Second Hand Jane

by Michelle Vernal

  “Yes. That reminds me—Harry’s right into all those traditional fairy stories at the moment. I made the mistake of reading him Hansel and Gretel the other night and managed to give myself nightmares. I’d hate to think what my poor son made of it. Though, to be honest, I don’t know what disturbed me more about the story: the abandoning of children in the forest, the wicked witch putting Hansel in a cage in order to fatten him up, or the fact that Harry didn’t seem at all fazed by it! I’d forgotten how horrible some of those old tales actually are.”

  “Yeah, you’d have to wonder what was going through the mind of the Brothers Grimm when they penned that one. They wrote Little Red Riding Hood, too. Please don’t read that to Harry just yet. I had a phobia about wolves for years thanks to that little minx.”

  “Don’t worry—we’re sticking with good old Hop on Pop, Dr Seuss for the foreseeable future. But, come on then, spill—what’s this idea of yours?”

  “Okay, you know how one of the things I find intriguing about second-hand things is the thought of the life they have lived before they come to me?”

  Brianna nodded. “That and the thrill of a good bargain.”

  “Yeah, well there is that too. But books, especially children’s ones, are really special.”

  “Because of the illustrations, right?”

  “Definitely that yes but it is more than just the pictures. Children love to mark their territory and every book in my collection has its original owner’s name scrawled inside the cover.”

  “I don’t get it—you told me once that decreases the book’s value.”

  “It does but I don’t collect them for their monetary value. It’s hard to explain it properly but there’s just something about the idea of another child having loved that book the same way I loved it and I often wonder who they were or are now. Does that sound weird?”

  Brianna grinned. “If I was Nora, I would say it definitely sounds weird but since it’s me you are talking to, I think I get it. You’d like to know the story behind the name in the book, is that it?”

  “That’s it exactly! Who was that child? Did he or she pore over the stories and the pictures like I did? Were they daydreamers too? Who did they grow up to be?”

  “Jaysus, you are such a romantic, Jessica Baré. Where are you going with this?”

  “I am going to find her.”

  “You’ve lost me again—who exactly are you off to find? And please don’t say yourself because you’re far too young for a mid-life crisis.”

  Jess laughed. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to do an Eat, Pray, Love and frolic round Bali. I am going to find out what became of Amy Aherne from Ballymcguinness. She was six years old when her brother Owen gave her Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs for Christmas in 1973. So I am going to write about my journey to find the forty-six-year old Amy. I will do the detective work to find out who she is now, what she went on to do with her life and what that book meant to her. What do you think?”

  “Wow, it’s a bit out there but at the same time I think it’s a brilliant idea!” Brianna was wide-eyed, imagining Amy Aherne, wherever she might be now. “Gosh, she could have grown up to be anything; how fascinating to find out. She could be an airhostess or an actress or a writer like you.” Brianna’s eyes became saucer-like. “Oh my God, what would you do if you found out she was a prostitute?” Before Jess could reply, another thought occurred to her. “What if she doesn’t want you to write about her?”

  “Whoa, slow down. Who’s the writer—me or you? If she doesn’t want me to write about her, I guess I will just have to come up with another brilliant idea. So what have you got on for the week then?”

  “I’ve a PTA meeting Thursday night; it’s full-on at the moment because we’re organising the school fair in October—tonight’s topic is the cake stall. I expect you to contribute, you know.”

  “But I can’t bake.”

  “I meant buy something from the stall, you eejit. We can’t all hang out with the rich and famous, you know. Some of us have responsibilities.” She grinned. “Pete and I might try to get out for a meal down at the pub on Friday night, if Mammy’s free, and Saturday afternoon I am meeting up with a group of mams to discuss saving our local playgroup.”

  “Harry doesn’t go to playgroup anymore, though.”

  “I know but I have fond memories of when he did.”

  Jessica laughed. “You call me a romantic! Well, you’re the queen of the community-minded. Bray would grind to a halt without you.” She frowned, glancing at her watch. “It’s two fifteen already, Brie. What time do you have to leave to pick Harry up?”

  “CRAP! I’d forgotten about Harry. Come on, I’ve got to get a move on!”

  ***

  “You look fabulous. I love that dress. The colour is great on you—very Lavinia from Downton Abbey.”

  “You look lovely, too—very Naomi Watts in King Kong.” Nora had gone for old-time glamour, too, and it suited her.

  “Thanks. It’s silly, isn’t it? But I think I’m more nervous going on this second date than I was on the first.”

  “You should be nervous because I’ll murder you if this friend of his turns out to be a big hairy gorilla.”

  “At least you’ll get a column out of it.”

  There was no time for further discussion as Nora’s intercom buzzed, signalling Ewan and his mystery mate had arrived.

  The two women looked at each other and giggled with Nora announcing, “God, I feel like I’m sixteen and off to my school ball!”

  They tottered down the stairs of Nora’s Georgian two-storey manor house. Its bricks were laid firmly in the heart of fashionable Rathmines, where she paid a premium rent to live in the house’s converted second-storey apartment. On the quiet street outside, Ewan Reid—looking as swarthy and gorgeous as he did on the big screen—was lounging alongside a tall, blonde handsome stranger; their backdrop was that of a sleek grey convertible.

  Thank God the roof was on, was Jess’s first thought, or her artfully tousled auburn curls would have been an artfully tousled bloody fright by the time they got to wherever it was they were going. Not to mention it would be bloody freezing. Her second thought as the stranger stepped forward, introducing himself as Nick before homing in to drop a kiss on her cheek, was that he was not bad, not bad at all. Nora might just get to live after all.

  ***

  Juan’s was buzzing, Jess noticed, glancing round the popular Spanish restaurant’s bar. It was standing room only and by the harassed look of the maître de, they would probably have to wait ages for a table. She was proved wrong and was only halfway through her Singapore Sling—she’d thought it sounded suitably sophisticated for the company she was keeping, even if sangria would have been more in keeping with the restaurant’s theme—when Manuel from Faulty Towers appeared in front of her.

  She had to bite back a laugh when he introduced himself in a dodgy Spanish accent as Miguel, their waiter for the evening. It was her first taste of a proper celebrity lifestyle, as in his next breath he began bowing and scraping to the great Ewan Reid before whisking them away from the minions who kept coming up to ask for his autograph.

  Actually, she mused as Miguel held her seat out for her at their table that overlooked lively Harcourt Street below, the whole being famous thing—while having obvious perks like fabulous seats in fabulous restaurants—was also kind of annoying. No sooner did Ewan attempt to start up a conversation than some stranger would butt in, asking for an autograph. People seemed to think that because his face was familiar it gave them the right to be pushy—especially the women. Still, underneath Nora’s fluffy blonde exterior and white silk sheath dress lurked a woman with the strength of King Kong, so if things were to get serious between her and Ewan, his female fans would have to watch out.

  No, fame certainly wasn’t something she hankered after, she thought as Miguel made a show of flapping the crisp white linen napkin before draping it across her lap. At least with writing she got to retain a certain
amount of anonymity because while people often looked twice at her, they didn’t usually twig that they recognised her from the passport-sized photo featured alongside her column. Though Nora would beg to differ; she maintained that the reason people looked twice at Jess was more to do with what she deemed her friend’s bizarre choice of clothing.

  Once the others were seated, she turned her attention from the window back to Nick, who was telling her he did something or other in property and that he had known Ewan since school. The convertible had been his, so whatever it was he did with property he obviously did well, she concluded, feeling slightly ashamed of how easily impressed she was.

  Now though, as he smiled across at her, she couldn’t help but notice that as well as driving a fancy car, his eyes were impossibly blue against the tan of his skin and blonde, stylishly cropped hair. Very Pierce Brosnan in his younger days but with blonde hair cut into a much better style. Oh my gosh, she thought, grinning inanely back at him and admiring the pearliness of his perfect teeth—my mother would absolutely love you!—and wondering at the same time whether he’d mind whether she whipped her cell-phone out and took a photo as proof that she was on a date with a man who so far appeared to have no underlying issues and was obviously successful.

  At that moment, she received a sharp kick to the ankle and biting her lip, managed to stop herself from crying out. Bloody Nora, she swore silently but nevertheless took her friend’s hint and wiped the sappy look off her face.

  “So tell me about you, Jessica.” Nick leaned forward, toying with his empty wine glass as they waited for Miguel to come back with the bottle of red they’d all agreed on. “Although, I have to say that having laughed out loud at your column many times, I can’t help but feel like I already know you.”

  Jess preened ever so slightly; he had just scored some major brownie points because she loved it when a man took the time to ask about her instead of banging on about his achievements all night. “Ah, well, don’t believe all that you read.”

  “I’ll vouch for that.” Ewan joined in the conversation. “My agent showed me an article in some woman’s magazine the other week that strongly implied I might be the one to heal Demi’s broken heart. All I bloody did was shake her hand when I was introduced to her at Cannes. The woman terrifies me. I was still in short pants when she did Ghost, for Chrissakes!”

  They all laughed and after Ewan had sampled and approved the wine, much to Miguel’s obvious relief, an animated conversation about the media ensued.

  Jess had just finished relaying her tale of how her column came to fruition thanks to Shane Moriarty from Bad Boyz milking his new-found fame when Miguel magically popped up again. This time, he had his pad and paper in hand, ready to take their order. Nora opened the menu and Jess leaned in to read it as Nick announced that the paella was absolutely fantastic. The menu was snapped shut and it was agreed that they would all share in a plate of Spain’s national dish.

  “Teez a good choice, Meester Reid,” Miguel gushed before giving a little bow and scurrying off toward the kitchen to click his fingers and tell the chef to snap to it.

  That was another thing Jessica was noticing about the power of celebrity: it was as though Ewan were the only person seated at the table the way Miguel addressed everything to him. The rest of their little group was all but invisible.

  As Nora and Ewan embarked on a conversation about paragliding, Nick refilled Jess’s wine glass. “So what made you leave New Zealand? It’s a stunning country.”

  “Have you been?” She was surprised; most Irish only got as far as Australia, arriving at Sydney Airport with their passports and dream that life from hereon in was going to be like one big scene from Home and Away. Not many jumped the ditch to New Zealand. Mind you, Nick didn’t look like the kind of man who’d watch Home and Away or Neighbours.

  “To Auckland on business, yes, but I managed to get up to the Bay of Islands for a few days R&R before I had to fly home. The fishing was fantastic and I’d liked to have stayed longer and seen more—you know, catch the big one that got away.” He grinned and shrugged. “I’ll definitely get back there in the near future, though.”

  Jess had no doubt that when he said something, he meant it but his words had seemed to hold an unspoken invitation and she felt herself grow hot. Knocking back her wine to cool down, she told herself off for always reading something into what was probably nothing. She’d only known him for an hour, for goodness’ sake! Placing her glass back down on the table, she hoped he didn’t think her a lush and then realising he was waiting for some sort of reply, the best she could come up with at short notice was, “Yes, it is beautiful.” Risking a glance over at him, their eyes locked and the jolt of excitement that ricocheted through her literally made her catch her breath. It was either that or the wine had gone down the wrong way. Either way, the moment was ruined as she began coughing and spluttering, sending a spray of red wine across the table. Nora, thinking she was choking, leaped out of her seat and began walloping her on the back, which only made her cough harder.

  It was then that Miguel appeared and excitedly told Nora to stand aside as he announced loudly and proudly, “I will perform ze Hymen Manoeuvre.”

  Thanks be to God he didn’t get a chance to perform anything on her! Jess thought, because after a sip of the glass of water Nick was holding to her lips, the coughing subsided. By the time the steaming pan of rice and seafood appeared to take centre stage at their table, she had managed to regain her composure—well, almost.

  By the time the third bottle of wine was opened, she, too, could see the funny side of Miguel and his “hymen” manoeuvre and she found herself relaxing and enjoying Nick and Ewan’s company, though she did wish Nora would stop going on like she was the stunt woman out of the Matrix.

  From there on in, the evening passed in a jovial wine-addled blur and before they knew it, they were the last patrons in the restaurant. It was time to go but not before they’d given Miguel a generous tip. As they led the way down the stairs and out the doors to the car park, Nick made one last joke about Miguel’s Spanish accent and as she laughed the darkness in front of her was suddenly split by blinding flashes of light. She felt her mouth form a startled “Oh!” as Nick took her by the elbow and herded her over to the car.

  “Who’s the mystery blonde, Ewan! Does Tessa know you’ve called it quits?” Several different voices called and by way of reply Ewan growled, “Fecking paparazzi!” as he and Nora ducked inside the little car just as Nick began revving the engine. They exited the car park in a blaze of burning rubber.

  “It’s okay, Nick, man; slow down—nobody’s following us,” Ewan urged a moment later. “I’m sorry about that, ladies. The fecking pap get everywhere.” He had turned around in his seat but he only had eyes for Nora as he added, “And Tessa and I broke up amicably aeons ago.”

  He was referring to his stunning Suburban Man co-star Tessa Adamson. Jess felt Nora relax next to her as she reached over and stroked his arm. Her eyes, in the darkened interior, were still glittering from the adrenaline rush of what had just happened and Jess had to concur that it had been rather exciting. She could see how the novelty would soon wear off if it happened every time you went anywhere, though. Imagine being photographed doing something as mundane as going to the corner shop for your morning paper or just collecting your post? A mental picture of herself in the elephant suit with pink slippers gracing the cover of The Women’s Friend sprang to mind and she shuddered, pushing it aside.

  Nick proved to be the perfect gentleman when they pulled up outside Riverside Apartments five minutes later. He got out of the car and, opening her door, helped her out before walking her to the main doors. While she fished around in her purse for her keys, he told her that he had really enjoyed the evening. “I’d like to do it again sometime.” He looked at her expectantly.

  “So would I.” She blushed, all too aware that Nora would be sitting in the car with her face pressed up to the window, phone at the ready to text Bri
anna should there be snogging.

  “So it’s okay if I get your number off Nora and give you a call?”

  “Yes, I’d like that.”

  “Great.” Nick leaned in and she felt his lips airbrush hers before he stepped back, waiting for her to head inside. It was all she could do not to drag him in behind her.

  Chapter Four

  The phone trilled bright and early the next morning—ridiculously early for a Saturday, in Jess’s opinion—but nevertheless she forced herself to get out of bed and stumbled through to the living room to answer it.

  “Hi, honey, it’s Brie—okay if Harry and I pop round shortly? Because there’s something I think you need to see.”

  Jess’s brain gave itself a feeble kickstart. Bloody Brianna—what was she doing phoning at such a godforsaken time of the morning? Honestly, just because Harry always ensured she was up at sparrow’s fart didn’t mean everybody else had to be. “What’s so important you’re ringing me at the crack of dawn then?”

  “It’s actually after eight but never mind that. I will show you what it’s all about when I get there.”

  “I thought you had your Save our Playgroup meeting this morning?”

  “I did but I cancelled. See you in an hour.”

  She’d hung up before Jess had a chance to quiz her further and wide awake now, she padded through to the kitchen, puzzling over what it was she wanted to show her. Whatever it was, it had sounded like something worthy of an extra strong caffeine fix, especially if Brianna was missing one of her meetings in order to pop over.

  ***

  It was something worthy of a triple shot of vodka but Jess didn’t drink in the morning. “Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus!” After nigh on ten years living in Ireland, she had at last grasped the lingo. She screeched, staring in horror at the open newspaper Brianna was holding up under her nose. All the while, Harry puff-puff-puffed his Thomas train up and down her kitchen tiles.