Chapter 29

Charles is helping himself to another glass of the frankly horrible wine when I return with Mairin McGettigan, who immediately begins to talk to him about a potential new show she's thinking of, featuring outstanding locations in Irish literature. Winter's Heartbreak was set in Mayo, and she thinks it could be a stunning place to include.

‘Although,' she adds, ‘I'm not sure if we'd get the chance to film it under a blanket of snow like in the book.'

‘We haven't had a heavy snowfall in a long time,' says Charles. ‘Maybe it's due.'

‘We'll be filming in April.' Mairin grins. ‘I'm hoping it won't be snowing then. But you're interested?'

‘Of course,' he says.

‘You might like to have him on your show before then,' I say. ‘His new book, out later this year, is brilliant.'

‘I heard it was a murder mystery,' says Mairin. ‘Interesting. And I'd love to talk about it, but we've got everything we need for this season. I'll definitely keep you in mind for next season, though,' she says to Charles. ‘And we'll be in touch about the new programme.' Then she moves off into the thinning crowd.

‘That's great,' I say. ‘A slot for both her book show and the new one.'

He doesn't answer. He's staring at his phone and frowning.

‘What's up?'

‘Iseult,' he says. ‘She had to go.'

‘Not her thing? I didn't really think so, to be honest. Even for me, Seán óg—'

‘It's not that.' He gives me an impatient look and shows me his texts.

So sorry. I got a call about a medical emergency and had to dash. Couldn't find you to explain. I'll give you a shout later

‘What type of emergency?' I ask.

He taps the question into his phone.

Motorbike accident

Someone you know?

Steve

There's a sharp intake of breath from Charles, and he begins to type furiously.

Doesn't he have someone else to call? It's hardly appropriate for you to help him

Apparently his parents are away this week. He needs some help. I'll fill you in when I've seen him

I look at him and raise my eyebrows.

He starts to type, then erases it. He starts again. Erases it again. Eventually he types:

Call me asap

Iseult replies with a thumbs-up emoji. Charles snorts, then puts his phone into his pocket.

‘I hate that she texts me all the time,' he says. ‘I'd have a better idea of what was really going on if she'd call.'

‘That's Gen . . . God, what Gen is she?' I ask. ‘Gen X? Y? Z? Another letter of the alphabet?'

‘I've no idea.'

I take out my own phone and search.

‘Charles! You and I are Generation X,' I tell him. ‘She's . . . How old is she again?'

‘Twenty-nine.'

‘She's a Millennial.'

‘They're nothing more than labels.' He shrugs.

‘But a label is useful in determining how people behave,' I say. ‘Presumably Millennials are the ones who hate speaking on the phone and only communicate by text. Or maybe she finds it easier to text you when she's rushing to the side of her ex-fiancé like a ministering angel so that she doesn't have to answer awkward questions.'

He ignores my comment and looks at his phone again. There are no more messages from Iseult.

‘Come on,' I say. ‘No need to be here any longer. Let's grab a bite to eat while we wait for her to call you.'

I think he's going to say no, but he doesn't. He follows me out of the library and towards Dawson Street, where I usher him into a small Italian restaurant that's a favourite of mine. Even midweek it's busy, and I worry that there won't be a table, but Gennaro, the head waiter, finds us a lovely little booth at the back.

‘Perfect,' I say as I slide into the banquette opposite Charles. He seems to think so too as he unwinds his scarf from around his neck and almost visibly relaxes.

He places his phone on the table between us. We order some antipasti, then rigatoni for him and linguine for me. We're both drinking water, our palates having been destroyed by the horrible wine at the launch.

We talk about books in general, a conversation I'm always happy to have. He keeps checking his phone, even though it hasn't pinged once with a notification.

‘I heard back from Laurence earlier,' he says when our pasta arrives. ‘Now that all the paperwork is in place, he thinks he'll get the divorce done quickly.'

‘Excellent.'

‘I'm glad we're being sensible about this,' he says.

‘What other way is there to be?'

‘You're one in a million.' His words are heartfelt.

Then his mobile buzzes.