Page 154 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“Clodagh isn’t going to live in a bubble for the rest of her life. You know crime rates are higher in London than New York?” Connor says, his voice floating through the silent graveyard. “Most likely, she’ll be living in a rough area since rent in London is pricey, and she’s in her twenties and doesn’t have tons of money. She’ll go out, have fun, and the chances are, go home alone on the buses or the subway, perhaps after having a few too many drinks.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I’m trying to figure out what it’s going to take for you to get over your issues. Because if you continue to live like this, keeping love at arm’s length, what example are you setting for your daughter? Trust no one? Love no one?”

I snort. “That’s very poetic for you, Connor.”

“Exactly. That’s how desperate I am, after weeks, to get through to you. Now, answer the question. What’s it gonna take for you to get over your issues?”

His question hangs in the air.

My gaze rests on Harlow’s grave, a reminder that I’m doing the right thing. “She’s safer away from me.”

“Doubtful, based on the spiel I just said. From what Sam and the team told me, she scraped her knee and bruised her wrist. She’s an Irish woman; she’s tougher than that. Let her decide what’s safe for her.”

He hands me two pieces of paper, a smile playing on his lips.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Two plane tickets to Dublin. There’s a helicopter ready to take you from Dublin to Donegal.”

I scan them in disbelief. “Two?”

He smiles. “Teagan said she’ll be your wingwoman.”

THIRTY-FOUR

Clodagh

Turns out, annoyingly, that Tommy was right. The day Orla had her exam was the last good day of summer.

It’s been pissing down ever since. The longest stretch of consecutive rain we’ve had in five years, and everyone is droning on about it.

And people wonder why thousands of Irish flock to Australia and America every year.

Still, the shite weather has given me the drive I need to focus on my new online small-business course. I managed to blag a sweet discount. It’s perfect for folks like me who want to start their own business but lack the knowledge and confidence.

A florist and a plumber are also doing it, and they are just as confused as me on some of the admin stuff. Not gonna lie, it’s tough. I thought I’d enjoy the marketing side, but I struggle with it, and don’t get me started on tax shit.

One day, I’m determined to give it another shot, but this time, I’m taking it slow so I can really understand each part of running a business.

And today is my last day working at the furniture store. Tomorrow, I fly to London. I’ve decided to give it a shot. My cousin Michelle lives over there, and I can stay with her until I get a job, and I’ll continue my course remotely.

New York seems like a lifetime ago now.

“Clodagh, take this out the front, will you?” Tommy asks me, handing me the finished stool.

“Sure thing.” I grab it from him and saunter out of the workshop to the shop.

Mam is pressed against the window, peering out with two women from the village.

“What are you three doing?”

Outside, there’s a high-pitched whirring sound. The sound is low, but it’s getting significantly louder.

“There’s a helicopter. It looks like it’s about to land on top of the school. Will it be able to land in the rain?”

“So? It’s not like we don’t get helicopters occasionally.” I roll my eyes and come toward the window. You’d think it was aliens.