Life's What You Make It

by Sian O'Gorman

  ‘I don’t know how to describe it. We had a lovely evening. Will was great, as you know. We talked and talked and had nice food and all that, but then Jessica called me…’

  I filled Mum in on what had happened. ‘I’ll give her a call,’ she said. ‘See if she’s all right. And also remind her that the flat above the shop is ready to move in to. She and the kids could stay there.’

  There was the beep of a horn from outside.

  ‘Henry’s here!’ she said. ‘I feel like dancing, I really do!’ She attempted some kind of soft-shoe shuffle. ‘I don’t know why, but I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off me. I feel free.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Me too.’

  Mum grabbed my hand. ‘Come on, Olivia, let’s dance.’

  The two of us staggered around for a moment kicking out our legs.

  ‘You’d see better in an old-people’s-home Christmas party.’

  Mum laughed. ‘We could go for line-dancing lessons,’ she said.

  ‘I hope you’re joking…’

  ‘Well, we could if you weren’t going back to London.’

  ‘I’m going to stay in Ireland. I don’t want to go back to London. I’ve been offered redundancy…’ For the first time, it was starting to sink in. This was the opportunity that I had been waiting for.

  ‘Oh, Olivia!’ Mum had tears in her eyes. ‘Now that is the best news ever!’

  There was another gentle beep from outside.

  ‘You’d better go,’ I said, pushing her to the door. ‘We can talk later.’

  Mum hugged me tightly. ‘The best news ever. I love you, Olivia.’

  Outside, Henry was sitting in a rather beautiful green vintage Morris Minor, the roof down.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he called, as we walked over.

  ‘Everything’s wonderful!’ said Mum. ‘We were just testing my hip!’ She winked at me, as she opened the passenger door and slid in.

  ‘Happy birthday, Henry,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘June the twentieth… the sun always shines. I feel very lucky.’ He leaned over to give Mum a kiss and they gave each other the sweetest and dopiest smiles. Just seeing them together made me feel better about the world.

  31

  The morning was quiet in the shop and I managed to finish off the midsummer window display, transforming it into something bold and bright. Each of the three mannequins was clothed in long silk, ethereal dresses – one grass-green, one pale pink and one orange – and just before opening, Catherine and Jake dropped over the wild flowers which were in jam jars. Catherine helped me dot them around the window.

  ‘And the daisies,’ she said. ‘Jake, will you pass me my bag?’

  Wrapped in tissue was a trail of tiny flowers, each silver centre framed by a corona of silvery petals, and each long, spindly stem was slit to slip the next flower through.

  ‘They are a bit delicate,’ said Catherine as she pulled them out, each flower following the next, like a magician pulling out handkerchiefs.

  We coiled them around the flower jam jars, threading their way around the feet of the mannequins, glittering and shining in the morning sunlight through the window. I placed a sign:

  Midsummer flowers donated by The Garden, jewellery by Drithle

  ‘I love it,’ I said. ‘I absolutely love it.’

  ‘Do you?’ Catherine looked pleased. ‘They have come out really well, actually,’ she said. ‘Better than I had thought. What do you think, Jake?’

  He shrugged. ‘They would have been nicer if they’d been seaweed. No one likes daisies. People always mow their grass, so seaweed would have been better because no one mows seaweed.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Catherine. ‘Maybe next time I will do seaweed.’

  He nodded, satisfied.

  ‘My new collection is going to feature daisies,’ said Catherine. ‘I have to have it ready for September for the relaunch.’

  ‘I’ll be joining you,’ I said. ‘I’m going to get my stall back. I’ve already applied to the council for a new stall in the Sunday market. They have some available from September.’

  Catherine gave me a huge hug. ‘Congratulations,’ she said, ‘that’s wonderful news! We can be moral supports for each other, our artists’ collective. I’ll bring the flask of coffee every Sunday morning.’

  ‘Deal.’ We grinned at each other.

  ‘Jake,’ I said. ‘Would you be able to help me collect some seaweed next week? I am going to begin experimenting and I need your brainpower to help me.’

  He nodded, excited. ‘Is it a project?’

  ‘Yes, and I will be relying on your expertise.’

  Jake saluted me. ‘At your service,’ he said.

  ‘I’d better get him to school,’ Catherine said, giving me a kiss goodbye. ‘I’ll drop down the flower crowns for you and Bronagh in the morning, okay?’

  My phone rang. There he is, I thought, excitedly, grabbing it from the counter.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Olivia? It’s Jess.’

  ‘Jess!’ I was so relieved to hear her. ‘How are you? Are you okay? Did you sleep at all?’

  ‘Not too bad,’ she said. ‘I think I finally dropped off at around 3 a.m. But I knew Mam was on her way home because I called her before I went to bed, after you and Dr Butler left… but I just wanted to say thank you for being there. I could have been going round and round in circles all my life and there’s no going back now. But I keep thinking I hear the front door, Damien roaring and shouting outside.’ She paused. ‘And the kids? What if I have scarred them for life? I got their father arrested. In front of them…’

  ‘It’s the first step in giving them a better life,’ I said. ‘At least you’ve got him out.’

  ‘He’s in court this morning,’ she said. ‘I wonder what they will do to him. The Garda liaison officer said they will be looking for a barring order. Not allowed to come near me or the kids and then we’ll have to look into separation and… Oh God. I was thinking that it’s easier just to keep going, keep the head down and no one knows what’s going on. The whole street was out last night, having a good old gawp. But I found flowers on the doorstep this morning – from Mr O’Shea’s garden. He’s so sweet. And Sarah from across the road sent over brownies…’ she swallowed. ‘And Kate next door gave me a huge hug. I do feel a little better now I’m wearing my crown.’

  ‘You should always wear yours. Don’t ever take it off again.’

  ‘Well, you made me do it,’ she said. ‘I just thought that I could almost sacrifice my life so I could keep the marriage going. I was resigned to it being like this for ever, or at least until the kids were eighteen. I didn’t matter, because it was terrifying the thought of what I needed to do to even stop any of it. Because he could be nice – so lovely. But you never knew when he wouldn’t be. And last night, he was kicking off about dinner being scrambled eggs because I didn’t have anything else in. And he got his fork and he…’ She paused. ‘He stuck it in my hand. Not hard. I mean, he didn’t stab me, but I shouted at him, and he stood up and…’ She stopped again. ‘Sorry.’ She began to cry. ‘Normally, he bars my way, or if I manage to run into another room, he’ll follow me and will shout at me until I am crying and he’s kind of got me where he wants me, pathetic and desperate. But last night, I saw Ellie-Mae’s face and she looked… not just terrified, but it was like all her innocence was being ripped from her. All her little-girlness, her Ellie-Maeness. It was horrible and I felt as though I’d been given a shot of adrenaline and I grabbed her and Frankie and ran to the bathroom, and I called you.’

  ‘I’m so glad you did.’

  ‘Dr Butler was the one who called the police,’ she said. ‘I think if he hadn’t, then Damien would still be here. I’ve got my crown on now,’ she said, ‘and I’m not taking it off. It’s like hair extensions. It looks amazing and it’s not coming off unless you cut it off!’

  I still hadn’t heard anything from Will by lunchtime and on my t
rip to pick up a sandwich at James’s, I had to stop myself from taking a detour to the surgery to peer pathetically through the glass. I was beginning to wonder if something was wrong.

  ‘Olivia! Yoo-hoo, Olivia!’ It was Betty.

  ‘Hi, Betty, how are you?’

  ‘Devastated,’ she said. ‘A shell of my former ebullient self. This morning I had to force myself to put on my make-up. Put on your face, Betty, I ordered myself. People expect you to look the way you do, the village looks up to you. And so here I am. I was saying to Dermot Butler how much I owed his brother and wanted to call around with a little thank-you present – not a scented candle, obviously – but apparently he’s gone back to his wife.’

  ‘His wife?’

  ‘She arrived in on the red-eye. And our handsome doctor rushed to her side. So…’ she was looking carefully at me again, ‘he’s off the market again. They always go back to their wives. There’s no point in thinking that they won’t. Ex-wives have a power, a draw… like a moth to the flame.’

  I felt like an old football that had been kicked around too many times and I was worried that all my energy and enthusiasm for moving back to Sandycove had been totally wrapped up in Will. Was I about to rearrange my whole life for him? I’d even resigned from my job, I’d told Roberto that I didn’t need my room and I was all set to come home. For good. Was I really going to do all that because of the promise of romance? There was no way I was ever going to be the kind of person who would upend her life because someone dangles love like a carrot. And anyway, was my London life so bad that I had to leave it? There was so much I loved about London – the city itself, obviously, the fact I had a well-ish paid job, and there was Roberto and the flat and the laughs we had. Being back in Ireland had been like a holiday romance, as though I’d drunk too many pina coladas and wasn’t thinking straight. And the weather wouldn’t always be this good. What about Sandycove in the winter, when the rain doesn’t stop and the wind whistles and the waves wash over your car as you drive along the seafront? Actually, forget that, because those days were arguably even better than a summer’s day, when you nip into The Island for a hot port and warm your hands on the fire.

  But still… it was time to go home, to London. The holiday romance was over. I would ring Valerie and explain I’d changed my mind and could I instead take up one of the other personal assistant jobs? Who said you had to have an incredibly brilliant life, anyway? What was wrong with a perfectly fine, not-going-to-kill-me life?

  The bell rang and a man came into the shop. I looked up, but my smile froze on my face. It was Damien. The charm had all gone, his whole body exuded a kind of barely suppressed fury, his eyes glittered with anger, his tiny mouth gripped and his jaw clenched, his shoulders braced for a prize fight.

  ‘I’m not allowed to go near my wife and my kids because of you,’ he said. ‘I was trying to be a good husband and you go and fucking destroy people’s lives.’

  ‘Damien…’ He was walking towards me. ‘Don’t…’

  ‘None of it was your fucking business… and yet people like you…’ he spat, ‘people like you think you fucking know everything, with your shop, and your fucking love-yourself and everything about you.’

  ‘Damien…’

  ‘You make me sick… you really do.’ He stepped closer and I could smell him, a mix of sweat and something else… something acrid, something mean. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not stupid, whatever you think of me. Much as I would take great pleasure in hurting you, I am not going to give you that. But you haven’t won.’

  I was standing against the counter, trying to plan what to do if he lunged at me. Which was closer, the front door or the back?

  ‘I just want you to know what you have done, what your actions mean for my family. My fucking family, my wife, my kids. My two kids. If I go to my house, I am taken into custody again. If I go near my children, or try to talk to Jess or anything, I can be arrested. My family has been taken away from me and that’s on you. You and the fucking system that is rigged against men like me.’

  ‘Damien… I think that…’

  Someone walked outside the shop window. Please look in, I thought. Or I could call for help?

  ‘They were going to keep me in custody until I appear in court,’ he continued. ‘But if I agree not to contact my own kids, or not to make any contact with my own wife… then I will not have to stay in custody. In fucking custody? Like I am a criminal? Me? An innocent man!’

  ‘I just think…’ I started, not really knowing where I was going with it. Should I say I was sorry and try and be nice and understanding or should I stand my ground? All I knew was that I was scared.

  His eyes, which had been focused on mine, suddenly moved to the till. He jerked forwards and I nearly screamed. He moved quickly towards me, but instead of hitting me, he picked up the little alegría jug which I had filled with some of the wild flowers. ‘She gave you that, didn’t she? From our trip to Barcelona?’ But before I could do anything, he had taken it, holding it in the air for a few seconds before dropping it. We both watched as it bounced and smashed all over the floor, its handle knocked off. And then he smiled, and he sauntered out.

  For a moment, I stood stock-still, too shocked and too scared to move. There were sounds from outside, normal life in the village on Friday afternoon continuing. My hands were trembling as I kneeled down to pick up the broken pieces of the jug. The handle had come off relatively cleanly, a bit of superglue and it would be fine. Broken… but not destroyed. And Jess need never know. What was that Japanese notion of wabi-sabi, where there is beauty in the imperfect, the perfectly imperfect life? Broken pottery took on a new meaning when it was mended. And that was us, all of us, scarred and yet still here.

  And suddenly I knew I was going to stay in Sandycove. This hadn’t been a fleeting flirtation, this was where I wanted my life to be. Will had been a welcome and undoubtedly handsome distraction, and maybe he had even helped me think that coming home was the right move. But I was staying for me. After all, this was where I was from, this was where the ghosts of my family were… and this was where my heart was.

  But first, Damien. Who else was he going to call in on during his wanderings? Jessica’s mam? Her sister? Her friends? I called the guards.

  ‘Thank you for reporting,’ said the officer. ‘We’ll take a drive around and see if we can see him. We’ll have a chat and see if we need to take him in again.’

  Whoever said that nothing happens in Sandycove?

  I locked up and began to walk home, winding my way along the main street, past The Island and Janet’s bakery, and Albatross, and there was James himself sitting inside Albatross. I looked up at Nouveau You with the blackened windows of the flat above, and, in the shop, Betty was sticking up a poster to the inside of her front window.

  Ban deathtrap scented candles!

  Next door, in the butchers, Bernard was scrubbing his great wooden block, and next door was Catherine and Dermot’s flower shop.

  I loved this village, I thought, I wanted to be here for the next chapter in everyone’s lives. I needed to be around for Jessica, if she wanted support, and I wanted to see if Cara went to New York and if she needed me to call in on Shirley. And would James get a new dog, and would Alison ever sell that vegan tofu cake that no one ever seemed to order? And I wanted to go to the market and buy some of Catherine’s jewellery. And actually, more than that, I wanted my own stall with a passion that I could feel. And I wanted to see Bronagh all the time, and be around for Mum. I was ready to come home, where my family and friends were.

  I had liked Will. But, as Roberto would say, his loss. And with my crown on my head, I started walking home.

  I called Bronagh. ‘Are you still coming to Henry’s party? I’ve got some news and I need to celebrate! Bring Fergal!’

  ‘He’s on call for the lifeboat crew,’ she said. ‘He’s swapped shifts around so he can come to the midsummer festival. But what’s the ne
ws?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later!’

  All of Mum and Henry’s social whirl were drinking sparkling wine and eating crisps, the house filled with neighbours, friends, villagers, everyone who knew and loved Mum.

  Henry came up to top up my glass.

  ‘I would really like the benefit of your wisdom,’ he said, quietly, in my ear. ‘I really love your mother. And, with your permission, I am planning on proposing to her when we go to Rome next weekend.’

  I laughed, delighted. ‘I give you my permission,’ I said. ‘But I think she’ll say yes.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He beamed at me. ‘I’m thinking Trevi Fountain, down on one knee, ring proffered expectantly.’ He looked worried for a moment. ‘Do you think that acceptable or tacky? You know your mother best, would that suit a woman of her sophisticated taste?’

  I looked at this lovely man, who obviously made Mum so happy and who had brought all this adventure into her life. ‘I think it’s perfect,’ I said.

  He looked thrilled. ‘I won’t be able to sleep until it’s all over. It’s quite the turmoil.’

  I raised my glass. ‘Bring on turmoil.’

  ‘To turmoil!’ Henry squeezed my arm, before moving on with his bottle of fizz, and I saw Bronagh coming through the door into the kitchen and she spotted me and waved.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ I said, handing her a glass of champagne.

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that what friends are for, to go to their parents’ parties? By the way, the window of Nell’s looks beautiful… I just walked past on my way here. The colours, the flowers, the daisy chain. It’s like a gorgeous midsummer night’s dream.’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ I said, realising that creativity was something I had been longing for, for so long.

  ‘Hello, girls,’ Mum said, coming over to us. ‘Lovely to see you, Bronagh.’