Life's What You Make It

by Sian O'Gorman

  I hugged her. ‘It’s exciting, it really is.’

  ‘I may lose the house, but we’ll be all right. I’m determined we’ll be all right. And your Mum has offered us the flat above the shop if we need it.’

  I hugged her again. ‘And I’m around to help and do whatever I can.’

  ‘Thanks, Olivia,’ she said.

  ‘Ah, Olivia!’ Betty came over to us, still barefoot, and Jennifer-Louise and Graham were behind her, holding hands. ‘I must congratulate you on this evening. It is a very commendable effort,’ said Betty, slurring her words slightly.

  ‘It’s more than commendable,’ said Jennifer-Louise. ‘Graham and I were just saying that you and Bronagh have done a brilliant job. There is such a lovely atmosphere and the food is to die for.’

  ‘I am going to put you down for next year, yes?’ said Betty. ‘Jennifer-Louise will be far too busy with the baby. And anyway, now you are staying…’

  I actually couldn’t wait to organise it next year. Flamethrowers, I was thinking, Oberon and Titania moving through the crowd, greenery, as though we were in a forest… and then there was a shout from the street at the end of the car park.

  ‘YOU FILTHY ANIMAL! YOU DISGUSTING MAN!’

  Everyone looked up to see Bernard Murphy running down the road, his face a vision of pure panic, naked (it looked like, anyway) except for his butcher’s coat, his white hairy legs sticking out. Mrs Murphy, Bernard’s wife, a meat mallet in her hand, sprinted after him. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move at the back of the church – it was Mrs O’Keefe – running through the graveyard, Bernard’s straw boater on her head.

  33

  On stage, Bronagh had taken the microphone. ‘And now in a slight change to the programme…’ She was smiling right down at me. ‘This next act has flown in all the way from London. I think you’re all going to enjoy… our very special guest… he hasn’t been back in Ireland for fifteen years… but he’s made the extra-special effort for the midsummer festival… for one night only!’

  The music began… the unmistakeable sound of ‘Spinning Around’ by Kylie. No. It couldn’t be. I looked over at Mum, who winked.

  ‘Get your dancing shoes on,’ shouted Bronagh, ‘put your hands together for MISSSSSSSSS MINOGUE!’

  And there on stage was Roberto, in his Miss Minogue costume of hot pants, blonde wig and full make-up and looking fabulous as per usual. At that moment, I felt my heart might overflow with love. My friends, my family, everything I needed in life was right here at this moment. I was completely and utterly blessed and so incredibly lucky. I should be so lucky? I was so lucky.

  ‘How did this happen?’ I shouted over to Mum. ‘Did you know?’

  ‘He called me yesterday,’ she said, grinning. ‘He wanted to surprise you!’

  I’d seen his act a hundred times before but the reaction of the Sandycove crowd was phenomenal, the whole car park shaking as people danced their hearts out and their feet off. Every word to the songs was shouted, as people hung off each other, eyes closed, arms outstretched, as though we all were high on life, intoxicated by this great collective experience.

  I was dancing, singing harder than anyone, but as I swung around, I crashed straight into someone tall, someone who was putting two hands on my arms and someone who was calling my name. ‘Olivia!’

  Will. My flower crown nearly fell off. I stopped dancing and stared up at him. Where was his wife? It felt like weeks since I’d seen him, not a matter of hours. He was smiling as though nothing had happened. But everything had changed. Everything was different. Even Pablo was different. He ran straight up to my ankles and licked them, as though he was pleased to see me.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said to Will. ‘I understand.’ I wanted to explain that it was okay, I was okay, and he didn’t need to feel bad about anything. It didn’t matter because I was staying here and I couldn’t wait to get started on my next adventure.

  ‘Understand what?’ He shouted above the music. ‘I couldn’t get mobile reception… I tried to call from the service station, but we had to get there so quickly…’

  ‘Where? What service station?’ I shouted into his ear above the sing-shouting of everyone in the car park.

  ‘I’ve only just got back from Listowel,’ he said, ‘six hours in the car, I kept my foot down all the way. Pablo was carsick… but…’ He was still smiling as though he was pleased to see me, as though it was still Thursday night and he hadn’t left me for his ex-wife. But then again, where was she? And what were they doing in Listowel? No one went to Kerry on an overnight trip.

  ‘Elizabeth – my ex-wife – flew in on Thursday morning…’

  I smiled at him. ‘I don’t need any…’

  He shook his head, as though I didn’t understand, pulling me to one side, away from the noise. ‘Her father was dying,’ he said. ‘She flew in on Friday morning on the red-eye from New York, but then there was a problem with her car hire. She was desperate to see her father and so she called me.’ He shrugged. ‘I had no choice but to go and pick her up. And we drove all the way down, and I kept thinking I should phone you, but then something else would happen. We were at the hospital for the whole of yesterday.’ He shrugged. ‘Poor Elizabeth. I did feel sorry for her, but… well, I left her there. I told her I had someone to see. I left as early as I could and drove straight back. There was no way I wanted to miss the festival.’ He smiled again. ‘And I was missing you!’

  I nodded, not knowing how to respond. I was trying to take it all in.

  ‘I can’t tell you how happy I was to get in the car again,’ he said, still smiling, ‘knowing I would see you again.’

  I was still confused. ‘But why didn’t you call?’

  ‘I kept trying, but it wasn’t working, and then by the time I was on the road again, I knew I’d see you soon.’ He smiled at me. ‘And here I am.’ His hand was holding mine, the fairy lights twinkled above us, the sky was the colour of a golden apple as the sun set, and everywhere were the faces of the villagers smiling and laughing and dancing. ‘I am really, really pleased to see you,’ he said.

  On stage, Miss Minogue was speaking into the microphone, the music playing underneath her. ‘And now,’ she was saying, ‘a song for all the lovers out there… the Australian lovers…’ The audience cheered. ‘…And the Irish lovers…’ There was a bigger cheer. ‘…And, most fabulously, the best lovers in the world, this is for the SANDYCOVE LOVERS!’ The crowd went ballistic as she began singing ‘Love At First Sight’.

  I looked at Will and realised that I was really, really pleased to see him too. Perhaps he was going to be part of my new adventure, after all. It might be nice to take someone along with me for the ride and, if I was going to have a sidekick, then the only person I wanted it to be was Will.

  ‘I’m really pleased to see you too,’ I said.

  And then… he kissed me.

  ‘I told Elizabeth about this dark-haired girl who has me bewitched,’ he said, when he pulled back a little. ‘Captivated. Intrigued. I have done nothing but think of you. Your beautiful face, the way your hair kinks at the side. Those three freckles beside your ear, like stepping stones.’

  Joy and love and happiness spread through me like a hot bath on a cold night. Over his shoulder, Mum gave me a thumbs up.

  ‘I’m staying, by the way,’ I shouted again into his ear. ‘I’m not going to London.’

  ‘Now that,’ he said, putting his arms around me and pulling me into his jacket, ‘is the best news I have heard in a very long time. All the way up I was trying to work out how I might persuade you to stay. But then I was telling myself that that was unfair, and… I don’t know. I just knew I wanted to get back home to you.’

  Roberto was standing on stage, basking in the applause. ‘And now, this is for Queen Olivia,’ he said, ‘the queen of Sandycove…’ Betty pulled a face, aghast. ‘Love you, Liv!’ shouted Miss Minogue. ‘This is “On A Night Like This”!’

  And with Will’s hand h
olding mine we joined in as the whole village danced midsummer away. And right on cue there was a huge bang and then a long whiiiiiizzzz as the first firework burst open in the sky. Harry had been right, it was just like dancing with the stars. Remember this moment, Olivia, I said. Because they don’t happen every day. Remember this time in your life when you, the stars and the universe are perfectly aligned.

  Epilogue

  Roberto: Felipe and I were talking about what to wear to the wedding. He thinks hot pants are not suitable.

  Me: Maybe just hot pants, nothing else?

  Roberto: I like it! He’s wearing a suit. He wants me to wear one as well.

  Me: Hot pants under suit? Too itchy?

  Roberto: Nice compromise! Which is the basis of marriage, apparently. Have you got your dress sorted yet?

  Me: Jessica has a few ideas for me. She’s suggested a gold dress with a cape!

  Roberto: Wear it. You’re my superhero Best Woman. Have you spoken to the florist? And the cake lady?

  Me: Catherine and Dermot are doing the flowers. All sorted and will be beautiful. And Janet is making the giant cake. She’s calling it a Queen Victoria Sponge. Seven layers, buttercream, strawberries and cream. Okay with you?

  Roberto: Sounds FABULOUS. As are you.

  Me: I learned it all from you.

  Roberto: Au contraire. My dear Liv, the original fabulista.

  It was a Saturday in April and that evening we’d been invited to a wine-tasting in James’s Deli. He and Alison had had a little girl, Flora, the month before.

  ‘How is Alison doing?’ I asked James, when I popped into the Deli at lunchtime.

  Will, Pablo and I had gone for a chilly morning run, our breath blown in front of us, a sliver of sun peeking out from the horizon. I was getting faster and stronger these days, able to keep up with Will and Pablo as we ran through the village to home. And then I’d spent the morning in the glass-blower’s factory packing up my crates for the next day’s market. I loved my little workshop, with my old cooker where I stirred and melted my beeswax and added my oils. There was a huge old seamstress’ table where I weighed out and mixed all my precious oils and where my soaps would harden into bars and I would wrap and label and pour. I had retrieved my old saucepan and every time I used it, I thought of Mum and her mother in their kitchen and now me in my workshop.

  Will said it was like being in some old French perfume laboratory, he reckoned he could tell if I was making my lavender body oil or if it was a rose-hip day. ‘My nose is becoming quite expert.’ He’d come in and make tea for us both and we’d sit on the old sofa, my feet on his lap, and chat about how my seaweed experiments were going. And tomorrow I was introducing a new product – my silky seaweed body oil. The feedback from all my testers had been hugely positive; everyone from Mum to Catherine to Bronagh all loved it. I’d even made a seaweed bubble bath especially for children, perfect for sensitive skins, and had called it Professor Jake’s Bubble Cave. He loved it more than anyone.

  In the Deli, James was packing up my sandwiches. ‘Alison’s doing brilliantly,’ he said. ‘It’s honestly the best thing that has happened to either of us. Alison’s doing the days, I am on nights. Means I’m a bit tired during the day but nothing that strong coffee and a few vertical catnaps can’t sort out.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re able to do tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘Totally,’ he said. ‘I’ve done it every year since I’ve opened. I’m not going to miss a year. Flora will be with us, though, in her sling. And neither Alison nor I will be drinking very much. We’ll actually just be tasting. By the way,’ he said, ‘there’s someone I would like you to meet.’

  I followed him behind the counter and into the back office – I hadn’t been this side of the counter since that day last June when he’d lost poor Sammy. The office was dark, with just a low light. ‘I don’t want him to have too many bright lights,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’ But then I saw a large, old cardboard vegetable box, which had a folded blanket inside, and on top of that was a golden Labrador puppy. ‘Oh, my God…’ I breathed.

  ‘I know,’ said James. ‘He’s nine weeks old… Alison loves him as much as me.’ He scooped the puppy up, holding him close to his chest and kissing his head. ‘Would you like to hold him?’

  ‘I would love to…’ He put the warm, velvet bundle into my arms. ‘He’s gorgeous,’ I breathed. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Bruce. As in… Springsteen.’

  ‘It’s perfect. He’s perfect.’

  He nodded, agreeing. ‘He really is.’

  I handed Bruce back to James. ‘A new best friend for Flora.’

  After saying goodbye to James, I walked home. It still seemed a little strange that the house on Sandycove Avenue was now my house. I’d stayed with Bronagh until the end of September and then moved in here in October, nervous about living in the house and taking on a step-dog.

  ‘It was yours before it was mine,’ Will kept saying, and I always thought of Mum every time I walked up the path, and of my grandmother. I don’t know if ghosts exist but every time I stepped into the house I had a feeling in my stomach that I was exactly where I was meant to be. The universe had brought me here. I’d worn my locket every day since Mum had first given it to me, and every morning as I put it on, I would say in my head to my grandmother, ‘We miss you and wish you were here, with us.’

  I’d even forgiven Mum’s dad and Aunt Theresa, as much as I could, telling myself that they were a product of their time and were doing what they thought was right. And anyway, Mum and I had been happy, so old resentments needn’t be nursed. We could let it go. And as for Joseph Delaney? I had started trying to find him, but it was going to take some time. Will and I were planning to go to Boston next summer and see what kind of research we could do. ‘We’ll be Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot,’ said Will. ‘We’ll find him.’

  But I didn’t hold out much hope. I’d read Mum’s letters from him and I really liked the sound of him. He was funny and intelligent and kind. At least I had those.

  I stepped into Will’s – our – house. ‘Lunch!’ I called and stood in the hall, the afternoon sun streaming through the stained glass, Pablo bounding down the stairs – he spent most afternoons sleeping on our bed – to greet me. Every time he raced down the stairs, I held my breath, waiting for him to tumble down, the stairs were too big and he was too small. But yet again, he survived and came over and licked me hello. It hadn’t taken him very long to accept me as part of the family.

  Will came out of the kitchen, wrapping his arms around me. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. ‘How was your morning? Did you get much done?’

  ‘All packed up and ready for the market.’

  He and Pablo had taken to coming to my stall every Sunday and it turned out Will was even better than me at all the selling and chatting. He sold far more than me every week. Who wouldn’t want to buy from a charming, handsome man? Catherine’s stall was right next to mine and sometimes Dermot and Jake came down to help out.

  In the evening, the whole village had turned out for the wine-tasting. Bernard and his wife were there – him a shadow of his former avuncular self. And there was Betty and her husband, Jennifer-Louise and Graham with their little baby, Brian, in a sling.

  I waved to Jessica and her mam. I saw Jessica most days when I popped into the shop to say hello. The divorce was proceeding, and although, in the end, she didn’t press charges, Damien had been ordered to stay away from her and the children. He was undergoing anger-management classes and was claiming to have found Buddhism. None of us believed any of this. But Jessica was doing well and every day was stronger than the day before.

  I joined Bronagh and Fergal.

  ‘Oh, there’s Mum,’ said Bronagh, giving Audrey a wave. ‘I told her that we’d be here and she would enjoy the film. And now Dad is golf club chairman which means he’s barely at home, she’s really making an effort to do her own thing.’

  Audrey joined us. ‘Glass o
f wine, Mrs Kelly?’ said Fergal.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Fergal,’ she said. ‘Ask James if he has a nice Syrah… I find it’s the only one that doesn’t give me a terrible head. Fergal, you know what I like. You’re always so good at choosing wine.’ Fergal disappeared to the trestle-table bar. ‘He’s such a nice man, Bronagh,’ she said. ‘But, Bronagh, your dress…’

  Beside me, I could feel Bronagh bracing herself.

  ‘…your dress is very nice,’ ended Audrey.

  ‘Thank you, Mum, yours is too.’

  Last year, Will and I, Fergal and Audrey had all gone to Edinburgh and clapped furiously when Bronagh had gone up on stage to collect the award. Afterwards, we’d had a long, boozy dinner where Audrey had got quite drunk and quite tearful and told Bronagh that she was proud of her. It had had a hugely positive effect on their relationship. Since then, Audrey hadn’t got quite so sloppy or affectionate but she was really making a big effort.

  ‘And how are the plans for your mother’s wedding, Olivia?’ asked Audrey.

  The double proposal had gone brilliantly, by all accounts. Just as Mum was about to say her piece, she looked at Henry who had flung himself to one knee and they both said ‘Yes!’ in unison. And apparently, the ice cream was to die for, as only ice cream eaten in front of the Trevi Fountain, surrounded by the chaos and the fun of tourists of every nationality and basking in the glow of love, can taste.

  ‘It’s only two weeks’ away now,’ I said. ‘And it’s going to be very small… a few of their friends and me… and Will.’

  ‘Her family,’ said Will, his arm around my shoulders. ‘Our family.’

  ‘And we have another wedding coming up,’ I said. ‘My friend Roberto and his boyfriend Felipe. They live in London but are coming to Ireland to get married in Dublin City Hall. I think half of Ballymun has been invited.’