One Last Day of Summer: A novel of love, family and friendship from Shari Low

WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE…

Bernadette’s World

Bernadette Manson, 54 – devoted nurse at Glasgow Central Hospital A&E, loving mum, former wife of eminent cardiac surgeon, Kenneth Manson.

Nina Kerr, 33 – Kenneth and Bernadette’s daughter, married to Gerry, their children, Casey (7) and Milo (5) are the lights of Bernadette’s life.

Stuart Manson, 26 –Bernadette and Kenneth’s son, a lawyer who lives with his partner, Connor.

Sarah Delaney, 60 – Bernadette’s best friend, who found happiness with second husband, Piers, after divorce from her first husband, Drew. Accident-prone daughter, Eliza, 28.

Tadgh’s World

Tadgh Donovan, 28 – born and bred in Dublin, by day he’s a graphic designer and by night he’s the lead guitarist in the rising Irish rock band, Home.

Cheryl Downey, 28 – Tadgh’s fiancé and childhood sweetheart since they were fourteen years old.

Shay Donovan, 29 – Tadgh’s older brother and the lead singer in their band.

Conlan, 28 – Tadgh’s best mate since school, bass guitarist and best man at his imminent wedding to Cheryl.

Jean Donovan – Tadgh and Shay’s late, much beloved, mother.

Jack Donovan – Tadgh and Shay’s widowed father.

Hayley’s World

Hayley Ford, 32 – a high-school dance and drama teacher. Once a free-spirited surfer chick, now she’s the wife of a top fertility doctor, yet she has been unable to get pregnant, and hates the irony in that.

Lucas Ford, 35 – Hayley’s husband, a work-obsessed, leading IVF specialist on Harley Street.

Dev’s World

Dev Robbins, 30 – a sports writer and aspiring novelist.

Lizzy Walsh, 30 – Dev’s flatmate and best pal since they lived next door to each other as children, Lizzy is now a successful artist and Dev’s oracle of common sense.

12TH AUGUST

8 a.m. – 10 a.m.

1

BERNADETTE MANSON

The ring of the phone cut through the peace of Bernadette’s morning like a cheese grater through cheddar, drowning out the sound of the gentle ripples of water from the stream at the end of the lawn. The stream was one of the things that had made her fall in love with this cottage. She’d been here five years now and the joy and peace it gave her had never diminished – except when it was being disturbed by a phone barking out the Stormtrooper theme from Star Wars. Her best mate, Sarah, had set that ringtone up on Bernadette’s new phone and – technophobe that Bernadette was – she didn’t know how to get rid of it. The only silver lining was that it made her seem cool to any children who had the misfortune to end up in the A&E ward and gave them a giggle.

On the screen, Bernadette saw Sarah’s name, noticed the time, then skipped the ‘hello’s when she answered.

‘Is that you outside, lovely? I’ll be right out. I knew you’d be half an hour early, so I’m all prepared.’ As she spoke, Bernadette dipped back into the kitchen and put her mug in the open dishwasher. This wasn’t her first holiday rodeo with Sarah. On Sarah’s insistence, they’d once shown up at the airport four hours early for a flight, despite Bernadette pointing out that the pilot probably wasn’t even out of his bed yet. Today, they only had to check in an hour before the domestic flight from Glasgow to Gatwick, London, where they’d have ninety minutes before catching the next flight to the sunny paradise of St Lucia.

‘Bernadette…’ It came out like a strangled sob. ‘Bernadette, I can’t…’ Sob. ‘Can’t…’ Sob. ‘It’s Eliza, she’s…’ Sob.

The nerve endings right under Bernadette’s skin tingled, sending a wave of anxiety around her body. Not that she showed it. Thirty-five years as a nurse at Glasgow Central Hospital, most of them in A&E, had instilled in her the absolute need for calm in the face of a crisis. And this sounded like a bloody big crisis.

‘Sarah, what’s happened? What’s wrong? Take a breath. Just breathe, honey, try to explain…’

‘It’s Eliza. She’s been in an accident.’

Bernadette’s blood ran cold. Eliza was Sarah’s twenty-eight-year-old daughter. She was on holiday with her girlfriends in Crete right now.

‘I’m on my way, Sarah. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes…’

‘No! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to panic you. She’s going to be okay.’ A large sniff restored a little strength to Sarah’s voice. ‘Daft thing was climbing up a drainpipe outside their apartment because they’d lost their keys. The whole pipe came away from the wall and she fell…’ Another large sniff. ‘She’s broken both legs and one arm, pretty much battered the rest of her body too, but she’s alive and… oh God, Bernadette, I got such a fright. I can’t stop shaking.’

‘Oh honey, I’m so sorry. I’ll come now.’ It wasn’t even a decision. Sarah. Best friend. Distress. That was all Bernadette needed to drop everything and go to her.

‘Thank you, but, oh, Bernadette, I don’t know how to tell you this – Drew is on his way now to collect me.’ Drew was Sarah’s first husband, and she was his first wife. They’d split right after Eliza was born and he’d had two more wives since then. Or was it three? Sarah had stayed single for two decades, until she’d met Piers, an absolute sweetheart, on a cruise a few years ago. Despite their re-marriages, Sarah and Drew had somehow remained close friends throughout all the ups, downs and dramas of divorce and extended families, so it was no surprise that they’d immediately sprung into action together when their daughter was hurt. Sarah was still gushing out all the details. ‘There’s a flight from Prestwick in two hours. Eliza’s travel insurance doesn’t cover a flight home, so we’re going over to be with her and bring her back when she’s discharged. Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. I need to be with her, so I can’t come away with you.’

A hundred thoughts were ricocheting through Bernadette’s mind, but not one of them contained a shred of resentment. Like Sarah, she would also drop absolutely everything if one of her kids were in the same situation, even if it did mean missing a two-week, all-inclusive holiday in St Lucia with her closest friend.

‘Of course, I don’t hate you. I would do the same. Are you sure you don’t need me to come?’

‘Positive. We’ll only be hanging around the hospital until she’s ready to come home. Oh Bernadette, our trip was non-refundable though, so you won’t get your money back. I’m so sorry.’

‘Stop apologising!’ Bernadette said, nothing but kindness in her voice. ‘You know I don’t care about the money. Obviously.’ In more ways than one, that was so true, not because she was careless with cash, but because in this case, it wasn’t hers to begin with. Her ex-husband, Kenneth, had originally paid for this holiday, but by an unexpected sequence of events, it had become hers and she’d then invited Sarah along. But that was another story and not one that she was even going to think about now. ‘All that matters is that Eliza is going to be okay, and that you’re going to get her home. We can go away any time. Don’t worry about a thing. Just take care of you, give my love to Drew and give Eliza a very gentle hug from me. Poor thing. Keep me posted and…’

Bernadette heard a loud beep at the other end, and Sarah blurted, ‘That’s Drew here. I need to go. I’m so sorry, Bernadette. I love you.’

With a click, she was gone.

Her mug made a clink against the door of the dishwasher as Bernadette retrieved it. She rinsed it out, then poured in what was left of the pot that was still on her shiny new coffee machine. Her son, Stuart, and his partner, Connor, had bought it for her at Christmas – cream and silver, to match the rest of her kitchen. She wasn’t much of a gadget person, but this was her very favourite new toy.

She hadn’t even taken the first sip when the phone rang again.

‘Mum! I’m so glad I caught you.’ As always, her daughter, Nina’s voice came with a cacophony of noise in the background that was completely disproportionate to the size of the people making it. Big noise, little guys. At seven and five, her grandsons, Casey and Milo, were higher up the decibel scale than a brass band. ‘These two have been up since five o’clock and I just lost track of time. And my sanity.’

Bernadette sat on the window seat that overlooked the garden. ‘Actually, you could have called me at noon and I’d still be here, my love. We’ve had a slight change of plan.’

She went on to fill Nina in on Sarah’s call and a few gasps later, Nina groaned, ‘A slight change of plan? Mum, that’s like me saying these two are slightly high energy.’

That made Bernadette smile. It was a family joke that the boys were like mobile phones that just recharged themselves for a few hours overnight, then pinged awake for another day of noise and activity.

‘You might have a point there. Anyway, love, I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. I’ve got lots of things I can be doing over the next two weeks. This garden could do with some attention, and I could watch the boys for you or—’

Nina cut her off. ‘Or you could still go and have a lovely time in St Lucia.’

Bernadette tried to process that suggestion. It hadn’t even crossed her mind. And no wonder. There were so many reasons that she couldn’t do that. Problem was, none of them were coming into her mind right now. Total blank.

‘But…’ she began weakly.

‘No buts, Mum. It’s not as if Sarah would lose out on anything if you went ahead with it – the whole holiday is going to be lost. You said yourself that you’ve got two weeks off work anyway. You’re staying in a lovely resort, so it’s perfectly safe. And most of all…’

‘Your dad would hate it if I went alone,’ Bernadette said, not even realising she’d spoken the thought out loud.

‘Yep, dad would hate it. He’d tell you that you were ridiculous to go by yourself. That there was no way you could do it.’

‘That I’d have a terrible time. I’d be incapable of getting there without him, of sorting it all out, of enjoying it with just my own company,’ Bernadette added, both of them on exactly the same page. ‘You’re right. Nina, honey, I need to have a quick think. I’ll call you back in a minute.’

She hung up. Bernadette Manson made snap decisions on the ward day in, day out. She was respected there. In control. Confident in her management and her work. But that confidence and ability to think on her feet evaporated the moment she set foot outside the hospital doors. When it came to her personal life, Bernadette liked to run things through in her head. Thirty years married to a man who controlled every move she made, every decision, every action, had done that to her. It had been a gradual process to leave those constraints behind, but since her divorce four years ago, she’d taken so much joy from slowly savouring possibilities, weighing things up, and then making her own decisions for the first time since she’d walked down the aisle. She’d married when she was barely out of her teens to someone she thought was the man of her dreams. It had taken her a while to learn how wrong she’d been.

To the world, he was Kenneth Manson, the brilliant, esteemed cardiac surgeon and a pillar of the community. A shining light in the medical profession. A devastatingly handsome, debonair man who could charm anyone. To Bernadette, he was a cheating, lying, abusive, vile excuse for a human being.

Nina was right. He’d never believe she would go on a trip like this on her own. If he could see her now, he’d be waiting for her to crumble, to back out and retreat into her corner.

Maybe he was right. Some people were natural solo adventurers, but Bernadette wasn’t one of them. When she’d left Kenneth, she’d had a vision of who the new Bernadette was going to be. As fearless, strong and independent outside the hospital as she was when she had her uniform on. The kind of woman who would fly off to Paris for the weekend, after a long week on the ward, just because she could. However, that Bernadette was still missing in action. Instead, she’d slipped into a quiet life, a peaceful one, taking care of anyone who needed her, staying very firmly in her comfort zone. She liked it there. No risk. No drama. No unpredictability.

St Lucia was a whole world of uncertainty. What would she do all day on her own over there? What if something went wrong? If there was a problem? Look what had just happened to Eliza, and she was a young, vital, strong woman with a good head on her shoulders. Not that Bernadette would be climbing drainpipes, but still, anything could happen. She’d be over four thousand miles, and at least two flights, away from home, and there would be no one to help.

No. Going on her own was a crazy idea. Much better to wait and book another break when Sarah was available again. They’d had such lovely plans for long, luxurious days by the pool, some exploring in their rental car, lots of cocktails and sampling the local cuisine. And chat. Lots and lots of chat. Much as Bernadette loved living alone, there was no denying that sometimes she missed having someone to share the day with. Not that Kenneth had ever been that person. He’d created a world paved with eggshells and Bernadette had walked on them every day of their marriage.

Another sip of her lukewarm coffee warded off the shudder that was a frequent accessory to memories of her married life. The chill she felt was enough to make her remember that was then, this was now. She’d broken free of that life. Made a new one. It had taken every single ounce of her strength to do it. Going on holiday alone would prove once and for all that she was no longer constrained by him, his opinions or his power.

But… Oh, bugger. She was flip-flopping back and forth by the second here. Did she really want to go on holiday alone, an idea that filled her with absolute dread, just to spite him, just to defy him, just to prove to herself that she could do anything and everything without him? That was ridiculous.

Sighing, she reached over for her phone and picked it up, then pressed the top name on her favourites list.

Nina answered on the second ring. ‘Well then? What’s it to be? Are you unpacking your beach ball or are you going to go for it?’

The pause seemed to last for ages, but it was probably only seconds.

What was it to be?

Was today going to be the day she finally broke free of the man who had almost destroyed her?

2

TADGH DONOVAN

Tadgh groaned as the early-morning light came through the blinds of the hotel like a laser beam and focused on a spot right in the middle of his forehead. Either it was the start of a new day or a sniper had him in his sights and could blow him away at any moment. The roaring pain in his head was so crushing, he wasn’t sure which option he preferred.

Why? Just why?

Booking a room in a hotel at Dublin airport so they’d be handy for their early-morning flight had been a great idea, so why had they thought it was a good move to go to the hotel bar last night? Why did they have to sink enough Jack Daniel’s to intoxicate an army? Why had they stayed in the residents’ lounge until 3 a.m.? And why, oh dear God why, did they not consider the fact that they were going to be sitting on two flights today, one of them for almost nine hours on the way to his very own wedding in St Lucia?

Tadgh rolled over, groaning, and caught sight of his two best men, one of them on the other queen bed in the suite, one of them on the couch, both, like him, still fully dressed in the clothes they were wearing the night before.

‘Ah, shit,’ Tadgh muttered, to no one in particular. ‘I think my liver is on its knees. I need something to drink. Or maybe just cut out the middleman and get orange juice fired into me on an IV.’

His brother, Shay – dutifully appointed as best man number one– managed to get one eye open, but it was clearly a struggle. If that man’s adoring fans could see him now.

Shay was the lead singer of Home, a rock band that was gaining a huge following in Ireland and a bit of a fanbase in Europe too. They were already popular on the festival scene, and the big record companies were showing interest. Tadgh and his other best man, Conlan, played lead and bass guitar. According to the Irish music press, they were tipped to be the biggest thing since The Script, and Tadgh understood the comparisons. They both wrote their own material and had the same contemporary rock, feck-off big-anthem vibes.

For Shay, the band was a full-time job, but Tadgh and Conlan still worked for a living – Conlan as a tattoo artist and Tadgh as a freelance graphic designer, a job he’d always planned to give up if the music tipped the financial seesaw and began to earn more than the day job.

Shay coughed up a chunk of his lungs before he spoke. ‘You’re a really shit rock star, you know that? Last night was your final shot at a wild night before you’re off the market and there wasn’t a lap dancer in sight. Fecking lightweight.’

With that little pearl of wisdom, he stretched up and pushed his long brown hair off his face, and there he was again. Shay Donovan, lead singer, all chiselled jaw and lean, gym-honed body. Since they were teenagers, everyone said that he was a dead ringer for Michael Hutchence from INXS. Tadgh had looked Hutchence up on the internet when they were about fourteen, and even then he could see it. Crazy thing was, they said that about Tadgh now too. Both brothers had the same unruly chocolate hair, the same sallow skin, the same brown eyes. The similarities between them stopped with physical appearance though. Tadgh was laid-back, preferred to fly under the radar. Shay had Noel Gallagher’s self-esteem and Liam Gallagher’s gob.

Ignoring his brother, Tadgh tossed a pillow and smacked Conlan in the face, causing him to splutter and sit bolt upright, then crease in pain. ‘Jesus, I feel rough. Shoot me. Hurry up. It’ll be a mercy.’

His best mate since they were kids, Conlan was the guy who could make Tadgh laugh without even opening his mouth. ‘I can’t shoot you, because then I’ll be down a best man and Cheryl will have my balls for messing with the wedding plan.’

‘Och, well, if it’ll save your balls, I’ll find a way to suffer through this.’

‘Good man. Right, boys, let’s get moving. It’s… It’s…’ For the first time, Tadgh squinted at his watch. ‘Feck! It’s ten past eight. The flight is in an hour. How the hell did we manage that? I set four alarms on my…’ He reached over and snatched his iPhone off the bedside table. ‘… dead fecking iPhone! Shit. Shit. Shit.’

He jumped out of bed, ignoring the wave of dizziness that almost had him collapsing back down again and grabbed his black leather backpack. Thank God they hadn’t unpacked last night. The whole point of staying at the airport hotel was so that they would avoid the rush-hour traffic from the flat they shared just off Grafton Street. He’d be moving into a new home in the same block with Cheryl as soon as they got back from honeymoon. Anyway, they’d reckoned that the hotel plan gave them 100 per cent surety that they’d be on time for the flight to Gatwick, which would mean that – as long as there were no delays – they’d definitely make the connecting flight to St Lucia. He hadn’t factored in getting wrecked the night before. What a colossal lesson in stupidity that was turning out to be.

Tadgh checked his watch again. They could still make it if they got to the terminal in the next half-hour. And it was a ten-minute drive away.

‘Move, move, move!’ he hissed at the other two, who were gradually emerging from their daze and joining the human race.

Shay was typically laconic about the state of emergency. ‘Och, if you miss it, it’s a sign that you shouldn’t be doing it. No idea why you’re even thinking about tying yourself down anyway. It’s an—’

‘Outdated and completely fecking stupid tradition,’ Tadgh added for him, repeating the mantra Shay had been spouting since they were about thirteen and he began preparing for a career in rock. Although, back then, he could only play three chords and his voice hadn’t dropped, so no matter what he sang, he thought he was Bono, but in reality, he sounded like Aled Jones singing ‘Walking In the Air’. ‘But, shocker – I couldn’t give a crap what you think, so can you just move your arse so I don’t get dumped before I even make it up the aisle.’

Tadgh could just imagine Cheryl’s reaction if he had to call and tell her he’d missed the flight. Back in those heady teenage days when Shay was channelling Bono – and by ‘channelling’ Tadgh meant wearing wrap-around sunglasses and spouting pish about how he was going to save the world – fourteen-year-old Tadgh was plucking up the courage to ask Cheryl Marie Downey out on a date. In the end, he only managed it because Conlan was dating her older sister, Cindy, and it was easier to make a foursome than for Cheryl to be third wheel to Conlan and Cindy’s Friday nights at the youth club. Almost fifteen years later, the landscape was slightly different. Conlan was now single – his adolescent fling with Cindy had ended after about a month and a half. Years later, she’d gone on to marry Jay, their other school mate and now the road manager of the band. It was all pretty incestuous, but it worked just fine.

Tadgh and Cheryl had outlasted the childhood sweetheart bracket, and he’d finally got around to proposing to her a few years ago. Not exactly a surprise that she said yes. She’d been dropping engagement hints since they left high school. They’d already postponed the wedding once, a couple of years before, when Tadgh’s mum had a heart attack the week before the ceremony. Fifty-two years old. She didn’t survive. The following weeks and months had been spent trying to put themselves back together again. Shay had hit the drink pretty hard, and Tadgh had moved back in with his da a few nights a week to keep him company.

Their mam and da had been happily married for over thirty years and they’d had pretty set roles in their relationship. Mam was the whirlwind, the one who laughed the most, danced the longest, loved the fiercest, but would shout the loudest if you put a foot out of line. Their da was the strong, grounded grafter who you could rely on to be a rock of strength, but he was a quiet man and not prone to sharing his emotions. That was fine by Tadgh. After Mam passed, it was enough just to be with him, to work on truck engines in the garage of his da’s haulage company, or to sit and watch some rugby on the TV. Gradually, they’d healed, papered over the hole in their hearts. But it was a flimsy cover that blew off sometimes to expose the raw wound underneath.

Their fans thought their biggest hit, ‘Everywhere Without You’, was written about a broken romance, but the truth