by Marian Keyes
It’s Lydia who discovers them. Us, I suppose you could say. She’s highly indignant. All she’s trying to do is get up her own stairs, but her way is impeded by Hathaway and the governess going at it hammer and tongs, snogging the face off each other. Disgusting. And selfish! Blocking public thoroughfares.
“Take it somewhere else!” she commands, curling her lip at their evident happiness.
They break apart to let her pass, and as she moves between them, Lydia is hit by a wave of emotion so potent it nearly gives her a nosebleed.
She stomps on up the steps and when they hear the door of her flat slam behind her, Katie murmurs, “She has a point.”
“You mean—?” Conall says.
“I do.”
And the next thing, they’ve grasped each other’s hands and they’re running upstairs and I’m all swept up and enmeshed in their magical energy. And when we arrive at the top floor, the three of us tumble into Katie’s apartment and we fall on to the bed and, and, and . . .
... I’m waiting for my moment, and . . . and . . .
. . . any minute now . . .
. . . and . . . aaaannnndddd . . . here we go! Hold on to your hats. I’m going in.
With special thanks to the Dublin Rape Crisis Center
Thank you to my visionary editors, Louise Moore and Clare Ferraro, to Kate Burke and to Clare Parkinson for enabling me to transform raw material into an actual book. I’m very grateful. Thank you to everyone at Michael Joseph, for showing me the love and working with such enthusiasm and commitment on all of my books. I’m well aware of how lucky I am.
Thank you to the best agent in the world, Jonathan Lloyd, and everyone at Curtis Brown, for shepherding and minding this book (and all my others, too).
Countless people generously helped with my research: Gwen Hollingsworth; Tom and Debra Mauro; Magdalena Rawinis, Michal Szarecki, Lukasz Wozniak, Hubert Czubaj and Piotr Taborowski; Suzanne Benson, Kevin Day and Darryll Lewis of HPD Software; Sandra Hanlon and Margaret Nugent from the National Taxi Drivers Union; Karen Fitzpatrick and Gisela Boehnisch. I think that’s the full list, but if I’ve forgotten anyone, I humbly apologize. My thanks to everyone above and I take entire responsibility for any mistakes.
For reading the manuscript as it was being written and for their constant advice and encouragement, I’d like to thank Shirley Baines, Jenny Boland, Ailish Connolly, Siobhan Coogan, Susan Dillon, Caron Freeborn, Gai Griffin, Cathy Kelly, Caitriona Keyes, Ljiljana Keyes, Mammy Keyes, Rita-Anne Keyes, Eileen Prendergast, AnneMarie Scanlan and Kate Thompson.
Just a quick note—I took a liberty with the rugby fi xtures; there’s a mention of an international match being played in the summer. I’m told this wouldn’t happen at all in real life and I hope this wild departure from reality doesn’t interfere with your reading enjoyment.
Thank you to James “Woolfman” Woolf and his wife, Karoline, and their daughters, Siena and Maya, who very generously bid in the ACT charity auction to have their names included in the book.
As always, thanks to my beloved Tony. None of it would be possible without him.
