‘God, you’re cold as ice.’ He scowled, his pudding face souring. ‘All I want is to be able to text an old friend.’
‘Well, okay then.’ I really just wanted to get out of there and, anyway, I didn’t have to answer any of his messages even if he did contact me.
He stood up. ‘I’m going to the gym. There’s an eighties aerobics session starting in fifteen minutes. Enjoy your trip to Ireland.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And I’ll text you!’ And off he went.
Roberto was waiting up for me, dressed in his long silk dressing gown, in which he liked to waft and swirl around when he was feeling extra dramatic, which was every evening. He poured me a large glass of red wine.
‘What did you say? Did you slap him across the face with your gloves? Did you throw a glass of wine in his face? Did you slam the door on your way out?’
‘None of the above,’ I said, sitting down on the sofa, Roberto on the armchair beside me. ‘Sorry to disappoint you. I told him it was over.’
‘Right…’ He had his hands together, forefingers against his lips, as though he was Sherlock Holmes ruminating on a tricky case.
‘Except I feel guilty.’
‘Guilty!’ He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. ‘Why, for God’s sake?’
‘He’s a tortured soul, he went to boarding school when he was eight, he just seems a bit… lost.’
‘Lost?’ Roberto snorted. ‘Get him a Garmin and let him find his way back to being a mature adult. Anyway, you were too nice to him for too long. I never understood it.’
‘It’s his background,’ I tried to explain. ‘He can’t help it. He’s confused and finding it hard to deal with the legacy of parental neglect.’
‘I told you,’ said Roberto, ‘you’re co-dependent. You can’t break away from Maribelle and it’s why you put up with crap from Jeremy. Neither of them deserves you. Your problem is you don’t think you deserve better. You are in the victim zone.’
‘Victim?’ I said, drinking my wine. ‘That’s a bit harsh!’
‘I used to be like you,’ he continued. ‘When I was ordinary Robert of Ballymun Towers, Dublin. A fully paid-up resident of the victim zone. Teased, slagged off, shouted obscenities at. And then I decided that I was a queen and that I would wear my crown.’
‘Good for you,’ I said.
‘And did I crumble when Felipe left me?’ he asked. ‘Did I lay down and die?’
‘Felipe continued travelling,’ I reminded him. ‘His round-the-world ticket was about to expire.’
‘You’re missing the point,’ Roberto tutted. ‘The point is I know my worth. It’s about time you knew yours.’
I drained my glass of red wine. He was right. As always. Roberto did know his worth and he wouldn’t have gone out with someone like Jeremy just because he felt sorry for him. And then he definitely wouldn’t have experienced the humiliation of a boyfriend sleeping with his ex.
‘At least,’ said Roberto, softening, ‘you are free of them both. Jeremy and Maribelle.’
‘She’ll only be gone for a month, though,’ I said.
‘But still. It’s enough time for life evaluation and strategy-forming. It was on a ferry around the Dodecanese that I had my biggest brainwave ever. It came to me like a vision, to channel my love for Kylie and my love for performing. Mam had me tap dancing from the age of three and I was in all the local talent shows in Ballymun and obviously was hated by all the other boys. But little did they know that a little trip around the Greek islands could produce a superstar.’ He flicked his robe like a flamenco dancer.
I laughed. Roberto did like to romanticise his own life somewhat.
‘Maybe we could go away together,’ he said. ‘What about Australia? We could do a pilgrimage to the great Kylie sights. The Neighbours set, the first place she performed “The Loco-Motion”, her childhood home?’
‘I’m going to go to my childhood home,’ I said.
But Roberto was looking horrified. ‘Home?’ he said. ‘As in Dublin? Like, why would you want to go there? We know Dublin. We both grew up there.’
‘You can come with me if you like. You know how much Mum loves you. Anyway, she needs someone to work in her shop for a few weeks. She’s on crutches.’
‘Oh my God. Is she okay?’
‘She was doing Pilates…’
‘That thing is dangerous,’ he said. ‘How many times have I said it! All that twitching and flexing. It’s not serious, is it?’
I shook my head. ‘Not that I can tell. It’s a few weeks of sitting around watching daytime television…’
‘The dream!’
‘You can come and see me,’ I said. ‘It’s only an hour’s flight.’ Roberto never went home. His mother and his sisters came to London twice a year for shopping trips, but he always said he wasn’t ready to go back.
‘Maybe,’ he said, unenthusiastically. ‘How long will you be gone?’
‘A month,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’
‘When are you going?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘You’ll miss London,’ he predicted. ‘It’s not as if anything ever happens there.’
‘I really want to go,’ I said. ‘For Mum.’ And for me, I was thinking.
‘It’s just that I’ll miss you, that’s all.’
‘I’ll miss you too,’ I said.
Roberto paused, as though he was King Solomon. ‘Right,’ he finally pronounced, ‘you can go. I’ll allow it, as long as you promise me one thing…’
‘What?’
‘That you go and get the life you deserve? And you find that crown and wear it with pride. Okay?’
‘I promise,’ I said.
‘Once more with feeling,’ he ordered.
‘I promise you, Roberto Donoghue, that I will find my crown and wear it.’
He nodded, satisfied. ‘It’s your time, Liv,’ he said. ‘Go forth and be fabulous!’
4
Roberto: Are you at the airport yet? Will you be buying a giant Toblerone? Asking for a friend.
Me: Have bought some v posh Fortnum and Mason biscuits for Mum. No Toblerone. Yet! Will buy you one when I come home.
Roberto:
Roberto: I will obviously be more excited to see you than the Toblerone, I should make that clear… but still… am already dreaming.
Me: I will buy two! Or three…
Roberto: Have a good time. Give my love to Nell. And Bronagh. Tell them to come to London soon. Love you!
Me: Just about to board! Speak soon! xxxx
I’d forgotten just how much I missed home until the grey of the sea below the plane as we began our descent gave way to the patchwork green of Ireland, the country taking shape like a jigsaw. And there it was, first the islands off the coast and then the cliffs, the fields, the golf courses, the houses, roads, tiny cars. And I did what I always did, looked left, across the bay to Dún Laoghaire where the two piers stretched out into the sea as though hugging the boats within them.
Just beyond, of course, was Sandycove. I squinted, looking for my other landmarks, the Martello Tower and beside it the Forty Foot swimming place. I wondered if Bronagh was there now, having a Saturday afternoon swim. Down there was the life I left behind, what once had been my whole world.
Our house was a small, two-bedroomed brick terrace, with a neat front garden and – Mum’s pride and joy – a monkey puzzle tree. This was home to me, just the sight of the front door and the crazy little tree or the small wooden gate at the front was enough to make pent-up London air leak out of me like a slow puncture as I wheeled my case up the road.
From the front window, I saw Mum’s face disappearing and, a moment later, the door opening and there she was. We clung to each other, wordlessly, me breathing in her Jo Malone Red Roses which she’d been wearing for the last decade since I bought it for her one Christmas. Her two crutches were propped up against the door, as she pulled back to study me.
; ‘You look beautiful,’ she said, pushing back my hair behind my ear and leaning on one crutch. ‘Your hair is so long. But you look tired… have you been sleeping? If anyone deserves a little time off, it’s you. After all you put up with.’ Mum was her usual impeccably dressed self, even with the crutches. She had a pair of black joggers on with her Chanel jacket and pristine white trainers.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly. You’re the invalid!’
‘Invalid!’ She picked up her crutches. ‘Well, temporary invalid,’ she admitted. ‘But are you sure you want to work in the shop? You look exhausted.’
‘Can you stop going on about how exhausted I look?’ I said. ‘I’m fine. I want to be here.’
She smiled. ‘We’ll just see how it goes, shall we?’
‘It’s going to be like a holiday. Anything is better than working for Maribelle. Anyway, how are you finding the crutches?’ I said, going inside and putting my case on the floor, and looking around the pink-painted hall, the large art deco mirror on the wall, the row of coat hooks, the cream-carpeted stairs, the framed photograph of me as a baby, the one of us when we were on holiday in Kerry when I was little, another of the two of us standing outside Nell’s when Mum was given the Retailer of the Year award about ten years ago, our arms around each other, both grinning for the camera.
‘Oh, it’s not too bad,’ said Mum. ‘Nothing serious, I can still drive but…’ She was back on both crutches and lifted one up. ‘They are a little cumbersome, I’ve got to admit it.’
‘We’ll have to get you roller skates,’ I said. ‘I could pull you around.’
Mum laughed. ‘Come on, I’ll put the kettle on. We’ll sit outside, it’s such a glorious afternoon. We’ll make the most of it.’
She moved clunkily but surprisingly swiftly into the kitchen, where double doors led out to our small garden.
‘I’ll make the tea. You sit down.’
Mum pulled herself onto the stool, leaning her crutches beside her.
‘Roberto sends his love and says stay off the Pilates. Says it’s a dangerous sport.’
Mum laughed. ‘He’s a tonic, that one,’ she said. ‘Tell him I won’t be giving it up. It’s not the Pilates that did this, it was me. By the way, have you heard from Maribelle? How is she getting on?’
‘No, no news. I have tried to call her a couple of times, but her phone is off. Which is to be expected. They probably take everything away from you on day one.’ It was strange not being at Maribelle’s beck and call, as though she had just disappeared off the face of the earth. ‘I’ve googled the place and there’s twice-daily meditation, counselling, forest walks and yoga. She wouldn’t possibly have time to call me even if she could.’
I boiled the kettle and filled the teapot on the tray, making sure that Mum had her china teacup and saucer and a mug for me.
‘She might improve when she is released,’ said Mum, manoeuvring herself off the stool and swinging herself on the crutches over to the double doors and to the patio.
We sat looking out at the grass and the apple trees as the sun shone. Even the air felt different, lighter, breezier, more ozoney than London. I closed my eyes for a moment and felt my body decompressing.
‘There’s a chance she might actually be a nice person to work for…’
I raised my eyebrows sceptically.
‘Well,’ Mum went on, taking a biscuit, ‘you never know. Leopards have been known to change their spots. Look at Hugh Grant. He managed to become quite a good actor. Or there’s Elton John, he stopped having all those tantrums. And Andy Murray turned out to be quite charming.’
‘We’ll have to see.’
‘And Jeremy?’ she said, carefully. ‘He’s well? Are you and he…?’
‘We’re not seeing each other any more,’ I said. Best of all, I thought, I would never have to spend New Year with his family, trying to pretend his father wasn’t looking at my breasts or saying how he used to have an Irish girlfriend and that I reminded him of her.
Mum’s eyebrows raised. ‘Really? But I thought you and he were getting on fine.’
‘Not really.’
Mum nodded, not wanting to pry any further. ‘How are you?’ she said, gently.
‘A bit hurt,’ I admitted. ‘But I’ll be fine.’ I smiled at her. ‘Really. Anyway, I’m really looking forward to starting in Nell’s on Monday.’
‘Jessica will be there, she’ll look after you. I couldn’t do any of it without her. She’s a born salesperson. And so stylish.’
‘I’ll assist her, then.’
‘Why don’t we go to the shop tomorrow morning, and I could go through a few things – the till, the accounts, the keys, all that?’ She took my hand. ‘I was thinking,’ she said, casually, ‘that you might think about Seasalt again?’
I felt my whole body tense up. Why was Mum bringing that up? Seasalt was my great embarrassment and my huge failure.
‘That was years ago.’ I looked away.
‘You were so good at it,’ she persisted. ‘The market stall, your lovely products…’
‘But I wasn’t any good at it,’ I said, annoyed. ‘If I was, I would still be running it.’
‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,’ she replied, ‘you lost confidence, and the more you thought about, the less confidence you had.’
‘It’s hard to be confident when you don’t know who your father is,’ I said, immediately regretting it.
For a second, Mum’s face crumpled, as though I’d landed a punch.
‘I’m sorry…’ She didn’t have to tell me. I had thought I wasn’t that selfish person any more. Obviously, I was wrong.
‘It’s okay.’
‘No, I am, really.’
‘You shouldn’t be. It’s my fault. It’s just… it’s hard to talk about. I’m trying to talk about it,’ she said. ‘I… I really am.’ She smiled at me.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I would really love that.’
And Mum suddenly hugged me again, this time her crutches falling to the ground. ‘I really wish I could,’ she said. The expression on her face was one of such helpless sadness.
The doorbell rang but neither of us moved. ‘Mum…’ We’d never talked about it before. She’d brushed me away any time I’d asked, hinted, nagged about it.
The doorbell rang again.
‘It’s Henry,’ she said. ‘He’s brought some supplies and he really wants to meet you.’
I stood up. ‘Well, I’d better let him in.’ I turned at the kitchen door. ‘Tell me when you’re ready, all right? But please tell me.’ I paused. ‘If you can.’
She nodded. ‘I will. I promise.’
Henry was a large man, with a giant handlebar moustache, behind which were bright, beady eyes like black diamonds, his whole being exuding joie de vivre. He wore long, baggy cargo shorts, an open-necked check shirt. A cloth tote bag was on the ground next to him.
‘Aha!’ he said, taking my hand in his two giant paws. ‘Well, I think I might be right in presuming that you are Olivia, the daughter of the beautiful Nell. I hope you don’t mind me calling in on your first evening home, but I have a few supplies for your mother. A new thriller she was looking for. The body count is particularly high in this one. Two on the first page. She’ll love that. And I’ve bought some cheese from James’s Deli – she is partial to Cashel Blue, as you know. And some posh crackers. And a couple of mini bottles of wine, just in case the cellar is worryingly low.’ He beamed at me.
‘It’s really lovely to meet you,’ I said, meaning it.
‘You look just like her,’ he said. ‘The same blue eyes. The same smile. Well, it’s a great pleasure to meet you too, Olivia. Your mother doesn’t stop talking about you and how much she was longing for you to come home.’
Had she been? Mum never gave the slightest impression that she was lonely or that she was even missing me. Mum, always so self-reliant, was the kind of person who said ‘don’t worry about me’ with such conviction you believed her.
‘And now you’re home,’ he went on, still holding my hand. ‘Back where you belong.’
I found myself smiling at him. ‘It’s lovely to be back. For the next month, anyway.’ I felt obliged to remind him that I was going back to my actual life in London. ‘Would you like to come in?’ I said. ‘Mum’s in the garden.’
‘I won’t take up more than a few minutes. Drop the provisions and be on my way.’
He followed me to the garden.
‘Isn’t it a beautiful evening? Normally, Nell and I go for a walk around this time, up to Dún Laoghaire and down the pier. Stopping for an ice cream at the FroRo van. But now your mother is temporarily incapacitated, those delights will have to wait. Ah, there she is…’
He and Mum smiled at each other, a smile of recognition and connection. And of just being happy to see someone.
‘I come with essentials,’ he said, putting down the bag and heading over to Mum’s chair. ‘Don’t get up. The more you rest, the sooner we get you back walking the pier.’ He kissed her on the lips.
‘It’s a few weeks,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Hopefully sooner rather than later.’
‘I’ve bought you a book on car maintenance, a bottle of sarsaparilla – good for invalids, apparently – and some prunes. Perfect for constipation.’ He winked at me, as Mum giggled. ‘Don’t tell me I’m not good with the sick and the infirm. I should be given my Red Cross Order of Malta for services to medicine.’
‘You’re a veritable Florence Nightingale,’ said Mum.
‘Florence from The Magic Roundabout, more like,’ said Henry, as Mum laughed again. ‘Or I like to think of myself as the Mr Bean of healthcare. Always there when not needed and not to be found at times of need.’ He winked at us again. ‘Now, shall we crack open the sarsaparilla…?’
‘Or what about a cup of tea, Henry?’ I asked.
‘No tea, thank you, Olivia,’ he said. ‘I’ll only stay for a moment because I have other highly important missions this evening. Hopefully, this will not be a mission impossible. My neighbour Maureen has had a rather large delivery of flat-pack furniture and so, being a man with the all-important Allen key, she’s asked me to give her a hand. And after her, I will be in the greenhouse checking on my onions.’ He perched on the edge of the chair beside Mum. ‘Did your mother tell you about my gardening experiment? She did? Well, every night I put the onions to bed, and every morning I wake them up. They take more time than a toddler. Well, not that I ever had a toddler, not being blessed in that way, but I can only imagine that these onions are just as much work, if not more.’ He winked again at me, as Mum laughed again. ‘They need feeding and straw to rest on and making sure the light’s not too bright and that the temperature is just right.’ He stood up. ‘So, Nell, Olivia, I must take my Allen key and go. Nell…’ He took one of her hands in his. ‘Goodbye. Let me know what you think of the new Val McDermid. And, Olivia,’ he shook my hand again, ‘a pleasure to meet you finally. The apple of your mother’s eye. And a chip off the old block. I’ll see myself out and look forward to seeing you again soon.’
Life's What You Make It Page 3