Best Love, Rosie
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The final novel from the New York <i>Times</i> bestselling author of <i>Are You Somebody?</i> Like many a modern, well-travelled woman, Rosie has lived a fascinating life, full of adventure and the pleasure of many lovers in her younger years. Now, facing the challenges of middle-age, she finds that the things that defined her most–work, love, independence–begin to fail her. She comes home to Ireland to care for her elderly Aunt Min, trapped by circumstances in sleepy Dublin. But when an opportunity arises to visit New York again, the story takes an unexpected turn… Published to rave reviews in France (Sabine Wespieser), <i>Best Love, Rosie</i> became an instant bestseller in Ireland, where it was published to mark the first anniversary of Nuala's death. Here is one last bittersweet look through those fierce eyes at aging, death, relationships and, as always, love.
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PRAISE FOR
Are You Somebody?
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The only time I caught a glimpse of her inner life had been in September, when there was a Mass of Commemoration on the first anniversary of 9/11. For the few days before it she talked a lot, telling me about that dreadful day and how she glanced at the television and thought the plane flying into the tower was a game, and she couldn’t find Reeny’s number in Spain, and the stew she had on was burnt so badly that she had to throw out the saucepan, and Andy Sutton brought down the bedroom chair and went over to get Mrs Beckett because she only has RTÉ One, and Tessa came in after her work and made chicken sandwiches, and Andy went up to the Kilbride Inn for a dozen beers and a bottle of vodka because people were calling to the house all night. And all along the terrace front doors were open and you could hear the blare of television sets, and Enzo’s son brought down fish and chips though the Sorrento didn’t normally deliver, and then the boy stayed, watching the television with his mouth open.
‘I had a terrible fright right at the beginning,’ she said, ‘when I remembered Markey Cuffe, that was your big friend when your nose was always stuck in a book, Florence Cuffe’s boy that went to New York. I was asking everyone where did he work; he grew up out our back lane and he easily could have been dead; a lot of people around here had people over there they were mad with worry about and there was nothing they could do, the phones were all clogged up, you couldn’t reach America. But then I found the cards I’d put away since last Christmas because he always sends a big one with gold on it and the address of his business, and it was in Seattle. Sure I know all about Seattle, Reeny and me used to watch Frasier.’
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