City Lives by Patricia Scanlan Page A

laughed as the three children broke into a gallop.
    They got a good haul by the time they’d finished their search. Two speckled eggs, three brown eggs and one white one.
    ‘Do you think Gran will give us some to take home?’ Michael asked as he carried the egg basket carefully into the kitchen.
    ‘I’m sure she will.’
    ‘I’m having the white one ’cos I found it,’ Shona announced.
    ‘That’s not fair. The names should go into a hat,’ Mimi shot back immediately.
    ‘I think we should give it to Grandad because he’s sick,’ Michael said firmly.
    ‘A very good idea. And a very thoughtful one, Michael,’ Maggie concurred, relieved that an argument had been averted. ‘Now go upstairs to the bathroom and wash your hands, all
of you, and come down for your lunch. After that how about a walk on the beach?’
    ‘Cool.’ Michael’s eyes lit up.
    ‘I’ve to collect shells for nature study,’ Mimi said self-importantly.
    ‘Me too,’ Shona echoed as she scampered upstairs.
    ‘Don’t always be copying me,’ Mimi said crossly. ‘You don’t
do
nature study.’
    ‘Yes we do! We have a nature table and teacher told us to collect shells
and
leaves, Mimi Ryan.’
    Maggie left them arguing and threw her eyes up to heaven. If they were like this now, what were they going to be like when they were teenagers?
    They devoured their lunch. Maggie, too, enjoyed every morsel. The taste of succulent organic meat, vegetables, and roosters freshly dug out of the ground, and then to round it off a creamy rice
pudding topped with blackberry jam, was indescribable. Maggie silently saluted her mother’s prowess as a cook. Nelsie had never served frozen food or processed meals in her life.
    An hour later, as her father snoozed contentedly in front of the fire, waking now and again to listen to the racing on the wireless, Maggie and her children walked along the beach, revelling in
the fresh air and watching the waves, wild and thunderous, tossing spray among the rocks. They searched happily for crabs and periwinkles and pearly shells for the nature table.
    It was so peaceful, Maggie reflected. The wind blew her thick auburn hair back from her face as she stood looking at the green and gold fields in the distance, and the long green rippling swathe
of marram grass that grew along miles of fine white sand dunes as far as the eye could see. The sea, blue-green, capped with frothy foam, surged and ebbed in rhythmic flow, the sound and sight
immensely soothing to her hassled spirit.
    Maybe Nelsie was right. After this book she might take a break for a year and take some time out for herself and her children. The royalty cheque that she was expecting should be fairly
substantial, going on the sales figures she’d been given. One thing was for sure, she couldn’t keep going at this pace for much longer. She was flying on fumes at this stage. And Terry
would have to start pulling his weight. Maggie’s lips tightened. He’d been getting away with murder for far too long.
    Terry pulled the tab on a can of Harp, took a slug, ate a handful of peanuts and switched on Sky Sports. The house was satisfyingly peaceful. He stretched out on the sofa and
prepared to spend a long lazy afternoon. He’d had lunch in the clubhouse with John Dolan and they’d concluded a very successful deal. He deserved some R&R.
    The shrill burr of the phone intruded.
    ‘Piss off,’ he swore grumpily. He’d switched off the answering machine. That had been a mistake, he decided, as he lumbered up off the sofa. It was going back on after
he’d taken this call.
    ‘Yep?’ he barked testily, half expecting it to be Maggie.
    ‘Terry?’ An accented voice came down the line.
    ‘Sulaiman! Sulaiman, my old buddy!’ Terry instantly recognized his old friend from his Saudi days. Sulaiman Al Shariff was a Pakistani kidney specialist. His wife Alma was a
radiologist from Cork. They’d worked in the same hospital as Maggie when they’d been in Saudi