That Gallagher Girl (14 page)

What would she wear? she wondered now, as she passed along the rows of runner beans she'd planted last March, pulling away dead pods here and there. There was no time to get a wedding dress, and anyway, she hated all that palaver so. She could ask Fleur to step up to the mark and organise a suitable frock, but really, Río would rather get married in scarlet. White was
so
wrong a colour for her! Why not just wear the red dress she'd bought in Fleurissima for the birthday party Adair had thrown for her, all those years ago? It might just about fit, still. She'd try it on when she got home this evening. Stooping, she retrieved a tomato from where it had fallen at the root of a vine, and inspected it for signs of alien invasion. There were none. That organic pesticide was clearly doing the trick.

Finn had stopped his hammering, and was squinting down at her, shielding his eyes from the sun with a tanned hand. ‘How's Adair settling in?' he asked, as she stepped onto the terrace.

‘Very well,' she replied, biting into her tomato. ‘I think he likes living in a mobile home much better than living in a real home. I have to say, I could get used to it, too. It's a bit like playing house. How are you getting on?'

‘We're getting there. But there's no rush.'

Río looked around at the tool-strewn terrace, at the power-hose snaking over the cracked Indian sandstone slabs, the peeling paintwork on the walls of the pool, the ivy that was running riot all over the rusty railings, and she thought that really, Finn ought to have more cop-on than to think he could do this job on his own, even with the help of his Cat-friend. ‘When are you getting the pros in?' she asked.

‘The pros?'

‘Well, you're hardly going to be able to do all the work yourself. Presumably there's a lot of specialist stuff involved?'

Finn shrugged. ‘Not really. It's all pretty straightforward painting and decorating. A bit of plastering, maybe. The pool's the only area where we'll need professional help.'

‘Oh?' Río moved towards the big picture window and peered through. ‘I'd have thought you might have enlisted a team of interior designers.'

‘Nah. You know Da. He's pretty laidback about that kind of stuff. He's happy enough with the place the way it is, with Adair's old furniture. It's still in real good nick. I gave him a tour on webcam so he could check it out.'

Río gave him an ‘as if' look. ‘It's hardly in good enough nick for paying guests,' she said. ‘Presumably you're after people with a few bob to throw around if you want to turn a profit.'

‘What do you mean, paying guests?'

‘You know – the ones who'll be coming on scuba safari.'

‘Scuba safari?' Finn looked baffled. ‘What makes you think there'll be people coming here to dive?'

‘But that's the reason Shane bought the place, isn't it? To set up a scuba-dive outfit, like the one you and Izzy planned, when it belonged to Adair.'

Finn shook his head. ‘No, Ma. He didn't buy it for a scuba-dive outfit.'

Río took off her sunglasses, and narrowed her eyes at Finn. ‘Why did he buy it, then?'

‘I guess – I guess he just wants to be able to spend more time in Lissamore.'

‘But he lives on the other side of the world!'

‘Even Lissamore's accessible from the other side of the world, Ma. Especially when you can afford to fly first class, like he can.'

‘So . . . you're not doing up the joint for yourself, Finn? You're not going to be the one living here?'

‘No. Da is.'

‘But . . . but that's ridiculous!'

‘Why?'

‘Because it . . . because it just
is
ridiculous! Shane can't come back to Ireland and live! He can't!'

‘I think you'll find that Da can live anywhere he damn well pleases, Ma. It's not as if the tax on second homes is going to bankrupt him.'

Río's sunglasses hit the deck suddenly, and her hands went to her mouth. ‘Oh!
Oh!
The stupid, stupid man! Why didn't he
tell
me! Why didn't he tell me before I . . . Oh, God.'

‘
I
told you,' said Finn equably. ‘Practically the first thing I told you when I got back was “Surprise! Dad's bought Coral Mansion”, and you did get a surprise. Remember? You told me you got such a surprise you fell off your chair.'

‘But you said he'd bought it – I'm
sure
you said he'd bought it for you to do up.'

‘And I am doing it up. Look.' Finn held up the hammer. ‘I'm doing it up to the best of my abilities. But hey, Da's not fussy. If the work ain't done to professional standards, he's not gonna fire me. He'd rather I trousered the dosh than some rip-off merchant from Galway.'

‘I just assumed that you were going to convert it,' Río said, sitting down very suddenly on the sun lounger. ‘I never dreamed that Shane would ever come back to Lissamore . . . Oh. Oh! What have I done? I've done the wrong thing, when I so thought I was doing the right thing.'

‘You've made a mistake, that's all,' said Finn. ‘I suppose it was an easy enough conclusion to jump to. The scuba-dive outfit seemed like a good idea once upon a time. But then, you know, Ma, when Iz and me split up, and when I thought about it, I realised it would actually make a lot more sense – if you
were
going to set a scuba joint up in Lissamore – to refurbish the old one on Inishclare. The diving there would be way better for novices because of the – Ma? Are you all right?'

When Iz and I split up
. . .

At the mention of Izzy's name, curiosity finally got the better of Cat. She swung herself out of the hammock, shimmied over to the parapet, and peered over.

Finn's ma was sitting on the sun lounger, looking a bit green around the gills, the way a girl in her boarding school had done once, just before she'd projectile-vomited all over the classroom. Cat wondered if Río was going to be sick, and hoped she wouldn't do it into the swimming pool that she'd spent an entire day power-hosing. Finn was hunkered next to her, holding her hand.

‘What's up, Ma?' he asked.

Cat had to strain to hear the response. In a voice trembling with emotion, sounding a bit like the way Peig Sayers might talk, she heard Río say, ‘I'm getting married.'

‘What?' said Finn. ‘
What
did you say?'

‘I'm getting married next week.'

Cat laughed. What fine larks were to be had in Lissamore!

Finn looked utterly baffled. ‘But . . . who are you getting married to, Ma? I didn't even know you had a boyfriend!'

‘I'm getting married,' said Río, ‘to Adair Bolger.'

Later that evening, when Finn had come back from seeing his mother home, Cat asked him if they could Skype Shane, and see if the JPEGs had arrived. Finn was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to cheer himself up on YouTube, with Cat perched cross-legged next to his laptop. Cat didn't blame him for feeling a bit glum. If his da had bought this stonking great mansion in order to be reunited with his family, it
was
a bit of a bummer that his ma was getting married to somebody else. But, hey – Cat knew what it was like to be dealt a crap hand when playing Happy Families. Finn would get over it, the way she had.

‘I can't Skype him,' Finn said. ‘I wouldn't know what to tell him about Ma.'

‘But isn't she going to tell him herself?'

‘Not yet. She says she wants it to be a
fait accompli
.'

‘What's a
fait accompli
?'

‘You know – already done, so that she can't back out of it.'

‘Why would she want to back out of it? Doesn't she love this Adair bloke?'

Finn looked uncertain. ‘I . . . well, I guess she must. It's not as if she's marrying him for his money, now that he doesn't have any. I mean, you'd
have
to love someone, wouldn't you, if you were going to go and live in a mobile home with them?'

‘I'd like to live in a mobile home,' said Cat. ‘I'd like to live in one of those real luxury motor homes that you see German tourists zooming around Coolnamara in. You have everything in those motor homes – telly, fridge, power showers, everything. Imagine, Finn! You could drive off to anywhere you liked any time you felt like it. Not even the television licence inspector would be able to get you.'

‘If you could afford one of those motor homes, I don't think you'd have any problems paying your television licence fee. I suppose I'm going to have to get one for this joint. I wonder how much they cost.'

‘A television licence? Chill, Finn. You haven't even got a telly yet.'

‘I'll have to organise one. Da's going to need one for all the DVDs he gets given.'

‘He gets free DVDs?'

‘Millions of them. It's one of the perks of his job.'

Cat uncrossed her legs and hugged them to her chest. ‘Imagine having a job as a film star! Is that what he puts on forms? You know, like “Job Description: Film Star”?'

‘I don't know what he puts. What do you put? Artist? Or painter? Or vagabond?'

‘None of the above. I put “Visionary”,' lied Cat, who had never filled out a form in her life. ‘My dad puts “Academician”.'

‘“Academician”?'

‘He's a member of the Royal Hibernian Academy of Artists. He only puts it to piss people off. It's his favourite hobby.'

‘Pissing people off?'

‘Yeah. Me included.' Cat slid down from her perch on the table. ‘Can we Skype now? Come on, Finn. Have a beer, and we'll put in a call to your dad.'

‘But I don't know what to say to him, Cat, about Ma.'

‘Don't say anything. It's not your problem.'

Why should he want to waste time and energy getting involved? How stupid boys were, sometimes! They had all the cop-on of an elephant seal. Moving to the fridge, Cat took out a couple of cans of beer, and set them on the table. On YouTube, Kingsford the cutest piglet on the planet was going swimming.

‘It's kinda weird to think that Ma getting married means Izzy'll be my stepsister,' said Finn contemplatively, gazing at his computer screen as if it was a crystal ball showing him a cloudy future, instead of Kingsford swimming.

Cat didn't want to talk about Izzy. She snapped the tab on Finn's beer and handed it to him. ‘When is the wedding going to happen?'

‘Next Monday, on Coolnamara Strand. She's getting a Celtic priest or monk or something to do it.'

‘A Celtic priest?'

‘Yeah. She's asked me to give her away.'

‘Jiminy. That's a bit weird, isn't it? Giving away your own mum.' Perching herself up on the table again, Cat took a swig from her can. ‘Is there going to be a party?'

‘Yes. In O'Toole's.'

‘Can I come?'

‘Sure.'

‘The only wedding party I was ever at was my dad's. It was horrendous. He got smashed and tried to drag Oaf's maid of honour off to bed.'

‘Who's Oaf?'

‘My stepmother. It's short for Ophelia, but her real name's Tracey. I don't know whether it's more embarrassing to have an Oaf for a stepmother, or a Tracey.'

‘Parents really can be embarrassing, can't they?'

‘Your dad's pretty cool.'

‘Yeah. I actually thought my ma was pretty cool, too.'

‘Was?'

‘Well, it just seems so out of character, this whole wedding thing. I mean, she didn't even marry my dad – and back in the days when I was a kid it was kind of frowned upon to have a child out of wedlock.'

‘Wedlock!' Cat shuddered. ‘What a horrible word. Imagine promising to lock yourself to another person till death do you part. It must feel like locking yourself in a dungeon.'

‘That's just what I don't understand. Ma was always such a free spirit. She never belonged to anybody. I mean, that Duran Duran song kind of sums her up.'

Cat didn't know what Duran Duran was and she didn't care. It was getting late, and she was determined to get Finn to Skype his dad before bedtime, because if he left it till the morning it would be the middle of the night in LA, and she wouldn't be able to find out what Shane thought of her paintings, and whether he'd be able to find buyers for them. She'd been thinking all day about Finn's idea of sending her stuff out on the internet, and the more she thought about it, the more excited she became. What a fantastic feeling it would be, to have her own income . . . to never have to pick up the phone to her father again and ask for money! To never again have to grovel to Oaf to be put through!

But just as she was wondering how best to persuade Finn to talk to his dad, funny music started coming from his computer.

‘What's that?' asked Cat.

‘An incoming call. Shit. It's Da.'

‘Pick up! Pick up!' urged Cat.

‘Oh, God.' Finn took a deep breath. Then he clicked on a little symbol of a green telephone receiver, and said, as Shane's face materialised on the screen, ‘Hi, Da.'

‘Hey, Finn!' In LA, Shane was Skype-ing alfresco. His eyes were concealed behind aviator shades, and Cat fancied he was poolside because there was a marine-blue shimmer going on in the background. ‘I've someone here who wants to say hello.'

‘Who is it?'

‘It's . . . ta-ran-ta-ra!' The webcam wobbled slightly as Shane adjusted it, and then another face appeared alongside Shane's.

‘Hello, Finn!' A velvet voice oozed through the speaker.

‘Elena!' said Finn. ‘Hey! How's it going, beautiful?'

Cat recognised the face smiling at them, magically beamed into a kitchen in the west of Ireland courtesy of the worldwide web. It was Elena Sweetman, glamorous star of
Silver Vixens
, one of Oaf's favourite television series.

‘Well, holy shomoly!' gasped Cat. ‘Oaf, eat your heart out!'