Anna was sitting on the sofa with a book on Irish lighthouses open on her lap; almost two thousand miles of coastline and eighty major lighthouses to guard them. She turned to Joe.
‘You know, the motto of the Commissioners of Irish Lights is
‘You’ve gotta admire those keepers.’
‘Sam has some great stories. Some of the keepers used to play poker with the locals and used Morse code to tap out their hands.’ The phone rang and she jumped up to take it in the kitchen.
‘Oh hi, Chloe,’ she said. She listened for a minute and then she was pacing, stretching the yellow cord across the room. Joe followed her in. He saw her frown.
‘No. I need someone who’s not going to come over here and get traditional. Greg’s work on Iceland was three Bjorks by an igloo. Not good enough. I was thinking of this Irish guy, Brendan—’
She rolled her eyes up to Joe at the interruption.
‘No, no, listen! I’ve seen his work, it is completely different. And he’ll avoid all those terrible cliches. I’ve made a few calls and apparently he’s amazing—’
She stopped again.
‘I didn’t say I wanted Irish models! We’ll use American or French girls, that’s fine. But this is an interiors spread, Chloe. They should not be the focus.’
She held the phone away from her ear, then brought it back when Chloe stopped.
‘OK, OK. I’ll call him, get him to send you his book and the spread I saw in the Irish magazine. Then you make your informed decision.’ She hung up.
Joe looked at her, amazed. Miles away from the office, she was still secure enough to stamp her feet.
‘What’s for lunch then?’ he said, teasing.
‘Chloe is so stupid,’ said Anna as she walked to the fridge. ‘Meatball sandwiches with barbecue sauce.’
He squeezed her tightly, wrapping his arms around her from behind. ‘I love your balls.’
She laughed in spite of herself. ‘
‘If they were still together and Jim Morrison wasn’t dead.’
Anna simply shook her head.
‘Come on, you love the bad ones,’ said Joe.
She stared at him. ‘
After lunch, Ray’s van bumped up the stony drive. Anna waved him towards the lighthouse. He took a left and drove down the sloping grass as close as he could get to the steps. He got out and threw his hands up in the air.
‘What am I supposed to do now?’ he shouted to her.
She jogged over to the bottom of the steps.
‘I’ll need to call in back-up,’ she said, laughing.
‘Love that cop speak.’
‘Can I have a look?’ she said, nodding at the van.
‘You can indeed,’ said Ray. He opened the back doors and lifted a layer of green tarpaulin.
‘Oh my God,’ she said, her hand to her mouth. ‘They’re beautiful!’
‘They’re wooden doors,’ said Ray.
‘No, no. They’re beautiful. You did an amazing job.’
‘Thank you. I had the picture of the old lighthouse doors pinned to my board the whole time.’
‘They’re magnifique,’ she said.
‘They could almost be magnificent,’ he said.
‘Stop that!’ she laughed. ‘You’re always making fun of me.’
‘I always used to make fun of the girls I fancied in school,’ he said, winking.
‘You flirting with my wife again?’ said Joe, coming up beside them. ‘I’m pushing forty here, Ray – thirty-year- old charmers worry me.’ Ray was the same height as Anna, but looked shorter because he was so broad. His dark eyebrows and constantly furrowed brow could make him look either incredibly sensitive or just plain stupid. He was neither.
‘The doors are great,’ said Joe, running his hand over the wood.
‘Don’t. I’ll get a swelled head,’ said Ray. ‘OK, now how’re we going to get these down? Where’s this back-up of yours, Anna?’
‘I’ll get Hugh.’
Anna disappeared to drag Hugh away from his tea and tabloids. Between the four of them, they hefted the doors to the lighthouse and secured them onto their hinges. Anna bolted them shut.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I am thrilled. I am so grateful.’
Ray raised an eyebrow.
‘Not that grateful, pal,’ said Joe, putting a firm hand on his shoulder.
‘To be honest,’ said Ray, ‘I’m hanging out for the models who’ll be draping themselves over me for the photo shoot. I’ll be the “bit of rough”. Might wear an Aran jumper and tuck my jeans into my boots for the occasion.’
‘Anything else you need?’ asked Hugh.
‘No, no, thanks for your help,’ she said.
‘I’m off, too,’ said Ray. ‘If those doors get unhinged at all, you’ll know where they get it from.’
Anna didn’t understand. Joe laughed. She turned to him, taking his hand.
‘Let me show you my nightmare.’ She unlocked the new doors and led him up the winding staircase. They reached the service room and climbed the sloping ladder to the lantern house.
‘Look at this,’ said Anna, hooking the tip of her finger under one of the cracks in the wall. ‘Doesn’t move.’
‘Paint stripper?’ said Joe.
‘Not a chance,’ she said. ‘It’s taken years for it to get that way. And because of the temperature in here, it…’ she moved her hands in and out.
‘Got bigger? Smaller?’ said Joe.
‘No, no, the metal…’
‘Oh, expanded and contracted.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘So I don’t know what to do.’
‘I could get some of the guys, scrape it off.’
They both shook their heads.
‘We’ll think of something,’ said Joe. ‘Do you have to do this part? I mean, the thing doesn’t work anyway,’ he said, looking at the old mercury pedestal, ‘and won’t the shoot be really from the outside?’ She knew he was half serious.
‘I’m not even going to answer that,’ she said. And besides, he didn’t know her plan.
Shaun dropped his bag on the floor of the small Portakabin he had seen lowered earlier that day onto the concrete at the side of the soccer pitch.
‘What the hell kind of locker room is this?’ he said.
‘Can you see a locker in here anywhere?’ said Robert, looking around the empty room. He liked to tease his friend. ‘It’s called a changing room, Lucky. We change our clothes in here. Even when we think our balls will be frozen off.’
Shaun discovered early on that teasing was called slagging in Ireland and if you weren’t getting slagged, there was something wrong.
‘Out of the way,’ said one of the boys, pushing past him. The rest of the team, miserable in shorts and T- shirts, ran towards the blinding floodlights. The pitch was bald, hard and unseasonably cold. Running in head-to-toe
