The Secrets of Primrose Square

by Claudia Carroll

  ‘What about all these photos lying around the house?’ she asked innocently, picking up one of the many framed pictures that were dotted on the hall table. ‘This is the real Sam Williams, mister, and you’re definitely not him! You don’t look a bit like him at all.’

  ‘Well done, Melissa!’ Nancy said, trying to sound as calm and cool as she could, even though her heart was hammering. ‘This here,’ she added, waving a photo of a windsurfing Sam, ‘is my landlord, Sam Williams.’ She gave a quick nod to Melissa, who instantly took the hint, rushing around the hall to scoop up even more photographic evidence.

  ‘Now there’s no offence intended here,’ Nancy said, ‘but as you can see from this and many other photos he’s left behind, Sam Williams is quite obviously a considerably younger man than you. Who kayaks and windsurfs, for God’s sake. And has a master’s degree from UCD – that he told me he got roughly about ten years ago, so I’d put him at thirty-one or thirty-two tops. So come on, whoever you are. You’re not seriously suggesting that you can pass yourself off as a thirty-two-year-old, are you?’

  ‘You’re, like . . . waaaay older,’ Melissa said, looking at him, boggle-eyed. ‘Like . . . even older than my dad.’

  The gentleman caller merely gave the photos a quick, cursory glance and nodded, as if something was slowly beginning to dawn on him. But Nancy was on a roll by then and there was no shutting her up.

  ‘And may I just add,’ she added defiantly, slipping a protective arm around Melissa, who’d folded her arms and stuck her chin out in solidarity, ‘I rented this house in good faith. And what’s more, I can prove it.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, madam,’ the stranger replied, wearily rubbing his eyes, as if exhaustion had got the better of him and the fight had gone out of him.

  ‘Via the Homesitter website, if you’d care to verify it. And since then, I’ve been paying rent weekly into a bank account held by one Sam Williams. I’ve been here for about . . . five weeks now . . . ’

  ‘And I’m a witness to that,’ Melissa said, loyally backing her up. ‘Because you and me met the day you moved in, Nancy, didn’t we?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Then, with theatrically perfect timing, yet another text pinged through to Nancy’s phone.

  ‘Now, look at this! Here’s another one!’ she said triumphantly, reading it out loud. ‘Apparently it’s five a.m. in Shanghai and Sam Williams is on his way to do a dawn gym workout before he goes to a breakfast meeting in the Mandarin Oriental – or should I say,’ she added, aware that it sounded melodramatic, ‘that’s where the real Sam Williams is right now!’

  She waved the phone under the gentleman caller’s nose and he looked at it for a moment, then gave a derisive snort when he saw the number, as if he’d just got confirmation of something he’d already begun to suspect.

  ‘Now look here, madam.’ He sighed wearily. ‘Clearly you’re labouring under a gross misapprehension and if you’d just allow me, I think I can put you straight—’

  By then, though, Nancy was full of righteous indignation and determined to give this total stranger a good flea in his ear before the cops arrived to turf him off her doorstep.

  ‘So if you think,’ she finger-wagged, ‘that you can just barge in here on a Saturday night, claim to be someone who you’re visibly not, and expect me to believe that this is your home, then you have another think coming.’

  ‘If I could just—’ the gentleman caller began to say, but she barrelled right over him.

  ‘So what’s it to be?’ Nancy asked, with her hand on the door, as she readied herself to slam it in his face. ‘Are you going to leave us in peace, or do the police have to deal with you?’

  ‘Neither, as it happens.’

  Finally, there was a silence.

  ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘If you’d allow me to speak for one minute,’ the stranger said, ‘I think I can clear this up pretty quickly.’

  They both glared hotly at the gentleman caller, but instead of skulking off, or putting up a fight, or doing anything that they’d been expecting him to do, he just gave a deep, world-weary sigh, took his phone out of his jacket pocket and dialled a number.

  ‘Who are you calling?’ Nancy demanded.

  ‘You think the person in the photos who’s been texting is your landlord?’ the gentleman caller said, holding the phone to his ear as he waited patiently for a reply.

  ‘Of course I do. The point is . . . who are you?’

  ‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ he said. ‘I’m also called Sam Williams and the person whose photo you’re looking at happens to be my son.’

  ‘Your son?’ Nancy repeated stupidly.

  ‘What did you just say?’ Melissa said at exactly the same time.

  ‘Yes, that’s quite correct, my son. Sam Junior, as he’s known in the family. I can understand your mistake, but I’m afraid that’s what it is. A big mistake.’

  ‘Your son?’ Nancy kept saying.

  ‘Correct. My son Sam, who lives here in Dublin and not Shanghai, and whom, at this point in time, is in a not inconsiderable amount of trouble with his father.’

  He broke off there, as his phone was answered, then groaned and muttered, ‘Oh God, bloody voicemail. Sam? Sam it’s your father here. Yes, I’m home. And I’d very much like to know what the hell you’ve been up to while I was away. Kindly return this phone call as soon as possible, please.’

  Susan

  From the journal of Susan Hayes

  My darling Ella,

  You came home, sweetheart, the evening after the infamous Help the Homeless sleep-out, moody, distracted and wired. Do you remember? I’d expected you to be exhausted and starving, so had a lovely dinner waiting for you, with loads of hot water on standby so you could scrub yourself clean. Instead, though, you snapped the face off Melissa and I when we had the temerity to ask you how it had all gone.

  ‘What’s wrong with Ella?’ Melissa asked me, upset at how rudely you’d barked at the poor kid.

  ‘She’s probably just tired, that’s all,’ I said, giving her a little wink, as you stormed out of the kitchen, slamming every door you possibly could on your way upstairs. ‘Wait till you see, though. She’ll be back to her old self after a good night’s sleep.’

  But you weren’t, though, were you? Not many parents can put an exact date on when a teenager began breaking bad. But I can. From the day of that infamous sleep-out, my lovely Ella started to fade from view, leaving this rude, waspish, surly young woman in her place, who none of us could say or do the right thing around. To the point that trying to have a normal conversation with you felt like walking through broken glass. All day, all night, around the clock. Exhausting.

  I don’t think I’ll ever forget the first major alarm bell that I really sat up and took notice of. It was barely a week afterwards, on a regular, normal Saturday afternoon, when I’d just come in from ferrying Melissa to and from her drama class she loves so much.

  There you were, my love, but instead of having your nose stuck in a book, as you usually did, instead you were in the bathroom in front of the mirror, plastering on eye make-up belonging to me, which you never, ever wore. In fact, you used to give out to me for wearing make-up, on the grounds that a lot of it is tested on animals and that most women look miles better fresh-faced and natural anyway.

  ‘Ella?’ I asked you, peering around the bathroom door. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just experimenting,’ you said, faux-casually, messing around with a mascara wand and putting it on skew-ways.

  ‘Am I seeing things?’ I said in total surprise. ‘Are you really wearing make-up?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ You shrugged. You were just about to close the bathroom door for privacy when you thought the better of it.

  ‘Oh, and by the way, Mum? I’m going out tonight.’

  ‘Oh?’ I said. ‘Where to?’ A movie with some of your pals in town, I figured. Or maybe to a talk somewhere, like
in the Writer’s Museum you loved going to so much. That was normal for you, that wouldn’t have surprised me.

  ‘To a party,’ you said coolly. ‘In Josh’s house.’

  But that did surprise me.

  I stopped in my tracks, turning slowly around to face you, but you avoided my gaze and just stayed focused on your own reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Josh’s house? You mean, like, as in . . . Josh Josh?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ was all I got in reply.

  ‘Josh, who you said was the greatest moron on the face of the planet? Josh, who you said was a total waste of space? I just want to double-check that this is one and the same person we’re talking about here?’

  ‘Yes, Mum, I only know the one Josh. Now just back off and leave me alone, will you?’

  ‘But Ella, love, you said that—’

  ‘Never mind what I said or didn’t say,’ you snapped. ‘Come on, Mum, you’re the one who’s always preaching to me that I should have an open mind. So just keep an open mind about Josh. Because maybe you’re wrong about him. Did it ever cross your mind that it’s actually possible for you to be wrong?’

  Jayne

  19 PRIMROSE SQUARE

  ‘Pay it forwards.’ That’s what Eric was always saying and it was such a lovely thought, Jayne always felt. ‘Wouldn’t this world be a far better place,’ he said, ‘if we all carried out random acts of kindness for absolutely no reason whatsoever, other than it is the right thing to do?’

  Quite right too, Jayne thought, letting herself into Susan’s house at number eighteen with her spare key. Melissa was with Nancy, so she had plenty of time to spare. Not only that, but Eric had agreed to help her with what she was secretly planning. Ordinarily, Jayne would have felt a bit guilty for just letting herself into a neighbour’s house, barring that the place was on fire, but on this very special occasion, she hoped she’d be forgiven.

  Susan had mentioned that there was a chance she might be home from St Michael’s soon. ‘Just to see how I get on,’ as she herself put it.

  ‘You’ll be just fine,’ Jayne had told her gently. ‘It’s time, love. You know deep down in your heart of hearts that it’s time. Because if I’ve learned one big life lesson, it’s this: moving forwards doesn’t mean that you love the one you lost any less. It just means that, from now on, you’re going to live your life for the two of you.’

  For the first time in a long time, Jayne really felt genuine hope for her old friend and neighbour.

  ‘She’ll need all the help we can give, though,’ she’d said to Eric. ‘The poor woman has been in total freefall for the last year, but her new life begins here and now.’

  ‘Okay, then let’s help,’ Eric said firmly and without a moment’s hesitation. ‘How about we start by getting her house ready for her? It’s been empty for some time now – dontcha think it could use a little spring cleaning?’

  ‘Oh, now there’s a wonderful idea!’ Jayne had beamed, delighted at his incredibly thoughtful suggestion. ‘Sure the place must be like a bomb site. Wouldn’t it be a lovely surprise for Susan to come home to it shining and spotless?’

  So, in short, that’s how she and Eric had spent the entire afternoon. Working together, side by side, chatting companionably, giggling occasionally at silly, shared jokes, and making sure to leave the house exactly as they’d have liked to have found it themselves. Eric did all the heavy lifting, and even a light bit of DIY when he found dripping taps in the upstairs bathroom. Not only that, but then he borrowed Jayne’s hedge trimmers and started to attack the overgrown wilderness that Susan’s back garden had become, filling one compostable bin bag after another with weeds, working tirelessly for hours and never once complaining.

  All this, Jayne thought, fondly looking down on him from an upstairs window, for a woman he’d never even met and for a family he barely knew. How many men, she wondered, would put themselves out for you like that? Not many that she could think of – and, she was very sorry to say, she had to include her own son in that.

  Meanwhile, she herself hoovered, scrubbed and polished room after room till the place shone. She threw open the windows to let in fresh air, put clean bed linen on each bed and even made sure to arrange cut flowers in a big vase in the living room. Beautiful, bright orange tiger lilies. She’d chosen them with extra care because, according to Eric, lilies symbolised a mother’s love, while the colour orange symbolised feminine strength.

  ‘Hey, you know what this place needs now?’ he’d asked, just as the two of them were finishing up, delighted at the transformation they’d brought to the house between them. The place really did look shiny and sparkling.

  ‘What’s that, Eric, love?’ Jayne asked, packing up a bag she’d taken from her own house with Mr Sheen, Cif, window cleaner and enough bleach to fell a charging rhino. ‘Is there something we forgot?’

  ‘No . . . I don’t think we forgot a single thing,’ he replied, with that slow, lazy smile that Jayne was actually starting to find so deeply sexy, it was all she could focus on. ‘But here’s a thought: wouldn’t it be really neat if your friend Susan came home to some good old comfort food in the freezer? So how about if I take myself into town and stock up for her? Sure as hell would save her a whole heap of trouble when she gets home tomorrow, right?’

  ‘That’s a fantastic idea,’ Jayne said, and if she was a bit distracted at how muscly Eric’s arms looked in the T-shirt he was wearing, she hoped he didn’t notice. The suntan on him, she kept thinking. Like something out of a travel supplement.

  ‘I’m only raging I didn’t think of it myself,’ was what she said aloud, though. ‘Why don’t you take my car, love? You’ll be so much faster.’

  ‘You know what?’ he twinkled at her. ‘I’m real happy just to stroll – it’s kinda like a little meditation for me. Besides,’ he added mysteriously, ‘I gotta little errand to run en route.’

  ‘Oh?’ Jayne said, her interest piqued. ‘And what errand might that be?’

  ‘Well, you’re just gonna have to wait and see, aren’t you?’ he said mysteriously, tapping his finger to his nose, as if to say, ‘Never you mind’.

  So Jayne finished up in Susan’s, really delighted with how fabulous the place was looking once again. Just like it used to when Ella was still with us, she thought, remembering the old Susan, the one who was always so house proud, forever making jams and chutneys, and swapping recipes with Jayne whenever they bumped into each other at the front door or out on the square.

  But the Susan of old had been in hibernation for some time, Jayne knew, as she locked up the front door and made her way back to her own house. That Susan needed time out to heal, and if not to mend exactly, then at least to try and process what had happened. The universe was asking a lot of poor Susan Hayes, she thought, pausing for a minute to look out over the square, where the cherry blossoms had just begun to bloom. To lose a child on the cusp of adulthood was unthinkable, by any standards. But under circumstances like that? How was any parent supposed to ‘get over it’, as all the young ones said nowadays?

  Of course, Jayne knew the rough ins and outs of what had happened to Ella Hayes, and her heart just cracked in two whenever she thought about it. The waste, the useless waste of a young human life. Thrown away like that, and all for what? Drugs? To ‘get high’, as young ones said these days? And Ella Hayes, of all people, as everyone said at the time. Such a smart, bright, motivated girl. A bit wild, yes, but still, though – Jayne knew that under it all, there really was a true heart of gold.

  Then her thoughts filtered back to that young kid, Josh whatever his name was. The boy who everyone said was really responsible. She thought of Susan and her fixation on him, how she’d stand for hours outside his house, staring, just staring up at his bedroom window in a sort of vigil for her lost little girl.

  Of course Jayne had heard all the gossip that circulated around the time that Ella had passed away, concerning that fella Josh and how he may or may not have had something to do with wh
at happened. But Jayne wouldn’t countenance it then and certainly had no truck with rumours and idle speculation. Because it was hardly going to change anything for the Hayes family, now was it? No matter who or what was responsible for what happened to Ella, nothing would bring her back and the best Susan could do now was help ease her family onto a ‘new chapter of life’, as Eric put it.

  Love and forgive, that was another thing Eric was always saying. Turn the other cheek. It was a hard call, Jayne knew, but still. It was time to move forwards now and the best thing she herself could do was welcome Susan back home with open arms and help her navigate the way forwards together.

  Like good neighbours did.

  *

  With Melissa happily spending the evening at Nancy’s, Jayne was greatly looking forward to a quiet night in with Eric – just the two of them. Nice cuppa tea, bit of telly and maybe a packet of Jaffa cakes – that was about the height of a Saturday night, as far as she was concerned. But, when Eric got back later on, it seemed he had a little surprise up his sleeve.

  ‘Alrighty,’ he said cheekily, bursting into the living room, stooping down low so as not to wallop his head off the doorframe. ‘Get your coat on, lovely lady,’ he added, with a big grin on his broad, tanned face. ‘High time you and I had a date night, don’t you think?’

  ‘A what?’ Jayne asked, looking at him mystified.

  ‘Sweetie,’ he said, gently giving her a hand to get up off her comfy armchair, where she’d just started to catch up on an episode of Britain’s Got Talent, ‘this is what people do, where I come from. Now I’ve been a guest in your beautiful home for a few weeks, and in all that time, you and me have never once had a single date night out together. So grab your coat, honey, because tonight that all changes.’

  Susan

  From the journal of Susan Hayes

  My beautiful girl,

  The signs were all there, my darling, only I refused to believe them. In the weeks and months that followed your newfound friendship with Josh and his gang, you gradually stopped eating. You’d pretend to eat, but I later learned that you’d actually stuff chunks of food into your napkin and throw it out when you thought I wouldn’t notice.