Lifesaving for Beginners

touch.
    ‘I’m not expecting you to forget about everything that’s happened. For us to pick up where we left off. But I want you to know things about me. I want you to know everything. Like all those times I said no, I really meant yes. Yes to everything.’
    He looks at me then. Right at me. ‘Yes to everything?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Like bog snorkelling? Yes to bog snorkelling?’
    I think about bog water between my toes, damp and dirty. I say, ‘Yes.’
    ‘Yes to a weekend in Leitrim?’
    I think about Leitrim. All those cold lakes. The endless grey skies. I say, ‘Yes.’
    ‘Yes to fishing? Fishing in Leitrim?’
    An image of a bucketful of bloody fish guts swims to the surface of my mind. I dunk it with both hands. I say, ‘Yes.’
    ‘Kite-surfing?’
    I see myself in a full-body plaster cast. I say, ‘Yes.’
    ‘Kayaking?’
    ‘Yes.’ That one’s a doddle, as Minnie would say.
    ‘Down the river Liffey.’
    Oh Christ, the Liffey. The stinking, sludgy, smelly Liffey. I look at him and I say, ‘Yes.’
    He smiles but he doesn’t ask me anything else. It’s like he’s run out of things to ask. I’m at the end of the road. The possibilities are dwindling. This is it. This is how it ends. It’s like someone is about to shout, ‘Lights out.’
    But then I remember that I’ve nothing to lose. So I go right ahead and say, ‘I was wondering . . . will you be hungry on Friday night around eight?’
    ‘There’s a fair to middlin’ chance.’
    ‘Because I was thinking – if you’re not busy or anything – you could come over on Friday night for dinner.’ I put my hands behind my back. Cross my fingers, like Milo does when he’s hoping for something good.
    ‘Are you cooking?’
    ‘Ah, well, I . . .’
    ‘I’m just messing with you.’
    ‘I’ll get really nice takeaway. And cheesecake from the deli.’ The bait is on the line. There’s nothing more I can do.
    Thomas shifts from one enormous besandalled foot to the other. ‘Well . . . I suppose it would do no harm to talk. And I could collect those cords.’
    ‘The yellow ones?’
    ‘They’re beige.’
    ‘Sure. You could pick them up.’ Now is not the time to mention that I threw them off the balcony one night in a fit of wine-induced pique. They snagged on a gutter. They’re still there, as far as I know.
    And that’s when Thomas says, ‘All right. Friday night, so. I’ll see you then. We can . . . talk.’
    I nod towards his copy of the book. ‘Do you want me to sign that?’
    ‘Sure.’ He hands me the book. I pick up my pen. Open the book. Bend my face to the page. I’ve thought about it so many times. What I would write if he asked me to sign the book. I went through dozens of inscriptions. Clever ones. Pithy ones. They’ve deserted me now, like rats off a sinking ship. I suppose I never really believed that I’d have to come up with something. I never thought he’d ask me to sign it. Why would he? After everything?
    But here he is. Asking me. I close my eyes and write the first thing that comes into my head. I hope Minnie never reads it.
    To Thomas,
    You were right.
    When you said I loved you.
    Whatever happens, I know this much is true.
    Yours
    Kat

Acknowledgements
     
     
    The terrible thing about acknowledgements is that there’s always someone you forget. Like Avril Rankin. Avril taught me everything I know about dog pounds and rescue centres during the writing of Finding Mr Flood . I can’t believe I forgot to thank her, but I did. So here I am remembering. Thank you Avril. For everything.
    My sincere thanks to the McGowan family, especially John, Sinead, Mary, Bernard, Dave and Lyndsey-Anne. For sharing their stories with me and for their hospitality and generosity.
    A huge thank you to Aine Maguire-Keane, who told me her story with her usual sincerity and charm and good humour.
    Thank you to my local G.P., Cathal Martin, who provides me with medical conditions for people who don’t exist and – more importantly – tells me how to make them better.
    Thanks to the Adoption Association of Ireland who helped me with the research for this book.
    Thanks to the Arch club in Portmarnock, for facilitating me.
    Thank you to Neil MacLochlainn for telling me the way things are in schools in the U.K.
    ‘To Emma McEvoy for giving me the seed of an idea that grew and grew until it became a plant and then a bush and then a tree and then a forest and then a story. What you told me has no bearing on the story to be