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MARK

Seventeen years earlier

Dublin, May 2001

“Gracie, do you like this house?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I don’t. I liked it better when we lived above the pub. Mum and Dad were home all the time at the pub.” Mark scraped the baked beans off his toast. “It’s my fault we moved, isn’t it?”

“It’s not your fault.” Grace pointed at the nine-year-old’s plate. “Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

“But Dad doesn’t want to spend time with me. That’s why he’s gone all the time.”

“Fappy, he’s gone all the time so he can make money. Driving a truck means long hours.”

“Can’t he do something else?”

His twelve-year-old sister scooped up a forkful of beans. “I heard him tell Mum that he can’t do anything else.”

“I wish he was home more. I wish Mum was home more, too. She’s never here when we get in from school.”

“Fappy!” Grace swallowed her mouthful. “How many times have I told you? She has to go out to work now, to help make ends meet. We’re not as rich as we used to be.”

“We was rich?”

“No, I didn’t mean rich rich. We just had more money when we lived above the pub, that’s all.”

“Why can’t she do that mending stuff at home and be here with us?”

“Because she has to be at the dry cleaners and sew there. Look, you can always go there after school. Do your homework in the back room beside her. It’s okay, you know.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. The owners don’t mind. Mrs. Delaney is really nice. She has a daughter around your age. On Monday when I was there, she was waiting for a lift home.”

“Ugh, no. It’s okay.” Mark scooted baked beans around his plate. Given the choice, he would rather come home to an empty house than meet a smelly girl.