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into an exalted position – man of the people, champion
     of the masses, his finger on the public pulse. All it had taken was one high-profile
     interview on national television. The right words spoken at the right time.
    ‘So where will it all lead?’ I
     asked, watching him over the rim of my champagne flute. ‘Leinster House? A seat in
     government? Or how about the presidency? You know, I can see you and Julia settling into
     life in the Phoenix Park.’
    I was joking, of course: there was too much
     in Luke’s past for him to pull off a successful political career.
    ‘Jesus, Katie, come off it!’ He
     laughed. ‘Politics isn’t my bag, you know that.’
    But there was something in the way he said
     it that made me look closely at him. Faint shadows under his eyes, tension in the way he
     held himself. I wondered whether hehad bitten
     off more than he could chew. But before I could ask him about it, he said, ‘I
     heard from Nick.’
    His brother.
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘He rang a few days ago, out of the
     blue.’
    Anxiety stirred in the pit of my
     stomach.
    ‘Is he still in Nairobi?’
    ‘Yes.’ He nodded, then said,
     ‘Did you know he’s getting married?’
    My mouth went dry.
    ‘An American he met over there,
     apparently. Another hippie drop-out by the sound of it. They’ve known each other
     about five minutes.’ He drank some champagne. ‘The wedding is
     tomorrow.’
    Before I could answer, there was movement
     behind us. The glass door opened and someone came out. Luke instantly drew away from
     me.
    ‘Christ, it’s hot in
     there,’ the man exclaimed, coming towards us and giving Luke a friendly slap on
     the shoulder. I recognized him at once – Damien Rourke, a self-made multi-millionaire
     who still resembled a rumpled grocer. He had taken a white hankie from his pocket and
     was mopping his brow with it, before turning his attention to me. ‘You, is
     it?’ he asked, in an unfriendly way.
    I had once penned a not, entirely,
     flattering piece about him. ‘In the flesh.’
    ‘Still writing for that rag, are
     you?’ he asked, with a grin.
    ‘A girl’s gotta make a living
     somehow.’
    He snorted, and the conversation moved on.
     For a while, we talked about politics and the economics of the European crisis. A ribbon
     of grey cloud hung above thehorizon as the
     sun dipped low. I tried not to glance too much at Luke, conscious of his quiet
     confidence and the contours of his handsome face.
Nick’s getting married.
Nick: dark hair falling over his forehead, that introspective gaze and the shy smile, as
     if something funny or touching had just occurred to him that he didn’t wish to
     share.
    I smiled and nodded along with the
     conversation, sipped from my glass, all the while feeling numb and telling myself there
     was no reason why this news of Nick should get to me in this way.
    Now, as I sit drinking another Corona,
     watching the swans gliding along the canal, I think of Nick and try to imagine him
     waiting at the top of the aisle for some nameless, faceless woman. There had been a bond
     between us once, Nick and me – I have the scar to prove it. Yet we’re strangers
     now. I have the urge to text him, to tell him that I’m happy for him, though that
     doesn’t come anywhere close to describing the emotion passing through me.
    Get a grip, I tell myself sternly.
     Don’t indulge yourself with this maudlin bullshit. I get up from my seat and leave
     my half-empty beer bottle. Walking briskly back towards the city, I pull my jacket about
     me, crossing my arms over my chest, as if a cold wind is blowing, even though it’s
     still warm and, although night has fallen, there’s barely the whisper of a breeze
     coming off the canal.
    I climb into bed and fall into a sleep that
     feels like oblivion.
    When I wake to the sound of someone banging
     on my apartment’s front door, it feels like the middle of the night. I get up and
     go to open it, my head still swimming