Secrets Between Sisters: The perfect heart-warming holiday read of 2018. Kate Thompson

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СКАЧАТЬ the buzz.’

      ‘Isn’t it stressful?’

      ‘Luckily, I thrive on stress. Did you never feel the urge to leave Lissamore?’

      ‘Never. I wanted to be somewhere I could put down roots for Finn, somewhere I knew people. I’d have hated him growing up as a latch-key kid in some inner city flat or commuter town semi.’

      ‘What makes you think you’d end up living in a place like that?’

      ‘Anything else would be out of my league, Dervla. Because I’ve no qualifications I’d have had to take some low-paid work and slog all hours of the day. Anyway, village life suits me–I love being part of a community. When Finn was growing up here there was always someone to mind him. And I couldn’t ever live more than a mile from a beach. Can you blame me?’ Reaching into the box, Río produced an out-of-date calendar that featured images of Coolnamara’s beaches and the islands on the bay. ‘I love to be reminded that we live on the most westerly stretch of Europe.’

      ‘Hey!’ said Dervla, peering at the calendar. ‘I sold that cottage last year–the little pink-washed one on Inishclare. Got a good price for it too.’

      Beneath the calendar was a once-glossy brochure with red wine rings on the cover. ‘Look,’ said Río. ‘It’s a PR puff for the Sugar Stack. I wonder what Dad was doing with this?’

      There was a moment of silence, then: ‘I gave it to him,’ Dervla told her in a rush. ‘I guess I wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted him to be able to show it to neighbours and say: “Look how my girl’s made good. Look where she’s living now.” Pathetic, isn’t it?’

      Río shook her head. ‘No. It’s not pathetic. I always had a dream that he might look in through Fleur’s window and see my paintings on the wall and be proud of me too. It’s the same thing, really. You wanted him to be proud of your success, and I wanted him to be proud of my creativity. It’s ironic, isn’t? We’ve no one to be proud of us now.’

      ‘You have Finn,’ Dervla pointed out.

      ‘And you have me!’ Río said with a smile.

      Dervla gave her an uncertain look. ‘Are you serious?’

      ‘Yes. I’m really, really proud of you. Every time I drive past a property that has your name up outside it, I always get a kind of buzz. Have done, ever since I saw the first one–when was it? About fifteen years ago? You’ve come a long way, Dervla. Imagine being nominated as Entrepreneur of the Year!’

      ‘It doesn’t mean that much,’ Dervla told her. ‘I’m much prouder of the fact that I live in a penthouse at the top of the Sugar Stack. That’s a real achievement, in my eyes.’

      ‘It is incredibly exclusive, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Dervla, with just a trace of smugness. ‘It’s probably the most exclusive address in the city. Adair Bolger was responsible for the development, you know.’

      ‘The bloke who owns Coral Mansion?’

      ‘Coral Mansion?’

      ‘That’s what the locals call it. He calls it the Villa Felicity.’

      ‘Yes. That would be Adair.’ Dervla set down the calendar, and opened her book. ‘The turf-cutter’s cottage,’ she said, regarding the illustration on the first page, ‘at the edge of the bog.’

      ‘And the lights of home shining through the darkness,’ added Río. ‘I remember that picture so well.’

      Dervla gave Río a level look. ‘I am sorry, you know, Río. About Coral Cottage. But you know it would have been an absolute nightmare to restore–a complete money-pit. Knocking it down was the only viable option. And Adair had everything on his side. Money, contacts, influence…’ She trailed off, and looked back down at the picture.

      ‘I know.’ Looking at her sister’s downcast eyes, Río had a suspicion that the all-powerful Adair Bolger was not solely to blame for the destruction of her dream. Had Dervla been motivated too by a desire to get even with her sister over the Shane debacle? Río pushed the thought away. That was all in the past now, and if she and Dervla were to resurrect their relationship they would have to work hard at letting bygones be bygones. ‘I would never have been able to afford to put the joint right, anyway. It was just a silly dream.’ She tossed the Sugar Stack brochure back into the box. ‘Show me the picture of Seamus and the eagle!’

      ‘When he steals the bird seed?’

      ‘Yes. I love that one!’

      Dervla leafed through The Turf-Cutter’s Donkey until she found the illustration, and as they looked at it, memories came flooding back to Río of her and Dervla tucked up in bed with their mother reading to them, and how she’d pause now and then to show them the illustrations. And she remembered how safe she’d felt, and how fuzzy and warm with love for her mother and sister, and she decided there and then that she’d never let Dervla go again.

      ‘Now start to work!’ announced Dervla, echoing the words of the Wise Woman in the story. She laid the book down and put on her bossy big-sister face. ‘We’ve stacks and stacks to do. You take that side of the room, and I’ll get cracking on this half.’ Negotiating her way past a broken clothes horse and a wire cat basket, Dervla set about untangling a Gordian knot of electric cable.

      On the other side of the room, one door of a double-sided wardrobe stood half open, as if inviting Río to examine its contents. She crossed the floor on cautious feet, wishing she could take off her shoes, which were beginning to pinch. She knew it was unlikely that there would be mice lurking in the attic, but she had inherited their mother’s fear of creepy-crawly things, and there could be lots of spiders. Stepping gingerly over a raffia basket that looked as if it might once have belonged to a snake charmer, she glanced at Dervla, who had finished twisting the cable into a neat figure of eight and was now busy pulling open drawers and delving into boxes and upending cartons. Río admired her sister’s sang-froid, but then she supposed Dervla was well used to exploring old houses. It was funny. When they were growing up, Río had been the feistier of the two–the tomboy to Dervla’s Barbie. Río had plunged into the sea with panache while Dervla shivered in the shallows. Río revelled in stormy weather, dancing in a garden lit by lightning, while Dervla hid under the bedclothes. But Dervla had always been the cleverer of the two, and that, Río supposed, was why Dervla lived in a penthouse apartment and drove a nifty little Merc while Río lived in a rented doll’s house and drove a hackney cab.

      The door of the wardrobe creaked spookily when Río tugged on the handle. This is like the scary bit in the movie, she thought, the bit where you put your hands over your eyes and tell the stupid girl to get out of there right now because—

      ‘Jesus Christ!’ came a screech from behind her. Río spun round to see Dervla clutching her hands to her heart. ‘Jesus Christ, W.B.! You gave me such a fright!’

      ‘What happened?’

      ‘Bloody W.B. jumped out at me from behind a box.’

      W.B. stalked indignantly towards a threadbare sofa that sagged like a sinking ship in a sea of junk. He leaped onto it and began to wash himself self-importantly, as if to reinforce his status as top cat in the household’s hierarchy.

      ‘That cat always СКАЧАТЬ