The Summer Guest

by Emma Hannigan

  Now, fifteen years later, there were still many nooks and crannies of number three Cashel Square waiting to be lovingly restored to their former glory. Lexie and Sam had made some headway, of course. They’d replaced the saggy old sofas with gorgeous cream leather ones. All the original fireplaces, ceiling cornices and floorboards had been carefully brought back to their prime. Sam had found a craftsman who’d moved into the basement for six months so he could rethread the sash windows and repair the hinges and panels of the shutters.

  But the new kitchen they’d put in last year had cleared their rainy-day account. Many other rooms were still filled with junk or waiting to have the right furniture added.

  Their long-term plans had changed since 1998 too. After an accident, Lexie had been forced to change tack with her career, but things were finally beginning to look up for them, despite the global recession.

  Sam was now a shareholder in the computer-programming firm where he worked. But Lexie’s promising job in graphic design had come tumbling down, literally. She’d been up an extendable ladder doing some careful ceiling-cornice painting when it had collapsed. She’d known by the cracking sound that her arm was broken. She’d landed on it awkwardly and it was twisted in a direction she knew wasn’t natural. Crawling to the phone, she’d called Sam, then Maia.

  True to form, Sam was calm and said he’d phone the ambulance. ‘Stay where you are and I’ll be with you in a jiffy. I love you.’

  Maia was OTT as usual. ‘You what? Jesus H. Christ, Lex. Is your arm hanging off or what?’

  ‘No,’ she sobbed, ‘but it’s really bad. Sam’s on the way and so’s the ambulance.’

  ‘Well, don’t go to St Mary’s Hospital – they use knives and forks to sew people up. I had a client who went there to have a baby. Emergency section, baby was coming too soon, blah, blah. She had pains in her side for two months after the operation so she ended up in another hospital where they removed a fecking needle the other clowns had left there!’

  ‘Okay.’ Lexie had winced. ‘I’m going now. I’m in so much pain I think I’m going to die.’ She’d dropped the phone and promptly passed out. By the time she woke she was in recovery. Sam and Maia were on either side of her bed gazing anxiously at her. ‘Hey,’ she said weakly. ‘What’s happened with my arm?’

  ‘You’ve had some pins put into your wrist,’ Sam said gently. ‘The surgical team said it was a bad break, honey.’

  Maia was chewing the inside of her lip, looking agitated. Sam was smiling kindly.

  ‘What?’ she asked, turning to Maia.

  ‘You’re gonzoed,’ she said. ‘You’re lucky they didn’t saw your hand off and leave you with an unsightly stump.’

  ‘Maia!’ Sam said, growing irritated. ‘Don’t be so dramatic. Lexie had a horrible fall. She’s going to be fine, though.’

  Lexie adored Sam, but Maia was one of the only people in the world who’d tell her the truth. They’d been friends since school and, no matter what happened, they had each other’s backs.

  As it turned out, Lexie’s injuries were closer to Maia’s assumption than Sam’s. ‘Why did I have to break my left wrist?’ Lexie wailed two days later. ‘The doctors were so jubilant about the fact it wasn’t the right.’

  ‘They weren’t to know you’re left-handed,’ Sam said, wiping away a tear. ‘We’ll get you the best darn physiotherapist in Dublin, and before long you’ll be back in work and, most importantly, back painting your beloved portraits.’

  Lexie really wanted to believe Sam. Her job was sacred to her and she was bringing so much extra business on board that her bosses had already offered her a rise. She knew it was only a matter of time before they suggested she become a partner. But all that paled into insignificance when it came to the way her painting made her feel. If a day was stressful or a week took its toll, she’d burrow away in the back room and paint.

  Any time Sam suggested making the room more organised or even putting in some proper work surfaces, she balked. ‘I love it this way. I know where things are and it allows me to be creative. I have to be regimented in work. This is my zone.’

  Seven months later, despite her best efforts and many hours of painful physio, Lexie had to admit defeat.

  ‘If things change, let us know,’ Herman, her boss, said. ‘The door is open whenever you get the control back in your hand.’

  Lexie hugged him, accepted the farewell voucher for a massage treatment, and knew in her heart of hearts that she’d never be back at the graphic design company.

  The cloud that shrouded her life could possibly have ruined everything, had Reggie, her father, not come to the rescue. She was wallowing in the house, day after day, slipping slowly into a depression when he single-handedly changed her destiny.

  ‘I’m downsizing the company. I can’t keep going with all the printing shops. Besides, lots of our customers are using cheaper on-line companies nowadays.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Dad,’ Lexie said. ‘I know what it feels like when you’re no longer in a position to fulfil your potential.’

  Reggie patted her hand, telling her she was going to do that and more. He handed her a set of keys and told her the premises, which were strategically situated on the sea road a mere mile from Cashel Square, were hers, rent free, until she established a decent income.

  ‘But what on earth can I do with your old printing shop?’ she asked.

  ‘How about setting up a gallery?’ Reggie said.

  Lexie sat back and allowed the idea wash over her. Astonishingly, she didn’t feel averse to the idea. In fact, the more she thought about it, the better it sounded. ‘If I’m starting my career from scratch I may as well do so within walking distance of here,’ she reasoned. ‘The doctors say I’ll be able to drive again in a few months, but for the moment it would more than suit me to be able to walk to work.’

  ‘Of course,’ Reggie said. ‘It’s the perfect area for a gallery, what with the promenade, the park and the pedestrian shopping area.’ He had occupied the building for more than twenty years and knew the footfall was there. ‘I’ll help you decorate and I’m sure your friends will too. I ran the idea past Sam and he thinks it sounds wonderful.’

  ‘So you’ve pretty much set me up. All I need to do is arrive, eh?’ Lexie said, grinning. Throwing her good arm around her father’s neck, she let him hold her like he did when she was little. She thanked God she had such amazing men in her life.

  ‘You’re such a jammy cow,’ Maia said, when they met for coffee that afternoon. ‘I wish my father was like yours.’ She sighed. ‘But I guess I’d need to have a relationship with him and actually know him in the first place!’ They giggled. Maia was blunt to a fault. Especially when it came to awkward or emotive subjects. When they’d first met, some of the girls in their class at school didn’t get her sense of humour but it was the thing Lexie loved most about her. They’d been drawn to one another since the age of ten and Lexie couldn’t imagine her life without Maia.

  After her father had walked out on them, Maia’s mother had worked a lot, leaving Maia and her brother John to their own devices. As a result, Maia had decided the only way was out. Out of the house and into a job that would pay.

  ‘I want to earn shedloads of cash and go on foreign holidays wearing designer gear while quaffing champagne.’ Nothing got in Maia’s way once she set her mind to something. Although Lexie had a lump in her throat and pride in her heart the day Maia graduated from law school, she wasn’t surprised. ‘You did good, kiddo,’ she said, hugging her.

  ‘I’m only getting started,’ Maia said, with a shrug of her shoulder and a subtle nod to the right. Lexie glanced sideways and made eye contact with a gorgeous guy.

  ‘Let me introduce you to Josh,’ Maia said. She pulled Lexie close and whispered, ever so quietly, ‘Great in bed, brains to burn, and I’m going to marry him some day.’

  In the early days Lexie was at the gallery morning, noon and night.

  ‘Sometimes I wonder whether you
love the art more than me,’ Sam said, with an exaggerated pout. ‘I know you’re struggling to work with one hand a lot of the time, but I can’t help feeling left out.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She giggled. ‘There are one or two pieces I like less than you.’

  All jokes aside, Lexie knew she needed to push hard to make her business a success. She was determined to look after her clients and form good relationships. If the gallery were to survive and thrive, she needed to breathe life into it. She buried all her bitterness and disappointment by focusing on the job in hand. At the time she’d thought anything other than being an active artist was a come down, such was her love for painting. Owning a gallery was the next best thing and she knew it was an opportunity and the perfect way to avoid plunging into a pool of dark depression.

  ‘The paintings and sculptures are the blood and I need to be the heartbeat,’ she explained to Sam.

  Luckily for both of them, Sam got it. More than that, he got Lexie. Now, nine years later, the gallery was thriving and had survived the testing recession.

  Draining her coffee cup, Lexie placed it in the dishwasher with the rest of the breakfast things and turned the machine on. She adored her new kitchen and still got a kick out of closing the integrated dishwasher door. It had been a long time coming, but the gorgeous refurbishment even met with Penelope’s approval. ‘It’s wonderful, darling,’ she said. ‘I’d say you’re able to relax in here far more now, and it’s better for poor Sam to have a proper place for his dinner. That old falling-apart kitchen you had before must’ve made him feel quite depressed after a hard day at the office.’

  ‘Sam never complained,’ Lexie said, trying not to get irritated with her mother. ‘In fact, I pushed for the new units more than he did.’

  Taking the stairs two at a time, she grabbed a cardigan to pop in her bag in case there was a cool breeze coming in from the sea. She brushed her teeth, then checked her face in the mirror for flakes of mascara or stray spatters of eye-shadow on her cheek. Pulling her long dark hair into a clip, she decided she’d do. She hoped the short walk between the house and the gallery would kick-start her tan. She thought of poor Sam, who went the colour of a beetroot almost instantly in the sun. Even if they were sitting in the garden for a drink he had to lather himself in high-factor cream. Yesterday evening she’d brought them a glass of chilled white wine each, and tossed the tube of sun screen to him. ‘From blue to burn in sixty seconds! That’s my man!’ she said.

  They teased one another endlessly, that was their way, but underneath it, they were inseparable. The only time she knew Sam got slightly peeved was when she and Maia went too far with the sisterhood gibes. ‘When God created man she was only joking,’ Maia had slurred last Sunday, at their barbecue.

  ‘Lex,’ Sam whispered, ‘don’t get into the whole men-are-worms vibe. It’s embarrassing for Josh and me.’

  As she ran down the stairs, plucking her handbag from the hall table, the photographic portrait, taken around the time of their engagement, stared back at her. She was incredibly fortunate that their relationship had stood the test of time, she thought. So many of their friends were now either single or in second partnerships. Maia was making a very nice living on other people’s failed marriages.

  The second she banged the front door shut, her mobile rang. Stuffing the cardigan into her bag, she retrieved her phone just in time. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, love. Isn’t it a lovely bright day?’ Penelope said.

  ‘Hm, gorgeous,’ Lexie said, shouldering the phone to her ear as she turned the Chubb lock in the door. ‘I’m just on the way to the gallery. Any news?’

  ‘I could ask you the same,’ Penelope responded.

  ‘Not a dicky-bird,’ Lexie said. ‘I’ll be in work until lunchtime. Kate is covering the afternoon shift and I might head out for a run on the pier later. What are you up to today?’

  ‘I was going to see if you’d meet me for lunch,’ Penelope said. ‘Dad and I have been chatting. Your fortieth birthday is around the corner. Have you any plans at all?’

  ‘It’s not until September, Mum. It’s May now, for crying out loud!’

  ‘It’ll be June tomorrow,’ Penelope corrected. ‘Poor Amélie starts her fifth-year exams in the morning. Billy and Dee are tearing their hair out with her. She hasn’t opened a book, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. My niece is a clever girl. She’s probably done more work than they think.’

  ‘Well, unless they’ve added a study hall to the shopping centre, I sincerely doubt it. She’s turned into a bit of a madam lately. Dee is at her wits’ end. She’ll be leaving school next year. The time to cop on is running out.’

  ‘Lighten up, Mum, for Pete’s sake! Amélie’s seventeen. She’s supposed to rebel against everything. I’d be more worried if she didn’t,’ Lexie said.

  ‘Now, that’s just ridiculous, Lexie. Amélie is in danger of becoming a problem. Billy is too soft with her and leaves all the disciplining to Dee. It’s not right.’

  ‘Mum, it’s none of our business what Amélie, Dee or Billy does in the comfort of their own home. I doubt Amélie is the first teenager to find study a bore and she certainly won’t be the last.’

  ‘You treat her like one of your friends, Lexie. I’m not sure that’s appropriate, considering her current behaviour. Maybe if you took a more removed approach to her it might help Dee and Billy,’ Penelope suggested.

  ‘I can’t help it if Amélie thinks I’m cool,’ Lexie quipped. ‘Besides, she needs to feel there’s at least one person batting on her team. I remember what it’s like when you think the whole world is against you. I wouldn’t go back to being a teenager for any money.’

  ‘Well, that’s neither here nor there,’ Penelope said. ‘So, can you meet me for lunch later? Why don’t we go to the noodle bar on the promenade? Say, one thirty? Will that give you enough time? We can have a better chat face to face.’

  Knowing her mother would probably turn up at the gallery if she didn’t meet her, Lexie agreed. At least this way they’d be in a neutral venue and she could leave if necessary.

  Chapter 2

  As she walked into the arrivals area of Dublin airport, Kathleen felt more at ease than she had for weeks. The luggage trolley had a mind of its own and kept veering to the right. Stopping to scan the crowd, she waved tentatively at the man holding a sign with her name on.

  ‘Kathleen Williams?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s me,’ she confirmed happily.

  ‘Let me take that yoke for you,’ the man said, commandeering the trolley. ‘You’ll do yourself an injury. It’s easier to control a box of frogs than one of these things.’

  Kathleen thanked him and grinned from ear to ear. It’d been such a long time since she’d heard the Irish wit first hand. Her parents had immigrated to America to find work when she was a child. Now a silvery-blonde woman of seventy-four, she’d forgotten how much she loved this type of banter.

  ‘So let me guess,’ the taxi driver said, as they sat into his car. ‘You’re here to find your roots?’

  ‘Got it in one!’ Kathleen said. ‘I’m not totally bats, though. In my defence I was born in Dublin and lived in Caracove until I was eight. So I’ve got fairly fresh roots here – for an American,’ she added.

  ‘Fair enough.’ He nodded. ‘So what brings you home after all this time?’

  ‘My husband, Jackson, bought me a ticket and it would’ve been rude not to use it,’ she said.

  ‘Didn’t he want to come with you?’

  ‘He couldn’t make it this time.’

  ‘Probably better off that way.’ The man chuckled. ‘Visiting old haunts with someone else is almost as bad as going shopping, if you ask me.’

  Kathleen laughed.

  ‘So where are we going?’ the driver asked.

  ‘Caracove Bay, please.’

  ‘Ah, Caracove Bay by the sea!’ he said. ‘Lovely spot, isn’t it? You’ll see a big change, I reckon
. For the better, mind you. They’ve done up the promenade area – paved it and built lovely glass-fronted restaurants. The big park is a hive of activity now too. The old swings were repaired and a whole host of kiddie rides and slides have been added.’

  ‘How wonderful!’ Kathleen said. ‘Is the bandstand still there?’

  ‘Indeed it is. There’s music of all sorts at the weekends and during the summer.’

  ‘That sounds gorgeous,’ Kathleen said. ‘What about the town? Is it still buzzy?’

  ‘Some of the shops have closed down due to the recession, but the main street is still as alive as ever, I think you’ll find. It’s pedestrianised now and it works well. There was some talk of a modern shopping centre being added a couple of years back but so many of the locals objected the idea was scrapped. I think they were right, too. Caracove Bay has managed to hold on to her old-world charm without remaining in the dark ages.’

  Kathleen marvelled at the changes as they made their way down the impressive motorway. ‘None of this existed when I left. It’s unrecognisable, actually,’ she said, a little deflated.

  ‘Ah, it’s all built up along here, but once we turn off and veer towards the coast you’ll see some familiar sights.’

  The driver was right. Less than an hour later, as they went along the sea road, Kathleen was like a child in a sweet shop as she pinned her gaze on the sights. ‘The old swimming baths! There used to be an ice-cream shop there.’

  ‘Indeed there was,’ the driver said. ‘That must be gone twenty years by now. Are you staying at the Caracove Arms Hotel, love?’

  ‘Oh,’ Kathleen said, suddenly flustered. ‘Would you believe I haven’t made a reservation? I’ve had a bit of a gruelling time of it lately. I thought I was doing brilliantly just getting here. I hadn’t thought ahead.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll have plenty of room. I know a couple of the staff there. I’ll see they look after you.’