Laura stops walking.
‘Come on,’ Solomon calls to her, gently, in a tone of voice that Bo has never heard him use with her, or with anyone for that matter.
Laura just stares at Bo, which puts Solomon in an incredibly difficult position, but this is getting ridiculous now. He’s exhausted, he wants to sleep. Mossie is getting heavier in his arms.
‘Jimmy, would you mind driving Bo to our hotel, please?’ He avoids Bo’s eye as he asks. ‘I’ll meet you there later, Bo.’
Her mouth falls open.
‘You told me to help,’ he snaps, following the trail that leads to their parked car, adjusting the dog in his arms. ‘I’m helping.’
Laura sits in the back of the car with Mossie. The dog lies across the seat, his head on her lap. Bo gets into the garda car, a scowl on her face. It would be a funny sight if Solomon were capable of being remotely amused by what is happening.
‘Thank you, Solomon,’ Laura says, so quietly that Solomon’s body immediately relaxes and the anger leaves him.
‘You’re welcome.’
Laura is quiet in the car, whimpering occasionally along with Mossie in what he guesses is a show of support. He turns the radio on, lowers it, then decides against it and turns it off. The vet is thirty minutes away.
‘Why was the garda there?’ she asks.
‘Joe called him. He wanted to find out who you are and figure out why you’re living there.’
‘Have I done something wrong?’
‘I don’t know, you tell me,’ he laughs. She doesn’t and he gets serious again. ‘You are living in a cottage on Joe’s land, without his knowledge, that’s … well, it’s illegal.’
Her eyes widen. ‘But Tom told me I could.’
‘Well, that’s okay then, that’s all you need to tell them.’ He pauses. ‘Do you have that agreement on paper? A lease?’
She shakes her head.
He clears his throat, she copies him, which is quite off-putting, but her innocent face suggests no malice, nor any sign that she’s even aware of what she did.
‘Were you paying him rent?’
‘No.’
‘Right. So you asked him if you could live there and he said you could.’
‘No. Gaga asked him.’
‘Your grandmother? Could she support you on that?’ he asks.
‘No.’ She looks down at Mossie and strokes him. She kisses his head and nuzzles into him. ‘Not from where she is.’
Mossie whimpers and closes his eyes.
‘Is it true that Tom is dead?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ he says, watching her in the mirror. ‘Sorry. He had a heart attack on Thursday.’
‘Thursday,’ she says quietly.
They park in the main street and knock on the surgery door. There’s no answer but the front door to the attached house opens and a man appears, wiping his mouth with a napkin, the smell of a home roast drifts out the door to them.
‘Oh hello, hi,’ he says. ‘Jimmy called me. Emergency, is it?’ he asks, seeing Mossie in Solomon’s arms. ‘Come in, come in.’
Solomon sits outside the surgery while Laura goes inside. He leans his elbows on his thighs and rests his head in his hands. His head is spinning, the ground is moving from the jet lag.
When the surgery door opens, Laura appears with tears rolling down her cheeks. She sits beside Solomon, without a word.
‘Come here,’ he whispers, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him. Another loss in her week. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but he would happily remain that way if the vet wasn’t standing at the open door patiently waiting for them to gather themselves and leave so he can to return to his family after a long day.
‘Sorry.’ Solomon removes his arm from around Laura’s shoulders. ‘Let’s go.’
Outside in the now dark night, music drifts from the local pub.
‘I could really do with a pint,’ he says. ‘Want to join me?’
A fire-escape door opens at the side of the bar and a bottle goes flying outside and lands in a recycling skip, smashing against the others inside.
Laura mimics the smashing sound.
He laughs. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
They sit outside the pub, at one of the wooden picnic tables, around the corner from the gang of smokers. When Solomon pulled the door open, and all the heads turned to stare at the two strangers, Laura quickly backed away. Solomon was relieved to not have to sit inside and be examined by the locals. Now she sits with a glass of water, while he drinks a pint of Guinness.
‘Never drink?’ he asks.
She shakes her head, the movement causing the ice to clink against the glass. She imitates the sound of the ice perfectly. It’s something Solomon still can’t wrap his head around, though he’s unsure of how to broach the subject; it’s as though she doesn’t even notice.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks. ‘Tom and Mossie – that’s a lot to lose in one week.’
‘One day,’ she says. ‘I only learned about Tom tonight.’