Page 3 of The Irish Goodbye

“Yeah, I’m just off the ferry, mate,” he said to his best friend. “Where are you?”

In response he heard a car horn honk and saw Colin waving at him with that big dopey grin of his. Niall sighed. At least Colin would be here for the summer as well. Niall didn’t think he would have been able to handle this forced homecoming otherwise. He was already missing Dublin, and his favorite pub, and the crowded streets, and the walk down Grafton Street in the mornings to—

His thoughts glanced off the memory like a stone skipping over smooth water, skittering away toward safer shores.

He should have stopped taking that walk a month ago, but apparently he was a closeted masochist. What a fun personality trait to discover at the ripe old age of thirty-one. After weeks of Niall ignoring phone calls and sleeping during the day and watching far too much reality television while eating far too much takeaway, Colin had stepped in and staged an intervention. What was the word he’d used to describe Niall’s behavior? Self-indulgent? Toxic? Insane?

You’re off your fucking head is what he’d said. Out of his mind, more like it. But how else was he supposed to react? Niall had lost everything—his plans, his dreams, his future, the love of his life—all in one fell swoop. He’d been crushed and then trampled and then sliced into bits like chum. He was surprised no one had thrown him overboard on the ferry to feed the gulls.

He passed Alison Murphy on his way to Colin’s car. She was peering into the crowds, looking for someone.

“How’s it going, Alison?” he said.

Her eyes went wide before she quickly smoothed out her expression. “Hiya, Niall,” she said.

His stomach twisted—she knew. They all knew, everyone on this godforsaken island knew his whole story by now. Thanks, Da, he thought bitterly. Though maybe it was better he wouldn’t have to sort out a way to tell people. That would have been torture. He could just imagine it.

Hey Niall, how’s that fancy pub in Dublin coming along?

Oh well, you’d have to ask my former business partner and my cheating ex-fiancée. They’re having a go of it together now, cut me out completely. Lost my whole investment and life savings to boot. They’d been carrying on behind my back for months, apparently. Anyway, cheers, thanks for asking!

“Picking up a new lodger?” he asked before she could make some trite comment about hanging in there or keeping his chin up.

“Got someone taking the cottage for the summer,” she said.

“The whole summer?” Niall asked.

Alison nodded.

Who in the world would want to stay on Inishmore for the entire summer? They’d go bored out of their mind. If Niall could have gone anywhere else, he would have. But his father needed help with the pub—or at least, that’s what his mother had said. Niall didn’t really think his father wanted him home at all, and if he did, it was only so he could rub Niall’s nose in his failures. Too big for his boots was one of Owen O’Connor’s favorite sayings when it came to talking about his son. As if wanting to start a gastropub with elevated Irish fare was somehow the equivalent of opening a Michelin starred restaurant.

But his mother was far craftier, and she’d done the one thing that could make coming home with his tail between his legs palatable—she’d hired his best friend to be the musical entertainment at O’Connor’s for the summer. The pub had been in the family for generations and while good beer and a hearty meal were its blood, music was its beating heart. And Colin was exactly the sort of happy-go-lucky, see-where-the-wind-takes-him kind of guy to accept her offer instead of making a go of touring the cities.

“I need someone to keep an eye on Gran,” Alison explained. “Since I’ll be busy at the Leeside.”

Jesus. Niall didn’t envy that poor sod, whoever they were. He loved Róisín dearly but Alison’s grandmother was a prickly old codger who didn’t take shite from anybody. He couldn’t imagine who would be willing to spend a whole summer looking after her. Alison must have sugarcoated the deal quite a bit. Or flat out lied. He bet she hadn’t told Róisín a damned thing about it—Róisín would be furious thinking of Alison hiring someone to watch her like a nanny.

The thought almost made Niall smile. He’d have to stop by Róisín’s house later and see what she thought of the arrangement. He bet she’d have a few choice opinions to share.

He had only taken another handful of steps before he was engulfed in one of Colin Doyle’s famous bear hugs. Colin was a lean, lanky guy but he did everything with so much enthusiasm it could feel like he was twice his actual size. Niall felt himself relax for the first time in far too long. For weeks there’d been an iron spring in his chest winding tighter and tighter, keeping him from breaking into pieces.

“Good to see you,” he said gruffly.

Colin released him and patted his shoulder. “You look shite. Come on, let’s get you home and unpacked.” He glanced at the duffel bag hanging over Niall’s shoulder. “Is that all you brought?”

Niall shrugged. The truth was, it was all he had taken from his and Deirdre’s place five weeks ago after walking in on her and Patrick fucking on the pristine floor of the newly renovated kitchen in what was supposed to be his dream pub. He’d gone straight back to their place, thrown whatever was closest into a bag, and left. He’d stayed at a hotel for the first week, then a mate who was out of town generously offered to let Niall stay at his flat. But that arrangement had ended, and the thought of finding a new place to live, alone, with no prospects, was agony. Dublin itself seemed to have turned against him—the city he once loved was now haunted by Deirdre at every turn. He’d moved to Dublin as soon as he possibly could, the moment he turned eighteen and left school. It was his chosen home, his sanctuary, a place where he could be himself and live his dreams. He’d worked in more kitchens than he could count, learning as much as he could, saving and scraping by while secretly hoarding the hope that one day, he might run his own place, make his own menu.

All those years of hard work were meant to finally be coming to fruition. Until the day he caught Deirdre going at it with Patrick.

His throat closed up at the memory, the iron spring tightening another inch. Colin didn’t press the issue, instead gesturing to Niall’s mother’s old green Volkswagen, which Colin had borrowed to pick Niall up.

“God, this car makes me feel like I’m twelve again,” Niall groaned, tossing his bag in the back seat. The Volkswagen still smelled like oiled leather and peppermint. Niall had a sudden image of himself as a boy, his mother laughing and passing one of her hard candies to him as they drove home on Sundays after church.

“Just like old times, isn’t it?” Colin said cheerfully, hopping in the driver’s seat. “When was the last time we lived together in the same city?”

“Please don’t call Kilronan a city,” Niall said as Colin put the car into gear.

“Are you going to be such a delightful ray of sunshine all summer?”