The Perfect Gift

by Emma Hannigan

  ‘So-so.’ Róisín hesitated. ‘Actually, I’m dreading it. I feel like a total wipe-out. What have I got to show for myself at thirty? Look at Liv. She’s younger than me and she’s married with two children. I thought I’d be settled and happy too, by now.’

  ‘Oh bloody hell, Ro, let’s tune the violin. Seriously? Are you really saying you’d be happier if you were surrounded by nappies and whinging?’

  ‘Well, when you put it like that …’

  ‘Take it from me. I’m with small children day in, day out. They’re gorgeous and funny and full of life and completely head-wrecking. Thirty is young, for God’s sake. It’s only the beginning. We have years ahead for worrying about body clocks or wiping noses all day. There are places to see, wine to drink, men to shag and a whole host of nonsense we need to get involved with. So enough of your depressing talk. Tomorrow is the beginning of the next decade. Grab it by the balls and live your life, my friend!’

  In spite of her inward gloom, Róisín couldn’t help laughing at Jill. Her joie de vivre was infectious. Jill filled their glasses and raised hers up high. ‘To you,’ she said. ‘May your thirties be flirty and fabulous!’

  Róisín stood up, clinked her glass against Jill’s and smiled.

  Chapter 2

  Róisín woke before the alarm clock next morning, which wasn’t unusual for her. She hadn’t finished her wine last night, knowing today was going to be busy. There were two deliveries due and Róisín knew she’d probably have to leave work early to go over to her parents’ house for birthday cake.

  ‘I’m thirty, Mum,’ she whispered to the ceiling. ‘Does that make you feel old? It makes me feel old.’

  After a quick shower she stepped into her white with red polka dots 1950s tea dress. Hoping for some warm weather, she left off her tights and slipped into a pair of red ballerina pumps. Her thick, dark hair was still a little wild after the night before, so she pulled it back with a scarlet Alice band and put some crystal studs in her ears. Popping in a matching nose-stud, she moisturised and smoothed a little BB cream on her face. A perfectly formed tick of black liquid eyeliner added to the mascara she layered on her long lashes.

  After brushing her teeth she applied ruby red lip-gloss and ran to her car. Her baby blue Fiat 500 never failed to make her smile. She preferred to walk, but knowing she’d need her car later at some point for nipping across to her parents’ B&B, she fired it up and sped toward the village.

  This was Róisín’s favourite time of the day. The fishing boats could be seen bobbing on the ocean, already well into their day’s work. The postman was cycling laboriously on his round and there was a traffic jam consisting of her little car and a tractor. As Róisín pulled in beside Nourriture, the farmer waved out the window of his tractor and trundled on.

  Delighted that she was already ahead of herself, Róisín unlocked the shutters and flicked on the lights. Her chef and main assistant, Brigid, would be along at any moment, so she switched on the ovens, the computer and cash till.

  As she often did when the shop was empty, Róisín took a little walk about to see if she should make any changes. She liked to try and look at the shop from a newcomer’s perspective. The main counter was placed toward the rear of the store, with a full glass section that let customers see the fresh salads and delicatessen goods. The breads and cakes section was a little to the right, in a glass display unit topped by large hand-made baskets. Soon, Brigid would fill each one with croissants, brown yeast bread, rock salt-encrusted white plaits, plain and fruit scones and oozing pain au chocolat.

  The new sushi counter was over near the wall that led to the wine shop. Róisín was always looking for new and tasty offerings and she had a great feeling about this one. If she could convert Jill to sushi, she could convert anyone. Jill’s idea of gourmet involved a plastic pot of dried noodles and boiling water.

  The space by the window would house the new smoothie station. She’d ordered state-of-the-art machines to create nutritious juices. Her plan was to offer them at a set price with a healthy granola bar for the school children.

  The navy-and-white theme throughout the café was accented by little red wooden hearts and pretty trinkets. The fresh flowers at each wooden table were meticulously replaced and arranged with stylish simplicity each day.

  When she’d taken over the building four years ago, it had been dishevelled and damp and badly in need of renovation. Her landlord, Mr Grace, had given her free rein to do whatever she felt was right.

  It had taken three months of hard graft every single day, much of it carried out with her own fair hands, but finally it had come together and Nourriture had opened to great local fanfare. Róisín had thought of everything, from home-made lemonade for the non-bubbly drinkers to sugar-free and gluten-free snacks for the food allergy sufferers.

  The eager photographer from the local newspaper had verged on intrusive as he’d trailed her for the night, snapping shots constantly.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to go on a date next week?’ he asked, blushing furiously to the roots of his sandy, spiky hair.

  ‘Eh,’ she’d been totally caught out. ‘I don’t think I’ll have time. I need to try and make money so I don’t end up living on the side of the road,’ she joked.

  ‘Can’t your boss give you a day off then?’ he asked.

  ‘I am the boss,’ she said.

  ‘Huh? Really? You look too young … I thought you were only helping out.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she beamed. ‘I’m actually twenty-six. Nearly twenty-seven, in fact.’

  ‘No way!’ he said, shaking his head and laughing. ‘You’re well old! I thought you were around my age. That shows you what a bad judge of women I am. My last girlfriend was twenty-one and I broke up with her because she was too old. She was too serious. I’m still looking for fun.’ He went to walk away, but turned back. ‘If I ever consider an older woman, you’ll be well up there. You’re totally hot. Do you wear coloured contact lenses? Your eyes are a wild shade of blue. A bit like the fishes my da catches, only prettier.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’ve never been compared to a dead fish before. I’ll take all the compliments I can get, though.’

  ‘Yeah, cheers!’ he said, walking off.

  Little did he know that he had given Róisín the tiny boost of confidence she needed. Dead fish or anything else was fine with her. She’d take it. After what she’d been through with Jacques, she certainly wasn’t choosy.

  Since the opening night, when all the locals for a ten-mile radius had gathered to wish her well, Nourriture had flourished.

  ‘Who knew such a diverse and cosmopolitan food emporium could do so well in this little backwater,’ her dad, Doug, had chuckled. ‘I’m ever so proud of you, love. You always did have an eye for things. You’re always a step ahead of the rest of us.’

  Those words rang through Róisín’s head for a long time after. Her dad truly believed she was totally together and sorted, following a definite plan of action. If only he knew the mess she’d made of just about every aspect of her life in France … Jacques, with his sexy smile, his ability to whisper sweet nothings in her eager ear and his empty promises … But for all his faults and for all the hurt he’d caused her, no man had even come close to breaking down the wall of ice she’d created around her heart since then.

  As she was opening the side-door to the kitchen, ready for the morning deliveries, Brigid pitched up. A local woman in her early fifties, she was the backbone of Nourriture. She could turn any ingredient into something delectable and had an uncanny knack for estimating quantities of food for each day. She made meticulous notes in her little red diary and had built up a steady reference base for them to draw upon as the years passed.

  ‘Morning, Róisín. How are you today?’

  ‘Well, thanks Brigid. I like your outfit!’

  ‘Me too,’ Brigid said with a wink. She always wore a crisp white chef’s jacket, ironed and starched to within an inch of its
life, but Brigid had a quirky habit of making her own cotton baggy trousers. Her argument was that they were cool in the heat of the kitchen and she could express her personality without looking a mess. Today’s trousers had comical-looking penguins all over them.

  ‘I have a headscarf to match,’ she said, pulling a bandana styled piece onto her head and knotting it at the back.

  Róisín fired up the coffee machine and dropped an espresso beside Brigid’s mixing bowl, before making one for herself. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee seemed to alert her senses long before the caffeine had a chance to kick in. The creamy bitter crème on top left a delicious frothy moustache. Róisín flicked on the stereo and selected that day’s music compilation.

  ‘I think it’s a jazzy rather than a classical sort of day today,’ Róisín said, hitting her selection.

  ‘You know me,’ Brigid said. ‘Give me One Direction or Usher or Mozart and I’ll be just as happy!’

  The fruit man and then the fish man deposited crates of fresh food inside the door and the rest of the staff ambled in one by one. By the time the doors officially opened at eight thirty, the shop was filled with the smell of fresh baking breads, cakes and quiches, instantly making the early customers feel welcome.

  Róisín was always warmed by the strong local support she received. Everyone from sheep-shearers to commuting office workers to families on holiday frequented the shop. Knowing she needed to continually add to her range and remove the things that weren’t so popular kept her mind sharp. She was always on the lookout for new products and initiatives.

  As she planned the day’s specials, Brigid called her to the back kitchen, sounding uncharacteristically hassled.

  ‘What’s up?’ Róisín asked running into the kitchen where Brigid was holding her hand wrapped in a thick tea towel.

  ‘I think I’ve burned my hand. I clunked it off the top of the bread oven. I think it might need a doctor to look at it.’

  ‘Oh no, Brigid,’ she cried. ‘We should have some ointment in the first aid kit.’ Róisín rummaged in a drawer, discarding bandages and plasters. ‘Found it,’ she turned to Brigid.

  ‘Can you show me where it hurts?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Brigid said staggering sideways and heading jerkily towards the counter.

  ‘Wait,’ Róisín said in alarm, following her, ‘let me help you.’

  To her utter astonishment, the previously calm shop was filled with rows of smiling faces.

  ‘One, two, three,’ Jill said.

  The gaggle of small children burst into an excited rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, joined by Brigid, waving her very unburnt hand at Róisín. As the children finished singing, all the staff clapped and Brigid produced a chocolate cake with a tiny marzipan figurine with an astonishing likeness to Róisín on top.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d want too many candles,’ she said. ‘So I put you on there instead.’

  Róisín was still standing there, open-mouthed. ‘Thank you all!’ she said at last. ‘You are the best birthday choir ever. What a wonderful surprise! Jill, you’re a mad woman,’ she said, shaking her head at her friend.

  ‘Do we get cake now?’ one of the little boys asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Brigid said. ‘Here’s one I prepared earlier,’ she said with a laugh. From behind the counter she brought out slices of cake on paper plates, with plastic forks and napkins – as organised as ever. ‘There aren’t enough seats, so we’ll all sit cross-legged on the floor and have our cake,’ Jill said in her teacher voice. Róisín, Jill and Brigid had a chat and a laugh while the children ate up their cake and then piled up their plates for the recycling bin. ‘Right, we’d better skedaddle so we don’t scare off the actual customers,’ Jill said. ‘Happy birthday you,’ she said, giving Róisín a tight hug.

  Jill clapped her hands and the children formed a perfect line and followed her out like little ducklings. Róisín and Brigid waved them off.

  ‘You’d never think that Jill could command such order when you see what she’s like at home,’ Róisín said to Brigid. ‘She can’t even make tea and toast. She sits and waits like a baby bird for me to come back to the nest and feed her.’

  ‘Yeah, there’s one fool living in that cottage, and it’s not Jill,’ Brigid said with a grin.

  Work resumed and, as she and Brigid had predicted, the sunshine brought hordes of people. The white sandy beach at Seal’s Rest Bay a mile and a half beyond Ballyshore was Róisín’s all-time favourite. She’d travelled to many corners of the globe and had yet to find one more beautiful. The green fields and rugged coastline seemed to be stooping to frame and protect the golden sands as the glittery black rocks provided perfect perches for sunbathing and diving. The smooth beach welcomed picnickers in summer and bracing walkers in winter. Today, it would be playing host to a crowd of people anxious for any little bit of summer they could get.

  It wasn’t unusual for Mr Grace, Róisín’s landlord, to drop by Nourriture for a creamy cappuccino late morning. Róisín smiled as he approached the counter and reached for a take-out cup.

  ‘Lovely morning out there from what I can see,’ she said. ‘How are you today, Mr Grace?’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ he said, looking edgy.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked, dropping her smile instantly.

  ‘I’d like a word, if I may?’ he said.

  ‘Sure, will you have a cappuccino and a fresh Danish? They’re the ones with the cinnamon, just the way you like them.’

  ‘Ah no. Thanks all the same, but I’m on the run today. Just a quick word.’

  Róisín followed as he made his way to a small table beside the window.

  ‘So what can I do for you, Mr Grace?’

  He lifted his head and made momentary eye contact. ‘I’m afraid … I need to give you notice, Róisín.’

  ‘Notice of what?’

  ‘I’ve had a bad run of it these past few years. What with my boys being without a mother, Lord rest her, and all the responsibility resting on my shoulders. I’ve had to make a difficult decision.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve had an offer. Someone wants to buy this place,’ he said. ‘I know you like it here and your food is lovely. But it’s an offer I can’t refuse. I’d be mad to …’

  Róisín’s head was reeling, trying to catch up with the meaning of what he was saying. ‘But Mr Grace … what am I meant to do about Nourriture? Do you think the person who’s buying the building would let me continue renting?’

  ‘No, lass. To be honest with you, I’d be fairly certain he’s thinking of knocking it all down and starting again. There’s the small garden to the rear and the strip of land to the side. Well, it seems he thinks he can put a big building in.’

  Róisín swallowed. She hadn’t seen this coming.

  ‘I know you took the place in good faith four years ago.’

  ‘At a time when it was falling down and nobody wanted it,’ Róisín added.

  He closed his eyes momentarily. ‘This isn’t easy for me,’ he said. ‘But I can’t look a gift-horse in the mouth. I need to secure my sons’ futures. I’ve no other way of going about it.’

  Róisín wanted to yell in his face. She wanted to tell his two adult sons to get up off their lazy asses and stop drinking their father’s money and get a life and a job each. But her mother had always told her to say nothing in moments of raw anger. To keep her mouth shut and wait for the torrent of anger to pass. She took deep breaths and tried to maintain her composure.

  ‘I’ll have to give you this now,’ Mr Grace said, putting an envelope on the table between them. ‘There are pieces of paper in there that explain when you need to be out and all those sorts of things. Seeing as our lease was only for a year at a go, it’ll be up in four months’ time.’

  Róisín looked into the old man’s eyes. He looked shamed and saddened and she hated herself for hating him.

  ‘I wish there’d been another way,’ he
said, pushing his chair back.

  Róisín got up too and they moved towards the door. Just then Steve, one of the college students Róisín had hired for the summer, burst in.

  ‘Happy birthday, boss!’ he said, sweeping her into a twirling hug. ‘Sorry I missed the cake earlier. Did you nearly wet yourself with shock? Have you brought a big pressie for Róisín, Mr Grace?’ He dropped her and elbowed the man playfully.

  ‘I didn’t know it was your birthday,’ Mr Grace said.

  ‘She’s really old, too,’ Steve teased, drawing a big thirty with his finger in the air.

  Mr Grace turned abruptly and strode out the door.

  ‘What did I say?’ Steve said, flushing. ‘Sorry if I over-stepped the mark,’ he said holding his hands up. ‘My mother is always telling me I have the subtlety of a brick.’

  ‘You’re grand,’ Róisín said, forcing a smile. ‘I think Mr Grace is having one of those days. He can be a bit like that. No harm done. There’s cake left at the back for you, so enjoy that and then get started on setting up the fruit. I’m expecting the smoothie machines any minute now.’

  ‘Deadly, I can’t wait for this,’ he said. ‘I’ve told my mates in college and they’re all well up for coming down. Will we be doing wheatgrass shots? Apparently they’re rank but really good for you. A huge group of the lads will be coming round here for the surf and the birds, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘Ah, the bathing beauties that Seal’s Rest attracts in their droves,’ Róisín grinned. ‘Yeah, I’ve ordered a little hand machine to crush wheatgrass. So you can take charge of feeding those to your body beautiful mates.’

  ‘Nice one,’ he said, running to grab Brigid and swing her around too. She swatted him away.

  ‘Put those muscles to good use and lift the big flour bags to the dry store room for me,’ she said.

  Róisín wanted to cry. Instead, she fixed a smile on her face and made it through the shop to the back stairs. Taking them two at a time, she managed to close the door to her office before she fell onto her chair. The tears came quick then, as she slid the pages from the envelope. How could this be happening? What would she do without Nourriture? This place was her life, her sanity and most of all her greatest achievement. She’d mourned the fact she’d no husband or children last night. Now it was looking as if she’d have no business either. Nothing. Happy bloody birthday, she said biting her finger in a vain attempt to stop her sobbing.