They all looked at me.
‘Okay,’ I found myself saying, thinking how simple, friendly and straightforward life was here. And, if only I wasn’t going back to London in a few weeks, then we could be real friends.
At their flat, above the flower shop, Jake insisted on taking me straight to his bedroom to show me his seaweed collection consisting of hundreds of books, seaweed samples in jam jars, dried seaweed stuck into scrapbooks and posters on the wall of finely drawn botanical pictures. It was like Darwin’s study. Jake spoke incessantly and breathlessly about it all, like a pocket seaweed encyclopaedia, so I decided to use him as research.
‘So, what’s in seaweed?’ I asked.
‘Lots of good things,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know what your level of understanding is…’ He looked back at me, waiting for an answer. ‘Do you want the big version or the small version?’
‘Somewhere in the middle?’ I said. ‘I mean, I won’t ever understand it like you do, but I want to know more.’
‘Minerals,’ he said. ‘Heard of them?’
I nodded.
‘Seaweed absorbs them from the sea. Some brown seaweed like Ascophyllum nodosum or knotted wrack or fucus vesiculosus or bladderwrack contain all the minerals on the planet.’
I could feel myself smiling as Jake went on, delighted to have a brand new and receptive audience. When I first began Seasalt and started making my own infused oils, I would borrow Mum’s car and drive off to flower growers around the county, collecting armloads of rose hips and lavender. There was that feeling of connection pulling me in, that glow, as though I was doing exactly what I was meant to be doing. And now, that lovely feeling seemed to be hovering around me more and more and especially earlier when I was standing with my feet in the sea and absorbing the heady scent of seaweed.
Catherine poked her head around the door. ‘Dinner’s ready, come on, you two. I am sure Olivia could do with a break from hearing about seaweed.’
‘No, not at all,’ I said, as we followed her out. ‘It’s giving me some ideas.’
‘Really?’ She glanced behind at me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, nothing…’
If only, I thought. If only I could pick it up again. A million questions without answers tumbled into my head. What about London? How would I make money? Who would buy from me? How could I compete with all the billions of products out there? How on earth would I finance it? Where would I live?
There was no sign of Will in the kitchen, which was probably a good thing as I was starting to think about him too much, especially him coming out of the sea like some kind of Poseidon. That is, if Poseidon wore Hawaiian trunks and a towel around his neck, the water droplets hovering on his smooth skin.
‘I want to sit next to Olivia,’ said Jake. ‘She wants to know about my collection.’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘It’s very interesting.’
Catherine moved up a seat to let Jake in, while he slipped a book on the table in front of me.
‘You can borrow this,’ he said. ‘I learned a lot from it.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘If you’re sure? I promise I will look after it and bring it back.’
The book reminded me of the one I had from the library all those years ago which had old remedies and recipes for making medicines and creams from plants. There was a recipe for a seaweed soak, where you washed the seaweed and added it to salted bathwater. Or another where you extract the oils from bladderwrack and combine with other oils as a base for a body moisturiser. I even had a vision of me on the market stall again, freezing in the winter, hands around a mug of coffee, talking to customers and even hardier stallholders.
Dermot began serving out the stew, handing the bowls down the table.
‘Will is looking so much healthier,’ said Catherine, turning to me. ‘He arrived back in Ireland a bit of a wreck. Thin, unhealthy, unhappy…’
‘It’s the sea swimming,’ said Dermot. ‘The old ancient cure.’
‘You say that as though it didn’t take a team of horses to get you in that first day,’ said Catherine.
Dermot looked at me. ‘I have never been renowned for my bravery,’ he said. ‘I would quite happily never take a risk in my life. But Cath here… well, she doesn’t stop. And now you’re back. Drithle is making a return! Did she tell you about it?’
‘Olivia knows all about it,’ said Catherine. ‘She’s getting my first commission, the daisy chain. And I was thinking I could remake them in silver, and make bracelets and necklaces. And I was on to the council and there are a couple of free stalls for the Sunday market, starting in September, that would give me enough time to prepare. And, of course, we can sell some of the jewellery in the shop, can’t we?’
Dermot nodded. ‘We may have to take on another staff member, someone to do the daily running of the shop, the arranging and all that, and I will focus on the ordering and the weddings.’
‘I haven’t felt like this for years.’ Catherine grinned at us. ‘Something for me.’
‘I have my seaweed,’ said Jake. ‘You have your jewellery and Daddy has his plants and flowers and Will has his bottles,’ said Jake.
‘Bottles?’ Was Will an alcoholic?
‘You know the surgery is the old pharmacy?’ said Dermot. ‘Well, when the building came up for lease, no one wanted it because there’s a preservation order on the outside and the internal building and there was an old glass-blowing factory at the back. The shelves are all made of teak and there were cabinets and mirrors and all these hundreds of…’
‘Millions,’ said Jake. ‘Trillions.’
‘…bottles.’
‘I work there,’ said Jake. ‘He’s given me a job. I sweep the floor and I have to wash the bottles. I’ve done twenty-five so far. I hose them down and leave them to dry outside.’
‘There are even more bottles in the old glass-blowing factory behind it,’ said Dermot. ‘And huge ones with glass lids.’
‘A world before plastic,’ said Catherine. ‘Everything handmade and reusable.’
‘So it’s been quite a project for him. Therapy,’ said Dermot. ‘He came home a bit battered, slept on our sofa for two months and got himself sorted. There’s great healing to be done in Ireland,’ he went on. ‘You forget when you’re living abroad what actually being in Ireland means, how you’re treated, how people are actually interested in you.’
‘I always thought it was nosiness,’ I said.
‘Oh, there’s that,’ laughed Dermot. ‘But there’s the other kind as well.’
I put my hand on my locket and thought of Mum walking up the main street of Sandycove knowing that people were gossiping about her and that they knew everything that had happened. I don’t know how she faced them all down and built her business. She’d weathered her storm for the both of us.
There were footsteps on the stairs. ‘Ah, talk of the devil.’
And there he was, dressed, hair still damp, face still glowing from the swim. ‘Hello, everyone.’ He smiled at everyone, his eyes falling upon me. ‘Olivia, hello.’ Pablo was at his heels.
‘Hello.’
‘Stew, Will?’ said Dermot, standing up. ‘You sit beside Olivia there.’
‘So, what were you all talking about?’ asked Will, sitting down and reaching up to take the bowl passed over by Dermot. I could feel Pablo settle down beside Will’s shoes.
‘Olivia is thinking of resurrecting her business again,’ said Catherine. ‘Do you remember that stall, years ago, in Dún Laoghaire market… the one that used to sell lovely soaps and creams? I used to get a rose and… What was it again, Olivia?’
‘Calendula.’
‘Calendula! That’s it, why do I keep forgetting? It was so soothing, I can feel it now. And my hands would be so cracked and sore and aching I couldn’t hold a paintbrush and then I used this cream and it was miraculous. And then you were gone…’
‘I think I remember,’ Dermot said. ‘But I was too interested in the vinyl stall and the
guy who made these amazing sausage rolls.’
‘You’re such a philistine,’ said Catherine, shaking her head.
‘Fred had the record stall,’ I said. ‘And it was Werner who made those sausage rolls. They were both so nice. On really cold days, Fred would make us all have a disco before we were open to warm us all up and Werner would give every stallholder a sausage roll. The camaraderie was amazing.’
I could still taste those sausage rolls, drinking tea from Margaret’s tea and cake stall, the anticipation of another day’s selling in front of us.
‘Why did you give it up?’
‘It fell apart,’ I said, feeling foolish as I spoke, my cheeks going redder, but for the first time I felt protective over the younger me. ‘I wanted to just be invisible for a while. I took a break and then never went back. I’ve been working in London ever since.’
‘Everyone runs out of confidence in their twenties,’ Will said. ‘It’s normal.’
Catherine and Dermot were nodding. ‘Totally normal.’
‘We all do things at that age that looking back aren’t quite in our best interests.’
‘You got married,’ said Dermot to him. ‘I gave up law in college. Which was actually a good decision. But at the time, I was having a massive life wobble. My girlfriend at the time told me she didn’t want to end up with someone who wasn’t going to be earning more than 100K a year and basically left me for a man who is now a QC. And so I got a job in the Craft’s Council on reception, answering phones… which is where I met the beautiful Catherine Duffy.’
Catherine smiled. ‘And the rest is history.’
‘And then I got a job for this amazing florist in town, and I learned the business that way,’ said Dermot. ‘Even did the flowers for my ex-girlfriend’s wedding.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘She wanted me to give them a reduction in costs, but… Catherine wouldn’t let me.’
They laughed as Catherine shrugged. ‘Cheek of her!’
‘So, do you think you will bring your business back then?’ asked Will.
‘I was only saying it would be nice,’ I said. ‘But I can’t afford it. I mean, I would need to rent a place to make everything, a distilling machine and then bottling… I used to do it at my mum’s kitchen table but now… it would be impossible.’ I sounded like Cara, batting away everyone’s ideas for how she should live her life.
‘I have a place at the back of the surgery,’ said Will. ‘It’s a small outhouse that used to be a glass-blower’s years ago. I found so many bottles there when I was clearing it out. But it’s clean, and warm and right in the village.’
Dermot was nodding. ‘I was telling her about it.’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I couldn’t afford to do anything at the moment.’ That glow in my stomach was for dreaming, not for real life. ‘I was only thinking out loud.’
‘But you must,’ said Dermot. ‘Dream-following should be mandatory. Never give up on dreams.’ All eyes turned to me.
The glow was completely gone. What had I been thinking? I was a follower, not a leader. I was just me. And just me wasn’t good enough. I was going back to London, and that was that.
20
Jeremy: Why are you not responding to my texts? I thought we were going to be friends?
Jeremy: FFS Olivia! Come on!
Jeremy: It’s very rude to ignore people you know.
Me: I’m really busy. Sorry.
Jeremy: You can tell you went to a State School. Rude.
Roberto: Hello Princess Liv… Just sending hearts across the Irish Sea! Love is in the air! Tra-la-la!
Me: Have you been drinking?
Roberto: Only a love potion!
Me: Tell me EVERYTHING!
Roberto: All in good time. Will tell you all the juicy gossip when you make your triumphant return. LOVE YOU COMPLETELY! PS Have just made an apple crumble. Prouder than anything I have ever done. Bought the custard though.
Me: Really?!?!
Roberto: Is it possible to be in love with an apple crumble? Because I am. OB-sessed.
I spent the weekend making lists for the midsummer festival with Bronagh, reading Jake’s book and dreaming of seaweed, and in constant argument with myself about what to do with my life. Why was I feeling the pull of Sandycove? I tried to remind myself why I had left Sandycove in the first place, but when I thought of Mum and what she’d been through, I felt like a wimp.
The seaweed book was proving fascinating. Who knew that seaweed was so incredibly good for your skin, all those amino acids and vitamins and minerals? I was learning a great deal. But this was all just fantasy, I couldn’t afford to start up all over again. In London, I was on a trajectory… to God knows where, but it was at least a trajectory. You couldn’t just get off one at the age of thirty-two… could you?
And I also kept thinking of Will. And it wasn’t just the handsome face or the way his shoulders had glistened with seawater… but I liked everything I had seen so far about him. His kindness to Mum, his lovely brother and sister-in-law and nephew… I wanted to know more.
Monday morning and Jessica was back from Barcelona. ‘Buenos dias!’ She handed me a paper bag, with a gold ribbon tied on the handle. ‘Just a little present,’ she said. ‘It’s not much.’
‘Jess… you shouldn’t have.’ I untied the ribbon and pulled out the tissue-wrapped present inside.
‘It’s only small,’ she said.
It was a tiny, swirly blue jug with the word ‘alegría’ painted on the outside.
‘It means “joy”,’ she said. ‘I thought of you.’
For a moment I thought I was going to cry. ‘Oh, Jessica! It’s beautiful.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m glad you like it,’ she said. She was smiling, pleased at my reaction.
‘So how was the weekend?’
‘Oh…’ Her smile faded a level, like turning the sound down. ‘We had the best time.’ Her enthusiasm seemed forced.
‘Why don’t we have our drinks and you can tell me all about it?’ I placed the little jug on the counter by the till. ‘I’ll put some flowers in it,’ I said. ‘Brighten up the shop.’
‘Barcelona is beautiful,’ said Jessica, when we sat at the little table in the kitchen. ‘We wandered around, went to the football museum…’
‘Oh yes?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Boys will be boys, and I didn’t mind. I was thinking how much Ellie-Mae and Frankie would have loved it. And it was quite interesting, all those cups they’ve won, the history of the club. And then we drank cava and ate lots of tapas.’
‘How did Ellie-Mae and Frankie get on without you?’
‘They had a lovely time! Spent the weekend being spoilt rotten and eating sweets and sleeping in a tent in the garden which my brother had put up for them.’ Why was I under the impression that the kids had a better time than Jessica on her romantic weekend away? But I couldn’t pry because I was probably wrong and looking for trouble where there wasn’t any.
‘How was dinner?’ I said to Jessica, as she sipped her matcha. ‘Remember you were going to wear that top?’
‘Oh yes!’ Another almost-imperceptible shadow flickered across her face. ‘I just wore one of my old tops. The one-shouldered one felt a bit… sexy… I don’t know… I felt a bit silly. I’m just getting too old for that kind of thing.’
‘Really?’ I was confused and couldn’t imagine Jessica looking anything but incredible in that top. ‘I bet you looked amazing. And you’re never too old to wear anything… isn’t that our philosophy in Nell’s? Don’t we laugh in the face of ageism? I’ve seen you style our older customers in jeans and trainers, and didn’t you dress that woman who was on her fourth wedding in a silver jumpsuit? And didn’t she look great?’
Jessica nodded. ‘She did, but… oh, you know…’ She smiled again. ‘I’m just going through a crisis of confidence. Like the one Catherine went through, except mine is taking longer to get over… Anyway, it’s nice to be back home, that’s all. You know what it’s like. Nice to
go away, nicer to come home. And work! My haven.’
‘Your haven?’ However much you loved your work, I had very rarely heard it described as someone’s haven. And mine, with Maribelle, was the very opposite of haven, it was the source of a gnawing ulcer. No wonder Maribelle drank too much. Working with her was bad enough, being her must be truly terrible.
‘Work is my haven,’ said Jessica. ‘Isn’t it everyone’s? You choose where you work. It should be a good thing, right?’ She gave a laugh. ‘It sounds silly when I have a lovely home and two beautiful kids… but it’s nice to come to work and feel happy.’
‘It’s really hard to be happy in work when you have a boss who’d rather undergo a smear test on a bed of nails than be nice,’ I said. ‘If her tea did not match her Pantone colour card exactly or if her phone ran out of battery, then she would release all kinds of hell. And it was almost always Maribelle’s fault – timekeeping or forgetting things, or losing a charger – but she would blame me. I just had to keep one step ahead, have copies of all her papers, always have a spare battery pack, double-check times of meetings and tell her that it was a half-hour earlier than it actually was.’
Jessica pulled a face. ‘Okay, so not a haven then,’ she said.
‘And there was the time she had forgotten to order some kind of PlayStation thing for Sasha – her son – and she sent me out to get one. On December the twenty-third. Obviously I failed. I had to endure forty-three minutes of shouting, while I cowered in the office counting down the minutes until she ran out of steam.’
‘She sounds like a nightmare.’
‘She’s struggling with a few things,’ I said. ‘Which is why I am here while she sorts herself out.’
But it wasn’t Maribelle I was thinking about, it was Jessica. Something was wrong, I was increasingly sure of it. Was it Damien? Could it be something else?
‘Jess…’ I began, but there was a knock on the window and a woman was waving in.
Jessica went over to unlock the door.
Life's What You Make It Page 16