Harper
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Published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Carmel Harrington 2016
Cover design by Heike Schüssler © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover photographs © Astrakan Images / Alamy (woman); Shutterstock.com (landscape, stamps).
Carmel Harrington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008166878
Ebook Edition © September 2016 ISBN: 9780008150112
Version 2018-07-02
For my siblings, Fiona Gainfort, John O’Grady and Michelle Mernagh.
Every childhood memory I have includes these three. We know each other as we were, as we are and as who we are yet to be. In just one glance, with a single word, we can share family jokes, remember feuds, keep secrets, laugh, cry, love.
My childhood co-conspirators and collaborators.
My friends.
This one is for you guys.
(Now go tell all your friends to buy my book. You know it makes sense.)
OLLY
Our lives are just a series of moments. From the small, mundane occasions that we let pass us by without notice, to the big showstoppers that make us pause and take note. Then, when you least expect it, a moment so powerful and defining happens that changes everything in a split second.
The thing about change is, it’s not always good.
Today was a day of insignificant moments, until Jamie’s scream bounced off the walls in our house and time slowed down. Relief at seeing him in one piece was fleeting as I followed his eyes and saw what he saw. Evie, my thirteen-year-old daughter, lying unmoving, vomit splattered on her face and chest, dripping into a noxious puddle on the dark floorboards.
Time then sped up as we made our frantic dash to the hospital. And now we are in no-man’s-land as we wait for more news on Evie.
A kind nurse has just left our cramped hospital waiting room and the musky, woody scent of her fragrance lingers in the air. Vanilla, apples, sandalwood. It’s Burberry perfume, I’d recognise it anywhere.
I look to my right and am unsurprised that the smell has sent Pops right back to 1981 too. A time when it was the norm in the Guinness house to spray that scent into the air every morning, in an effort to bring someone back. Until one day the bottle was empty and Pops said, ‘That’s enough now lad.’ I watch him as his grey eyes water up and he turns to hold my gaze, nodding. A silent acknowledgement of mutual pain triggered by the scent of a nurse’s perfume. For maybe the one-millionth time in my life, and I daresay in my father’s, I yearn for my mother.
MAE
How long have we been sitting in this room now? It feels intolerable and I long to see my daughter. I seek out the clock on the wall and realise that it’s almost nine p.m. Three hours’ sitting in this small room waiting for news on Evie. Meagre updates from harassed but kind nurses and we cling to the fact that at least she’s alive. Panic overtakes me once again at the thought of any scenario that doesn’t include … I can’t complete the sentence. I continue bargaining with God.
My mantra, my prayer, is simple – don’t let my baby die. I’ll do anything if you grant me this one thing. I’ll be a better mother, I’ll be a better wife, I’ll be a better person. Please keep my baby alive.