The Perfect Gift

by Emma Hannigan

  ‘I don’t know about that now, Mo,’ she said. ‘I have more wobbly bits than you’d realise. That’s the advantage to dressing in baggy clothing. I’m always warm and comfy and nobody has the first idea of what lurks underneath.’

  There was a convivial silence as Mo tucked into the cookies and Nell enjoyed her coffee. Mo looked up at Nell and back down at the table. She did it twice more and Nell knew there was a question coming.

  ‘I know I’ve asked you before,’ Mo said, ‘but would you reconsider your decision and come to the bingo with me, Nell? I think you’d enjoy it. There’s a lovely crew of over sixties at it and it’s great fun.’

  ‘Thank you, Mo,’ she said carefully. ‘You’re kind to ask, but as I said before, I couldn’t think of anything worse than sitting in a hall with a bunch of wrinklies squinting at a sheet of paper.’

  ‘Ah Nell,’ she laughed. ‘You’re a terror. You don’t have to make it sound so horrendous!’

  ‘And it isn’t?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘No, you dreadful woman, it isn’t.’

  Nell scraped her chair back from the table, letting Mo know in no uncertain terms that their chat was now over.

  It had taken years for her to get to this point with Mo and as far as she was concerned, they were as close as they needed to be. She’d purposely hidden away from people and it had served her well. But Mo was one of those women who craved the company and conversation of others. Nell found some of her stories exhausting. She was always off on bus tours and the like. It seemed to please her no end, so Nell made the right noises and wished her well each time. But as for joining in, Nell couldn’t bear the idea. She knew what folk were like. She knew the bitter and mean thoughts they harboured in their heads. She’d borne the brunt of it all those years ago and she wasn’t going to be burned twice.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said to Mo. ‘I need to set up some of my observation equipment and I need to finish off my books. The council will send one of their minions any day now. I like to have all the paperwork in order so I can simply hand the file over.’

  ‘Do you invite the poor sod in?’

  ‘What poor sod?’ she asked.

  ‘The one given the job of trekking over here to see you,’ Mo said.

  ‘I’ve never seen the need,’ she said. ‘If they want to conduct an inspection, I’d be happy to oblige. But I see no reason why I’d let some random stranger into my home.’

  Nell cleared away the few dishes and made her way up to the observatory. She was fond of Mo and, more than that, she was very used to her now. But it irked her when she started trying to organise her or make her conform.

  As she sat at her desk and turned on the computer, Nell sighed. Plucking the photo of smiling Laura from its little stand, she allowed a couple of tears to escape. As soon as she felt them wriggle warmly down her cheeks, she put the picture back and rubbed her eyes roughly.

  ‘I hope you’re happy my beautiful girl,’ she whispered into the silence as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning her attention to her work.

  What seemed like moments later, Mo shouted up the narrow spiral staircase to say she was going.

  ‘All done for this week then?’ Nell said appearing at the top of the stairs.

  ‘That’s it, my dear. Unless there’s anything else you need?’

  ‘No, thank you kindly, Mo. I’m sure you’ve done a sterling job as usual. Thanks and see you next week. Oh, I almost forgot. I made a batch of Jerusalem artichoke soup. It’s in the fridge, on the second shelf.’

  ‘Ah you’re a sweetheart,’ Mo said. ‘John-Joe will be delighted. Your soups put him in a good mood for days!’

  Nell hadn’t the patience for cooking in general. She didn’t find it therapeutic like the gardening, but she did gain considerable satisfaction from eating the vegetables she grew. She had two great big pots that usually had some sort of stew or a vat of soup on the go. She only had a tiny compartment freezer tucked into the top of the fridge, so any spare soups or stews were put into plastic containers and given to Mo. She’d gotten into a little routine where she cooked on a Thursday and gave part of the results to Mo on a Friday.

  ‘Bye Mo,’ she said with a grunt. She doubted anything bar a pint of Guinness put that dreadful man in good form.

  ‘Oh, and I have your newspapers. I’ll leave them at the hall door.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ she said.

  Each week Mo brought the local and national newspapers from the previous week. While Nell enjoyed reading them, she’d never got into the habit of driving to the local shop on a daily basis for them.

  On the whole, she only left the lighthouse on a Monday. On that day she’d go to Ballyshore and visit the supermarket on the outskirts of the village and then sort whatever bank business needed doing. Her only treat, and by now it was more of a ritual than anything, was to stop by Mrs Mangan’s coffee shop. Each week she ordered the exact same thing, a custard slice and a cappuccino. Each week she and Mrs Mangan had the same conversation.

  ‘Hello Nell.’

  ‘Hello Mrs Mangan.’

  ‘Will it be your usual?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Any news with yourself, Nell?’

  ‘Not a thing, what about you?’

  ‘Ah divil a bit, Nell.’

  Nell would sit in the same window seat, at a tiny table that faced the wall with the space for a single chair. Mrs Mangan would serve her drink and cake, she’d hand over the exact change and that was it until Nell waved goodbye.

  The exchange always gave Nell a little lift. She enjoyed the crumbly pastry and the frothy coffee and her small snippet of village life through the window. Nobody annoyed her. Nobody questioned her. It was just the right amount of human contact.

  Sitting at her desk, Nell strained to the left to see if Mo’s car was out of sight. When she was certain that it was, she tiptoed down the stairs to retrieve the clod of newspapers.

  Instead of reading each and every news story, Nell did what she always did and scanned the pages quickly. The third paper she picked up made her stop. Grabbing her scissors from the desk drawer, she carefully snipped around her chosen article and photograph. With trembling hands she found the precious scrapbook that she kept in the back of her only filing cabinet. Taking her glue stick, she gummed the reverse side of the article and secured it in place.

  Chapter 4

  Róisín was still feeling shell-shocked by the time she left Nourriture at three o’clock. The best birthday gift she could’ve gotten was a night of peace to sit and think clearly about how she could possibly save her business and stop her entire life unravelling.

  As she pulled up outside her parents’ B&B, she was horrified to see a load of cars she recognised. As she stepped out, she could hear excited chatter coming from the back garden.

  ‘Róisín!’ Keeley appeared with a wicked grin lighting her pretty features. ‘Surprise! We have a lovely gathering of family and friends and they’re all thrilled to be here.’

  ‘Oh no, Mum, I didn’t realise you would have so many people here. I thought it’d only be us.’ The words tumbled from her lips before she could engage her brain.

  ‘Oh.’ Keeley’s face dropped. ‘But what will I tell all the neighbours?’

  ‘I’m kidding, obviously!’ she said hugging her and forcing a dry laugh. ‘I’m actually just in a bit of shock, that’s all. You know me and surprises! I’m not exactly what you’d call spontaneous, now am I?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Keeley said. ‘You dashed off to France after all. Stayed there far too long as well. But,’ she brightened, ‘you ran back home just as quickly, so here we all are,’ she said leading her around the side of the house and into a full round of applause as party poppers went off, creating little floaty rainbows of paper.

  Her brother-in-law, Martin, was the first to wrench her from Keeley as he wrapped her in a hug.

  ‘Happy birthday, Róisín. It’s warmi
ng up a bit now. You seem to bring the sunshine with you, even though it’s only May.’

  ‘Last year was a total washout,’ she reminded him. ‘Remember, poor Mum organised a picnic and the rain came down in diagonal sheets and we ended up sitting in the car at the edge of Seal’s Rest Bay eating sandwiches on our laps.’

  Martin nodded as he slowly recalled the scene. ‘Yeah, I was mixing it up with something else … Now I remember … I was home from Florida and seemed to be the only one who was delighted with the rain!’

  ‘How long are you back for this time, Martin?’ she asked.

  ‘Only a few days,’ he said. ‘I wish I could be here more, but Liv and I need the money and most of my adverts need to be shot in sunny climates. This swimwear company we’ve taken on seem to have an endless budget, but it’s hardly feasible to do bikini shots here in the damp chill.’

  ‘Well, at least you have the work and, more to the point, you have your own family to rush back to,’ Róisín said. She could feel her lip tremble and she bit into the inside of her cheek. She was not going to start blubbing at Martin.

  ‘You enjoy the good times while you have them,’ Martin whispered into her ear. ‘Once you’re married and saddled with kids and a mortgage and all that nonsense, your life isn’t your own any longer. Take it from me, you’re doing the right thing. Enjoy your birthday. I totally envy you.’

  She watched him, agog, as he weaved his way to the other side of the garden to chat to Eamonn, an old school friend. Róisín was puzzled. She hoped Martin was simply a bit tipsy, or maybe he was missing Liv and the children terribly.

  ‘Happy birthday, love,’ her father said, coming over to plant a kiss on her cheek. ‘Did I tell you I’m making a proper workshop out at the back shed?’

  ‘No, Dad, you didn’t, but that’s a great plan,’ she said hugging him tightly. ‘It’ll keep you out of trouble now you’re retired.’

  ‘True,’ he laughed. ‘That and my fishing. The boat that Jimmy and I bought is really coming into its own. I honestly dreaded retiring and thought I’d be bored stupid by not working. But so far I love being able to concentrate on the things I enjoy doing.’

  ‘Well it’s only a few weeks into it all,’ Liv warned, joining them. ‘If you find you’re going out of your mind, you’re always welcome to drop over to our house and build things.’

  ‘Thanks, Liv, you’re so thoughtful,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘How’s Mum coping with having you around more?’ Róisín asked.

  ‘Ah, she’s busy as usual with the B&B. It never stops, but she absolutely loves it. Every spare moment she has is spent in that box room doing her painting too. She’s very independent and content in her own world.’

  Róisín blanched as she spied Jill staggering under the weight of a massive cake that looked like it could start a forest fire and take out all the trees in a mile radius should she drop it.

  ‘Happy birthday, Ro-Ro,’ she said as the neighbours burst into song.

  ‘What’s the story with you today? Are you intent on leaping out at every opportunity and shoving a cake at me?’

  ‘Blow out the candles, for crying out loud,’ Jill begged. ‘This thing weighs more than I do.’

  To her utter dismay Róisín realised the cake was in the shape of a bikini.

  ‘I was going to do something fun like a willy,’ Jill whispered, ‘but then your mother said the elderly neighbours were coming so the next best thing at the cake shop was the itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny-yellow …’

  ‘Polka-dot-bikini,’ Róisín finished with a grin. ‘Thanks Jill, you complete and utter nutter.’

  ‘I’d have given anything to serve a slice of willy to Miss Dean, though. She’s the embodiment of misery. Look at her over there, chewing the ear off your poor mother.’ Róisín glanced over at the elderly neighbour. She’d worn the same housecoat over a floral shirt-waister dress for as long as Róisín could recall. As an eighty-odd-year-old spinster, she’d turned into a bitter and cross old woman. Fleetingly, Róisín hoped she wasn’t looking at her future self.

  Once the bikini was chopped up and doled out, Róisín did a tour of the garden, thanking the neighbours for coming. She ended up with a strange collection of gifts, from rosary beads to a book token for a shop that had closed down at least a decade ago, to a voucher for two chicks from Mrs Hagerty who owned the free-range hen farm.

  ‘I was going to bring them along in a shoebox, but I wasn’t sure if you’d have a run at your cottage. I’ll happily keep them at the farm and deliver their eggs to you once a week if that would suit you better?’

  ‘That would be wonderful, if you don’t mind,’ Róisín said. ‘Jill and I are out at work a lot of the time, so I don’t think we’d be great at looking after hens.’

  ‘They don’t need to watch the television or be brought for a walk,’ Mrs Hagerty barked. ‘But you do need a proper pen to save them from the fox and knowing you and that mad one Jill, they’d end up doused in hairspray and nail varnish.’

  As she walked off muttering, with the token still firmly clasped in her hand, Mrs Hagerty seemed very cross.

  ‘I don’t know what I did wrong,’ Róisín whispered to Keeley. ‘She gave me a gift and more or less told me I can’t have it now.’

  ‘The poor pet isn’t too well,’ Keeley said. ‘She brings that voucher everywhere. It helps her to feel important and it has her name and address on it in case she gets lost. Her Brian was telling your father she was delivered home by the Rentokil van last week. A little ironic, but terrible sad.’

  While Róisín felt for Mrs Hagerty, she was beginning to feel exhausted. Her mother bustled off to make more teas and coffees and Liv came up to her and gave her a hug.

  ‘How are you bearing up?’ Liv asked.

  ‘Would it sound horrible if I said I’d rather be sitting on the sofa with you, having a glass of wine?’

  ‘That, my darling sister, is exactly what I wanted you to say!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Come on, follow me. I have your birthday gift in here.’

  Intrigued, Róisín followed Liv inside to the sitting room and they shut the door gently.

  ‘I don’t have a huge amount of cash at the moment,’ Liv said. ‘So I’ve made a little video. I’ve put it on a disc so you’ll have it always.’

  Róisín sat on the sofa as Liv set up the DVD. Pulling the curtains shut, Liv perched beside her and took her hand. On-screen, jerky images of them as tots made her smile instantly. Her smiles soon turned to tears as ‘You are the Sunshine of my Life’ played in the background. There was photo after photo of the two sisters, hugging, playing and sharing special moments. Finally, the screen went blank and as the song played out, a message appeared on the screen: Thank you for being my soul and my sister.

  Róisín couldn’t hold back her tears. ‘Oh Liv, that’s the most incredible gift you could possibly have given me. We have such amazing memories, don’t we? Things that nobody else will ever know about. Things that we will never forget.’

  ‘Thanks for always being there,’ Liv said and she began to cry, too. She covered her face.

  ‘Hey, is everything OK?’ Róisín asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Liv said a little too quickly. ‘Everything is fine. I’m just totally emotional after putting that together. I really enjoyed researching it and making the little movie.’

  ‘I love it,’ Róisín said.

  The door pushed open and Keeley peered in at them. ‘There you are! I was looking for you.’

  ‘Liv made me the most thoughtful gift, Mum,’ Róisín said. ‘I’ll show you once the guests have gone.’

  ‘Lovely,’ Keeley said. ‘I have some champagne and Liv and Martin are staying over with the children. We’re all making a little holiday of your birthday, so you can show me in a while. People are starting to leave, so I thought you might come and say goodbye?’

  As they followed Keeley back out into the garden, Róisín spotted Jill drinking bottles of h
er awful blue vodka alcopop by the neck. She was obviously out for the night. Keeley nudged her. ‘You’ve barely spoken to Colm. He was so pleased about coming today. He’s a lovely man, Róisín. You could do a lot worse, you know?’

  ‘Mum,’ she said, finding it tough to hide her irritation. ‘I’m sure Colm is a lovely bloke.’

  ‘He is. He’s a pillar of society, in fact.’

  ‘So I can clearly see,’ Róisín said. ‘But he wears a brown suit every day of the year. For all I know he sleeps in the darn thing. He also looks at his mother as if she’s a super model. Nobody could ever compare to Mrs Burke in his eyes. And to top it all off, he’s far too nice for me. I’d kill him within a week. Now you don’t want to spend the rest of your days visiting me in prison, do you?’

  ‘No,’ Keeley said tightly. ‘You don’t need to speak to him if you don’t want to, Róisín. It’s your birthday after all.’

  Róisín sighed and walked over to Colm.

  ‘Hello Róisín,’ he said and bowed forward slightly. ‘Thanks ever so much for inviting me. It’s a fantastic party.’

  ‘Really?’ she said doubtfully. ‘I think it’s a nice party, but it’s not really my thing …’

  ‘A bit wild for you, is it?’ Colm said, elbowing her sharply. ‘I know the feeling. Mammy can be a bit of a mad woman when she gets at the Limoncello. We bought a bottle in duty-free on the way home from a trip to the Holy City in Rome. That was only eight months ago and she’s polished off the whole lot already.’

  ‘How many bottles did you buy?’ Róisín asked with a grin, images of Mrs Burke doing the can-can around their home making her want to laugh.

  ‘Just the one bottle,’ Colm said. ‘But it was a big one. Mammy is wild as a boar,’ he said, suddenly grabbing her forearm in a vice-grip. ‘Come on a date with me, Róisín. I’ll take you for fish and chips and we’ll have wine. Red or white, or even both in the one glass if you want.’

  ‘Colm,’ she said evenly, ‘I know you mean well, but I’m afraid I’ll have to let you down gently. As I’ve mentioned once or twice before, I’m not really on the market for a new man.’