Chapter Twenty

Izzy was sitting on the sea wall, where she had joined the only friend she had in Lissamore, Babette, the bichon frise. She was filling the dog in on where she’d been on her holidays, and lamenting the fact that she’d ended up in hospital in Koh Samui after stepping on a shard of broken beer bottle in Tao, when she became aware that someone was standing too close to her, looking directly at her. Immediately on the defensive, thinking it might be one of those horrible local boys who had jeered at her at Frank Kinsella’s wake, Izzy looked up with a supercilious expression.

‘Hi,’ said Finn. ‘Why are you looking so cross?’

‘I’m not cross. I’m–um–thinking.’

‘Thinking about what?’

‘About what I’m going to have for dinner this evening. I’m meeting my dad in O’Toole’s in half an hour.’

‘What a coincidence. So am I. Eating there, obviously,’ he amended, ‘not meeting your dad.’ Sitting down beside Izzy, he reached over and scratched Babette under her chin, making her close her eyes and smile ecstatically. ‘Hello, Flirty-Paws,’ he crooned. ‘Have you missed me, Babushka?’

‘You’ve been away?’ Izzy asked.

‘Yep. Just got back yesterday.’

‘Where were you?’

‘New Zealand, Australia, Thailand. Where did you end up? I remember last time we met, you told me you were going travelling later in the year.’

Izzy was just about to tell a lie about not having been away anywhere, when she remembered that her dad had already told the Kinsella sisters that they’d taken a holiday to Thailand together; what would happen if Río twittered about it to Finn? So she took a deep breath, and said with affected casualness: ‘Oh, I was in Thailand too.’

‘No shit! Where?’

‘Koh Samui.’

‘Just south of me. I spent most of the summer on Tao.’

‘Nice.’

‘Very nice. Do you dive?’

‘Yes.’

‘To what level?’

‘Master scuba-diver.’

‘I’m impressed.’

For form’s sake, the question had to be reciprocated. ‘You–erm–you dive too, do you?’ asked Izzy, feeling ridiculous.

‘Yes. I’m a master instructor.’

‘Oh! So you certified while you were over there? Congratulations!’

‘How did you know that?’ asked Finn, looking puzzled.

Izzy thought fast. ‘Er–Mrs Ryan in the corner shop told me,’ she lied.

‘Oh God. I suppose my ma has been blabbing her mouth off all over the village about it. Even the dogs in the street will know by now. Did you know, Babushka? Did you know that Finn was now officially a fish?’ And taking both of Babette’s little ears between his hands, he started to tickle them, whereupon the dog looked as though she might swoon with rapture. ‘If you were in Samui, it would have made sense to get your arse up to Tao,’ resumed Finn, as Izzy cast around wildly for some way of changing the subject. ‘I actually had a close encounter with a whale shark there–even got a photograph to prove it. Some of the best diving in Asia is off—’

‘Oh, look!’ said Izzy, abruptly. ‘There’s that film star. I thought I saw him on the beach earlier! I wonder what he’s doing in Lissamore.’

Shane Byrne had just come out of Ryan’s corner shop, and was standing shooting the breeze with one of the village elders.

Finn tore his attention away from Babette’s ears. ‘Oh,’ he said, dismissively ‘That arsehole. Shane Somebody or other.’

‘Shane Byrne. There’s a feature about him in this month’s GQ magazine. Do you really think he’s an arsehole?’

‘Anybody who features in GQ magazine has to be an arsehole. He’s in some new television series, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. It’s called Faraway. I’ve seen a couple of podcasts, and he’s actually very good.’

‘Why don’t you take a photograph of him?’

Izzy shrugged. ‘I wish I could. I left my phone in Dad’s car.’

‘I’ll take one for you, if you like.’

‘Oh, would you? I’d love that! My mate Lucy’ll be so jealous. She got a picture of herself standing next to Johnny Depp once.’

‘Hm.’ Finn gave her a speculative look. ‘How about if you go one better?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘How about if you get a picture of Shane Whatshisname with his arm around you? I’ll ask him for you if you feel too shy’

‘You wouldn’t! Would you?’

‘Sure. But it’ll cost you. How much would you be prepared to pay for a picture of you in a clinch with this Shane Thingy?’

‘Um. Say–five euro?’ hazarded Izzy. Five euros would be worth it to see the expression on Lucy’s face.

Ten.

‘Seven fifty’

‘OK,’ Finn conceded with a shrug. ‘It’s a deal. How about if I ask him for an autograph, too? How much would that be worth?’

‘Um. Another five?’

Finn gave her a scornful look. ‘Get real, princess! Have you any idea how much autographs go for on eBay these days? You could double that, no problem.’

‘OK, then. How about twenty, all in?’

‘Done deal. Show me the money.’

Izzy reached into her bag and produced her wallet. Sliding a crisp twenty-euro note from it, she handed it to Finn.

‘Thanks, Isabella,’ he said, grinning at her and getting to his feet. Then he put his fingers to his lips and blew. The whistle could have stopped traffic. A couple of women gossiping on a doorstep broke off mid-sentence and Shane Byrne looked up from his conversation and raised an interrogative eyebrow.

‘Hey, Dad!’ hollered Finn. ‘There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.’

As Shane began to stroll down the street towards them, Izzy turned to Finn and gave him an incredulous look. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ she asked.

‘No. He really is my dad,’ said Finn.

‘What? You’re telling me that an überdude like him just happens to be—’ And then Izzy remembered how Finn had signed her logbook in Tao: ‘Finn Byrne’. She clamped her hands over her mouth. ‘Oh. Oh God. This is totally embarrassing.’

‘What’s so embarrassing about it?’

‘I don’t know. The fact that he’s your dad is–it just makes things different. It makes me feel like even more of a tool.’

‘I wouldn’t worry. The novelty of being an overnight success hasn’t worn off yet. Sure, he’d love to have his photograph taken with a fox like you.’

There was no time for further protest. Shane was within earshot.

The film star greeted his son with a mock punch on the arm and a ‘Hey, Finn,’ before turning his attention to Izzy. She felt herself blushing as he looked down at her and said with a smile, ‘Introduce me.’

‘Dad, this is Isabella Bolger—’

‘Izzy,’ said Izzy.

‘Izzy,’ amended Finn. ‘And this is my father, Shane Byrne.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Izzy,’ said Shane.

‘Likewise.’

‘Izzy was hoping to get a picture taken with you, Dad,’ said Finn.

‘What? No, I wasn’t!’ The ‘Hello?’ look that Finn bestowed upon her obliged Izzy to backtrack fast. ‘I mean, I certainly didn’t mean to intrude or cause you any inconvenience…’

‘What’s inconvenient about posing with a pretty girl?’ asked Shane. ‘Fire ahead, Finn. Where do you want us?’

‘Against the sea wall would be good,’ said Finn, taking his phone from his pocket.

‘Like this?’ Shane slung his right arm around Izzy’s shoulders.

‘Yeah. That’s good.’ Finn took aim. ‘Smile, Izzy!’

Izzy forced a rictus smile as Finn happy-snapped away. ‘Good, good, good!’ he exclaimed. ‘Hey, Dad, you’ve become a real pro at this. Izzy, d’you think you could look a bit more relaxed? Put your arm around Dad, or lay your head on his shoulder or something.’

Izzy cocked her head and smiled some more, hoping she looked carefree and spontaneous, and feeling like a klutz. As soon as Finn lowered his phone, she took a step backwards and said: ‘Thank you very much, Mr Byrne.’

‘Shane!’

‘Shane.’

Izzy practically genuflected in gratitude, and made to move away, but Finn stopped her in her tracks: ‘Hey! You’ve forgotten the autograph.’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ said Izzy, wishing she’d never made the stupid deal with Finn. ‘I don’t want to take up any more of your time—’

‘I’m a man of my word,’ said Finn, rummaging in his jacket pocket and pulling out a crumpled flyer. ‘You paid me good money for an autograph, and an autograph you shall have. Here, Dad. Sign that.’

Shane produced a pen and was just about to sign, when Finn snatched back the flyer and said, ‘No, wait. I’ve a better idea. Hang on a minute.’ And he tore off up the main street, leaving Shane and Izzy looking at one another.

‘What did he mean, you paid him good money? I hope the little shyster hasn’t been fleecing all and sundry by promising them autographs?’

‘Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t do that!’

‘I’m sure he would,’ said Shane.

A passing tour bus rumbled past, and Shane saluted the passengers, who were all plastered up against the windows, gawping at him.

‘You could become a tourist attraction. Do you come from Lissamore originally, Shane?’ Izzy asked, seguing smoothly onto another subject.

‘No. I was born and reared in Galway But I used to spend a lot of time hanging around here in my misspent youth. You’re from Dublin, right? Do you come down a lot?’

‘No. My dad would love to spend more time here, but it isn’t really feasible.’

‘I understand he’s thinking of selling up?’

‘How–how did you know that?’

‘Finn’s mother told me. You know each other, I think. Río Kinsella.’

‘Oh, yes. She and her sister had lunch with us yesterday.’

So. Río Kinsella was in all likelihood spreading the news round the village right now that the Villa Felicity was up for grabs at a bargain price, and that the garden was a shambles. And there Río was now, wafting into Ryan’s corner shop in her hippy threads, arm in arm with Fleur, doubtless looking forward to a good old yak. And then–yikes!–Izzy remembered that she had told Finn earlier that the corner shop was where she’d heard about his certification, and–oh double yikes!–what if the shopkeeper didn’t know about it, and was just now hearing the news from the horse’s mouth, a.k.a. Río? And what if Finn was in there going, ‘But Izzy Bolger said she heard it from you, Mrs Ryan,’ and…oh God, oh God, this was awful–like an episode in an afternoon soap. How right Lucy had been that time she’d told Izzy that she tended to complicate things.

Shane was smiling down at her, and she remembered how, when she’d first seen his photograph in GQ, he’d reminded her of someone. She knew now, of course, that that someone was Finn. And she thought that she’d never seen a more attractive smile in her life, and she couldn’t help but return it.

And now Finn was back, brandishing a copy of GQ.‘Here, Dad–sign this!’ he instructed, before turning wicked eyes on Izzy. ‘A much classier option than an autograph on the back of a pizza parlour flyer, don’t you think? Although I’m afraid I’m going to have to add an extra six euro something to your bill. That rag is scandalously expensive.’

‘You have been charging people for my autograph, you little shit!’ said Shane, mock-punching him again, but this time more forcefully.

Finn looked injured. ‘Hey! What’s a man to do?’ he said. ‘I’m just back from Thailand, penniless after forking out all that money for my training and my kit. I’ve got to earn a few bucks somehow. I’ve a loan to pay off.’

‘Well, I won’t have you paying it off by suckering people.’

‘I only suckered Izzy.’

‘How much for?’

‘Twenty euros.’

Shane pulled a wallet from his pocket, peeled off a twenty, and handed it to Izzy. ‘Please allow me to apologise for my son,’ he said.

‘No, no, I can’t take your money!’

‘I insist.’

‘No, I insist.’ Izzy knew she was turning puce.

‘OK, then,’ said Shane, directing a black look at Finn and sliding the banknote back into his wallet. ‘In that case, you might do me the honour of joining me for a drink?’

‘Oh! I’d love that,’ said Izzy. She was suddenly feeling very glad indeed that she had accompanied her father to Lissamore this weekend.

Shane crooked an arm and extended it to Izzy, who linked it and beamed up at him.

Loping ahead of them across the road, Finn pushed open the door to O’Toole’s. ‘Mine’s a pint, Dad,’ he threw over his shoulder.

‘Get lost, buddy,’ said Shane. ‘I don’t drink with con artists. What’ll you have, Izzy? Champagne? Yes, of course you will. Michael! A bottle of your finest champagne, please.’

‘Finest?’ said the bartender, ambling in from the back room. ‘We only run to one brand.’

‘Whatever. I’m sure it’ll be grand. Take a seat, madam.’

Izzy hopped up onto the barstool he pulled out for her, and then Shane sat up on her right while Finn straddled the stool on her left.

‘Wouldn’t you love to have a shot of you and my dad quaffing champagne together?’ said Finn in an undertone. ‘Special price. Ten euros.’

‘Con man, hie thee hence,’ said Shane.

‘OK. I’ll hie off up to Dervla’s and put some new pics of you up on the internet.’

‘What pics?’

‘I got some great ones of you this morning while you were still fast asleep. I thought they’d come in handy for blackmail purposes.’

‘What are you on about?’

‘Well, you were snoring, so your mouth’s wide open and there’s some drool—’

‘OK, OK,’ said Shane. ‘You can stop right there, buster. Michael?’

‘Yep?’

‘Make that a bottle of champagne and a pint of Guinness, please.’

‘Coming right up,’ said the bartender.

Río was sitting at a table in the first-floor restaurant of O’Toole’s, gazing unseeingly at a menu, trying to ignore the sounds of laughter that came floating up from the bar below every time the door swung open. Shortly before eight o’clock, Dervla arrived.

‘Where are your beloveds?’ Dervla asked, kissing her sister on the cheek and sitting down opposite her.

‘They’re downstairs in the pub, slugging champagne,’ said Río, testily.

‘So why aren’t you down there, slugging champagne with them?’

Río looked around the restaurant and lowered her voice. ‘Because they’re with that spooky Isabella.’

Dervla raised her eyes heavenward. ‘Honestly, Río! I don’t know why you’ve taken so agin the girl.’

‘It’s she who’s taken agin me. Every time I open my mouth she gives me the evil eye.’

‘I’ve never seen her be anything but perfectly polite to you. You’re being completely paranoid, you know.’

‘You can smile and smile and still be a villain,’ said Río, tapping her nose. ‘Shakespeare said that.’

‘And Thomas Jefferson said that the happiest moments of his life had been the few he passed in the bosom of his family. You should welcome the opportunity to celebrate this reunion, Río. How often do you get a chance to drink champagne with your son and his father? If you carry on in a big strop you’ll ruin the evening and regret it in the morning.’

‘Who says I’m in a strop?’

‘It’s perfectly obvious that you’re in a strop. You can’t bear the idea of Finn and Shane having fun without you, and you’re too miffed to join in.’

‘I wouldn’t want to intrude,’ said Río.

‘Oh, act your age.’

‘Act my age?’ Río returned indignantly. ‘Act my age. Just what age do you think Shane is acting–flirting with a girl who is young enough to be—’

Just then a waitress approached their table. She was carrying a bottle of champagne, an ice bucket and two flutes, and Río immediately stapled on a dazzling smile. ‘Hi, Miriam!’ she said. ‘What’s this? Did you order champagne, Dervla?’

Dervla shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Compliments of Mr Bolger,’ Miriam told them.

‘Mr Bolger? You mean Adair?’ said Dervla. ‘How kind! Where’s he hiding?’

‘He’s in the alcove table, around the corner.’

‘Oh, you must ask him to join us!’ said Río, brightly. ‘Please do, and bring an extra glass!’

‘You’d better make that three extra glasses,’ said Dervla.

Río raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Three?’

‘Finn and Shane are about to join us,’ Dervla reminded her.

‘They don’t deserve any more champagne.’

Miriam hovered, looking uncertain. ‘One glass or three?’ she asked.

‘Three please, Miriam,’ Dervla said categorically, skewering her sister with a look.

Río shrugged, and Miriam sashayed off.

‘I thought you said you had no time for Adair?’ remarked Dervla, leaning her elbows on the table. ‘What makes you so keen to invite him to join us?’

‘What’s sauce for the goose,’ remarked Río, airily.

‘And by that you mean…what, exactly?’

‘If Shane can sit and flirt with Princess Isabella over a bottle of champagne, I don’t see why I can’t flirt with her father.’

Dervla struck her forehead with the heel of her hand. ‘Dear Jesus, Río! You’re even more juvenile than I thought!’

‘Well, if you’d seen the way Shane was leaning over my balcony ogling her arse yesterday, you’d want to get back at him too.’

‘Why should you want to get back at Shane for ogling a pretty girl’s arse, for God’s sake? It’s not as if he belongs to you.’

Río thought about it. What Dervla said was true. Shane didn’t belong to her. And yet, and yet…since he’d become famous as a Hollywood big shot and all those creepy web women had been posting their comments and weaving their lurid fantasies online, Río had felt increasingly that actually, yes, Shane did belong to her. He certainly belonged to her more than to any other woman: he was the father of her son, after all, wasn’t he? He had sired Finn, the famous so-called ‘love child’, born of a ‘tempestuous relationship’ early on in his career in Ireland. Ha! Río had to admit that when you looked at it that way, it sounded quite intriguing–almost as intriguing as an episode of Faraway.

Her musings were brought to an abrupt end by the arrival of Adair Bolger–all smiles and compliments and solicitous enquiries after their health–and no sooner had he arrived than Shane and Finn came roistering up the stairs, preceded by a visibly glowing Isabella.

Uh-oh, thought Río. Dervla had been right. She had been a bloody eejit to invite Adair to join their table, because now, of course, his daughter would be part of the equation. What a complete wuss she had been, not to have deduced that father and daughter would be likely to be dining à deux in O’Toole’s!

And now everyone was making room and small talk, and new places were being set at the table for Adair and Isabella, and another champagne flute–and, indeed, yet another bottle of bubbly–was on its way, and menus were being handed round.

Río observed the way the seating arrangements were shaping up, and was delighted when Adair elected to sit next to her at the top of the table, where she could flirt with him as outrageously as she liked and piss Izzy off. And maybe even Shane, too. Shane chose the seat on her right, while Izzy sat facing her father, with Shane on her left, and Finn on her right-hand side. Dervla, meanwhile, after greeting Shane with an elegantly executed air-kiss, resumed her seat directly opposite her sister, regarding her with an inscrutable expression.

‘Shane! You’ll have mussels to start, I know you will!’ sang Río. ‘You never could resist them. And Adair? Let me see…scallops for you? How did I guess! And for me, Miriam? I think I’ll have oysters. Half a dozen, please. No, wait! Since Shane’s paying, I think I might just manage a dozen.’

And Río looked across at Dervla with a catlike smile, as if to say, ‘How could you ever have imagined that I was in a strop? I’ll be Ms Congeniality personified tonight!’

At the end of the table, with Shane on her left and Finn on her right, Izzy felt as if she were sitting between two very attractive bookends. Father and son were really ridiculously alike, with the same lopsided smile, the same wicked green eyes, and the same preposterous cheekbones. Their mannerisms were identical too, and they even spoke in a similar timbre, which Izzy found bizarre, considering that they had lived apart for most of their lives. The rapport between them was unmistakable.

She had learned from Finn that his mother had brought him up single-handedly, and made many sacrifices for him–including her career. She could have been a huge success as a theatre designer, he told her. Even though she had never formally trained, she had served as a kind of apprentice to a highly acclaimed international designer while she was still in her teens. And for a number of years she had worked in the fashion business as well, as Fleur’s partner. Had Izzy seen the lovely watercolours on display in Fleur’s shop? Well, they were his mother’s!

Izzy had listened and smiled and nodded. The watercolours were gorgeous, she agreed. She thought she might even buy one for her father for Christmas (and hide it away in a drawer). Poor Finn was clearly deluded about his mother, as so many only children were. She was lucky that she suffered no such delusions about her own mother, and she was fortunate too that she had a father who was the most generous and understanding and lovable in the whole world, and who adored her unconditionally.

At the other end of the table, she couldn’t help noticing that her dad was spending a lot of time leaning to his right, engaging Río in conversation, and laughing a fair bit at her ‘repartee’. Pah! Couldn’t he see through the bohemian, hippy-dippy facade to the gold-digger that lurked beneath? Wasn’t it obvious that here was a woman hitting a certain age, who was using all the ammunition left to her disposal to bag herself a man before it was too late? She’d clearly been pulling out all the stops yesterday, when she’d worn that black dress to lunch. It had been elegant, certainly–even sexy in an understated way–but entirely wrong for the occasion. The woman had no social nous whatsoever.

This evening she was back in hippy garb, sporting some cobwebby ensemble with bangles and trailing scarves that made her look like a Celtic version of Mystic Meg. Izzy found herself wondering if she was wearing her recently purchased underwear, and immediately slapped a mental health and safety no-go-area sticker on that particular idea.

Izzy herself was wearing her new polka-dotted bra and knicks combo under jeans and a pretty, long-sleeved Alberta Ferretti T-shirt. She’d checked herself out in her mother’s cheval glass earlier, and was relieved to see that she’d lost most of the weight she’d put on in Koh Samui. After she’d injured her foot on Tao at the end of August, she’d been out of action exercise-wise, and had spent the rest of the holiday slumped on a sun lounger, feeling glum and stuffing her face with paninis because there’d been nothing else for her to do in paradise if she wasn’t diving.

Back in Dublin, Felicity had offered to wangle her membership of her very exclusive gym, but the idea of exercising alongside her mother made Izzy go weak at the knees. She knew for a fact that her mother actually exercised like a demon before she went to the gym, so that when fellow gym bunnies marvelled at the fact that she kept so trim simply by performing a couple of effortless yoga poses, Felicity could turn to them and say: ‘Oh, I’m just naturally slender, you know. I even burn calories while I do sudoku!’ Of course, the added bonus for Felicity was that, because her brand of yoga was sweat-free, she could keep her make-up and jewellery on.

This evening Izzy was a make-up-free zone, with the exception of a touch of mascara and a smear of lipgloss. She wondered what it must be like for a dude de luxe like Shane Byrne to be surrounded by such ordinariness. He must be used to dining in fabled eateries like Spago and the Hotel Bel-Air in the company of the world’s most glamorous women. She felt incredibly privileged to be sitting here now, the sole focus of his attention. He certainly was an accomplished flirt: he knew how to listen, he knew how to make her laugh, and he knew how to make her blush.

It was warm in O’Toole’s, and the champagne (and the compliments!) had made Izzy flushed and muzzy. As Shane refilled her glass she thanked him, and pushed up the sleeves of her T-shirt. At the other end of the table she could hear Río’s voice saying, ‘I had no idea that the islands were so close, Adair! If you’d hooked up with Finn, he could have taken you diving on Tao.’

‘I’m not a great one for diving,’ said Adair, ‘but Izzy is. She did go diving on Tao, actually–had a close encounter with a whale shark, no less!–but she had to leave the island the same day because she injured her foot.’

And as Izzy was registering this exchange in one part of her brain, another part was registering Shane’s sonorous voice saying, ‘Hey! What an interesting tattoo! What is it?’

‘It’s a Japanese kanji,’ responded Izzy automatically. ‘It means…’ And then she and Finn turned to each other at exactly the same moment and said simultaneously, ‘Water’.

‘Speaking of which,’ said Shane, ‘we could do with another bottle. What’s the waitress’s name, Finn?’

‘Miriam.’

‘Miriam! Could you bring us another bottle of still water, please?’

‘Sure,’ said Miriam. She swooped down between Finn and Izzy and started to clear away plates, but as she made to move away, a fingerbowl slipped and water and prawn tails landed all over Finn’s jeans.

‘Oh! I’m so sorry!’ said Miriam, reaching for a napkin. She dropped to her knees, and began to mop ineffectually at the spill. ‘Oh, Finn! I can’t believe what I’ve done! You’re soaked.’

‘No worries, Miriam,’ said Finn, looking uncomfortable. ‘It’s only water.’

‘But I can’t allow you to sit there in wet jeans!’ Reaching for his hand, Miriam pulled him to his feet. ‘Come with me. I have an idea.’

And as Miriam led Finn away, ignoring his protests that he was fine, and to stop making such a fuss, Izzy decided to grab this opportunity to get out of there before he came back and started interrogating her about the kanji.

Feeling even muzzier, she rose from the table with a vague, ‘Excuse me.’ Then she turned and fled for the sanctuary of the loo as if a school of tiger sharks was in pursuit.

The loo was downstairs, but Izzy didn’t need to pee. She just stood there fidgeting and fretting, wondering if Finn had put two and two together yet. If he had, what was he going to think of her? She had gone to extraordinary lengths that day on Tao to keep her identity secret just because of her stupid hair extensions, and she now wished fervently that she hadn’t, because she fancied the arse off Finn Byrne. Sorry–what? Rewind. Replay. Because she fancied the arse off Finn Byrne…

Oh God. Izzy looked at herself in the mirror and would have blenched if her face wasn’t so red and shiny. Her roots needed doing, she had a spot that even her blemish bombs hadn’t been able to blast, her lipgloss was half chewed off, and her mascara was smudged. What was she going to do? She had two choices. She could do some remedial work on her face and go back upstairs as if nothing had happened, or she could beat a hasty retreat, phone her dad, tell him that she wasn’t feeling well and that she’d decided to walk home.

Oh–walk, walk, yes! She wanted to walk and clear her head and figure out what kind of mess she’d got herself into. And, more importantly, figure just how she was going to get out of it. Except, she reckoned, as she slung her backpack over her shoulder and escaped through the door of the pub, she actually didn’t have to figure out how to get out of this particular mess. Come next week, the Villa Felicity would be on the market and she’d never need to come here to Lissamore again, would never need to see Finn Byrne and his maddening smile, and–best of all–she’d never need to see that obnoxious Río Kinsella again.

Outside, the main street of the village was deserted, apart from here and there the spectral shadow of a cat. Izzy pulled her phone from her bag and jabbed speed-dial. Adair sounded concerned when he picked up, saying, ‘What do you mean, you’re walking home by yourself, Isabella?’

‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’m fine. I just need some fresh air, and the walk will do me good. Don’t even think about leaving on my account–please don’t. I promise! I’ll have hot chocolate waiting for you–just give me a bell when you’re leaving. Yes, yes, yes–love you, too! See you later. Mwah!’

Izzy continued walking, phone tucked snugly in her hand like a gun, just in case. But of course, she hadn’t reckoned on the fresh air getting fresher as she walked, or the rain starting to come down, and before she was halfway along the village street she was wet and freezing, and wishing that she hadn’t left her jacket behind in the restaurant, hanging on the back of her chair.

And then she heard a voice behind her calling her name and saying something about her jacket, and thank God, thank God, it was Finn! And thank God she had left her jacket behind because otherwise he might not have come after her.

Izzy turned, and pushed a strand of hair away from her face. But as the dark figure striding up the road towards her became more distinct, she realised that it wasn’t Finn. It was Shane.

‘Hey!’ he said. ‘You forgot your jacket, gorgeous.’