The Tavern on Maple Street

by Sharon Owens

  Betsy had flown to London the day before to have the gel-bags removed from her chest. She had dumped all Liam's stuff in the garage, and he'd collected it and put it into storage. He would go house-hunting when he got the first cheque from Perry. In the meantime, he was squandering his remaining bank balance on Room Service sandwiches and the contents of the minibar. Perry told him the big advance from one of the publishers would be coming his way at the end of January so he wasn't too worried about his future welfare.

  And he had resigned himself to the dreary ending of Boom, Boom. Slinger drunk again and lying face down in the gutter. The tavern getting blown to smithereens. Mad Claudia torching Slinger's new car. His one true love, the beautiful landlady, waving goodbye to him from the airport. She and her blinded husband were going to retire to a tiny farmhouse in rural France, like half of Britain wanted to do in real life, according to the newspapers.

  Now the publishers wanted a summary of book three. But Perry said that was up to Liam. Either way, he was winding up the agency at the end of next summer and taking early retirement himself.

  Yes, things were looking good for Liam. Betsy was sorted. Boom, Boom was almost finished. It was his obsession with Lily Beaumont that kept him awake at night now. He could not close his eyes without seeing images of Lily. Smiling at him, baking perfect pies for him, dressing up in long coats and beaded chokers. Quoting Philip Larkin at posh book-launches. She'd be heavily pregnant with Liam's child. Sleeping peacefully beside him in their bed. He wondered what she saw in Jack. The man was civil enough but he was boring beyond belief. He was not good enough for Lily. That was the truth. Maybe she had low self-esteem?

  Lily thought Liam was very depressed, sitting at the counter each night, staring into space. She told him not to worry and that he would soon find someone else to share his life with. He was a great guy, and wasn't he talented and famous and well respected about the city? That seemed to do the trick of cheering him up. He shook Lily's hand once and even kissed it tenderly.

  Relations between Bridget and Trudy were slightly frosty, since Gerry Madden had come into the tavern last night and asked Trudy out on a date. She'd said yes, to everyone's amazement. And Bridget was devastated. Well, she claimed to be devastated but Lily thought she looked rather relieved. Lily and Bridget had a heart-to-heart about love over a plate of hazelnut meringues and chestnut cream. And Bridget had admitted that she had grown weary of Gerry and their turbulent relationship. She wanted the kind of peaceful love and mutual respect that Lily and Jack shared.

  ‘Where will I find a love like yours?’ asked Bridget. ‘And how will I know when I've found it?’

  ‘You'll know,’ said Lily. ‘There won't be any doubt at all in your heart when you meet the right person.’

  Bridget ate sixteen of the mini-hazelnut meringues to console herself over losing Gerry, leaving a big dent in the batch for that evening's party, and Marie had to make some more. She went into the kitchen to begin baking, and realized that they had run out of chestnut purée and plain chocolate for the filling. She asked Lily for permission to take some money from the bucket under the sink (they hadn't devised a better banking system yet) and went to the Tesco store next door. When she came back, she saw that the Devaney brothers had arrived for a lunchtime gig and that Michael was talking to Lily. They stopped the conversation abruptly when she went past, and Michael smiled at her and blushed furiously.

  David Devaney was dating Daisy, and the two of them were sitting at the fire now, deep in conversation about stage-wear. Daisy was trying to wean David off leather and onto more fashionable fabrics. Marie staggered up the stairs, suddenly tired. Even if she did fancy Michael Devaney a lot, there was precious little she could do about it. She was far too shy to flirt with him, and she had hours and hours of work still to do this evening, and over the coming days. She could hardly refuse the Beaumonts the extra shifts they needed her to work, when she was camped out in their sitting room. Trudy was stacking dirty dishes in the kitchen sink when Marie arrived back at base.

  ‘How's it going, Trudy?’ she asked quietly. ‘I'm parched. Tesco was like a refugee camp. I've never seen such queues.’ Marie set the kettle onto the stove and sat down, waiting for the water to boil. She eased off her boots and slipped on a pair of comfy mules. Trudy finished dusting icing sugar over a batch of mincemeat and pear tarts and set them on a tray, ready to be carried downstairs for the lunchtime diners.

  ‘Can you manage without me, this afternoon?’ Trudy asked lightly. ‘I've already stuffed the turkey for tonight and it needs to come out of the main oven at six o'clock.’

  ‘Sure. No problem.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Marie. Only, it's the badminton club do, at seven. And they want a load of fancy stuff like crab spring rolls and pesto crostini, and it's going to take ages. And Gerry offered to take me to see a matinee at the cinema. He's due in the bar any moment and I don't want to keep him waiting.’

  ‘You go ahead, you deserve it. I'll have a quick tea break, and then get on with the canapés.’

  ‘I love you, Marie,’ said Trudy. ‘I'll bring these tarts down to the bar on my way out.’

  Marie flopped down at the table with her cup of tea and thought of her parents and siblings, gone to spend Christmas with relatives in England. Their old home had been sold at auction to a young woman called Sarah Jones, who had already stripped out all Marie's father's home improvements such as the stone fireplace, and painted the entire place a cold and lifeless white. The patterned carpets and frilly curtains went into a skip and were replaced with beige sea-grass and wooden blinds. The orange pine cabinets in the kitchen were sold, and now white oak doors, a stainless-steel counter and ultra-bright spotlights were the order of the day. Marie had seen it all when she went round to collect the mail, and she had wept on seeing the glamorous house that had once been a cosy family home. It was up for sale again within seven days. The asking price was nearly forty thousand pounds higher than the auction reserve. Marie was shocked at the heartlessness of it all.

  She wanted to cry now but she didn't have time. The badminton party was only six hours away and she had a lot to do. She surveyed the table in front of her. Ten tins of crab meat, six packets of filo pastry, a twisted knob of root ginger, ten baguettes, six jars of pesto sauce, four red peppers, fresh basil and a large bottle of olive oil. There was a mountain of dishes to wash, and she still had to tidy herself up for the evening's festivities. She sighed gently. Downstairs, she could hear Michael and David Devaney begin a love song that her parents used to dance to and she had to stifle a sob. ‘Careless Whisper’, by George Michael, was a great favourite of theirs. Marie hoped the Devaney brothers didn't know any songs by the Smiths. One note of melancholy, and she would be overwhelmed by grief. Just then, Lily came into the kitchen.

  ‘Are you all right, pet?’

  ‘Yeah. Just getting a bit sentimental. Pay me no attention.’

  ‘Are you sure? I don't want you working if you're upset. You know, you could have gone to England with your family?’

  ‘No, I wanted to stay here. Honestly. I'd only cry all through Christmas dinner, seeing Aunt Tracy showing off her fancy china plates and her ivory-handled cutlery. And my poor mum saying it's all lovely, as if there was nothing wrong. I couldn't bear it, even if Aunt Tracy does mean well.’

  ‘I understand. Well, the good news is that Michael Devaney has offered to give you a hand here when they finish the afternoon set.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Beaumont, that won't be necessary. I'll be fine on my own.’

  ‘No, really. He was very keen. I think he likes you, Marie.’

  ‘I'm not in the mood for romance. Tell him thanks, but I don't need any help.’

  Marie was absolutely terrified at the thought of spending several hours in close proximity to the gorgeous Michael in his tight leather trousers. She was an emotional powder keg these days. Finishing her college course and losing her childhood home in the same year had left her in such a state of limbo, she wa
sn't thinking straight.

  ‘I know I said I wanted to get to know him better, Mrs Beaumont. But that was when I was high on cocktails. You know I'd be hopeless in reality. Tell him not to come up, will you? Please?’

  ‘Too late,’ Lily quipped. ‘I said we'd be very grateful for his help.’

  ‘Is Trudy in on this, by any chance?’ Marie wanted to know. ‘She didn't say anything this morning about going to the cinema with Gerry Madden.’

  ‘Oh, never mind about Trudy,’ said Lily, with a leap in her voice that told Marie it was a conspiracy to match her up with Michael. ‘Have you got your eye on someone else? I didn't think you were seeing anybody at the moment?’

  ‘You know rightly I'm not, Mrs Beaumont.’

  ‘Please call me Lily.’

  ‘Lily, then. I'd be mortified if we were stuck in here together. There's hardly room to slice bread let alone show a musician how to make canapés.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Marie. He's a lovely fellow. I told him what a star you were, cooking away up here because I have the flu. And how brave you are to cope with your parents away for the holidays. He said he'd be delighted to help you out.’

  ‘Won't he need a rest before tonight's do?’

  ‘No. He says he can play the guitar in his sleep. And he might as well hang around here and help out, as go home and watch television on his own. Sure, David is here day and night, talking to Daisy.’

  ‘All the same. Why would he help me? I'm not his girlfriend.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Lily! What have you done? Are you matchmaking?’

  ‘Maybe I am. He likes you, Marie. He told me.’

  ‘Honestly? If he likes me, why can't he tell me himself?’

  ‘Because he's terribly shy. And so are you. And I think you would make a lovely couple.’

  ‘I don't feel relaxed around boys, Lily. I never have. I'm hopeless in clubs.’

  ‘I'm not surprised. The noise of those places, with the music thumping and pounding loud enough to deafen, and you can't hear anyone speak. It's a shame you missed the disco era I grew up in. Jack and I used to go to this great little disco near the docks, where the floor tiles lit up and the walls were covered with glittery wallpaper. We loved dancing there. It's closed down now.’

  ‘Sounds lovely. You must have some great memories.’

  ‘We do. Now, I'm going back to bed, and I suggest you have a soak in the bath, and a good rest. And then you and Michael can make all these fancy canapés together, and make some nice memories of your own while you're at it.’

  ‘Lily! Stop it!’

  ‘I won't leave this kitchen until you agree to let Michael help you. Otherwise, I'll have to help you myself, and I have a headache that would drive any sane person over the edge.’

  ‘Okay, okay. You win. I'll have a bath, then. If Bridget has left me any hot water.’

  ‘That's the girl,’ said Lily. ‘Just borrow anything you need from the rest of us. Meanwhile, I'll have a good snooze and, if I feel up to it, I'll help out at the party later. I can clear plates and glasses anyway, without causing too much damage. Jack says he's still crippled, so I doubt he'll be any use. Is that kettle boiled? I'll take us in a couple of mugs of cocoa. The girls are downstairs, so you should have plenty of peace. Off you go.’ She patted Marie on the back and, satisfied that she was helping to start one of the great love affairs of the twenty-first century, she measured out the cocoa powder into two of her favourite pottery mugs.

  In the bathroom, Marie turned on the hot tap and squeezed in a small tube of rose-scented bath cream that she got free with a magazine. She clipped and painted her nails while the bath was filling, and slapped on a cucumber facemask. Soon, she was soaking away her sore feet and feeling human again. She didn't allow herself to think about what a fool she might make of herself over the smoked-salmon bites. Hopefully, they'd be too busy boiling new potatoes and slicing baguettes and chopping spring onions to be embarrassed. And if she felt overwhelmed by Michael's presence, she could always nip down to the bar on some pretext. Maybe say she had to help Bridget for a while?

  She dried her hair poker-straight and pinned it up with one of Lily's pretty clips. She borrowed one of Daisy's many black dresses, Bridget's plum-coloured bolero cardigan and some of Trudy's chunky bracelets, and she was all ready for her date.

  ‘Except it's not a date,’ she told the bathroom mirror. ‘He's only helping me to make canapés.’

  However, when Michael appeared at the top of the stairs that afternoon, there was a distinct feeling of romance in the air. Michael blushed as he said hi, and Marie nervously chattered non-stop as she showed him the magazine clippings that Lily had left for them on the notice board. He seemed bewildered by the amount of ingredients on the table. Marie realized that he was even more self-conscious than she was and she felt sorry for him. Sometimes, she thought that she was the only shy person in the world, and that every other girl and boy could swing naked from the chandeliers at a moment's notice. But the truth was that most people found life overwhelming at times. That's what Lily had told her and Marie knew it was good advice.

  ‘Thanks for helping me,’ she said gently. ‘I really appreciate this.’

  Michael was studying the recipes with a frown of concentration on his face, and when he pronounced canapés, it was so wrong she burst out laughing. And he laughed too.

  ‘You might not be thanking me in a minute,’ he said. ‘Who would have thought you'd need all this stuff here, to make those tiny wee things in the pictures?’

  ‘Don't worry,’ said Marie. ‘It's not nearly as complicated as you think.’

  She decided she liked Michael a lot. Together they divided the ingredients up into three piles, one for each dish, and then washed their hands before donning stripy aprons and getting down to work.

  ‘If you slice, oil and bake the bread, I'll roast the peppers for the crostini,’ she suggested. ‘Then we can put the lot into airtight containers for later. They're served cold.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ he said, and tossed his curly fringe out of his eyes. ‘Is cookery your thing?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, are you a catering student?’

  ‘No, I'm a languages graduate, waiting for a cushy translation post in Brussels to come my way.’

  ‘Oh. That sounds impressive.’ He seemed suddenly shy again. Marie recognized the signs. He was afraid to ask her about her career hopes, in case he made another faux pas. She was just the same herself, always afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing.

  ‘It's nothing, really,’ she told him. ‘I just pick up languages very easily. I don't even like translation that much. It's just something I was good at in college.’

  ‘David and I never made it to college,’ Michael said. ‘Failed all our exams, because we were playing music too much.’

  ‘Never mind. As long as you're both making a living? And you're happy?’

  ‘It's not been much of a living so far. We need to record a song. That would raise our profile and get us on the radio. Then we could charge more for gigs. You know, David's thinking of entering us in a talent show in London next year?’

  ‘Oh, wow! One of those ones they have on TV? Where people vote, and everything? With millions of viewers?’

  ‘Yeah. He's dead keen on it. He thinks we have a good chance of winning.’

  ‘Fair play to you, Michael. I couldn't do that for a pension. Not for all the money in the world! I'd drop dead with nerves.’

  ‘I'll tell you a secret. I feel the same way. I don't want to do it.’

  ‘I take it David doesn't know that yet?’

  ‘I don't know how to tell him.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I don't even know how to tell him I hate these trousers.’

  ‘Oh, Michael. They're not so bad.’ She began to giggle. ‘They're very nice on you.’

  ‘They're utterly sad, Marie. I'm ashamed of them. And the white shirts too. They're a full-on cringe. But
David's always been the brain of the operation, you know? He's always looked after me. And he thinks he knows about fashion.’

  ‘I'll tell you a secret. Daisy is planning to get rid of the leather altogether. She thinks she'd like to redesign your wardrobe. According to Daisy, the pirate look is over, and it's time for a return to tailored suits in light shades.’

  ‘Yeah? Bring it on.’

  ‘But now, what will happen if you want to give up music?’

  ‘Oh, I love music. I don't want to give it up. But I want to keep things small-scale. Just play in venues like this. Stay in Ireland, and only work three nights a week. Or maybe teach guitar?’

  ‘You don't want to be a big star, then?’

  ‘No way. It's a crazy life. We used to play support for a rock band in England. We went on the road with them for six months last year. We were living on a smelly tour bus. I hated it. Too much hanging around between gigs. One of the band OD'd and now he's in prison for arson.’

  ‘Point taken.’

  ‘What about you? What's your dream?’

  ‘I'd like to have my own business some day. I'm getting kind of bored with languages.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, I do love cooking and the atmosphere of a little place like this is perfect, but the late nights are tougher on me than I thought. I'm dog-tired. So I thought I might retrain as a restaurant-based pastry-chef? Can't see my bank manager agreeing to lend me the cash, though.’ She yawned in his face, and then apologized for being so rude.

  ‘Why don't you sit down for a minute?’ he said quietly. ‘I'll finish these crabby things. What do I do?’