That Gallagher Girl Read Online Free PDF

Adair?’ she asked.
    â€˜Pretty well,’ he acknowledged, cheerfully. ‘You don’t sound too put out about it.’
    â€˜You know me, Río. As long as my girl’s happy, I’m happy. And she’s doing OK.’
    â€˜What’s Izzy up to?’
    â€˜She’s got herself a grand job in marketing. How’s Finn?’
    â€˜His father got him work as a stunt double on his latest blockbuster.’
    â€˜Cool.’
    â€˜I guess. But LA doesn’t suit him. He’s making noises about going travelling again.’
    Travelling solo, Río supposed, since – as far as she knew – her son had not had a significant other in his life since he and Adair’s daughter had gone their separate ways. When Finn and Izzy had first become an item, their Facebook albums had featured the kind of pictures that had made Río smile every time she browsed through them. Most of them showed the dynamic duo at work and at play as they backpacked around the world: Finn at the helm of a RIB, Izzy hosing down scuba gear; Finn signing logbooks, Izzy poring over dive plans. The pair of them together, swimming with manta rays, dancing on beaches, perched on barstools and swinging off bungee cords. The loveliest one of all (Río had printed it out) showed them lounging in a hammock, wrapped in each other’s arms.
    And then, once Izzy had made the decision to embark upon a real-life career, her Facebook albums had reflected this U-turn. The backgrounds of sand, sea and sky had been replaced by vistas of gleaming steel and glass edifices in front of which a well-heeled Izzy posed with the élan of Condoleezza Rice, briefcase in one hand, iPhone in the other. Finn’s pictures, by contrast, continued to show him coasting in his own groove – surfing the shallows, skimming the reefs and diving the depths off islands from Bali to Bora Bora.
    There was a silence, during which, Río knew, Adair did not want to talk about Izzy and Finn any more than she did. It was like a bittersweet romcom, she guessed, or an Alan Ayckbourn play. It was – well . . . complicated.
    â€˜How’s my old gaff doing?’ Adair asked, finally. ‘Is there anyone living there?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Still no idea who bought it?’
    â€˜Not a clue. If somebody doesn’t lay claim to it soon it’ll go feral, like this place. It’s already overgrown with creeper.’
    â€˜You once told me that if you trained creeper up the walls of a house it gave it a loved look.’
    â€˜There’s a difference between cultivating creeper and allowing weed to grow rampant, Adair.’
    Adair sighed, then gave an unexpected, robust laugh. ‘What a fucking colossal waste of money that house was! It’s funny to think that I’ll be living just a mile down the shore from that great white elephant, Río, isn’t it? That stupid feckin’ albatross of a Taj Mahal that—’ A blip came over the line, and, before Río could remark on his mixed metaphors: ‘Shite and onions!’ he growled. ‘Incoming call, Río, from a man I have to see about a dog. Thanks for the recce.’
    â€˜I’ll send pictures. I hope they put you off.’
    â€˜Nothing’s going to put me off, Ms Kinsella. Bring on that wheelbarrow.’
    â€˜Wheelbarrow?’
    â€˜For my cockles and mussels, alive alive-o.’
    â€˜ Slán , Adair.’
    Río looked thoughtful as she ended the call. Adair was making a huge mistake – sure, didn’t the dogs in the street know that? But there was no talking to him because he simply wouldn’t listen. She had quizzed Seamus Moynihan, a local boatman, about the pros and cons of oyster farming, and asked him to put his thoughts in an email to her so that she could pass them on to Adair. The bulk of the email outlined the cons. As far as Seamus was concerned there were fuck all pros: in his opinion the phrase