All We Have Lost Read Online Free PDF Page B

smile hasn’t changed, though. And he hugs the same.
    He holds up a bottle of wine. ‘Brought your favourite.’
    I examine the label. ‘Ah yes, excellent year.’
    ‘You’d swear you knew something about wine.’
    ‘I know more than you.’ Though that wouldn’t be hard. Connor doesn’t drink. Can’t. ‘Come in. It’s so good to see you.’
    In the kitchen, Ian stands. ‘Connor.’
    Connor produces a smile and a casual wave. ‘Ian.’
    ‘Sit down,’ I say. ‘Connor, it’s either pasta or pizza.’
    He takes one look at the pasta. ‘Pizza.’
    ‘Good choice,’ Ian says.
    I hit him. Then hand him the wine to open while I turn on the oven and take the pizza from the freezer. I go to the fridge.
    ‘Connor, I don’t have Coke. Sorry. Will juice do?’
    He smiles. ‘You forgot I was coming, didn’t you?’
    I grimace. ‘Sorry. It was a weird day. New routine and stuff.’
    ‘How did the first day’s writing go?’
    ‘Did a lot of… thinking.’ Even that seems like an exaggeration.
    ‘Always the best place to start,’ Ian says.
    And I feel like weeping in gratitude.
    ‘Have you thought about what you’ll do if the writing doesn’t work out?’ Connor asks.
    ‘Jesus, Connor! A bit of faith!’
    ‘Just wondering if you have a Plan B, that’s all. The publishing world’s in shit, isn’t it?’
    ‘I won’t need a Plan B. I’ll get there.’
    ‘You could run an art gallery! That, I can see.’ Connor tips his chair back as his eyes wander the kitchen, taking in the paintings. ‘Cool gallery. Lots of oils. And sculptures. Those chunky bronze horses you love. Abstract human shapes. I can picture you now, deciding how to hang your latest collection, allowing your customers to browse, then pouncing just at the right moment.’
    ‘I sound lovely. Like a vulture. Anyway, you’re missing the point. There is only Plan A and it’s a novel.’ I go get his pizza.
    ‘Bet the kids are glad to have you home, though.’ Connor looks around. ‘Where have you hidden them?’
    ‘They’re in bed.’
    ‘So early?’
    ‘They were tired. I was tired.’
    ‘How are they? They must be pretty big now.’
    I could tell him that Sam likes to throw things in the loo and he’s not fussy what. Or that Chloe makes ‘art’ out of her food. But he’s a single guy; there’s a danger of boring him to death.
    ‘They’re grand,’ I say. ‘It’s so good to spend time with them.’ 
    ‘It is so you, though, isn’t it, the whole art gallery idea?’
    ‘Enough with the art gallery.’ I look at Ian who, I realise, isn’t saying much. I clear away his unfinished but abandoned plate. ‘Connor, Ian got a new job.’
    Connor turns to him. ‘Oh?’
    As they discuss the intricacies of corporate finance, I try not to think of my wasted morning. Or Plan B. A time will come when I’ll look back on this day and smile knowingly, having achieved everything I set out to. ‘Ah, remember those early days of doubt, how you had to order a small library of books to learn how to write and how friends doubted that you could do it. Well, you showed them.’
    ‘A toast,’ Connor says, raising his orange juice. ‘To the corporate financier and the novelist.’
    It sounds sexier than it is, I think as I raise my glass. Then I catch Ian’s eye. He winks as if to say, ‘We can do this.’ He has always had a special ability to read my mind.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    The following day, I start with motive. This actually gets me going. By twelve-fifteen, I have a – kind of – plot, half a wobbly first chapter and an entire title. There is something a little iffy about Murder She Said but I can’t quite work out what. I’m not worried; it’s a working title.
    I collect the kids from Sunny Side Up, their effervescent Montessori – feeling pretty effervescent myself. We head to Sandycove’s tiny beach. It’s only March but the sun smacks off the water as we pull up.
    ‘Shearave,’ Sam says, from the back of the