Life's What You Make It

by Sian O'Gorman

  ‘Thank you, Bernard.’

  For the next hour and a half, I wrestled with the slicer and the weighing scales and wrapped sourdough loaves in paper.

  Henry, wearing cargo shorts and a checked shirt, open at the neck, sleeves rolled up, popped his head around the door. ‘I heard you were in here,’ he said. ‘How are you getting on?’

  ‘Do you have any idea how to use this coffee machine?’ I asked. ‘I just had to send someone across to Albatross because I had no idea how it works. This is quite different to any coffee machine I’ve ever used.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Henry came behind the counter and stared at the monstrous machine for a few minutes. ‘Right,’ he said, eventually, filling the spoon with coffee and clicking it in. ‘I think, if we just press this, and then this, and do this…’ Coffee poured into a small cup and he then poured milk into the silver jug. ‘And then this.’ He pressed another button while steam poured out, making that familiar frothing noise. ‘And then this.’ He swirled the milk into the coffee. ‘There. Have a taste. See if it’s okay.’

  I took it and sipped it. ‘It’s perfect. Lovely and creamy. Have you ever made coffee in one of these things before?’

  ‘Former engineer,’ he said. ‘Machines don’t scare me. And then I did spend a year in Rome as a student, working for Fiat. I think I might have picked up a few things then while frequenting the cafés.’ He smiled at me. ‘Is there anything else I can help with?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘Mrs O’Keefe is on her way.’

  ‘Call if you have any more problems,’ he said. ‘I don’t have many skills, but machines are my forte.’

  ‘I will, thank you.’

  He turned to go. ‘Your mother is so delighted to have you home,’ he said.

  ‘She seems very happy,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it’s me necessarily.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is, I am happy she’s happy.’ He smiled again. ‘She’s…’ He stopped. ‘She’s not had an easy time of it.’

  ‘No… she hasn’t.’ I wondered what exactly he was referring to.

  Henry hovered for a moment as though he wanted to say more. ‘She’s a very special lady,’ he said. ‘And I will look after her, in case you are wondering.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ I said.

  ‘Sometimes, something happens in your life and you need to notice it,’ he said. ‘You need to treasure it. And I intend to do so.’ He smiled again. ‘See you at the funeral,’ he said, as he left.

  Funeral? Whose did he mean? Mrs O’Keefe, when she turned up, was able to bring me up to speed. ‘Sammy has now passed,’ she said, reverently, tying an apron around her waist. ‘There’ll be a funeral this evening at 6 p.m. The doctor is with them now.’

  ‘You mean vet?’

  ‘No, doctor. Dr Butler. They’re back from the vet’s… and I was just passing James’s cottage and saw Dr Butler knocking on the door. So kind of him, don’t you think? “Dr Butler!” I shouted. “Finished your rounds?” “Not quite, Mrs O’Keefe,” he shouted back. “A few more to go.” “That’s grand so, Dr Butler,” I shouted again. “See you, Mrs O’Keefe!” “Yes, so long, Dr Butler!” I shouted again. And here I am.’ She positioned herself behind the counter as though it was her shop. ‘I’ve lost four of them in my life. Don’t think I could go through it ever again.’

  ‘Lost what?’

  ‘Dogs! You take them as a puppy, full of jumping beans, eat everything, chew your skirting boards, get lost and found and lost again, get fleas and worms and everything else under the sun. My Dana had a three-hour operation once because she had eaten a sock. Lovely little girl that one.’ Mrs O’Keefe’s eyes were misty for a moment. ‘There was Bosco as well, a large old dote of a yoke. He was able to sing the national anthem.’

  ‘Sounds very talented.’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t do it very well… I mean, sometimes you couldn’t make it out, but just every now and then it sounded just like it. But he was a little dote. A right character. Should have been on television.’ She sighed at the memory. ‘Now, where are we? I’m going to be making the lunch specials today. It’s Monday, which is James’s lasagne day, but lasagne isn’t my strong point, so I’m going to make a quick Irish stew. Bernard has given me some lamb and I have brought some vegetables from the shop.’

  The bell above the door rang, making us both look up. Dr Butler stepped into the shop, Pablo at his heels.

  ‘Good morning again, Dr Butler,’ Mrs O’Keefe said, smiling. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to see if you were… okay?’ He looked at me. ‘I’ve finished all my house calls and I’m just on my way back to the surgery. James said you were working in the shop this morning. Can I help with anything?’

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Mrs O’Keefe jumped straight in. ‘Not at all!’ she said. ‘Not at all, doctor! Don’t you be foostering and worrying about anything. We have this all organised and nothing should get in the way of a doctor and his doctoring. You carry on now with your good works. Never mind us here.’

  ‘It’s actually fine,’ he said. ‘My next appointment isn’t for another hour.’

  ‘No, Dr Butler, you go and rest. Have a cup of tea… or we can make you a nice cup of coffee… Olivia, can you use this infernal-looking machine?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘Henry just showed me.’

  ‘No, I’m grand,’ said Dr Butler. ‘I just wanted to help too.’

  ‘You need to go and put your feet up,’ insisted Mrs O’Keefe. ‘Rest that brain of yours. You never know when you might be needed. There could be an emergency. And then Anthony Daly from the newsagents is going to do an hour, and then Janet from the bakery is going to send along one of her girls. Between us, we’ll get to 6 p.m. for the send-off when Sammy joins the other dog angels in the sky. Like my Dana. And my Bosco.’ She turned to me. ‘Olivia, make Dr Butler a coffee… cup of chino okay for you?’

  ‘No, I’m grand,’ he said. ‘I’ll get on…’

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ she said. ‘Is it any trouble, Olivia? See! It’s no trouble at all.’

  ‘No, really,’ he said. ‘I’m fine.’ Pablo scampered beside him as he opened the door.

  I hadn’t been able to get a word in edgeways but I also didn’t want to say too much in front of Mrs O’Keefe, but when she headed to the back of the shop, I managed to blurt out, ‘Thanks for yesterday.’

  He stopped and came towards me again, this time smiling at me. ‘My pleasure…’

  ‘You must have thought it was strange us going round knocking on strangers’ doors on a Sunday morning.’

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Nothing surprises me any more. And I sensed that it was really important to your mother.’

  I nodded. ‘She’s only just talking about it… she is working through some things.’

  ‘Ah… well, that can only be a good thing.’ He smiled again at me, a big, handsome hug of a smile. ‘Was that you I saw running this morning?’ he asked. ‘Down by the harbour?’

  ‘I’m not very good,’ I said. ‘I am more a plodder.’

  ‘I couldn’t live without it,’ he said. ‘Sea swimming is something I am getting used to, but running is my drug of choice.’

  ‘I still prefer chocolate and alcohol,’ I replied. ‘But I seem to have this compulsion to run these days. I can’t work it out.’

  ‘You see, you get addicted. Anyway, I’ll see you later.’ He smiled at me. ‘I’ll tell James that the shop is in good hands. And let me know when you want to come and look at the house.’

  He was nice, I thought. More than nice. Maybe I’d been too quick to judge him.

  15

  Outside James’s small cottage on Bird Road there was quite the buzz, the kind you find outside churches and crematoriums at human funerals; the chat, the catching up, the shaking hands, all done in the obligatory muted, reverential way.

  Mum and Henry were chatting with Betty. Mum waved one of her crutches at Bronagh and I. ‘Hell
o, you two,’ she said. ‘Lovely to see you, Bronagh.’

  ‘Hi, Nell,’ said Bronagh. ‘How are you feeling? How is the hip?’

  ‘Oh, let’s not talk about the hip,’ said Mum. ‘I am missing doing everything I normally do. Going for walks, being able to get myself around the house. Working. I’m just lucky that I have Olivia.’ Mum smiled at me. ‘How was your day? All well in the shop?’

  ‘I was only there for the afternoon as I helped out in James’s in the morning,’ I said. ‘But it’s all fine. Made a couple of sales. Feeling more confident about serving people.’

  ‘Bronagh,’ interrupted Betty, ‘your mother was telling me about the anniversary party…’ She laid a hand on Bronagh’s arm. ‘Such a pity it didn’t go very well. These things happen, though, don’t they? The best-laid parties go awry. Who said that? Shakespeare?’

  I felt Bronagh bristle. ‘What do you mean? What did Mum say?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t really remember now,’ said Betty, casually. ‘Something about the food which was meant to be cold was warm, and then food that was meant to be hot was frozen… and ditto with the wine. I was saying that you have to be so careful about who you get to do what, people cut corners, you see. No one bothers these days. You have to keep your eye on the ball… you have to! You can’t outsource anything these days. Vigilance, always vigilance.’

  ‘So, Mum said she didn’t enjoy it, then?’ persisted Bronagh.

  ‘Well, not exactly,’ said Betty. ‘She was in the shop yesterday and we had a little catch-up. Having the boys there was such a treat, she said, but just that it could have been better. Such a shame I couldn’t have gone, but we were having a little “do” to announce Jennifer-Louise’s news.’

  Bronagh seemed stunned.

  ‘I thought it was beautiful,’ I said. ‘The food was delicious… and the wine…’

  But Bronagh shook her head. ‘Don’t bother,’ she said quietly. ‘I am not rising to it…’

  ‘Ah, I think it’s time to go in,’ said Betty. ‘Shall we? Come on, Nell, we’ll go in together.’ She grabbed Mum’s elbow as though she was trying to help her, but really it made it far more difficult for Mum to crutch herself in.

  Henry, Bronagh and I trailed behind.

  ‘How did you get on with the coffee machine?’ said Henry. ‘All well?’

  ‘Totally fine,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your tutorial.’

  ‘Any time.’

  In the tiny living room, a queue had formed with people eager to give their condolences to James. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I heard someone say.

  ‘He was a gorgeous dog,’ said the next person. ‘The very best.’

  ‘I’ll always remember how he would wag his tail at me every morning.’

  From the kitchen, Dr Butler appeared with a tray of mugs of tea and an open packet of biscuits. ‘Anyone want a cup of tea? Alison’s making sandwiches now and I’ll bring those out in a moment.’ He leaned down to some of the older guests who were sitting four-abreast on the sofa. At Will’s feet was Pablo; he stared up at me, like a truculent teen.

  ‘Thank you, Dr Butler,’ said Mrs O’Keefe. ‘Delicious tea. It’s not easy making a good cup. People do get it wrong so often. And there was us trying to make you a cup of coffee earlier.’ She laughed. ‘Should have offered you tea. I’ll know for next time.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs O’Keefe,’ he said. ‘I’ll pass any tea-related compliments to Alison.’ He turned to face Bronagh and me. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘We’re like a good local politician,’ said Bronagh, ‘because we never miss a good funeral. Even dog ones.’

  Will laughed. ‘Funerals are just another social occasion,’ he said. ‘Most people are here for the tea and sandwiches. When my dad died, I think I got repetitive strain injury from all the bread buttering I did.’

  Now Bronagh and I laughed. Finding something amusing about a funeral is an Irish trait. It’s all part of the grieving process. Every funeral has its moment, ranging from the priest’s phone going off to the ultimate: the dangerous stagger at the edge of the grave.

  ‘By the way,’ said Bronagh. ‘I’ve been wondering, what do you do with Pablo in the surgery? Are you allowed to have a dog with you?’

  ‘He stays in the front office with my receptionist, Valerie,’ Will said. ‘He’s become quite fond of her. And when I am out and about on my rounds, he comes with me.’ He paused. ‘Or, on serious cases, he just sleeps in the car. He loves being in Ireland. He found New York a bit noisy. Here, he gets to go on walks and even goes swimming.’ We all looked down at Pablo, who wouldn’t meet our gaze.

  ‘What made you leave New York?’ asked Bronagh.

  ‘Well…’ He kind of smiled. ‘My wife decided she didn’t really like being married – at least to me,’ he said, shrugging. ‘And so I’m newly divorced…’

  ‘Will?’ James called over. ‘I’m going to get going, okay?’

  ‘I’d better go,’ said Will, smiling. ‘Moral support. See you both later.’

  James was clearing his throat and getting ready to speak. ‘I just want to say a few words,’ he said. ‘First of all, thank you all for coming. It means everything to me to see you all here today. I am so honoured that you all know that Sammy wasn’t just a dog – he was my friend. He got me up every morning and went to sleep with me every night.’ He tried to laugh. ‘And to all my friends here right now, I am beyond touched and feel so lucky to live and work alongside you all. And special thanks to Will for driving me and Sammy to the vets today. And I am sorry Pablo has lost his best friend.’ He looked at Will. ‘Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you. And, of course, to Olivia and Mrs O’Keefe and Janet and everyone else who helped out. I couldn’t have done today without you. Thank you. And thank you to Alison for her sandwich making, her tea brewing. She’s been incredible and such a great person in my life.’

  I glanced up and found Will’s eyes looking over at me and I looked away. Since that moment on the street when I saw him kissing Pablo, I had kept thinking about him. But he must have got that all the time, women staring at him. And even though I had a feeling that my life was changing, I would have to keep my head down, do what I needed to do here in Sandycove and go back to London.

  ‘I’ve never had a funeral for a dog before,’ said James. ‘And obviously it’s a little self-indulgent, but I was thinking what do you do at a dog funeral? Should we read poems? Tell stories about Sammy running through the woods on Killiney Hill, the squirrels he terrorised, the flocks of seagulls he chased. Many of you here now were part of those walks. You’d stop and talk to us while we were out and about. Having a dog really brings you closer to your community, there’s no way you can stay indoors with a dog. But what I thought I’d do is just play one of my favourite songs… as you know, I’m a Bruce Springsteen fan… and therefore so was Sammy.’ He bent down to an ancient CD player and pressed play. ‘This is “Dancing In The Dark” by the great Bruce Springsteen for the late, great Sammy.’

  People began to join in, quietly at first, their voices slightly quavery. Bronagh and I looked at each other, as we sung the chorus. I would miss all this, I thought, when I returned to London.

  Afterwards, when all the handshaking and hugging was done, we said goodbye to James.

  ‘Will you be all right?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, course I will,’ he said. ‘Alison will be here. Thanks again for this morning, Olivia.’

  ‘Any time.’

  Outside, Bronagh and I said goodbye.

  ‘I wish I hadn’t agreed to go and see Paul,’ she said, ‘to watch the new Star Wars on the Disney Channel.’

  ‘There’s a new one?’

  ‘Apparently.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I mean, haven’t they made enough? Aren’t people satisfied with the amount of Star Wars in the world? And he’s seen it a million times in the cinema, including IMAX, 3D, 4D and even the singalong version…’

  ‘Singalong? It’s a musical?’

  She shrugged. �
�Probably. I mean, if I have to look at Leonard Nimoy again and his preposterous elf ears, I am going to scream.’

  ‘So, why do it?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ve been single for five years,’ she said. ‘I got bored of not having anything romantic, not having any one of my own. Mum and Dad gave up on me ever finding someone they would approve of. I gave up on me finding anyone I would approve of. So I decided to go for a nice guy, someone I can drink wine with, and eat takeaway curries with. And he puts up with me wittering on about buildings and bridges, and I put up with him going on about Star Wars and the gossip from the sorting office.’ She smiled. ‘Not everything has to be the Great Romance. Sometimes nice enough is good enough.’

  ‘But don’t you want passion and excitement and everything else?’

  ‘Of course I do! But in the absence of any of the above, I’ll take this! I am going to think about it as a kind of noble and beautiful aloneness.’

  We hugged goodbye.

  ‘Love you, Liv,’ she said.

  ‘Love you, Bro.’

  And I watched her walk away, wishing she knew quite how wonderful she was. And wishing her mother knew it as well.

  Henry drove Mum and I home.

  ‘I won’t come in, Nell,’ he said, giving her a look. ‘But I will be round first thing. Maybe we could go for a drive in the morning, go to Wicklow, if that suits?’

  She took his hand for a moment. ‘I would love that very much, Henry.’

  ‘The funeral was nice, wasn’t it?’ Mum said, as the two of us were walking into the house. ‘Good turnout. He’s scattering the ashes down by the harbour on Saturday. I think it’s just him and Alison, though.’ We went into the kitchen and she sat at the breakfast bar. ‘Would you like to go to the house on Thursday? Dr Butler said it suits him. I could pick you up after work.’

  I hadn’t realised quite how ungrounded I had felt all my life, how my roots seemed too shallow to make me feel stable and secure. I thought of Joseph Delaney. And my grandmother and my grandfather and all the people who came before them. Suddenly, it struck me very clearly that I was connected to something much bigger than just me and Mum. For the first time in my life, Mum and I were part of a tribe, we were a branch on a family tree, we were part of a story which started long before us and which would go on long after we were gone. My hand went reflexively to the locket around my neck. It had taken on a greater meaning and was now a kind of talisman, as though I now had someone looking after me, as though it was telling part of my story.