Fate was waiting in the wings, sly smiling, as I pulled down his jeans, touched him, held him, guided him in. We were meant to be together, one flesh, one beat. Our future was shaping but the present was all that mattered as we lay there, pressed limb to limb, mouth to mouth, ready to be engulfed, engorged, ravished. How was it that such a moment would so easily be forgotten in the dread that followed?

My mother was the first to guess. Dismay in Sara’s eyes as she stood outside the bathroom door listening to the retching sounds from within. Morning sickness in all its misery consumed me for the first three months. I emerged eventually, goose pimples on my skin, eyes streaming, and stood facing her in my school uniform, unable any longer to hide the truth.

I met Jake’s mother for the first time and was terrified by this impeccably groomed woman, who summed me up in a glance as ‘trouble’ then set about resolving the problem as swiftly as possible. Her contacts were excellent in the mother and baby home where I’d stay throughout my ‘crisis pregnancy.’ Every time Eleanor said ‘crisis pregnancy’, and she said it often, I felt like a statistic to be shunted out of sight, out of mind. Everyone agreed that we were too young to be parents. Jake was nineteen and I would have just turned eighteen when our baby was born.

Sara remained implacably opposed to adoption but my father, not being a man to disguise his feelings, was on Eleanor’s side. My untimely pregnancy was interfering with his Big Plan, as he called it. My parent’s house was sold and we were moving to Australia. I’d argued, wept and fiercely resisted this decision but Eighties Ireland was in recession and Eoin was determined to make a new beginning.

In the weeks that followed there were meetings, discussions, angry scenes and decisions made. Jake and I were in the eye of the storm, right at its heart where we belonged, but no one was listening to us.

My parents were arguing when we entered the house one night, unaware that we could overhear every bitter word.

‘I’m not letting her hold us back.’ Eoin’s voice was flinty with determination. ‘She was careless enough to get herself knocked up by some guy she hardly knew and now we’re supposed to deal with the consequences.’

‘She’s our only child, Eoin.’ Sara sounded distraught. ‘We need to be here to support her. Otherwise, she’ll be bullied by that dreadful woman and our grandchild will be adopted.’

‘Adoption is the best solution,’ my father shouted. ‘At this stage in my life, I’m not prepared to cope with a baby. And neither are you. As for Nadine, what does she know about parenting? Zilch, that’s what!’

I heard the snap of his fingers, a pistol shot in the immediate silence that followed this statement.

‘But that’s why she needs our support.’ Sara’s anger spilled over into sobs. ‘I want to be with her when her baby is born.’

‘Where are you supposed to live? Our house is sold. In six week’s time we’re supposed to be flying to Australia. Nadine comes with us. I’m not delaying our departure date.’

‘She wants to be with Jake. This is also his child.’

‘And he’ll walk out on her the first chance he gets. If she won’t have the baby adopted and she won’t come with us then she can make her own bed and lie in it. You and I go together as planned or I go alone. Make up your mind, Sara. We’ve come too far to allow this mess to change our plans.’

Unable to listen any longer, I gripped Jake’s hand. We left the house as silently as we’d entered it.

This argument changed everything. It strengthened our resolve. Instead of seeing a problem that needed a solution we were able to visualise a baby. Our baby. We became fiercely protective of this life we’d so wantonly created. This gave us the courage to stand up to Eleanor. No adoption. She insisted on a quiet, swift wedding. Ali moved in my womb as I exchanged wedding vows with Jake, a butterfly patter, almost imagined. New life kicking into action while my old life disappeared.

A week later my father left for Australia where a job in construction was waiting for him. Sara would stay with me until her first grandchild was born. Gentle Rosanna took care of us all in Sea Aster. Ali was two months old when I embraced my mother for the last time. The farewell at the airport. The sense of unreality as I watched her disappear through the departure gates. I waved goodbye and held Ali high in my arms for her to see. Then she was gone, heading towards a new life that was extinguished eighteen months later when she was killed in a road accident.

I flew with Jake to Australia, travelled through day and night when I received that shattering phone call from my father. Sara was on life support. Dark bruises on her forehead and hands were the only external marks I could see but, internally, all was lost. Hearing, said the hospital chaplain, was the last sense to go. I’d time to whisper in her ear, caress her hands, kiss her repeatedly before Jake led me away.

‘She looks so peaceful,’ my father kept saying, as if this would give me some consolation. ‘She never knew what hit her.’

Jake held me upright when her life support was switched off. He supported me from her graveside and back home to our children. To the life we were slowly building together.

Chapter 6

Jake

At first, Jake believed the seed Karin planted in his mind had fallen on barren soil. But it kept growing shoots. Fierce, demanding shoots that made him question why he had to rise at six in the morning to beat the rush hour traffic. Why the workload he brought home at weekends kept growing. Why so many people were breathing down his neck. His bank manager, who, in the heady days of easy borrowing, had insisted the boom times were here to stay but now looked askance when Jake mentioned a loan extension. The VAT officer who arrived without an appointment to inspect Tõnality’s VAT records and gave Jake a dead fish stare when he asked if everything was in order. Tõnality’s biggest customer who had declared himself bankrupt and ended any hope of settling his account. If it wasn’t for Shard he would go crazy. Thanks to Karin Moylan, he now had an escape route.

He never intended losing touch with the band but after the twins were born and the lads were still talking about hangovers, garage raves and one-night stands, he could no longer pretend to have anything in common with them. Apart from Daryl Farrell who formed Shard with him when they were fourth-year students in St Fabian’s College, Jake had not seen the others for years.

Soon after his return from New York they met in a bar on Grafton Street to discuss the possibility of a Shard reunion. The old camaraderie was still there and they spent the night reminiscing about the past. Reedy, the bass guitarist, looked older than the others, a lived-in face with premature crevices. Too much touring and weed, he confided to Jake. Hart, who used to stumble drunk on stage and play his rhythm guitar flawlessly, was now the owner of a yoga centre called Hartland to Health. Something to do with shoulder stands and a third eye. It all sounded very mysterious to Jake who, was astonished to see Hart drinking soda water with a slice of lemon instead of knocking back shots of tequila. Daryl, Shard’s one-time lead guitarist, had recently become a first-time father. He spoke about breastfeeding with the confidence of a wet nurse and swiped his finger over his iPhone to show them photographs of his baby daughter crying, smiling, kicking her legs in the air. He made Jake feel old, his role as a parent just beginning whereas any one of Jake’s four adult children were capable of turning him into a grandfather. Barry, the drummer, once known as Bad Boy Barry Balfe, had made a fortune laying bricks during the boom. Unemployed since the collapse of the construction industry, he was examining his options. The reunion gig was manna from heaven.