“Ah, Erin, darlin’, there ye are. Sure, ye get more beautiful every time I see ye. I wouldn’t know ye if I passed ye on the street.” She cups my face in her hands.

“Don’t worry, Granny, ‘cause I’d know you.” I stand up and turn around looking for Ridlee. “Rid, come meet my granny!”

Ridlee is at the other side of the room, drink in hand, talking to Mark Bolan, an old boyfriend of mine. She’s cocked her ear to tune in to whatever it is he’s telling her, so it’s probably a fortuitous time to drag her away.

“Hello! Lovely to meet you, Mrs. O’Neill,” she says taking one of my grandmother’s hands in both of her like Princess Di or Mother Theresa.

“Lovely manners,” says Granny appreciatively. “The Yanks always have lovely manners. Except for Una — she’s gone native, more Irish than the Irish, or so she keeps sayin’ anyway.”

I laugh at my grandmother, still sharp as a tack at ninety-eight.

“So, your name’s Ridlee, is it?”

“That’s right,” says my friend, on her honkers now.

“As in Scott?” asks Granny.

“Same pronunciation, different spelling.”

“I love that film Alien. Wasn’t it him that did that, Jack?” Granny’s addressing my father who has just joined us. “T’was indeed, Mam.”

“It’s all about motherhood, ye know,” she tells Ridlee, in a conspiratorial tone. “No-one ever talks about the dark side of motherhood, Ridlee. I thought it was a very brave film.”

“Another porter, Mam?” asks my father.

“No, no, no. I’d better not, Jack. At my age.”

“What do ye mean at your age, Mam? Sure you’re fit as a fiddle. Just a small one. Go on,” he cajoles her.

“Ah, go on then. You’re a terrible influence.”

My dad nods at Uncle Miley who pours his mother a generous porter and brings it over.

She takes a sip, smacking her lips appreciatively. “Now, Ridlee, tell me all about yerself. Where were ye born?”

I push a nearby footstool toward Ridlee who is embarking on her life story and she places her petite derrière on it without releasing Granny’s hand.

I smile and turn to Dad and Uncle Miley who are both looking at me expectantly. I take a sip of my wine. I’ve decided to take it easy with the booze. In fact, both Ridlee and I had hoped for a quiet night tonight, so we’re both on wine, which we consider to be a fruit drink.

“What?” I ask, worried I’ve done something wrong, or haven’t done something.

“Well?” prompts Miley.

I raise my eyebrows and jut my chin out. “Well, what?”

Dad and Miley exchange a look. “Did ye get that thing sorted out?” asks my dad, being as direct as he can be.

“What thing?” I decide not to play along; they’re doing their Goodfellas act and it’s making me nervous.

“The thing, with the bar,” says Miley. “‘Cause we’ve found someone who can get yer man to sign whatever papers or contract ye want him te, if ye know what I mean…” He nudges my dad for effect.

“God, no! Jesus, stop the pair of ye! It’s fine. Papers signed. Deal done.” I take what I consider to be a more refined sip of my wine this time.

They both look at me confused.

“Ridlee sorted it.” I tip my glass in my friend’s direction.

Both men raise their pint glasses and toast loudly, “To Ridlee!”

Everyone stops talking at once. Only Ridlee’s voice can be heard as she tells Granny, “Well, cheerleading can be very physically demanding.” She looks up and around the room wondering what the reason for the sudden silence is.

“To Ridlee!” cheers everyone in unison.

My friend smiles uncertainly.

“And all who sail in her!” says a lone voice from the back of the room.

“Jaysus, but there’s always one gobshite,” mutters my dad to Miley and me.

“Oh, Erin, I forgot to mention,” Uncle Miley says, “your mum asked me to look into flights for you girls and I did. I know a fella who works at the airport and I was able to upgrade your two tickets, business class to Boston, flying out tomorrow.”

“Fantastic, Uncle Miley! Did ye get a good deal?” I’m excited about the upgrade. This is my thank you to Ridlee for coming with me and for getting the bar business sorted.

“Indeed and I did! There is one small thing, though,” he says oh so casually, which causes a tightening in my gut.

“What’s that, Uncle Miley?” I ask, cautiously.

“Well, they’re a little short staffed on this flight, and I told them that you were also in the service industry and they wondered if you might help out a little here and there on the flight, just serving drinks and that.” He takes a swig of his pint but I can see he’s hiding a smile.

“You’re pullin’ my leg, Uncle, aren’t ye?” I ask, playfully.

“Now, that would be tellin’,” he says walking off to find Aunty Ger.

“Dad? He’s joking, right?”

“Don’t look at me.” My dad disappears into the crowd after his brother.

“Great. I get to do a bit of slaving in the sky while Ridlee sips champagne,” I mutter darkly. “Can’t wait!” I drain my wine and go in search of a proper drink.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

RIDLEE

THANK GOD, UNCLE MILEY WAS just messing with us when he said we’d have to help serve drinks on the flight. I knew he had to be kidding. Surely you need some sort of FAA license to do that. I lean back in my business class seat and soak up the ambiance. This is so much better than coach. Are these seats heated or is my ass just on fire?

I realize I’m sitting on some sort of down blanket wrapped in plastic and pull it out, letting it drop to the floor by my legs. I’m not sure how much sleeping I’m going to be doing on this flight. We had a fairly early night, all things considered. The party ended pretty abruptly after Erin’s grandmother got wasted, started singing Irish ditties with cuss words in them, and then her false teeth fell out and landed on the floor. Erin was mortified, but I thought it was pretty awesome entertainment. I’ll never forget Ireland or Erin’s family in particular. I love those people. They threatened to come visit us in Boston and I was all for it. I even offered up my apartment, and Uncle Miley seemed particularly interested in its square footage.

Erin sighs heavily, breaking into my floaty, happy mood.

“What?” I ask, already bored with whatever her answer is going to be. She’s been bound and determined to be miserable, ever since we had that conversation about Michaél being on the opposite side of the table in this business deal. I don’t know why she can’t just shake it off. We got the proof that the contract was signed, and I made sure the money was transferred, so it’s a done deal. Now she can realize all her hopes and dreams. You’d think she’d say thank you instead of moaning and groaning all day and night.

“Nothing.” She sighs again, this time even more dramatically.

I open one eye and look at her. She’s staring at her phone, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.

I snatch it from her hand before she realizes I’m paying attention.

“Hey! Give that back!”

“Not until I see what’s got you so upset.” I quickly scan through the texts. They’re all from Michaél, of course.

Where r u?

Did u leave?

I need to talk to u.

Why didn’t u tell me?

I hand it back to her and join her sighing parade. “Erin, just delete his number off your phone and don’t text him back. Please?”