Prologue
THE IRISH INFORMER
13TH MAY 2000
MISSING TEENAGER IN DUBLIN
Gardaí in Westrow are appealing for the public’s help in locating a missing 18-year-old. Gillian Buckley is a 6th-year student at St Peter’s boarding school. She is the daughter of the renowned businessman and philanthropist, Andrew Buckley.
Gillian is described as 5’6’’ and of slim build, with green eyes and strawberry-blonde hair. Gillian was last seen in the school library yesterday afternoon and she was wearing her St Peter’s school uniform: a navy jumper with crest, white blouse and a navy and grey tartan skirt.
Principal at St Peter’s, Mr Martin McEvoy, said: ‘We have serious concerns for Gillian’s welfare. Gillian is a popular and happy pupil in our school. It is most unlike her to miss class or not to phone home regularly.’
Gardaí ask anyone with information to please contact Westrow Garda Station on 01 64737266 or the Garda Confidential Telephone Line on 0807 888 111, or call into any Garda station.
Chapter One
DARCY
Monday 10 June 2019
Jinx, my fluffy white Bichon Frise, is tucked under my arm. My other hand is curled around my husband’s – my fingers knitted between his – as we stand outside a large, revolving door at the television studio. The grey-brick building is the biggest among many others set in private and secure grounds. Every building bears the national broadcaster’s logo above the door and there’s little to differentiate one building from the other, except for size. After a couple of false starts I hope we’ve finally found the main reception.
‘A penny for them?’ Luke asks.
‘Hmm?’ I say, distracted.
‘What are you thinking, honey?’
‘Oh erm . . .’
‘I know you’re nervous,’ Luke says.
‘Is it that obvious?’ I ask, stroking my thumb under Jinx’s ear, just the way he likes it. His tail wags.
Luke laughs. ‘Well, if you hold my hand any tighter, I think you’re going to cut off my circulation.’
‘Oh.’ I glance at my hand wrapped tightly around my husband’s. My knuckles are white and shaking. ‘Sorry,’ I say, as I let go and realise how clammy my palm is when the cool air hits it. ‘I’m just feeling the pressure a little. We need this to go well so badly. Airtime like this is invaluable. Especially at the moment. And—’
‘And you’ve got this,’ Luke says, reaching for my hand again and slipping his fingers between mine. ‘Do you remember when you were Rizzo in our school play?’
‘It’s hard to believe that was twenty years ago. I remember it so well,’ I say.
‘You stole the whole show,’ Luke says. ‘Everyone in St Peter’s was asking “Sandy who?”’
I blush. ‘That’s not quite how I remember it.’
‘You were amazing,’ he says. ‘And you’re going to be amazing again today. People are going to love you as much as I do.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, smiling as I finally pluck up enough courage to lead us through the doors and into the main reception.
I introduce myself at the desk. ‘Good morning. I’m Darcy Hogan. I’m a guest on Good Morning, Ireland today.’
‘Go through the doors behind me.’ The receptionist points over her shoulder without turning her head. ‘I’ll buzz you in now.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, as the security door makes a loud clinking sound and I cross my fingers behind my back and hope this all goes as well as Luke and I desperately need it to.
The hustle and bustle on the other side of the door is a stark contrast to the calm and silent reception.
‘Oh good, you’re here,’ a young woman with a clipboard and headset says, draping her arm over my shoulder and guiding me down a long corridor. ‘Oh. And a puppy too,’ she adds, seeming less excited to see Jinx. ‘We were beginning to worry you’d got cold feet.’
‘I’m so sorry we’re late,’ I say. ‘We got a little lost.’ I leave out the part about having to pull over on the side of the motorway – twice – so I could be sick, and then it was almost impossible to pull back into the manic morning traffic.
‘No worries. You’re here now,’ she says, as we step into a brightly lit dressing room. ‘I don’t think people realise that although the show starts at 8 a.m. everyone has been here for hours beforehand prepping.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I say. ‘I like mornings.’
It’s true. I am an early bird. Always have been. I get up most mornings at 6, sometimes 5.30. I like to get a walk in before work. I’m usually just arriving home after 8 kilometres when Luke is getting up, and we drive to the factory together. We’re always in our office or on the floor by 8 a.m. at the latest. But for the last couple of months, Luke has usually left for work before I even manage to open my eyes.
‘Is that something important?’ the clipboard lady asks, pointing at the book tucked under Luke’s arm.
‘It’s my new recipe book,’ I say, excitedly. ‘It’s not out for a couple of months yet—’
‘And you don’t want to miss an opportunity to plug it. I getcha,’ she says, winking. ‘C’mon.’ She places a hand on Luke’s shoulder as she guides him towards the door. ‘I’ll show you where to leave it.’
I’m alone only for a matter of seconds when there’s a gentle knock on the door, followed by a cheery voice. ‘Hello, hello, hello. Is it okay to come in?’
‘Yes. Of course,’ I say, recognising the distinctive lilt. ‘Come on in.’
The door creaks open and Lindsay St Claire’s head appears in the gap. Her golden hair is in curlers and she isn’t wearing a scrap of make-up, but she is still stunning. And I wonder if my inner fangirling over my favourite TV presenter is noticeable.
‘Welcome to Good Morning, Ireland. I’m so glad you’re here, Darcy.’ She smiles, flashing her dazzlingly white teeth.
‘Thank you,’ I say, bubbles of nervous excitement fizzing in my veins. ‘I’m glad to be here, at last.’
‘And you’re welcome too, Mr Fluffy,’ Lindsay says, stroking a sleepy Jinx’s head. Without opening his eyes he nuzzles into her hand, letting her know he loves her gentle touch.
I introduce my beloved puppy. ‘This is Jinx.’
‘Gosh, you’re just gorgeous, aren’t you?’ Lindsay says, putting on that squeaky voice that people use sometimes when they’re talking to animals or babies. ‘Aren’t you a good boy? You are. Yes, you are.’
‘Thank you for having me on the show,’ I say, but I don’t think Lindsay is listening. She’s petting Jinx and smiling and cooing.
Lindsay’s team has been inviting me on air for months – ever since I won Businesswoman of the Year. And for months I have politely declined. Marketing and publicity is my top concern, but we’re an eco-friendly business – flashy awards and morning television shows aren’t exactly in keeping with our carbon-footprint-conscious image. Besides, it’s almost impossible to sing the praises of Darcy’s Dishes without sounding as if I think I’m special. I don’t. I work damn hard and I’ve been lucky, too. That’s all. But Lindsay has made no effort to hide her disappointment at my reluctance.