Part 2 (1/2)

The birthday boy popped up, looking smugly moon-faced while Louisa fiddled distractedly with the strap of his dungarees.

'Kit says New Zealand is beautiful,' I ventured. 'Like Ireland, but better weather and no relatives.'

'Huh. He's been watching too much Lord of the Rings.'

I sighed. 'It's actually me you have to blame. I was sitting in front of the computer one night, freaking out about the mortgage.'

'Join the club.'

'I couldn't resist having a little peek at this recruitment agency's website. I found five great jobs straightaway, so I started researching-Lou, it was like riding on a magic carpet! With a couple of clicks it flew me- whoosh-out of my gloomy sitting room and off to a promised land. Forests, mountains, pristine white beaches, all stunningly lovely. No traffic, no queues. People swimming with dolphins. Skiing. Surfing. Kayaking on crystal-clear rivers-hey, d'you know what their advertising slogan is?'

Lou looked as though I'd invited her to see my gallstones.

'One hundred per cent pure,' I announced, with a flourish.

She stuck out the tip of her tongue. 'How twee. And what else did you visit on your magic hearthrug?'

'The estate agent. A dream house in the hills-ten dream houses in our price range, mortgage free. Places for Kit to paint and me to keep chickens.'

'Like Beatrix b.l.o.o.d.y Potter.'

'And finally the government website. We'll get visas if one of us has an essential skill and-hey, presto!-occupational therapists are on the list.' I lifted the baby from her lap and pressed my nose to his. I was going to miss him.

'Have you talked to the witch doctor?' Lou meant our father, and she was playing her ace card. She knew the children idolised him.

'I'll do it tomorrow-and don't you dare get in first.'

'Kit's family?'

'Not yet.'

She b.u.t.toned her s.h.i.+rt, lips clamped into a line. I'd known Louisa thirty-seven years; she was a three-year-old tyrant when I was born, and the only person I ever met who could stare down our mother. She really hadn't changed in all that time, and I loved her as much as ever.

'What it comes down to is that you've let a daydream get out of control,' she said.

'What it comes down to is that we want a different life for our children. Oh, yuck, Theo! You're supposed to throw up on Mummy, not me.' I set him down on the Kickers, and he thundered off.

Handing me a bit of white muslin, Lou swayed across the kitchen in her flowery skirt. My sister is opulent, like a peony. The plumper she grows, the better she looks. I'm sure she posed for Botticelli in another incarnation. She might be his Venus, with twining tendrils of caramel hair, a slightly hooked nose and arching brows. Apparently she and I are strikingly similar- could be twins, they tell me-but I slightly resent the suggestion. Lou would never in a zillion years get into my jeans.

Upstairs, Finn and Charlie were having a barney. Howls of rage culminated in a smash, then Charlie's agonised wailing.

'Trouble?' asked Lou, reaching for her cigarettes. She and smoking had a love-hate relations.h.i.+p. She was always trying to give up.

'It's not serious; I can tell from the engine note. Anyway, Sacha's with them.'

Lou flicked her lighter.

'Sacha's got a new boyfriend,' I said, hoping to distract her. 'Did she tell you?' She shook her head sulkily, but I persevered. 'Ivan Jones, the garden gnome. Plays the timpani in her orchestra. He looks uncannily like something you'd find cross-legged on a lily pad.'

'Does he wear a hoodie?'

I opened my hands, mystified. 'Nope! No ponytail, no tattoos. Not so much as an earring. Nothing remotely rebellious. What a codswalloping yawn. He won't get her pregnant or hooked on heroin, but what's he got to offer a girl like Sacha?'

'Perhaps he's fascinating, if you happen to be sixteen.'

'Can't see it, myself. He's got a silly little beard and a pink VW Beetle.'

Lou shrugged. 'Well, there you are, then. Wheels.'

'He's hypnotically boring, Lou. Sits there piggling at his fingernails.'

'Why worry? He'll be gone by next week.' She balanced her cigarette in an ashtray and began to chop onions for tomato salad. 'I wish I had a Sacha-cheerful, competent and permanently available for babysitting.'

'Ah, but you wouldn't have enjoyed telling Mum you were pregnant at the age of twenty-one, and not a father in sight.'

'My virginal bridesmaid, rolling along in that vile maternity dress. The shame!'

I forced a laugh. It wasn't a happy memory. 'She'd have put me in one of those Irish laundries if she could have.'

Slamming down her knife, Lou began to ma.s.sage her temples. 'Martha, don't go. Why are you doing this? Aren't we enough for you?'

I'd never refused my sister anything. I could feel knots tightening in my stomach.

'You'll never go through with it,' she said suddenly. 'You haven't told Dad or the McNamara clan. It'll never happen.' With a sharp little nod of denial, she held out her salad. 'C'mon, enough nonsense! Grab this. I'll go and find Philip.'

I didn't move. 'I've signed a contract,' I said sadly. 'It's a private rehab unit just outside a city called Napier. Head injury and spinal. I had an interview with an agency in London. I've . . . Lou, I've already given notice at work.'

She froze for a second before ramming the bowl into my midriff. 'I wish I knew what you're trying to prove,' she snapped, and flounced off.

I trailed outside. It was only just beginning to sink in, what we were doing. The enormity of it left me dizzy. Finn and Charlie ran past me to join their cousins who were splas.h.i.+ng in and out of a paddling pool, dicing with hypothermia.

Kit was lounging against the barbecue where Louisa had sent him, one hand in a pocket, sizzling sausages. 'How'd she take it?' he asked, and chuckled sympathetically when I imitated the face from The Scream.

As if on cue, Lou swept from the house, followed by her husband. 'Philip's appalled,' she said, her voice bra.s.sy with hurt.

My brother-in-law threw me one reproachful glance as he lowered himself into a deckchair and proceeded to scuba dive in the merlot. Philip was a young man when I first knew him, with copper eyelashes and a Captain Kirk grin. We go back too far; met while I was training and had a practice placement in the unit where he was a psychologist. I introduced him to Lou, G.o.d help me. Seventeen years on there's half the sandy hair, double the chins and plenty of regret. He works in industry, doing isometric testing on ostensibly sane people. Must be pretty depressing.

'So.' He made his fingers skip along the chair's arm. 'The rats are scurrying from the sinking s.h.i.+p.'

'Rats, are we?' Kit laughed. It was a long time since I'd seen him so carefree. His eyes seemed almost electric blue. 'Don't beat around the bush, Philip. If you're not entirely impressed, why not say so?'

'Your scheme is hare-brained. What are your children going to be- Irish? English? New Zealanders?'

'Happy,' retorted Kit. 'Untroubled. Unhurried. Uncrowded.'

'Uneducated and uncultured.'