awoke to a fully dressed Life watching me from an armchair, which was spooky to say the least. He looked concerned.

‘I have some bad news.’

‘We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Sebastian,’ Life said as we stood in a scrapyard staring at my poor car that had been brought here by the medics.

‘How long have you known about this?’

‘Since yesterday, but I didn’t want to tell you then. Didn’t seem right.’

‘Does he really have to go? Can we not keep him going for a bit longer?’

‘Afraid so. A team of mechanics couldn’t bring him back. Besides, you’d be better off buying a new car with all the money you spend on fixing him.’

‘I’m loyal.’

‘I know.’

We took a moment of silence then I patted Sebastian on the roof. ‘Thank you for bringing me to all the places I wanted to go to and for taking me away from them again. Farewell, Sebastian, you have served me well.’

Life passed me a handful of soil.

I took it from him and threw it on the roof. We took a step back and the clamp was lowered and Sebastian was lifted up towards the heavens.

And then promptly dropped and crushed.

A car horn broke into my thoughts and we turned to see Harry hanging his head out of the camper-van window. ‘Brazil Nuts here is itching to leave. His mum is having a hissy fit and needs the van for some Irish-dancing feis.’

I was quiet on the way home as was Harry. He was beside me, texting the entire time, and in the moments he was waiting for the next reply, he read the previous ones.

‘Harry’s in love,’ Annie teased.

‘Congratulations.’

His cheeks pinked, but he smiled. ‘So what happened with your man?’

‘Oh. No. Nothing.’

‘I told you people can change a lot in three years.’

I didn’t want a young college boy to think he knew more about the evolution of the human race than I did, so I smiled at him and spoke rather patronisingly. ‘But he didn’t change, he was exactly the same.’

He rolled his nose up at that, disgusted that Blake’s little entrance yesterday was the norm and not the result of some knock on the head he’d received in the past three years of my not knowing him. ‘You changed then,’ he said matter-of-factly and then went back to his phone to text the girl he wanted to have his babies.

I was even quieter after that conversation; I had a lot to think about. Life was all chat but finally realised after my delayed mono-worded answers that I didn’t want to talk so he left me in silence. I had lost a lot on this trip: not just the love I thought I’d had, and my beloved car, but also the hope that I could redeem myself – my dream to stop living in a web of lies woven entirely by myself seemed to be an un realistic one, or at least was going to be more of a battle than I had thought. I felt like I didn’t have anything or even worse I felt like I had nothing: no job, no car, no love, a dilapidated relationship with my family and my friends, and more worryingly, with my best friend. All I had was my rented studio-flat across from a neighbour who probably never wanted to speak to me again and a cat that I had left alone for two nights.

I looked to my other side. But I had my life.

Life leaned forward as soon as we reached the inner city. ‘Can you let us out here?’

‘Why here?’

We’d gotten out on Bond Street, the heart of the Liberties in Dublin, one of the most historical and central areas in the city where most of the original streets, including the one we found ourselves on, were still cobble-locked. Behind the black gates of the nearby Guinness Brewery, smoke pumped into the air as the scientists in white lab coats inside concocted our greatest export.

‘Follow me,’ he smiled proudly. I followed him down the cobble-stoned road, the old walls beside us towering above us as they hid working factories side by side with derelict buildings and walls of bricked-up arched windows. Then, just when I thought we were in the middle of a lesson of the heart that would go a little something like talking about all the problems that had come to people before, perhaps to the very people who lived on this street, yet they had recovered from it – perhaps sealing up their windows in a mass form of self-healing – and that hearing this would somehow make me feel better about myself, he took out a set of keys and made his way to a random door in a wall full of bricked-up windows.

‘What are you doing? What’s in here?’ I looked around, waiting for somebody to stop us.

‘I want to show you something. What do you think I’ve been doing all the time I was sneaking away from you?’

I frowned, then had an image of Life cheating on me with a younger prettier version of me, parading as her Life in order to get close to her, sitting with her family at Sunday lunches, trying to keep up with the stories of her growing up and under the beady eyes of her possessive father having to act like he knew them all already, while all the time feeling guilty for pretending to the well-adjusted woman who was now questioning herself that she needed a life intervention, yet also feeling torn inside about what he was doing to me; exhausted from the double lie.

Life was staring at me. ‘You look angry. What are you thinking about?’

I shrugged. ‘Nothing. So what is this place?’

Inside, it was a converted warehouse, a large open space with high ceilings and exposed brickwork, dusty from new renovations. We stepped into an elevator and I waited for us to catapult through the ceiling and soar into the sky over rooftops while my Willy Wonka Life showed me all that was mine to keep. But that didn’t happen. We got out on the seventh floor and Life led me down the hall to a light-filled square room, boxes everywhere on the floor and a window which looked over the city: flats and terraced houses dominated the view immediately below, St Patrick’s Cathedral and the Four Courts were visible in the distance with their bright green copper roof and dome respectively, and out towards Dublin Bay, building cranes filled the sky alongside the Poolbeg red-and-white striped 680-foot-high chimneys. Then I waited for the lesson. But it didn’t come.

‘Welcome to my new office,’ he beamed. He looked so happy, so far removed from the man that I had met a fortnight ago that it was difficult to believe he was the same person.

I looked at the boxes cluttering the floor, most of which were still taped closed but some of which had been half-emptied revealing the files inside. Black marker on the outside of the boxes declared ‘Lies 1981–2011’, ‘Truths 1981–2011’, ‘Boyfriends 1989–2011’, ‘Silchester Family Ties’, ‘Stewart Family Ties’. There was a box for ‘Lucy’s Friends’, with files divided into individual headings of ‘School’, ‘College Degree’, ‘MBA’, ‘Miscellaneous’ and a file for each of my previous jobs, not that I had made or taken many friends with me from them. There was a box marked ‘Holidays’ with separate compartments for each trip I’d taken, with the date. I surveyed the floor, the dates and random moments jumping out at me and sparking off memories I’d long lost. These boxes contained my entire life – on paper – all my dealings with every single person I had ever met; Life kept a report of them all, analysing them and studying them to see if the victim of bullying in the school yard had anything to do with a failed relationship twenty years later, or whether it was the contrary; a successful day at work; and if an unpaid bill in Corfu had anything to do with a drink in my face in a Dublin club – which I mention because it turned out it had absolutely everything to do with it. I imagined him then as a kind of a scientist and his office his laboratory, where he’d spent the days before I met him, and would continue to spend the rest of my days, analysing me, experimenting with philosophies and theories as to how I’d turned out the way I did, why I made mistakes, why I made good decisions, why I succeeded and why I faltered. My life; his life’s work.

‘Mrs Morgan thinks I should get rid of all this and just have everything in these little USBs but I don’t know, I’m old-fashioned, I like my written reports. It gives them character.’

‘Mrs Morgan?’ I asked, in a daze.

‘You remember the American woman you gave the chocolate bar to? She offered to help me put everything on computer but the agency won’t fork out for it so I’ll get round to doing it at some stage. It’s not like I’ve anything else to do.’ He smiled. ‘As you probably remember from our first meeting, I’ve a lot of the important stuff on the computer already. Oh, and you’ll be glad to know I got a new one,’ he said, patting a brand-new PC on his desk.

‘But … but … but …’

‘That’s a very good point, Lucy, and one I argued countless times.’ He smiled softly. ‘Has this become weird to you now?’

‘No, but I suppose I’m just realising, I really am your job? Just me?’

‘You mean, do I do nixers with other people’s lives?’ he laughed. ‘No, Lucy. I’m your soulmate, your other half, if you will. You know that old-fashioned theory that there’s another part of you elsewhere … that’s me.’ He waved awkwardly. ‘Hi.’

I don’t know why I was finding it all so weird now, I’d read about all of this in the magazine; as well as giving us a schedule of her new diet and toning exercises which was displayed in a separate box complete with photos of the food – porridge, blueberries, salmon, a piece of broccoli for those who weren’t yet acquainted with the food types – the star interviewee had also gone into extreme detail about how the entire ‘Life’ system worked. So I knew, I had no cause to be surprised, but seeing it all at play here in an office, so ordinary, seemed to take the magic out of it, not that I believed in magic – thanks to my Uncle Harold’s overemphatic declarations of stealing my five-year-old nose but my only ever being able to see his fat yellow thumb between his fingers. It looked nothing like my nose; my nose did not have a dirty fingernail and carry the stench of cigarettes.

‘How do you know I’m the right person for you?’ I continued. ‘What if there’s some depressed man named Bob sitting on his couch now eating chocolate sandwiches and wondering where on earth his life is, and it’s you, and instead you’re here, with me, and it’s all just a big mistake and—’

‘I know,’ he said simply. ‘Don’t you have the same feeling?’

I looked at him then, dead in the eye, and I immediately softened. I knew. Like I’d known when I looked at Blake every day for five years. There was a connection. Every time I looked at Life in a crowded room where nobody and nothing made sense to me, I knew that he was thinking exactly the same thing as me. I knew. I just knew.

‘What about your own life?’ I asked him.

‘It’s getting better since we met.’

‘Really?’

‘My friends can’t believe the change in me. They keep thinking we’re going to get married even though I’m always telling them that’s not how it works.’ He laughed, then there was an enormous awkward moment as I felt, oddly I’ll admit, like I’d just been dumped.

I looked away, not wanting him to pick up on my confused feelings, but just ended up feeling dizzy as my life literally flashed before my eyes. ‘Lucy and Samuel 1986–1996’. That was a fairly thin file. My father and I had had a relatively normal relationship then, if you considered it normal seeing him once a month for Sunday lunch when I came home from boarding school. The following years’ files grew thicker for a bit – when I was fifteen years old with a head as stubborn as his we’d begun to lock horns – and then somewhere in my early twenties they got thinner again – I was away for long periods of time, studying in university, which pleased him. The file for the last three years was thicker than any other. There was a file for the relationship I had with each member of my family. I wasn’t even the slightest bit intrigued to see what was inside them. I had lived it, I knew what had happened, I’d rather remember them with the certain bias and misinterpretation that time, age and hindsight had brought me. Life continued speaking as normal, still excited and proud of his accomplishment and not at all realising my discomfort.

‘I’m still going to keep all of these papers though, even when I’ve inputted them into the computer. I’m kind of sentimental about them. So, what do you think?’ He beamed again at his office, delighted with his achievement.

‘I’m so happy for you,’ I smiled, feeling sadness. ‘I’m so happy that everything is working out for you.’

His smile lessened then as he sensed my mood but I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want to selfishly turn this special moment for him into being about me.

‘Ah, Lucy.’

‘No, don’t. It’s okay. I’m fine.’ I brightened up, plastered a fake smile on my face. I knew it looked fake and I knew I sounded fake but it was better than the truth. ‘I’m really happy for you, you’ve come a long way, but if you don’t mind, I have to go now. I have … em … an appointment with this girl I met at the gym who …’ I sighed, I couldn’t lie, not any more. ‘Actually, no, I don’t have an appointment, but I have to go. I just have to go.’

He nodded, the wind taken out of his sails. ‘I understand.’

It suddenly felt awkward.

‘Maybe you can meet with Don or something, tonight?’ I asked, more hopeful than I realised, but then Life’s face fell.

‘No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

‘Why not?’

‘Not after last night.’

‘You just missed a pint, it’s hardly a big deal.’

‘It was to him,’ he said, serious then. ‘You chose Blake, Lucy. He knows that. It wasn’t just a pint. It was a decision you had to make. You know that.’

I swallowed. ‘I didn’t really see it that way.’

Life shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. He does.’

‘But it doesn’t mean you and he still can’t be friends.’

‘Doesn’t it? Why on earth would he want to spend time with me when it’s you that he wants? Blake was the opposite, he wanted you, not your life. And Don, Don can only have your life but not you. Ironic, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’ I smiled weakly. ‘Well, I’d better go. Congratulations, really, I’m so glad for you.’ I couldn’t hide the sadness and the words sounded so hollow. So I left.

I bought a tin of cat food and a microwave cottage pie in the corner shop near my block. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator on my floor I froze and then wanted to get back in. My mum was standing outside my door, her back to me as she leaned against the door, and looking as though she had been there for a very long time. My first instinct as I said was to get back into the elevator but immediately after that I thought that something was terribly wrong. I rushed towards her.

‘Mum.’ She looked up and as soon as I saw her face I felt sick. ‘Mum, what’s happened?’

Her face crumpled then and she reached out to me. I held her in my arms and comforted her, thinking that’s all she needed but then I heard a sniffle, then another, then a squeak and a whimper and I realised she was crying.

‘It’s Father, isn’t it?’

She wailed even more.

‘He’s dead, is he dead?’ I panicked.

‘Dead?’ She stopped crying then and looked at me in alarm. ‘What have you heard?’

‘Heard? Nothing. I’m just guessing. You’re crying and you never cry.’

‘Oh, he’s not dead.’ She rooted in her sleeve and pulled out a snotty tissue. ‘But it’s off. The whole thing is off.’ She started crying again.

In shock I put one arm around her shoulders and scrambled in my bag with the other for my keys. I ushered her into the apartment. It smelled clean from the carpets and I was so thankful I’d got the job done and changed the light bulb. Mr Pan, who’d already heard our voices at the door, was waiting there eagerly; he rushed in and out of my legs with excitement, unable to contain himself.

‘He’s absolutely unbearable,’ Mum cried. She entered the flat and it was only then that I realised she had quite a sizeable bag in her hand. She barely looked around, just sat up at the breakfast counter on a high stool and put her hands to her head. Mr Pan jumped up on the couch, then to the counter and slowly crept towards her. She reached out and started rubbing him without thinking.

‘So the marriage is over?’ I asked her, trying to take in this alien who had invaded my mother’s body.

‘No, no,’ Mum said dismissively. ‘The wedding is off.’

‘But the marriage is on?’

‘Of course,’ she said, wide-eyed, surprised I’d even mention such a thing.

‘Okay let me get this straight.’ I sat down beside her. ‘He is so unbearable you will not renew your vows but you’ll stay married to him?’

‘I could marry that man once, but I could never marry him twice!’ she declared confidently, then she groaned, and collapsed on the counter. Suddenly she popped her head up again. ‘Lucy, you have a cat.’

‘Yes. This is Mr Pan.’

‘Mr Pan,’ she smiled. ‘Hello, beautiful.’ He was in heaven under her touch. ‘How long have you had him?’

‘Two years.’

‘Two years? Why on earth wouldn’t you tell us that?’

I shrugged, rubbed my eyes and mumbled. ‘It made sense at the time.’

‘Oh, dear, let me make you some tea,’ she said, sensing a problem.

‘No, you sit down. I’ll do it. Go make yourself comfortable on the couch.’

She looked at it, a large brown suede L-shaped couch that took over the entire room.

‘I remember this,’ she said, then she looked around and took in the rest of the room as if suddenly realising she was inside for the first time. I braced myself but she turned to me with a smile. ‘How cosy. You’re absolutely right. Your father and I are rattling around that big house like marbles.’

‘Thanks.’ I filled the kettle. Her phone started ringing; she clamped her handbag shut tighter to quiet it.

‘That’s him. He’s relentless.’

‘Does he know where you are?’ I tried to hide my amusement.

‘No, he does not, and don’t you think of telling him.’

She walked to the window trying to figure out how to get around to the couch but on seeing it was shoved up against the windowsill she went back the other direction searching for a way in.

‘Mum, what on earth happened?’

Once at the other end of the couch she found it was lodged against the kitchen counter. So she did what any normal person apart from my mother would do and she lifted her leg and climbed over the back of the couch.

‘I married a selfish beast, that’s what happened. And go ahead and laugh, I know you think we’re two old farts but there’s life in this old fart yet.’ She made herself comfortable on the couch, kicking off her black patent pumps and tucking her feet close to her bum.

‘We’re out of milk,’ I said guiltily. Usually Mum served me tea on a silver tray in her finest bone china. This was not adequate.

‘Black is fine,’ she said, summoning the mug of tea towards her.

I climbed onto the couch with the mugs in hand and sat on the opposite part of the L. I put my feet up on the coffee table. Never had we both sat together like that before.

‘So tell me what happened?’

She sighed and blew on her tea. ‘It wasn’t one thing, it was a great many things but his behaviour with you was the straw that broke the camel’s back,’ she said feistily. ‘How dare he speak to my daughter like that. How dare he speak to your guest like that and I told him so.’

‘Mum, he always speaks to me like that.’

‘Not like that. Not like that.’ She looked me dead in the eye. ‘Up until then he was being his usual bastard self’ – my mouth dropped – ‘which I could deal with but then, no, that got to be too much. It’s this blasted wedding. I wanted to organise it to bring us together, so that we could become closer. I wanted him to put a bit of thought into the last thirty-five years of our marriage and help celebrate it with me. Instead, it’s turned into an ostentatious fanfare full of people I honestly don’t even like.’

I gasped again. It was like one revelation after another, and it was my mother’s mind which intrigued me so much more than the state of their marriage which didn’t much concern me. They were grown-ups, it was ridiculous of me to think it had been a bed of roses for them over the past thirty-five years.

‘And his mother.’ Her hands went flying to her hair as she mock-pulled it out. ‘That woman is worse now than on our wedding day. She gives her tuppence worth on every little detail, which frankly means jack shit to me.’

Jack shit?

‘Honestly, Lucy, she is so rude and you are so funny with her.’ She leaned forward and placed her hand on my knee. ‘I wish I could think of the things you say to her.’ She chuckled. ‘What was the one about the breastfeeding, my lord, that was the best one yet, I thought her dentures were going to fall out of her head.’ Then she turned serious again. ‘I said after my wedding that I would never organise anything again – she had her paws all over every aspect of that day just like my mother did – but this wedding, I wanted it to be mine. All mine. A lovely memory to share with my children.’ She looked at me softly and reached for my hand again. ‘My lovely daughter. Oh, Lucy, I’m sorry I’m unloading all of this on you.’

‘Not at all. Keep unloading, I’m really enjoying it.’

She looked surprised.

‘I mean, I can’t believe you’re saying all of this. You’re usually so composed.’

‘I know.’ She bit her lip and looked guilty. ‘I know,’ she whispered, almost afraid, and placed her head in her hands. Then she bolted upright in her seat and said firmly, ‘I know. And that is exactly what I need to be from now on. Unlike me. I’ve been like me my whole life. I wish I was more like you, Lucy.’

‘You what?’

‘You’re so gung-ho.’ She punched the air. ‘You know what you want to do and you don’t care what anybody says or thinks. You were always like that, even as a child, and I need to be more like that. You see, I never knew what I wanted to be – I still don’t know. All I knew was that I was supposed to get married and have babies just like my mother did and my sisters did, I wanted to do that. I met your father and I was his wife, that is who I was. Then I had my children.’ She reached out to me again, I assumed so I wouldn’t take offence at what she was saying. ‘And then I was a mother. That’s who I was. A wife and a mother but I don’t know if I was or if I am of any real value. You and the boys are all grown up, so what am I now?’

‘I always need you,’ I protested.

‘That’s sweet,’ she said, rubbing my cheek affectionately, then she let go. ‘But that’s not true.’

‘And you’re a wonderful grandmother now too.’

She rolled her eyes, then looked guilty again. ‘Yes, of course and that is wonderful, believe me it is. But that’s me doing things and being things for other people, I’m Jackson and Luke and Jemima’s grandmother, I’m your and Riley’s and Philip’s mother, I’m Samuel’s wife, but who am I to me? Some people have always known what they’re good at. My friend Ann always knew she wanted to teach, and that’s what she did, moved to Spain and met a man and now they drink wine and eat charcuterie and watch the sunset and teach every day.’ She sighed. ‘I never have known what I wanted to do, what I was good at. I still don’t know.’

‘Don’t speak like that. You’re a wonderful mother.’

She smiled sadly. ‘No offence, my darling, but I want to be more.’ Then she nodded to herself as if in agreement with a silent thought.

‘You’re angry now,’ I said gently. ‘Understandably. I couldn’t spend three minutes with Father never mind thirty-five years. But perhaps when you’ve had a chance to cool down, you’ll be excited about the ceremony.’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s off. I mean it.’

‘But there’s only a month to go. The invitations have already gone out. Everything has been booked.’

‘And they can all be cancelled. There’s plenty of time. There will be a small fee for some of it – the dresses will always be nice to have and the boys can always do with smart suits. I don’t care. I’ll send a personal note to everybody to let them know it’s cancelled. I am not marrying your father a second time. Once is enough. I have done what people have wanted me to do all of my life. I have been responsible and dutiful and appropriate at all times and on all occasions but to celebrate my life – thirty-five years of marriage with three beautiful children – I do not want an event at City Hall filled with everyone from the law world. It is not fitting. It does not represent what I have accomplished in my life, but merely what he has in his profession.’

‘What would you like then?’

She looked at me in surprise, but she didn’t answer.

‘Don’t you know?’

‘It’s not that, it’s just that nobody ever asked me.’

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been helping you. I’ve been so selfish.’

‘Not at all. You’ve had an exciting adventure with your life. That’s important, believe me,’ she said wistfully. ‘How is that going, by the way?’

‘Oh,’ I sighed, ‘I don’t know.’

She looked at me for more and after everything she’d said, about not feeling like a good mother, I couldn’t hold back.

‘I lost my job, my car got scrapped, I’ve hurt a perfectly good one-night-stand, Melanie’s not speaking to me, neither are the others, my neighbour thinks I’m evil, I went to Wexford to tell Blake that I loved him and wanted him back but realised when I got there that I didn’t and now my life is moving on without me. So, that’s my life in a nutshell.’

Mum put her delicate fingers to her lips. The corners of her mouth twitched. She let out a little high-pitched, ‘Oh.’ Then she started laughing. ‘Oh, dear, Lucy.’ Then she couldn’t stop.

‘I’m glad my life amuses you,’ I smiled, watching her fall back on the couch in hysterics.

Mum insisted on staying the night with me, partly because my birthday was imminent but mostly because she didn’t want to interrupt Riley and his boyfriend no matter how much I told her he wasn’t gay. While she was showering I hid Mr Pan in an oversized handbag and brought him to the park across the road. Fresh air was supposed to help and so I prayed for the wind to pick up and to blow the thoughts out of my head. My neighbour, Claire, was sitting on a bench in the playground, with the buggy beside her.

‘Mind if I join you?’

She shook her head. I sat beside her with Mr Pan on my knee. Claire looked down at him.

‘I’m sorry I thought you were—’

‘I know,’ I interrupted. ‘It’s okay.’

He began to struggle and so I let him free to roam.

We sat in silence.

‘He loves the swings,’ she finally said, watching them. ‘I’ve never heard him laugh so much as when he’s on them.

‘I used to love the swings too,’ I said and we fell back into silence.

‘How is he?’

‘Pardon?’ She snapped out of her trance.

‘Conor. Yesterday you said he was sick, how is he now?’

‘He’s not getting any better,’ she said distantly.

‘Have you brought him to a doctor?’

‘No.’

‘Maybe you should.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘If he’s not well.’

‘It’s just … I hate doctors. I hate hospitals even more but with Mum sick, I just have to go. I haven’t been since …’ She trailed off, looking momentarily confused. Another few minutes passed before she spoke again. ‘My mum is improving.’

‘That’s great news.’

‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘It’s funny, it takes her going through all that to unite us all again.’

‘In my apartment the other day, that was your husband?’

She nodded. ‘We’re not together but …’

‘You never know,’ I finished for her.

She nodded. ‘He’s not sick sick.’

‘Your husband?’

‘No, Conor. He’s not sick, he’s just different.’

‘In what way?’

‘He’s quieter.’ She turned to me then, her eyes – wide and worried – were filled with tears. ‘He’s much quieter. I don’t hear him so much any more.’

We returned our gaze to the unmoving swing and I thought of Blake and the sounds of our memories that were getting quieter, and the feelings I had for him, which felt further and further away from my heart.

‘Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, Claire.’

‘He loved swings,’ she said again.

‘Yeah,’ I replied, noting her use of the past tense. ‘I loved swings too.’