‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ I say, lacking all sincerity. ‘Did they say why?’
‘Yes, in fact they did. It seems a certain person in our company advised them that to recreate the look of the period cottage properly, they should demand that the builders carry out excess work. Guess what? The builders weren’t entirely interested in their list that included,’ I hear paper rustling and he reads aloud, ‘“Exposed beams, exposed brickwork, log-burning stove, open fires …” The list goes on. So now they’ve backed out.’
‘It sounds reasonable enough to me. The builders were recreating period cottages without any period features. Does that make sense to you?’
‘Who cares? Joyce, you were only supposed to let them in to measure for their couch. Douglas had sold this place to them already when you were … out.’
‘Evidently, he didn’t.’
‘Joyce, I need you to stop turning our clients away. Do you need to be reminded that your job is to sell, and if you’re not doing that then…’
‘Then what?’ I say haughtily, my head getting hot.
‘Then nothing,’ he softens. ‘I know you’ve had a difficult time,’ he begins awkwardly.
‘That time is over and has nothing to do with my ability to sell a house,’ I snap.
‘Then sell one,’ he finishes.
‘Fine.’ I snap my phone shut and glare out the bus window at the city. A week back at work and already I need a break.
‘Doris, is this really necessary?’ Justin moans from the bathroom.
‘Yes!’ she calls. ‘This is what we’re here for. We have to make sure you’re going to look right tonight. Hurry up, you take longer than a woman to get changed.’
Doris and Al are sitting on the end of their bed in a Dublin hotel, not the Shelbourne, much to Doris’s dismay. It is more of a Holiday Inn, but it’s central to the city and shopping streets and that’s good enough for her. As soon as they’d landed earlier that morning, Justin had been all set to show them around the sites, the museums, churches and castles, but Doris and Al had other things on their minds. Shopping. The Viking tour was as cultured as they got and Doris had howled when water had sprayed her in the face on entry into the River Liffey. They’d ended up rushing to the nearest rest room so that Al could wash the mascara out of her eye.
There were only hours to go until the opera, until he would finally discover the identity of this mystery person. He was filled with anxiety, excitement and nerves at the thought of it. It would be an evening of sheer torture or pleasantries depending on his luck. He had to figure out an escape plan if his worst-case scenario was to play out.
‘Oh, hurry up, Justin,’ Doris howls again and he fixes his tie and exits the bathroom.
‘Work it, work it, work it!’ Doris whoops as he strolls up and down the bedroom in his best suit. He pauses in front of them and fidgets awkwardly, feeling like a little boy in his communion suit.
He is greeted by silence. Al, who has been shovelling popcorn in his mouth at a serious speed, also stops.
‘What?’ he says nervously. ‘Something wrong? Something on my face? Is there a stain?’ He looks down, studying himself.
Doris rolls her eyes and shakes her head. ‘Ha-ha very funny. Now seriously, stop wasting time and show us the real suit.’
‘Doris!’ Justin exclaims. ‘This is the real suit!’
‘That’s your best suit?’ she drawls, looking him up and down.
‘I think I recognise that from our wedding.’ Al’s eyes narrow.
Doris stands up and picks up her handbag. ‘Take it off,’ she says calmly.
‘What? Why?’
She takes a deep breath. ‘Just take it off. Now.’
‘These are too formal, Kate.’ I turn my nose up at the dresses she has chosen. ‘It’s not a ball, I just need something …’
‘Sexy,’ Frankie says, waving a little dress in front of me.
‘It’s an opera, not a nightclub.’ Kate whips it away from her. ‘OK, look at this. Not formal, not slutty.’
‘Yes, you could be a nun,’ Frankie says sarcastically.
They both turn away and continue to root through the rails.
‘Aha! I got it,’ Frankie announces.
‘No, I’ve found the perfect one.’
They both spin round with the same dresses in their hand, Kate holding one in red, Frankie holding the black. I chew on my lip.
‘Stop it!’ they say in unison.
‘Oh my God,’ Justin whispers.
‘What? You’ve never seen a pink pinstripe before? It’s divine. Worn with this pink shirt and this pink tie, oh, it would be perfect. Oh, Al, I wish you’d wear suits like this.’
‘I prefer the blue,’ Al disagrees. ‘The pink is a bit gay. Or maybe that’s a good idea in case she turns out to be a disaster. You can tell her your boyfriend’s waiting for you. I can back you up on that,’ he offers.
Doris stares at him with loathing. ‘See, isn’t this so much better than that other thing you were wearing? Justin? Earth to Justin? What on earth are you looking at? Oh, she’s pretty.’
‘That’s Joyce,’ he whispers. He had once read that a blue-throated hummingbird had a heart rate of one thousand two hundred and sixty beats per minute, and he’d wondered how on earth anything could survive that. He understood now. With each beat, his heart pushed out blood and sent it flowing around his body. He felt his entire body throb, pulsate in his neck, his wrists, his heart, his stomach.
‘That’s Joyce?’ Doris asks, shocked. ‘The phone woman? Well, she looks … normal, Justin. What do you think, Al?’
Al looks her up and down and nudges his brother. ‘Yeah, she looks real normal. You should ask her out once and for all.’
‘Why are you both so surprised she looks normal?’ Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
‘Well, sweetie, the very fact that she exists is a surprise,’ Doris snorts. ‘The fact that she’s pretty is damn near a miracle. Go on, ask her out for dinner tonight.’
‘I can’t tonight.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve got the opera!’
‘Opera shopera. Who cares about that?’
‘You have been talking about it non-stop for over a week. And now it’s opera shopera?’ Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
‘Well, I didn’t want to alarm you before but I was thinking about it on the plane on the way over and …’ she takes a deep breath and touches his arm gently, ‘it can’t be Jennifer Aniston. There’s just going to be some old lady sitting in the front row waiting for you with a bouquet of flowers that you don’t even want, or some overweight guy with bad breath. Sorry, Al, I don’t mean you.’ She touches his arm apologetically.
Al misses the insult he’s so upset about the bombshell she’s dropped. ‘What? But I brought my autograph book!’
Justin’s heart beats the speed of a hummingbird’s heart, his mind now at the speed of its wings. He can barely think, everything is happening too fast. Joyce, far more beautiful up close than he remembers, her newly short hair soft around her face. She is beginning to move away now. He has to do something quick. Think, think, think!
‘Ask her out tomorrow night,’ Al suggests.
‘I can’t! My exhibition is tomorrow.’
‘Skip it. Call in sick.’
‘I can’t, Al! I’ve been working on this for months, I’m the damn curator, I have to be there.’ Thump-thump, thump-thump.
‘If you don’t ask her out, I will.’ Doris pushes him.
‘She’s busy with her friends.’
Joyce starts to move away.
Do something!
‘Joyce!’ Doris calls out.
‘Jesus Christ.’ Justin tries to turn round and scarper in the other direction but both Al and Doris block him.
‘Justin Hitchcock,’ a voice says loudly and he stops trying to break through their barrier and slowly turns round. The lady standing beside Joyce is familiar. She has a baby in a stroller beside her.
‘Justin Hitchcock.’ The girl
reaches her hand out. ‘Kate McDonald.’ She shakes his hand firmly. ‘I was at your talk last week in the National Gallery. It was incredibly interesting,’ she smiles. ‘I didn’t know you knew Joyce,’ she smiles brightly and elbows Joyce. ‘Joyce, you never said! I was at Justin Hitchcock’s talk just last week! Remember I told you? The painting about the woman and the letter? And the fact that she was writing it?’
Joyce’s eyes are wide and startled. She looks from her friend to Justin and back again.
‘She doesn’t know me, exactly,’ Justin finally speaks up and feels a slight tremble in his voice. The adrenalin is surging through him so much he feels as if he’s about to take off like a rocket through the department store’s roof. ‘We’ve passed one another on many occasions but never had the opportunity to meet properly.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Joyce, I’m Justin.’
She reaches out to take his hand and static electricity rushes through as they get a quick shock from one another.
They both let go quickly. ‘Whoa!’ She pulls back and cradles her hand in the other, as though burned.
‘Oooh,’ Doris sings.
‘It’s static electricity, Doris. Caused when the air and materials are dry. They should use a humidifier in here,’ Justin says like a robot, not moving his eyes from Joyce’s face.
Frankie cocks her head and tries not to laugh. ‘Charming.’
‘I tell him that all the time,’ Doris says angrily.
After a moment, Joyce extends her hand again to finish the handshake properly. ‘Sorry, I just got a—’
‘That’s OK, I got it too,’ he smiles.
‘Nice to meet you, finally,’ she says.
They remain holding hands, just staring at one another. A line of Doris, Justin and Al standing opposite Joyce’s party of three.
Doris clears her throat noisily. ‘I’m Doris, his sister-in-law.’
She reaches diagonally over Justin and Joyce’s handshake to greet Frankie.
‘I’m Frankie.’
They shake hands. While doing so, Al reaches over diagonally to shake hands with Kate. It becomes a hand-shaking marathon as they all greet at once, Justin and Joyce finally releasing hold of one another.
‘Would you like to go for dinner tonight with Justin?’ Doris blurts out.
‘Tonight?’ Joyce’s mouth drops.
‘She would love to,’ Frankie answers for her.
‘Tonight, though?’ Justin turns to face Doris with wide eyes.
‘Oh, it’s no problem, Al and I want to eat alone anyway,’ she nudges him. ‘No point being the gooseberry,’ she smiles.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stick to your other plans tonight?’ Joyce says, slightly confused.
‘Oh, no,’ Justin shakes his head, ‘I’d love to have dinner with you. Unless of course you have plans?’
Joyce turns to Frankie. ‘Tonight? I have that thing, Frankie …’
‘Oh, no, don’t be silly. It doesn’t really make a difference now, does it?’ She widens her eyes. ‘We can have drinks any other time.’ Frankie waves her hand dismissively. ‘Where are you taking her?’ She smiles sweetly at Justin.
‘The Shelbourne Hotel?’ Doris says. ‘At eight?’
‘Oh I’ve always wanted to eat there,’ Kate sighs. ‘Eight suits her fine,’ she responds.
Justin smiles and looks at Joyce. ‘Does it?’
Joyce seems to consider this, her mind ticking at the same rate as his heart.
‘You’re absolutely sure you’re happy to cancel your other plans for tonight?’ Frown lines appear on her forehead.
Her eyes bore into his and guilt overcomes him as he thinks of whoever he is currently making arrangements to stand up.
He gives a single nod and is unsure of how convincing it seems.
Sensing this, Doris begins to pull him away. ‘Well, it was wonderful to meet you all but we really better get back to shopping. Nice to meet you, Kate, Frankie, Joyce sweetie.’ She gives her a quick hug. ‘Enjoy dinner. At eight. Shelbourne Hotel. Don’t forget now.’
‘Red or black?’ Joyce holds up the two dresses to Justin, before he’s pulled away.
He considers this carefully. ‘Red.’
‘Black it is, then,’ she smiles, mirroring their first and only conversation from the hair salon, the first day they met.
He laughs and allows Doris to drag him away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
‘What the hell did you do that for, Doris?’ Justin asks as they walk back towards their hotel.
‘You’ve gone on and on about this woman for weeks and now you’ve finally got a date with her. What’s so wrong with that?’
‘I have plans tonight! I can’t just stand the person up.’
‘You don’t even know who they are!’
‘It doesn’t matter, it’s still rude.’
‘Justin, seriously, listen to me. This whole Thank You message thing could honestly be somebody playing a cruel joke.’
He narrows his eyes with suspicion. ‘Is it?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’
‘I have no idea,’ Al shrugs, beginning to pant.
Doris and Justin slow down immediately, taking baby steps.
Justin sighs.
‘Would you rather risk going to something where you have no idea what or who to expect? Or go to dinner with a pretty lady, who you are absolutely crazy about and have been thinking about for weeks?’
‘Come on,’ Al joins in, ‘when’s the last time you felt like this about anyone? I don’t even think you were like this with Jennifer.’
Justin smiles.
‘So, bro, what’s it gonna be?’
‘You should really take something for that heartburn, Mr Conway,’ I can hear Frankie telling Dad in the kitchen.
‘Like what?’ Dad asks, enjoying the company of two young ladies.
‘Christian gets that all the time,’ Kate says, and I hear Sam’s babbling echo around the kitchen.
Dad babbles back at him, imitating his non-words.
‘Oh, it’s called, em …’ Kate thinks, ‘I can’t remember what it’s called.’
‘You’re the same as me,’ Dad says to her. ‘You’ve got CRAFT too.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Can’t. Remember. A. Fuc—’
‘OK, I’m coming!’ I call down the stairs to Kate, Frankie and Dad.
‘Yahooo!’ Frankie hollers.
‘OK, I’ve got the camera ready!’ Kate calls.
Dad starts making trumpet noises as I walk down the stairs and I start to laugh. I keep an eye on Mum’s photo on the hall table as I walk down the steps, maintaining eye contact with her all the way as she looks up at me. I wink at her as I pass.
As soon as I step into the hall and turn to them in the kitchen, they all go quiet.
My smile fades. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, Joyce,’ Frankie whispers as though it’s a bad thing, ‘you look beautiful.’
I sigh with relief and join them in the kitchen.
‘Do a twirl.’ Kate films with the video camera.
I spin in my new red dress while Sam claps his podgy hands.
‘Mr Conway, you haven’t said anything!’ Frankie nudges him. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’
We all turn to face Dad, who has gone silent, eyes filled with tears. He nods up and down quickly, but no words come.
‘Oh, Dad,’ I reach out and wrap my arms around him, ‘it’s only a dress.’
‘You look beautiful, love,’ he manages to say. ‘Go get him, kiddo.’ He gives me a kiss on the cheek and hurries into the living room, embarrassed by his emotion.
‘So,’ Frankie says smiling, ‘have you decided whether it’s going to be dinner or the opera tonight?’
‘I still don’t know.’
‘He asked you out to dinner,’ Kate says. ‘Why do you think he’d rather go to the opera.’
‘Because firstly, he didn’t ask me out for dinner. His sister-in-law did. And I didn’t s
ay yes. You did.’ I glare at Kate. ‘I think it’s killing him not knowing whose life he saved. He didn’t seem so convinced at the end, before he left the shop, did he?’
‘Stop reading so much into it,’ Frankie says. ‘He asked you out so go out.’
‘But he looked guilty to be standing the opera date up.’
‘I don’t know,’ Kate disagrees. ‘He seemed to really want you at that dinner.’
‘It’s a tough decision,’ Frankie summarises. ‘I would not like to be in your shoes.’
‘Hey, they’re my shoes,’ Kate says, insulted. ‘Why can’t you just come clean and tell him that it’s you?’
‘My way of coming clean was supposed to be him seeing me at the opera. This was going to be it, the night he found out.’
‘So go to dinner and tell him that it was you all along.’
‘But what if he goes to the opera?’
We talk in circles for a while longer, and when they leave, I discuss the pros and cons of both situations with myself until my head is spinning so much I can’t think any more. When the taxi arrives, Dad walks me to the door.
‘I don’t know what you girls were in such deep conversation about but I know you’ve to make a decision about something. Have you made it?’ Dad asks softly.
‘I don’t know, Dad.’ I swallow hard. ‘I don’t know what the right decision is.’
‘Of course you do. You always take your own route, love. You always have.’
‘What do you mean?’
He looks out to the garden. ‘See that trail there?’
‘The garden path?’
He shakes his head and points to a track in the lawn where the grass has been trampled on and the soil is slightly visible beneath. ‘You made that path.’
‘What?’ I’m confused now.
‘As a little girl,’ he smiles. ‘We call them “desire lines” in the gardening world. They’re the tracks and trails that people make for themselves. You’ve always avoided the paths laid down by other people, love. You’ve always gone your own way, found your own way, even if you do eventually get to the same point as everybody else. You’ve never taken the official route,’ he chuckles to himself. ‘No, indeed you haven’t. You’re certainly your mother’s daughter, cutting the corners, creating spontaneous paths, while I’d stick to the routes and make my way the long way round.’ He smiles as he reminisces.
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