Walking Back to Happiness by Lucy Dillon Page A

looking sideways at the familiar work jacket hanging near the door. ‘Mum?’ she called.
    ‘Oh, hello, love! I was just having a chat to Lorcan here about your building work.’
    Diane was standing on the bottom step, nearly on the street. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her eyes were bright. Juliet noticed she was wearing fresh lipstick, something she never usually bothered with.
    The reason for this sparkle was leaning on next door’s front gatepost: Lorcan from the previous night, finishing off a round of toast. When he saw Juliet, his casual stance shifted and he straightened up. The confidence dropped off him. ‘Morning, so!’
    Coco was lying down between them, obviously bored with the conversation, but when she saw Minton, her big ears pricked up and she swayed to her feet. Minton scampered out to sniff her.
    ‘Morning,’ said Juliet awkwardly. Maybe she’d been a bit rude last night, practically shoving him out of the house.
    But he came on to you over the fuses, argued a voice in her head. What were you meant to say?
    ‘Your mam says you’re looking to start work on your house.’ Lorcan sounded interested, not as if he was pitching.
    ‘At some point, yes,’ Juliet started, but Diane leaped in with a smile.
    ‘Juliet doesn’t even have a shower, can you believe? Better to get on with it sooner rather than later, while the weather’s good, weren’t you saying, Lorcan? The survey they had done when they bought this place came back with some recommendations about the roof. And that was well over a year ago, Juliet. We’ve had a lot of bad weather since then, and you had that leak . . .’
    ‘Mum, it’s in hand.’ Juliet gave her mother a beady look. ‘And I thought Dad was speaking to Keith?’
    ‘Keith’s in Menorca with the family for a few weeks. Anyway, Lorcan’s going to come and give you a quote.’ Diane beamed with pleasure as she delivered her trump card. ‘Tomorrow.’
    ‘Not a quote as such. Just an idea of what needs doing. I’ve a few days off between jobs,’ Lorcan explained, as Juliet’s jaw clenched in preparation for objecting. ‘Not saying you have to engage me for the work, like, but it’ll put you in the picture. Some of these cowboys’ll give you a whole list of nonsense and assume you don’t have the first clue.’
    ‘Lorcan’s been doing some amazing things next door while he’s staying with Emer,’ Diane went on, fluffing her fluffy hair even more. She hadn’t looked this animated since the book club reformed with her at the helm, thought Juliet. ‘So you can always go round and check out his handiwork! He’s been telling me about some lovely floating shelves he built.’
    ‘By magic?’ enquired Juliet. Fine, she needn’t take the come-on personally; he clearly charmed every woman he met as a matter of course.
    Lorcan’s dark-blue eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘No, with sunken screws. You can pop in and have a look if you want. Emer won’t mind.’
    ‘Emer’s husband Alec knows Mark Knopfler!’ said Diane, as if she hobnobbed with rock bands on a daily basis. ‘And Emer used to be with the band !’ she added, with some euphemistic air-quotations that she must have picked up off Lorcan, because Juliet was pretty sure her mother thought ‘with the band’ meant playing the tambourine at the back.
    Juliet made a face at her mother. No wonder there’d been a draught: the front door had clearly been open long enough for her to conduct a full interview. ‘So I hear.’
    ‘Not just Mark Knopfler,’ said Lorcan. ‘Other elderly rock stars are available. And don’t let Emer hear you say she was a groupie. But you get the picture.’
    ‘Emer’s from Galway,’ said Diane. ‘And she and Lorcan know each other from—’
    ‘Mum,’ said Juliet warningly. ‘At least wait until the poor man’s left before you dish all his secrets.’
    ‘I’m just filling you in,’ said Diane, with a final girlish fluff of the hair. ‘I’m sorry about my