Part 40 (2/2)

and her family had flown back and forth over the ocean as casually as

other families drove across town.

She had turned six in the autumn of 1970, and had a proper British

tutor, at Bev's insistence. When they settled back in England again,

she knew she would go to school with others her age. The idea was both

frightening and wonderful.

”When we get back home, I'm going to learn lots more, and teach you

everything.” As she spoke, she piled the blocks into a neat tower.

”Look, here's your name. The best name. Darren.”

On a cry of glee, he pranced back to crouch and study the letters. ”D,

A, Z, L, M, N, 0, P. ” After sending Emma a wicked smile, he swooped

his arm through it. Blocks crashed and tumbled. ”Darren!”

he shouted. ”Darren McAvoy.”

”You can say that well enough, can't you, boy-o?” In three years, the

flow and cadence of her voice had come to mirror Brian's. She smiled as

she began to build something a little more intricate for him to

demolish.

He was the light of her life, her little brother with his dark thick

hair and laughing sea-green eyes. At two, he had the face of a

Botticelli cherub and the energy of a demon. He'd done everything

early, crawling weeks before the baby books had warned Bev to expect it.

His face had been on the cover of Newsweek, Photoplay, and Rolling

Stone. The world had an ongoing love affair with Darren McAvoy. He had

the blood of Irish peasants and staunch British conservatives in his

<script>