‘That would be really lovely, thank you.’
She may never go home.
The Party
THEY HAVE A CAKE EACH, ON HEATHER’S INSISTENCE. Nobody should have to share a birthday cake, she declared, so Emily obediently made two. Astrid’s is a spiced rum and raisin log, dark and rich and topped with bitter chocolate frosting; Bill’s is a simple lemon sponge, sandwiched with citrus buttercream and dusted on top with icing sugar.
The September day is chilly, a hint of winter in the breeze, so Emily turns up the heating as she spreads the oval table with a cream linen cloth and sets out plates and forks and napkins. She’s serving a wild mushroom tart that Mike prepped yesterday, and a squash and barley salad with elderflower balsamic dressing that’s all her own work.
What’ll we do about candles? Heather asked, and they quickly decided that forty-nine on one cake and ninety-three on another was out of the question, so Emily has stuck a single thin white candle into each cake. One candle, one wish.
She knows what both of them will be.
The doctor says another week or so and I’ll be able to manage alone again, Astrid told her. Carmel is so thoughtful, and so attentive, but …
But you’d love to be back in your own place.
I would.
And Bill? Bill’s wish is easy.
In another week or so his daughter’s stay at the rehab centre will come to an end. After that, he’s taking her to Cornwall for a short holiday. It’s close to where his sister lives but he wanted them to have their own place, so he’s booked a small house by the sea.
Bill told her all this, during their talk.
I want to explain, he said, if you have a few minutes. Turning up one afternoon out of the blue, catching her all unawares so she became flustered, remembering their last encounter at the nursing home, and the letter she wrote in its aftermath that was ignored.
Come in, she said, because what else could she say? And in he came, and after that she didn’t know what to do with him so there they remained, standing by the big empty oval table as he stuttered out the story of Christine, looking over Emily’s shoulder and above her head, and somewhere to the left of her elbow, looking anywhere but into her eyes.
It started after her mother died, he said, or maybe before. When I found out what was happening, I – I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. I did everything I could think of, but … it wasn’t enough. She moved out of home, she left school, she slept rough. She became – someone else.
He stopped. She waited for more.
And more came.
She was the one who burgled Astrid’s house. She took a key when she was there – you might recall I sent her to Astrid to fix up her garden. I thought if she had something to do, something to aim for, it might … I was wrong. I went looking for her when I heard about Astrid. I found her, and she admitted it. I was angry, I was so angry with her.
He stopped. Emily waited for more.
And more came.
She’s getting help now. She’s in a treatment centre. I haven’t been allowed to see her, but she phoned me last night – they can use the phone once they’re halfway through – and she sounded … Here he paused, and Emily could see the struggle and the fear and the hope all tangled up together in his face. She sounded like the girl I remember, he said at last, and Emily wanted to hug him because he looked like a man desperately in need of a hug, but she didn’t. Instead, she waited for more.
And more came.
I had to stop coming here. I – I wasn’t fit company, I thought I’d only – I didn’t know what I was thinking really – but it was badly done, and it wasn’t fair to you – not to let you know, I mean.
And Emily simply nodded, and waited for more.
And more came.
You asked me about – giving someone a second chance, he said, that day I met you in the cemetery. You said you wanted – and I – I – well, I— It’s just that I didn’t realise what you were asking …
It’s OK, she said, seeing that what Astrid had told her was true. Seeing it in his face, hearing it in his falling-apart words. I know, she said. It’s OK, you don’t need to say any more. You just need to start coming back here.
He smiled then, a weak kind of a thing, but it was there. I came a few days ago, he said, the day after Astrid, but – you were closed. He snapped his mouth shut then, and she understood that he’d heard about her and Fergal.
I’m staying put, she said. I’ve taken this place off the market.
Yes. I heard. I’m really glad. And he finally met her gaze. I’m glad, he said again. I – we wouldn’t want to lose you. None of us would.
She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she said nothing. They stood there while the seconds ticked by, while life went on in the street beyond the window.
Thank you, he said then.
For what?
I don’t know, he admitted – and the silliness of this made her laugh, and when he saw her laughing he laughed too, and it got easier.
He knows nothing about the party. He’s not aware that he’s being brought here today, and neither is Astrid. The plan is for Heather to collect Astrid and Bill’s neighbour Carmel, and then to swing by the nursing home and pick up Bill. They think they’re going to Heather’s house for lunch. Astrid’s birthday is still four days away, and Bill’s is later again, so neither of them will suspect a thing.
It’s Monday. It’s nearly three weeks since Emily picked up the phone and heard Fergal telling her it was over. She’s spoken to her parents; she’s broken the news to Daniel and her friends. Everyone is predictably outraged on her behalf; everyone is being extra kind to her.
Heather wanted to stake out his mother’s house until he showed up, and then to let him have it. Eggs, she said, or maybe rotten tomatoes. Nothing life-threatening, just enough to express my disgust.
Daniel wanted to visit him at his workplace in Dublin. Put the frighteners on him, he said, although precisely how he intended to do that was unclear. Her parents invited her to Portugal for a holiday. I’ll stand you the airfare, her father said.
She turned down all the offers. I’m fine, she told everyone – and oddly, she is. Once the shock subsided, once it sank in, she saw it all clearly, saw him clearly. Their second attempt should never have happened. She did love him first time round, but going back to him, she now realises, was more an act of hope than of love, more an attempt to show everyone that she’d been right all along, that he’d come good – but she hadn’t, and he hadn’t.
Therese Ruane is welcome to him.
And Bill, well …
It’s early days. It’s too soon after Fergal. She needs to let all that go. She needs space and time for a bit. And Bill needs time too, to reconnect with his daughter, to be there for her now more than ever.
And after that, who knows what might happen?
She certainly won’t rule it out. No, definitely not.
She polishes glasses. She smiles.
She’s such a good liar.
An anniversary, she told Astrid and Bill separately. I’ll be ten years in Ireland on Monday. I wanted to mark it in some way, so I thought I’d prepare a little lunch for my friends. Will you risk my cooking? I can come and pick you up – and Emily will join us too.
It’s not ten years, it’s just gone nine, but she doesn’t think they’ll do the math. Anyway they both said yes, so she’s on her way to pick them up. Carmel will accompany them, because it seemed mean to leave her out. Barring emergencies, Shane will meet them if he can at the restaurant and Daniel and Nora are coming too. They’ll be a merry little crowd.
She’s also a good planner.
I’d like to make a donation, she said. I’m friendly with Bill, and he always speaks so highly of the place, and I imagine you don’t get half enough funding. Can you take a credit-card payment now over the phone? And once that was all sorted, and Bill’s boss had run out of thanks, Heather brought up the other topic. I wouldn’t ask only it’s a special occ
asion, she said. A surprise early birthday lunch for him, and it will more than likely run on a bit. Would you mind awfully if he was a little late back to work on Monday?
Bribery is so effective.
She hums as she drives. These days, she finds herself humming quite a bit.
We’ll be happy to welcome you at Christmas, she wrote to her folks. Lottie is excited to see her grandma and grandpa again. I’m not sure if I said it while we were there, but thank you for being so kind to her. I really do appreciate it.
I’ve met someone, she wrote too. He’s a man I got to know when I first came here but we lost touch, and recently we met up again. He’s a paramedic and I like him an awful lot. He’ll be around at Christmas, just so you know.
They’re going to have Christmas dinner in his house, she and Lottie and Shane and his kids – and maybe Daniel, and maybe Emily too. My folks are coming to Ireland, she reminded him, and he said the more the merrier, so she’ll ask them along.
Should be interesting.
She turns onto the road where Bill lives, and Carmel. She finds the green door that Astrid said to look out for. She parks the car and walks up the driveway, and taps out a jaunty rhythm on the knocker.
‘Hello!’ Heather says.
She looks happy. Her hair has been released from its usual ponytail: how shiny it is. She wears a red dress with swirls of orange, and chunky red boots that Astrid would have said were more suited to a trip on a motorbike, but that’s the difference between ninety-two and twenty-five.
‘Ready to go?’ Heather asks. She settles Astrid into the passenger seat of her little car while Carmel locks up. ‘Not long now,’ Heather says, ‘till you’re going home.’
‘No – the end of the week.’
Her birthday on Friday – what better present could anyone have given her? She’s considering a small belated party when she has settled in again. Nothing fancy, just a little afternoon tea perhaps, with the people she loves.
And as for Christmas Day, she’s been invited to spend it with Carmel. My son and his family are coming home, she told Astrid. They have two little girls, so Santa will be stopping here. I’d love for you to join us. I know I’m biased but the girls are little dotes, not a bit spoilt. You’d love them.
What luck, meeting Carmel. In the time that Astrid has been sharing her home, they have bonded over gardening, and music, and literature. So many shared interests. How clever of Bill to bring them together.
Carmel appears. ‘Isn’t this lovely?’ she declares, getting into the back seat. ‘Such a treat. What have you cooked for us, dear?’
‘It’s a surprise,’ Heather replies, starting the car. ‘You’ll have to wait and see. Is everyone warm enough?’
Bill is waiting for them outside the nursing home: Heather pulls up and he gets in beside Carmel. Astrid is glad he could join them: with Christine coming out of rehab soon it will be an uncertain time for him. He could do with a little distraction, even if only for his lunchtime hour.
She’s happy that Emily is coming too. Since her relationship ended she’s grown quieter – but not, Astrid thinks, broken-hearted. Not so much sad as resigned. Maybe she recognises the ending for the blessing it was – or maybe she hasn’t got that far yet. Maybe it will take a little longer to realise what a lucky escape she had, and to turn her thoughts in a new direction.
‘Right,’ Heather says, pulling up outside the restaurant. ‘Let’s hope Emily’s ready to go, or my lunch will be ruined.’
‘I’ll get her,’ Bill says, climbing out.
Astrid watches him walking to the door, ringing the bell. Can’t wait to see her. So sweet.
She appears quickly, before he’s expecting her. She’s a little flushed, in an orange and white check dress he hasn’t seen before.
‘Hi Bill.’
‘Hi. Are you all set?’
‘I am,’ she says, looking past him to wave to the others. ‘Come in.’ She takes a step back, waits for him to enter.
He stays put. ‘We’re going to Heather’s.’ Doesn’t she know this? Has there been a mix-up?
‘Actually,’ Emily says, a smile dimpling her cheek, ‘I think we’re staying here.’
Behind him a car door opens: he turns to see Heather getting out.
‘Slight change of plan,’ she says. ‘New venue.’ Opening Astrid’s door. ‘Why don’t you go in, Bill? We’ll be right there. Come on, Carmel, you too.’
So he goes in, not knowing what to expect – and what he sees are balloons hanging in bunches, and strings of lights running along the wall, and the big table laid, and a gift-wrapped package at two place settings.
What he sees, standing by the table, are Emily’s brother, and a young woman he doesn’t recognise, and a second man he doesn’t recognise. ‘Happy birthday!’ they chorus, and while Emily is making introductions the others enter, and more introductions are made, and glasses of homemade lemonade are handed around, and it’s a surprise party for him and Astrid, and the girl he didn’t know is the girlfriend of Emily’s brother, and the man he didn’t know is her father and Eoin’s father, the paramedic who attended Astrid at her house, the man who rang Bill to give him the news, and also the new man in Heather’s life.
And Heather apparently has had a word with Mrs Phelan, and he’s not expected back to work till at least three.
‘A toast,’ Heather says, raising her lemonade, ‘to two good friends. We’ve had many lunches together, and hopefully we’ll have many more, now that The Food of Love is staying open. I know we’re a little early, but happy birthday to Bill and Astrid.’
‘Happy birthday to Bill and Astrid,’ they all chorus, and after that the gifts are opened, and Astrid’s is a set of garden lights, and Bill’s is a scarf that’s the colour of the sky on a perfect day.
They eat a tart with mushrooms in it, and a salad whose ingredients he’s not familiar with, but like every other dish in this restaurant it tastes good. Afterwards two cakes are produced, and he and Astrid blow out their respective candles, and he offers up a silent wish for his daughter to be well again, and to stay well.
On Friday he’ll drive to Galway and take her away from the rehabilitation centre that’s given her twenty-eight precious drug-free days. They’ll travel on from there to Dublin airport for their flight to Exeter, where his sister will pick them up and drive them to the small cottage in Falmouth, Cornwall, he has rented for five days. There, he will simply let her be. He’ll walk with her if she wants it, and listen if she talks. He’ll take her out to dinner, or eat at home if she’d prefer. He’ll light the fire if the evenings are chilly – or they might sit out at night, wrapped up, to see the stars.
They’ll take it a day at a time, a minute at a time.
‘More cake?’
He lifts his head to see Emily at his side. He smiles at her, and she smiles back. In that handful of moments they may as well be alone in the room, for all the sense he has that anyone else is there.
He takes more cake. He has hope, in a lot of directions.
Emily
EMILY FEENEY, TWENTY-NINE AND STILL IN PYJAMAS, sits down to tap out a letter on her computer.
My dear faithful readers,
This week I’m stepping off my usual path to address you all together. I’m doing this because there are two things I want, and need, to say to you.
When I was asked, just over two years ago, to stand in for the person who’d been taking care of this page before me, I was thrown. I felt inadequate, unqualified to help others, and terrified that I might give the wrong advice, and make things worse instead of better.
But then I remembered sitting down each week with my grandmother when the newspaper was delivered, and opening this page with her. I would read out the problems, and she would give the advice she thought best before we read the printed response, which never differed greatly from Gran’s. Every now and again we’d switch roles, and she’d read the problems out to me, and I would attempt to respond to them, asking myself, ‘What
would Gran say?’ This, I realised, was my training ground. Gran was wise, and she was kind, and she employed her wisdom and her kindness in every response she gave.
So I said yes to the offer, and I became Claire, and each week since then you have put your trust in me and sent me your problems and your worries and your hurts, and every week I have attempted to help you by asking myself, ‘What would Gran say?’ And even though I lost her before I started doing this, I honestly believe that she’s still helping me, still guiding me, still showing me the best way to help you, dear readers.
As you know, some of your letters appear on this page, along with my advice. Other responses are returned to you privately, in the envelopes you enclose with your letters, or to your inboxes if you choose to contact me through email. I answer every single piece of correspondence I receive, publicly or privately, and I always try to give the kindest possible response to each. The most important thing Gran taught me was to be kind.
So today I want to say thank you. Thanks to all of you who have shared your stories with me, and looked to me for advice. It’s an honour and a privilege, and I don’t take it lightly for a second. I hope I have been of some help.
I want to say something else.
Like many of you, I have been in love. Like many of you, I have been rejected. I know the pain of being betrayed, not once but more than once. After the first time, I stopped believing in love. I turned from anyone who might offer it. I shut myself away from the possibility of love. And then, after a long time, I found the courage to give it another chance, and again I was disappointed.
But the second time, I learnt something. I learnt that love is not the problem. Love is never the problem. Sometimes, out of fear or out of loneliness, we make wrong choices. We see what we want to see, and close our eyes to what we don’t. We persuade ourselves that all is well, we paper over cracks, even when we know, in the deepest parts of our hearts, that something is not right. We try to fool love, but love won’t be fooled, and sooner or later, our wishful-thinking relationships drift away and are lost.
The Restaurant Page 31