The Kinsella Sisters (21 page)

Or had the change of heart happened when she’d seen that Adair could take her petty wisecracks on the chin? Or when he had made her laugh that time he’d invited her to slide down his banister? Or when she’d learned it had been Felicity, not him, who had been responsible for that monstrous villa? Or even today when—

Hell! Now was not the time to indulge in speculation about her relationship with the Bolgers. Now was the time to get her arse over to Arrivals and look out for Mr Sharkey The notice-board told her his flight from London had arrived, and as she
scribbled ‘Mr Sharkey’ in block capitals on an A4 sheet, the first of the passengers began to straggle onto the concourse. Río held the sign aloft, scanning the weary faces of the emerging travellers. Nobody looked twice at her. They were all too busy gawping at the dapper chauffeur who was holding up a sign that read: ‘Mr Hade’.

‘OK,’ an American voice hissed at her suddenly, as a man strode by. ‘Let’s drive. Go, go,
go!’

‘Mr Sharkey?’ But the man was already moving fast across the concourse. Río legged it after him, trying to keep up. Sharkey was dressed in a black leather jacket and black jeans. He had on a baseball cap that screened his face and wraparound aviators that screened his eyes. A black leather rucksack was slung across one shoulder, and a suiter was draped over his arm. Once outside the automatic doors, he stopped and half-turned to her.

‘Where’s the car?’

‘Um. Follow me.’

Río led the way across the car park. As she took the keycard from her bag, she reached for her phone and punched in the number of the hackney company. If this guy turned out to be some criminal on the run, she wanted to know that all she had to do was press ‘re-dial’, and someone would be on her case. She aimed the card at the door, and Sharkey got into the front and tossed his bag in the back. Río slid into the driver’s seat, and started the ignition.

‘Please put your seat belt on, sir,’ she told him, as she put the car into gear. ‘I’ll be liable for penalty points if you don’t.’

‘And isn’t that the last thing I’d wish to be after happening?’ said Sharkey. ‘That a lovely girl like yourself would get hit with a great big fine on account of a divil like me.’ Río stopped the car and turned to her fare. With a broad grin, he doffed his cap and shades. ‘And isn’t it a grand soft day that greets my return to the Emerald Isle?’ he said, in a voice she recognised.

‘Shane Byrne,’ replied Río, deadpan. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

‘I’m not playing at anything,’ he said, looking aggrieved. ‘I’m a fugitive.’

‘From what?’

‘From the paparazzi, of course.’

‘Oh,
them!
The ones who were yowling like jackals to get the first shots of you arriving into a provincial airport.’

‘Less of the sarcasm, Río. Just pick up a copy of this week’s
National Enquirer
and you’ll see what I mean. Since
Faraway
hit the screens in the US it’s been open season on me and the rest of the cast.’ He slanted her a smile. ‘Especially on me,’ he added.

‘Well, hot-shot, welcome home.’ Río leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

‘Thanks, mavourneen.’

‘If I’d known it was only you I had to pick up,’ she remarked, looking into her rear-view mirror and pulling out, ‘I wouldn’t have bust a gut to get here. Where to?’

‘Lissamore.’

‘Lissamore? Why Lissamore? I’d have thought you’d have booked yourself into somewhere trendy like the G Hotel in Galway.’

‘What? And have the paparazzi parked outside the door once word got out that I was staying there? No, no, sweet Río. I have come here for peace and quiet. That’s why I booked your services under the pseudonym of Sharkey.’

‘You asked for me specifically?’

‘I did. I said I wanted the driver with the red-gold hair and the laughing green eyes and the fantastic baloobas.’

‘Pity they got it so wrong, then. They should have sent Anita.’

‘Who’s Anita?’

‘A colleague of mine who happens to have red-gold hair and laughing green eyes and fantastic baloobas. She also happens to be about fifteen years younger than me.’

‘Arra, acushla! For me, you will be forever young.’

‘Shut up, and tell me if I’m clear on that side.’

Shane looked to the left. ‘You’re clear,’ he said.

‘You still haven’t told me what brings you to Lissamore.’

‘My agent suggested a break,’ Shane told her. ‘Somewhere far away from the razzmatazz and stress of Lala Land. And I figured that Lissamore was about as far away as it gets.’

‘And you’d be right. Lissamore out of season may as well be renamed Zed-Ville. Where are you staying?’

‘Dunno.’

‘You mean you haven’t booked a rental?’

‘No. I thought I’d just stay in a hotel’

‘Shane! You dozy lummox! There’s no hotel in Lissamore.’

‘You’re kidding me! Not one?’

‘Well, there’s one under construction, and there’s Coolnamara Castle–but you’d have to get yourself a hire car because it’s too far to walk. You might get a room in a B & B in the village—’

‘A B & B? Are you out of your mind?’

‘Oh. I forgot you’re Hollywood royalty, now.’

‘It’s not that, Río. It’s just that I’ve always had the heebie-jeebies about B & Bs since that landlady tried to ride me when I was on tour once.’

‘What? You never told me that!’

‘Ach, it was years ago when I was touring with some bloody awful schools’ production of
Macbeth.
We were all put up in this B & B with pictures of the Sacred Heart on the wall, and didn’t I wake up in the middle of the night to find the lady of the house wrapping her arms and legs round me and whispering into my ear about how I was a fine strong lad and wouldn’t I like to have a hoult of her.’

‘Wow! What did you do?’

‘I lay there and pretended to be asleep until she gave up and went away. And then I packed my bags and was out of there like Roadrunner.’

Río laughed. ‘I guess you’re fighting off celebrity babes now, not landladies decked out in pink nylon.’

Shane shrugged. ‘I don’t have the time to meet any babes. All I do is work and sleep. It ain’t glamorous being a commodity, Río.’

‘A commodity?’

‘That’s all I am. I’m under no illusions that if the powers that be decide to axe the series I’ll be back to waiting tables. Stardom is as ephemeral, acushla, as the last fading ember of turf in the hearth, or the glint of the sun on the curlew’s wing as it skims across the bog, squawking its plaintive melody—’

‘If you don’t shut up, Shane, I’ll feck you out of the car.’

‘OK. I’ll change the subject. What’ll we talk about?’

‘Quantum physics.’

‘You have two minutes on quantum physics, starting from now.’ Shane’s pronouncement was followed by exactly two minutes of silence, and then he said: ‘Hey, couldn’t I stay with you, Río?’

‘No, you could not. I’ve no spare room.’

‘I could sleep on the couch.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I like having the place to myself, Shane. I do not want it compromised with someone else’s stuff scattered around the joint and a big man stretched out snoring on my sofa.’

‘I could stretch out in your bed, instead.’

‘No!’

‘Not even for old times’ sake?’

‘Jesus, Shane! If you really wanted to get into my bed, you’d have to come up with a better line than that.’

‘I could talk to you in Italian. You used to love it when I did that.’

‘“Used to” being the key words.’

‘Vorrei mettere la mia mano sotto la tua gonna e farla salire super
la tua gambo fino alla pelle morbida, morbida in alta sulla tua coscia.’

‘Shut up, Shane. It’s not going to work.’

‘E poi vorrei fare l’amore con te.’

‘We are now entering the Gaeltacht. Please revert to your native tongue.’

‘Pah!’ said Shane, folding his arms crossly. ‘You know I don’t speak Irish.’

As they approached a red traffic light, Río was distracted by two women in an adjacent car waving wildly at them, signalling to them to pull down the window.

‘What’s wrong with them?’ asked Río. ‘Is there something the matter with my car?’

‘Must be,’ said Shane, lowering the passenger seat window. ‘Hi! Is there some problem—’

But the driver wasn’t listening. ‘Seth! Seth!’ she called. ‘We love you!
We love you!
Can we have your autograph?’ Reaching out an arm, she handed over a scrap of paper and a Biro. Shane signed with good grace, and handed the autograph back with a smile.

The woman kissed the paper, and waved it in the air as if she’d just won the lottery. ‘Thank you! Thank you!’ she yelled, while behind them car horns honked irritably at them to get a move on.

Río put the car into gear, and shot Shane a curious look. ‘How does that feel?’ she asked.

‘Pretty damn stupid, to tell you the truth. They never have a clue who Shane Byrne is, so I always have to put “a.k.a. Seth Fletcher” as well’

‘But it must be dead flattering, all the same?’

‘Nah. It’s not me they’re interested in, Río. It’s just the character I play. People go to bed with Seth Fletcher and wake up with Shane Byrne. Hey!’ He turned to her suddenly with an eager expression. ‘If I can’t share your bed, maybe Seth could?’

‘Have you got your leather kilt in there?’ Río indicated the bag that Shane had slung onto the back seat.

‘Are you mad? No.’

‘Then all I can say is–nice try but no cigar.’

‘You mean you’d only sleep with me–I mean with Seth–if I wore that leather yoke?’

‘Me and a million other gals,’ said Río. ‘I told you I’d visited your websites.’

‘Brave of you. I don’t dare go there.’

‘I’ll take you by the hand and give you a guided tour some day.’

Río’s phone rang.

‘Hey!’ said Shane. ‘Our song!’

Duran Duran’s ‘Río’ was still her ringtone: she hadn’t changed it since Finn left. She and Shane had used to play it on his cassette player during the time of their passionate affair. She smiled at him, then glanced at the display. ‘Hi, Dervla,’ she said.

‘Hey, Río. Just to say that Christian left Harbour View this morning.’

‘Oh, right. So you want me to turn the place round?’

‘There’s no hurry. I’ve no one queueing up to get in there. The season is well and truly over.’

‘I might have someone for you. I’ve just picked up a fare from the airport and he’s looking for somewhere to stay.’

‘Great. Thanks, Río. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘We’ve been invited to Adair’s, remember? For lunch.’

‘Oh. OK. Shit.’

‘What do you mean “shit”?’

‘I saw him in town earlier. He has his spooky daughter with him.’

‘What’s so spooky about her?’

I dunno. She reminds me of one of the classmates in that film
Heathers!

Dervla sighed down the speaker. ‘Don’t be daft, Río. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. One fifty’

‘Yes, Dervla.’ Río made a face, and cut the Bluetooth connection.

‘Yikes,’ said Shane. ‘Dervla hasn’t changed much.’

‘She’s actually mellowed, believe it or not.’

‘Why didn’t you tell her that I’m her new tenant?’

‘I–I don’t know. I guess I was scared of reopening old wounds.’

‘Is she still beautiful?’

‘Yes. Very.’

There was a pause, then, ‘Do you remember that pastiche of the Yeats poem I made up about the pair of you?’ Shane asked.

‘Erm…no,’ lied Río.

I do. It went like this.

‘You could make a fortune recording poetry for the Yanks,’ said Río, trying to sound careless. The recitation in Shane’s dark-chocolate voice had been meltingly beautiful. She remembered how she had used to lie in his arms as he recited passages from the play he was working on, the better to fix the lines in his head, and how she would never let him finish because his voice was so sexy she just
had
to kiss him.

‘My agent’s on my case,’ he told her. ‘I’ve already contributed to a couple of anthologies. Anyway–tell me. What’s Dervla’s place like?’

‘Lovely. She’s done a terrific job on it. State-of-the-art kitchen, and all’

Shane gave her a puppy-dog look. ‘I guess I’d better stock up on tins of baked beans and frozen pizzas from the corner shop, then. My culinary skills still aren’t the best.’

‘It’s OK, film star. I’ll cook for you this evening. As long as you’re not expecting Pacific Rim cuisine or whatever’s
de rigueur
in LA these days.’

‘Thanks. Believe it or not, Irish stew is quite trendy in LA right now. Anything Irish is trendy there. That’s probably why I got lucky.’

There was silence for a moment or two as Río negotiated a treacherous bend, then Shane started beating a light tattoo on his knees. ‘Who’s Adair, Río?’ he asked.

‘Adair? Oh, he’s the millionaire who knocked down Coral Cottage and built a mansion.’

‘Coral Cottage, where we made Finn?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re having lunch with him tomorrow?’

‘Yes. Well, it’s more kind of business—Oh, you
wanker!’

‘Jesus, Río, that was close!’

‘Yeah, this stretch of the road is chequered with accident black spots, and I bet half the cars using it would never get past their MOT. You’d better let me concentrate on driving.’

Shane pulled the ‘recline’ lever on his seat and slid his shades back on. ‘In that case, I guess I’ll just lie back and enjoy the ride.’

‘Do you want the radio?’ said Río, flicking a switch. On a live music programme, someone was playing the fiddle.

‘Oh, no,’ said Shane. ‘Turn it off. Please.’

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Río.

‘That tune,’ said Shane. ‘It’s the theme of
Faraway.
It seems to haunt me wherever I go. There’s a bar on Sunset that I can’t go into any more because the pianist plays it every time I walk through the door.’

‘Well, buster,’ said Río, shooting him an amused look, ‘didn’t I always tell you to be careful what you wished for?’

‘I never got what I wished for.’