When Martha had arrived back at the park, she’d come with George, and he seemingly didn’t want to leave her side for the foreseeable. They were like magnets around each other. If Martha moved to the left, George went with her. When Martha went to the toilet earlier, she’d thought that George was going to cry. He even went and stood outside the bathroom door, and Martha emerged looking thrilled to have an escort. Her whole body was lit up from the inside, and the pair of them kept talking to each other secretly, little snippets of information passing from one to the other. They looked like love birds, plain and simple. It made April want to cry tears of joy and vomit all over them at the same time. When one of Judith’s mates had offered around the pack, she’d clung to it like a lifeline.
‘Cillian left early, didn’t he?’ she said glumly to Elvis, who was tied to a long post nearby, blanket on his back and happily munching away on the grass. ‘I know he wanted to get Orla home, but still.’ She took another swig of her champagne glass, putting the unlit cigarette on top of the fence post, out of the reach of greedy goats. It was her third glass, and she was already feeling the effects. She hadn’t eaten anything since their disastrous fish and chip lunch, and she’d vomited that back up in her own toilet as soon as they got back.
Cillian had been there at the impromptu little shindig Judith had organised once the jungle drums had gone round that Martha had met up with a lost love. One who people accepted and embraced. Luke, adopted by George from Spain while he was serving over there with the Navy, had heard tales of the girl on the beach every bedtime. He was delighted when we found the gallery and, given his love of art, George had been easy to convince. Luke was delighted with his work and had given April a grateful squeeze as soon as she had arrived.
‘I know I have you to thank. You certainly made my little plan easier.’ He’d stopped a passing waiter, hired by Henry, who was currently canoodling with Judith in the corner, while a very tired-looking ginger cat sat sleeping on his lap. Taking two glasses of champagne and thanking the waiter, Luke passed her one and beamed as they both watched the happy couple. Martha was giggling like a schoolgirl as George whispered something to her, his own delight plain as day across his face. ‘Look at them,’ he said proudly. ‘I’m so happy that they found each other.’
‘Eurk!’ April tried to say something, to agree, but it came out as a startled sob. Oh God, not now! ‘Err, eughhh,’ she tried again, but all that came out was the desperate threat of an ugly cry. ‘I’m—’ She pointed to the side door and ran off. Bursting through the thick wooden door, she ran hell for leather down the steps and out onto the grass lawns at the back of the house. Running so fast her legs felt as though they would catch fire, she sobbed till she collapsed at the side of a large empty cage. It was half covered with a tarpaulin, and she sank behind it, grateful that she could only see the blue canvas material before her tear-filled eyes.
‘Dad, come on!’ A little voice broke through her sobbing, and the otherwise still of the night. April pinned herself against the cage, covering her mouth and wiping ineffectually at her own eyes. ‘Come on, slowpoke!’ Orla.
‘I’m coming. Slow down, my little cherub,’ Cillian had affection in his voice, but it sounded different. Dull. ‘What are we looking at?’
‘The rabbits, silly! Judith said that I can name one. I’m going to call it Matilda, like the book.’
April smiled at the little girl’s words. She was flowering here. It was so nice to see. Her smile dropped. From a distance.
‘That’s a lovely name,’ Cillian said, sounding closer. April risked a peek over her shoulder, and could just see two pairs of feet, near the long pen a short distance away. Half a dozen rabbits were eating, sleeping and running around in there on the grass, the odd squeak of excitement from Orla making April’s heart beat that tiny bit faster. But not as fast as when Cillian spoke next.
‘Orla, are you happy?’
The emotion behind the words almost felled April where she crouched. She looked across, but the feet hadn’t moved.
‘Yes, Daddy,’ she said sweetly. ‘I like it here. Can we stay?’
Yes. Orla, this is your home. And your dad’s. Forever. She wanted to jump out and declare her intentions, but she’d had her chance there and bungled it as usual. Now she was back hiding. Go figure.
‘I think we can. I hope so. Orla, what do you think of April?’
Holy loaded question, Batman.
‘She’s nice. She likes farm animals, and she knows Henry and Martha and Judith. She sings too, but she’s not very good.’ April rolled her eyes. She knew the little tyke had been sniggering at her rendition of ‘Love Me Tender’ the other day in the office. Granted, the twerking wasn’t up to muster, but still, she thought it was rather good. She smiled at the memory. She had a bunch of them with Orla now: fixing her plait the other morning while her dad came in all flustered looking for a snack. April had started stocking cereal bars to help him out.
‘I’ll give you the singing.’ He laughed softly, just once and she cringed as she remembered he’d heard her too. In a rather more romantic moment, snuggled up on the sofa watching Dirty Dancing with the sound down low for Orla. ‘Hungry Eyes’ was
