else as well. But they don’t, instead they wreck your kidneys so I’ll probably die of renal failure anyway.” Helen sighed, relieved to be admitting to her less than flattering behaviour.

Cyril didn’t lecture. “How are Poppy and Lily? I haven’t seen them since last week.”

“As well as can be expected, I guess. Lily had a major shock with the accident but it has brought out the survivor in her – in a good way. Poppy’s been great, bringing me food and sending me healing light.” Helen raised her eyes to heaven and smiled at her friend’s different approach to grief. “Sometimes when I get home from the hospital, there’s a weird smell around the house. Poppy has been burning sage, to get rid of negative energy or something like that.” Helen fell silent. The truth was there was a strain between herself and Poppy, since that dreadful phone call in Hanoi.

“I wonder will anything ever be the same again?” She looked at Cyril.

“We can’t give up hope, Helen. Poppy’s doing her best – you know everyone deals with trauma differently.”

“I know that. I think, even though she tried not to show it, she was angry with me that we were halfway around the world when the accident happened – I’d talked her into the holiday. Then there’s the guilt.”

“Guilt?”

“I know Poppy. Mum was like a mother to her, but Lily is her child. Poppy naturally would have felt a huge relief that Lily walked away from the accident, with minor injuries. That she’s not the one still in a coma. What she’s feeling is perfectly normal, I know. Survivor’s guilt.” Helen rubbed her finger, no gold ring to twist.

“And what do you feel?” Cyril asked gently.

“I want to tell her it’s okay, it’s not anyone’s fault. Mum had a heart attack at the wheel. But then, I keep thinking if Mum hadn’t been bringing Lily out for a bite to eat, she wouldn’t have been driving that night and she’d still be here.”

A silence fell between them.

“I know, I shouldn’t think like that. I know it’s unkind and I love Lily, I really do, but when the pain gets so bad all I can think of is ‘what if’ and part of me resents that Poppy and Lily still have each other. I feel like an outsider now. I sound horrible, don’t I? I shouldn’t feel this way.” Helen couldn’t cope with the feelings of shame, on top of all her other emotions.

“Not at all – emotions are running high at the moment, that’s all. It’s only been a few weeks. It sounds like a cliché but time is a great healer.” Cyril took a deep breath before continuing. “I wish I’d gone to pick them up. That was the plan, you know. Then I had to run a blasted errand, for the old folks. I rang Mary from my mobile and asked would she mind driving herself and I’d meet them there.” He bowed his head as he thought about it.

“What if,” Helen smiled. Cyril was a good man, in his seventies himself, but always running around after “the old folks” of his parish, picking up their prescriptions, giving them lifts to their chiropodist appointments. He went swimming in the sea, a few times a week, twelve months of the year. He reckoned that’s what kept him youthful. She could see why Mary wanted to be with him. He was the first man Helen had seen her mother with since her father.

“How long is it since your wife died, Cyril?”

“Nearly ten years now. Breast cancer, God rest her soul. A good woman she was too. God always takes the good ones young. Guess I’ll be around for a while longer so!” Cyril’s joke was a welcome relief.

“You’ve a daughter living abroad somewhere, don’t you?”

“Yes – Maeve – she lives in Canada, married a Canadian chap. They’ve three grand little ones. Ah, she’s settled there now, wants me to go over for Thanksgiving, Christmas and the New Year. Says the kids should know their ‘Irish grandpa’.” Cyril laughed as he made inverted commas with his index fingers.

“That’d be some trip – six weeks, at least.” It seemed to Helen everyone had another life to go to.

“It’s too far. I couldn’t be sitting on a plane for that long, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. And it gets very cold over there, snow six-feet high.” He shook his head and admitted coyly, “The kids are great of course but a week is about as much as I can manage.”

“So does that mean you’ll be here for Christmas?”

“Yes. Listen, I know you’ve probably not thought about Christmas this year and I know you young ones have lots of invitations and friends, but if you don’t get a better offer I’d be delighted if you, Poppy and Lily would let me cook you Christmas dinner. I make a mean cranberry sauce, you know.” He looked at Helen hopefully.

“Thank you, Cyril, that’s very kind of you and if I was in Dublin I’d have been honoured to share Christmas with you.”

The oven-timer pinged to indicate the chicken was cooked. Cyril went to fetch an oven-glove from the counter top.

“Are you considering staying in London then?” he asked. “I thought everything more or less shuts down in offices until January the second?” He opened the oven door and a plume of steam billowed out. “Ah, looks perfect,” he said, removing the crisp golden bird.

“Smells delicious.” Helen felt pangs of hunger for the first time in ages.

“This is just a taster. I cook wild goose at Christmas – I’m famed for it, in fact.” He set the roast bird down, to cool.

“Modest as well, I see,” she teased. “Anyway, they’re not big into Christmas in Asia – it’s just another day actually.”

“I don’t understand – Eden hardly expect you to go there over Christmas, do they?” Cyril sat back down.

“Well,” Helen said, shifting uncomfortably, “the company made me an offer – a promotion with more money and better job security.” She poured salt on the table top and made shapes with her finger, unable to look Cyril in the eye. “The thing is – the position is in Hong Kong.”

Cyril gawped at her, his mouth open.

“It’s a great opportunity. I get to build a new design team from scratch – actually I’ll get to design myself as well, not just all paperwork, costings and targets. I even get a fully serviced apartment overlooking Hong Kong harbour – all paid for.” She bit her lip.

Cyril found his voice. “But what about your mother? She might wake up – and you’ll be in Asia?”

Helen took a deep breath, finally looking up. “Don’t you see, Cyril, that’s just it. I don’t have a choice. Mary’s medical bills keep mounting up. Dad’s pension isn’t enough. I need to keep the health insurance – as my next-of-kin, I insured her under the Eden employee scheme. They’ve even agreed to pay for a return flight home once a month. It’s an incredible offer.”

“And you’re going – permanently?”

“A two-year contract – I leave next week.” Helen looked down. “I can’t see any other option.”

The doorbell rang.

Saved by the bell.

Helen jumped up to get it.

Through the stained-glass side-panels, Helen could see the figure of a man holding a bunch of flowers. Not more bloody flowers, she thought with annoyance. What were people thinking, Mary didn’t need flowers – she needed a miracle.

“Yes?” Helen said briskly as she opened the door.

The young man stammered, looking uncomfortable. “I was looking for Mrs Devine.” He twisted the small posy of deep-purple stock, nervously.

There was something oddly familiar about him. He was well-built with broad shoulders. His skin had the last remains of adolescent pimples. But it was his eyes that caught Helen’s attention – so green – where had she seen him before?

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to be rude.” She felt a pang, of something, for the boy. “Would you like to come in?” She stepped aside to let him in. “I’m afraid Mary was in an accident last month.” She still choked as she uttered those words.

“Oh.” The boy’s face went pale.

“She’s in a coma. I’m her daughter – Helen.”

“I know,” he replied, in a soft English accent. He continued to twist the flowers to the point where petals started to fall on the floor.

“Excuse me,” said Helen, perplexed, “I know I’ve met you before but I can’t place you. It’s just been crazy around here the past few weeks. It’s just all a bit of a blur really. How do you know my mother?” She folded her arms as she felt a shiver.

“She is, um, my grandmother.” He looked her in the eye.

“Excuse me?” Helen’s head was spinning.

The eyes, now she knew why they were so familiar.

“I’m Daniel.”

She saw those eyes every time she looked in a mirror.

“I’m your son.”

Chapter 58

“I’ve dreamt of this moment for so many years. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.” Sitting opposite Daniel in the living room, Helen struggled to find something profound or even motherly to say but words were failing her. She wanted to study his face, up close, get to know every bit of it. But of course she couldn’t so instead she drank in every part of him with her eyes. He had Rob’s dark hair, a whole mop of it – but Daniel’s had a wave – he must have got that from her. He had Rob’s nose complete with the little bump on the bridge. And the mouth? Helen guessed that was one hundred per cent Daniel’s own.

“Yeah, me too.” Daniel wasn’t faring much better in the conversation department.

Thankfully, Cyril came to the rescue. “Now, if Mary was here she’d make us all sit and have a nice cup of tea. I’ll put the kettle on.” Mary had been very excited recently but she’d insisted she couldn’t tell him anything until she’d spoken to Helen first. “Except you, Helen – you look like you need a brandy first,” he said as he opened the drinks cabinet. He handed the amber liquid to Helen. “Right, I’ll leave you two to talk.”

Cyril discreetly disappeared, closing the living-room door behind him.

Helen left the brandy untouched.

“I don’t know where to start, Daniel. I’ve so much to explain, so much to ask. How are you?” She hoped she didn’t sound too formal. Every fibre in her body wanted to rush over, hug the boy and cry. She wanted to cry a lot.

“I’m good, thanks. I mean, I’m shocked to hear about Mrs Devine, Mary, though.” He bit his lower lip. He tapped his foot up and down, which caused more petals to fall.

“They’re beautiful flowers,” Helen said, looking at the half-strangled stalks. “Devine women’s favourite – purple stock.”

“Would you like them?” He quickly held out the heavily scented flowers.

She leant forward. “I’d love them, thank you, Daniel.” As she reached out, their hands touched, for the first time since the day she’d given birth to him. And then, she couldn’t help it, a tear escaped, followed by another and another.

“Please don’t cry, Helen, I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you want me to leave?” he asked wide-eyed, his foot tapping furiously fast.

“No! Definitely not. It’s just been such a rollercoaster, but trust me, Daniel, these are tears of happiness. I just wish I’d been better dressed for the occasion!” She looked down at her scruffy runners. “I’m usually rather glamorous, would you believe?”

They laughed.

“I was wondering why I hadn’t heard from Mary, thought I’d upset her or something,” he said, as he studied Helen’s face. “What happened?”

“It was a car accident – a heart attack which caused the accident actually. All these years I’ve worried about her diabetes. A heart attack didn’t occurred to me.”

“Will she be okay?” Daniel’s eyebrows knitted, making his young face look older.

“We don’t know. The odds are stacked against her. But she’s holding her own, for now.”

Daniel nodded.

“I don’t understand though,” said Helen. “How come you were in touch with Mum?”

“Well, you left your name and this address with the adoption board, so I could contact you when I turned eighteen, if I wanted.”

She nodded – she remembered only too well the protocol. She was unable to contact her son. She could let him know where to find her, in case he wanted to find her when he reached adulthood – but it had to be his decision.

“I decided to just knock on the door, not phone or anything, but you weren’t here,” he continued. “Mary opened the door, and it was weird. It was like she’d been expecting me or something.”

“That’s Mum alright,” Helen smiled.

“She said you don’t live here any more, but you live close by and that you work in London and were in Hong Kong at the moment.”

Helen thought back to the phone call from her mother when she’d been sitting in the hotel business lounge. “I’ve something important to tell you, love. Not over the phone though. Will you be home this weekend?” Helen had wrongly assumed that ‘important’ in Mary’s eyes would be something to do with a nice sensible employment opportunity in Dublin that she’d spotted in her weekly scan of the recruitment section of the newspaper.

I’m so sorry Mum – I should have listened to you.

“I called a few times, while you were away. We’d hang out, she’d cook me dinner, tell me stories about you and how successful you are. And Granddad, how cool was that – fighting in the Vietnam war, I mean apart from the dying bit.”

He has my way with words all right.

“My mates were very jealous. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better imaginary family. A granddad fighter pilot and a lingerie-designer mum!” He shifted his feet. “I enjoyed listening to Mary. Talking to her, everything made sense – why you had me adopted, that is.”

There it was, those words. Why did I give him up – why did I?

Every time Daniel paused it was as if there was something else he wanted to say that he couldn’t quite come out with.

“I thought it was for the best, at the time,” she said. “I’ve always wondered if I did the right thing, struggled with it actually.”

“I’ve got a good life, Helen, honestly. I always knew my parents adopted me and that my real mother was single and a teen. Mum and Dad said it made me more special because they’d picked me especially.” The words gushed out of Daniel as he sat at the edge of the seat.

“I’m glad, Daniel.”

“I decided I wanted to go to uni here. I’m in Dublin City University – I started a few weeks ago.” His face lit up – he was obviously enjoying his new life.

“I’m surprised Mary didn’t try to get you to move in with her then!” she laughed.

“She fed me well, that’s for sure,” he smiled. “She even wanted me to bring my washing – must admit I thought about it.”

“Don’t worry about it, Daniel, I’ve succumbed to Mary’s generosity myself in that regard at times.” Helen paused. “Cyril must have gone to China for the tea.” She looked around awkwardly.

Daniel just nodded.

“Did your parents know you were getting in touch?” she asked.

“Yep, we discussed it. Mum was feeling a little worried about it but she understood. Dad thought it would be healthy, but warned me you might not want to know me.” His eyes searched Helen’s face.

“Of course I want to know you, Daniel – it’s like a dream come true. I don’t exactly have a lot of blood relatives, you know.” She thought it bizarre that as she was on the brink of losing her mother, the Universe gave her back her son. The law of giving and receiving, Poppy would say. Or maybe it was synchronicity.

“When I told Mum about meeting my grandmother, she felt good. Said she was glad I’d family close by, even though she’s only a short hop over the Irish Sea.”

“They sound like very special people, your mum and dad.”

“They wreck my head at times, but yeah, they’re cool. They’d two kids of their own after they adopted me, you know. They said they owed you a lot, that you changed their lives. You gave them life, a son. Reckoned they’d never have got pregnant until they adopted me. They’ll always be grateful – that’s why they kept the name Daniel – the name you’d given me.”

These people she’d never met, yet was inextricably linked to, Helen thought, she’d changed their lives. Helen Devine had done something good – and all six foot of him was sitting in the chair opposite.

“About my father, it’s just there’s no record of him. I was wondering if you could tell me about him, if that’s okay like.” Daniel sat back in the chair now that he’d finally plucked up the courage to ask about his father.

“Of course, I should have thought – sorry, Daniel. His name is Robert Lawless – he’s a corporate solicitor here in Dublin. He runs a very successful practice.”

Christ, how will Rob react when he finds out?

“So, you guys are still in touch then?” Daniel’s tone rose with a hint of excitement.

“We’ve remained friends. I’m sure you’d like me to contact him?” Her face drained.

“No rush, I mean, there’s so much going on. I can’t imagine what you are going through. I really hope Mary’s going to be okay.”

“Me too. I can only imagine how happy she was to meet you too.”

“And we’ve got lots of time – you and me, to get to know each other, now that I’m living in Dublin if you get me. My mother, em, she’s a lot older than you are. I think maybe you and me, we’ll have a different kind of relationship. You’re more like a big sister, hey?” He looked like a child who’d just won a trip to Disneyland.

Her heart sank – she had still to the break the news that she was moving to the other side of the world, in seven days.