Debbie mumbled thanks and continued to where Ella was leaning against the car bonnet.
‘You don’t have to go.’
‘I have to.’
Debbie jumped behind the wheel, afraid if she hugged Ella she would not want to leave. She turned the car, revving it too much, when Ella knocked on the window.
‘I am not good at words, Debbie. You know how much I care about you.’
Debbie reached out her hand and Ella gripped it tight, before letting her go.
Ella stood and watched as the small red car made its way down the avenue, stopping when a group of women waved Debbie down. The car swerved past the crater pothole before rounding the rhododendron, to turn out onto the road to Rathsorney. She could not explain it fully, but Ella felt a terrible loneliness creep up through her. She did not hear Roberta approach from behind. Roberta pushed a note to her sister.
Close the place now. Haven’t you had your moment of glory? R.
Ella scrunched the note in a tight fist.
‘You would like that, wouldn’t you? The Ballroom Café stays open,’ she snapped, whipping back into the house, making for the stairs before the next wave of customers came bursting in. Iris was in the door behind her.
‘That wasn’t Debbie I saw leaving?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is she coming back?’
‘No,’ Ella said, cutting slices of chocolate cake too thin so they broke as she transferred them to a serving plate.
‘So how are we going to manage?’
Ella put down her knife. ‘I have no idea, Iris, simply no idea.’
‘You are in a bad way, Ella.’
‘I will miss her. She was taken from her mother and sent to America, and look at the life she had. What if my son has been unhappy, or with people who could not love him?’
Iris pushed Ella in behind the screen. ‘I will take over; go rest.’
Ella pulled her hands down her face. ‘Don’t you see there is no rest until I meet him, and even then those lost years will haunt me?’
‘Will we close up for the day? There are only a few left.’
‘Everybody will guess, then, that I am one of the women involved.’
Iris put up her two hands in exasperation. ‘Sure, doesn’t everybody know that anyway? You sit there and I will put the signs up at the gate.’
Ella sat on the small stool they usually used to reach the high shelf where she kept the napkins. Her head was swimming with worry for her son, and fear that she would never be able to meet him. Clasping and unclasping her hands, she listened to the low hum of conversation in the café, afraid one of the local customers would come to the counter.
She was in a desperate state; she knew Iris had seen the signs. She wanted to cry, but she could not; she wanted to scream, and she did, inside her head, her hands clasping her fingers tighter, until the realisation of pain made the scream go away. She wanted to tidy up, but she could not move from the stool; her mind and body were paralysed in the time when her baby was taken from her. How could she have ever believed he was dead? She surely should have known; she had carried him for nine months, talked to him every day.
When she heard somebody go behind the counter, she presumed it was Iris. She ignored the light tapping on the screen.
‘Ella, are you there?’
She jumped when she heard his voice, flustered, wanting to answer but not wanting him to see her in this state.
‘Ella?’
She stood paralysed, unable to move, unable to utter a word. She wanted him to go away, for Iris to return so she could put talk on him. The screen was slowly inched back and Fergus Brown pushed his head through.
‘Ella, are you all right?’
He stepped into the small area around the sink as she tried to wipe her face and take deep breaths to calm down. Placing his arms around her, he spoke in soft tones, as a parent would to hush a distressed baby.
‘I heard the news. I had to come.’
She did not answer but placed her head on his chest and let him stroke her hair.
They stood like that for a while, until Iris came back into the café and began the final clear-up.
‘Will we go for a drive?’ Fergus asked.
‘Go, a change of scenery will do you good,’ Iris called out from where she was counting the money at the till.
She pretended not to take too much notice of Ella and Fergus. Ella pulled away and slipped from behind the counter to get ready in her bedroom. She slicked on some pink raspberry lipstick and picked her soft purple coat with the black handbag and shoes. She was about to go out the door when she saw her jewellery box on the dressing table.
Reaching in, she took out the Weiss triangular-shaped rhinestone pin. A simple clear-stoned triangle, her mother said it was pure in its beauty and should only be worn on extra-special occasions. ‘A mother does not have time for such occasions,’ she announced, and the brooch was confined to the little box it came in. Ella pinned it to her lapel. It flashed, reflecting a rainbow of colours when she moved, making her look and feel peacock-elegant.
When she came down the stairs, Fergus was waiting on the landing as Iris locked up the café.
‘We’ll take a run into the mountains.’
He held the door, as she sat in his Rolls Royce. She thought if her head were not so full of her son, she would have very much enjoyed the drive through Rathsorney. Even in this quiet mood, she smiled when Muriel Hearty, saluting Fergus Brown as they stopped at traffic lights, nearly tripped on the pavement when she saw his passenger.
‘Isn’t it nice to know we can cause such a stir by driving through the town,’ Fergus said, tapping the steering wheel lightly with his fingers.
There was a companionable quiet between them as Fergus pushed his car up the narrow mountain roads. Ella let her mind wander past the heather and the stones to the clouds, and to wonder if she would ever show these places to her boy.
When Fergus pulled in to a lay-by, she did not comment.
‘I took the liberty of packing a picnic basket before I left,’ he said, reaching into the back seat. He poured hot coffee in stainless steel cups and they nibbled on smoked salmon and brown bread.
‘What if I had said no?’ Ella asked.
‘I would have been stuck with Iris, or even Muriel Hearty. The air up here clears the head; the view is soothing on the eyes.’
‘You heard my boy is in New York.’
‘Muriel is always up to date.’
‘Maybe she even knew before I did.’
‘What happens next?’
‘Maybe Muriel knows.’ Ella finished her coffee. ‘I wait, Fergus. Garda Moran said if I draft a letter to him, they will make sure it is delivered. It will be up to him after that.’
‘None of these things happen quickly, Ella.’
‘I know. I just wish I knew what to say in the letter. “I am the mother who let you be taken away, believed you were dead, never visited your grave, did not even know where it was, because I never asked.” What is he going to think of me?’
‘You are being too hard on yourself.’
‘Am I?
Fergus Brown did not answer immediately, but he let her compose herself. When he spoke, he reached out and took her hand.
‘I am here for you. Maybe I can help in the café, for starters. I am not going to let you go through this on your own.’
She squeezed his hand but could only manage a thank you before floods of tears cascaded down her cheeks, creating wavy channels through her make-up.
30
Fergus Brown was as good as his word. His Rolls Royce lumbered up the avenue just past seven. Ella, sitting with a cup of tea in the kitchen, heard the purr of the engine and the hens’ excitement that the day had begun. She saw him get out of the car, take off his overcoat and throw it on the back seat, and pat the dog before making for the back door.
‘You are very early,’ she said.
‘Reporting for duty.’ He saluted elaborately, click
ing his heels, standing to attention.
‘Come in, you old fool, before you catch your death. There is work to be done.’
‘Don’t we have time for a cuppa first?’
‘When the tables are set, we will both sit down. There is a bank manager to be kept happy,’ she said firmly. She led the way upstairs and showed him the sets of china, kept in a mahogany sideboard. ‘Mind you don’t drop any; we have been lucky, no breakages yet.’
He picked up a cup and turned it upside down, to check its provenance. ‘You will find it very hard to replace any of these if they break. Why not go for simple white cups like everybody else?’
‘Yes and bought-in shop cakes as well; that is what will keep me standing out from the crowd,’ Ella guffawed loudly.
Fergus Brown carefully turned up his cardigan sleeves. ‘You know best, Ella.’ Slowly he made his way from table to table, placing the plates and saucers before returning to the store and taking down six cups.
‘Go easy there,’ she said, beginning to count out slices of cake.
‘Easy peasy,’ he snorted, and began to whistle a tune.
Despite her aches from a restless night, she found herself swaying, just enough to enjoy the tune.
‘We won’t have time for a coffee if you don’t get your skids on.’
‘No wonder Miss Kading left. You are a slave driver.’
She hushed him because she heard Iris climbing the stairs. ‘She always seems to know what time the coffee will be brewed,’ she said.
Iris had seen the car parked at the back of the house and thought Fergus Brown must be walking in the grounds. When she saw him sitting down, waiting for a coffee, she turned to Ella and whispered, ‘We are not open for another hour; what’s with Fergus Brown?’
‘Fergus has kindly agreed to help out until I can find a replacement for Debbie.’
‘Muriel and the gang are going to think it is Christmas. Has he moved in as well?’
Ella slapped down Iris’s mug on the counter. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
Iris threw three cubes of sugar in her coffee. ‘I think you had better get your story straight before the ladies arrive.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Ella said, walking over to join Fergus.
He took her hand when she sat down, but she pulled it away quickly.
‘Ella, who is the one being silly now? Let them think what they like. We know the truth.’
‘I don’t like being talked about, Fergus.’
He leaned closer to her. ‘Think of it this way: while they are yattering on about us, they won’t have time to question you about the other thing.’
Iris, throwing her eyes to the heavens, left to plant some drills in the kitchen garden. Ella stirred her coffee and looked out the window. From here, she could see the women’s heads as they walked down the short lane between the church side gate and Roscarbury Hall. Even from this distance, she could see there were more women than usual this morning.
‘A mob following the leader,’ Fergus remarked. She did not need to reply, but she felt a certain apprehension rise up inside her, so she went behind the screen and pretended to fuss about napkins. Fergus walked around the café, straightening the settings and fiddling with the cutlery as he watched Muriel Hearty lead her team up the avenue.
‘They are nearly on top of us.’
Ella came out from behind the screen, flattening her apron over her skirt.
‘Play it cool. Muriel will do all the talking, if you let her,’ Fergus whispered.
Ella would have answered, but she heard the group in the hallway.
‘There you are. I told you, nothing closes the Ballroom Café,’ Muriel Hearty trumpeted, quickening her pace on the stairs. Muriel, dressed in her light-green spring swing coat, sashayed into the café, calling out Ella’s name. ‘Oh, Mr Brown. How nice to see you. I did not know you were back visiting these parts.’
Fergus opened up a small apron, lightly shaking it out before tying it at the waist. ‘Not just visiting, Mrs Hearty. Miss O’Callaghan has been kind enough to offer me temporary employment.’
‘You? Working here? Whatever next. Where is Debbie?’
‘She has gone home, left yesterday afternoon,’ Ella said, from behind the counter.
‘Without waiting to say goodbye,’ Muriel said, making a face to the other women.
‘She asked me to convey her best wishes to you all.’
‘That was nice of her,’ Muriel harrumphed, and turned her back to the counter, calling out loudly, ‘My usual please, Ella.’
The women settled themselves down and enjoyed giving their orders to Fergus, who wrote everything carefully, double-checking with everybody whether they wanted cream with their cake.
‘You are spoiling them, Fergus. They are not used to such attention. The coffee will go cold with all your chat,’ Ella said, lining up the cups of tea and coffee on the counter for collection.
‘You are hard on him, Ella. Isn’t it great to have a man around the place all the same?’ Muriel said, transferring to a stool at the counter.
Ella concentrated on plating the cake as Muriel watched Fergus deliver a tray of coffee.
‘Is there something you are not telling us, Ella O’Callaghan?’
‘Whatever do you mean, Muriel?’
Muriel leaned over the counter, her two elbows pushing the plates of cake out of her way. ‘We all know he is not in need of a job.’
Ella put down the knife and picked up a silver tray. ‘He won’t have a job here for long if he does not hurry up with the orders,’ she muttered.
Muriel waited until Fergus collected the tray and was down near the café windows before she spoke again. ‘Go on, Ella, you can tell me. Sure, I am only delighted for you.’
Ella stopped what she was doing. ‘He is helping out. What is wrong with that?’
‘Nothing at all. It is sweet.’
Ella shook her head. ‘One of these days, Muriel, one of these days somebody will …’
‘Will what, Ella O’Callaghan?’ Muriel said, standing up.
‘Nothing, Muriel, nothing.’
‘Have you heard anything?’
Ella sat down on her stool. ‘Not yet, Muriel. It could be months. It might be never.’
Muriel reached over and took her hand. ‘We are all rooting for you; you know that.’
Ella made to stand up. ‘I know.’
‘Debbie should not have left.’
‘There was no reason for her to stay.
‘Don’t you remember Mary Murtagh?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘She had the beehive hairdo and the shortest skirt in the county. I think they went to Australia.’
‘She was a nice girl,’ Ella said.
‘We will all miss Debbie, though Fergus is definitely doing his best.’
‘He is a good friend,’ Ella said, for that moment forgetting she was talking to Muriel Hearty.
Muriel reached over and pinched Ella’s cheek. ‘Nobody is going to begrudge you this bit of happiness.’ Muriel giggled like a child.
Ella, flustered, called to Fergus to start clearing the tables. ‘You are going to have to learn to chat less and work more,’ she snapped at him as he pushed a tray of crockery onto the counter.
‘Sure, we all love the extra attention,’ Muriel said, going back to her table to finish her coffee.
Ella stood and watched for the next few minutes, as Fergus lingered at each table, the women giggling and joking excitedly. When he wandered close to her, she noticed he was limping a little. Calling him softly, she beckoned him to come in behind the counter.
‘You are doing too much. Take your break now.’
‘I am enjoying it, Ella. I am fine.’
‘You stupid man; if you don’t take a break, I will fire you.’
He laughed out loud and several of the women turned around, hoping to be included in the joke.
‘If I didn’t know you liked me so much, I would think you were being serious,’ he said
, throwing his hands in the air and sitting down.
‘I can call Iris to take over for the last hour or so.’
‘That’s more like it. Maybe we can stroll down to the lake.’
‘That would be nice,’ she said, and began to clear some more tables.
Muriel and her three friends were the last to leave. Each stopped at the counter to chat to Fergus before they went.
‘You are a hit with the ladies anyway,’ Ella said.
‘All in a morning’s work. Are we ready to go to the lake?’ he said.
‘After the washing-up.’
She washed and he dried, placing the china cups and saucers on the counter so Iris, when she arrived, could set the tables for the afternoon.
‘Won’t Iris mind? She strikes me as happiest with her feet in muck.’
A voice from behind made both of them jump. ‘I would not put it exactly that way, but you are right, Mr Brown.’
Fergus Brown, who had begun to fidget with the end of his tie in his embarrassment, made to speak, but Iris put her hand up to stop him.
‘You two young things better get going, before I change my mind,’ she said, grabbing too many china cups, so they clinked loudly.
‘Be careful with the china, won’t you?’ Ella asked, but Iris did not answer, waving her hand in mock irritation.
They tramped across the parkland, the sunlight on their backs, Ella too nervous to link arms until they were well away from the house.
‘When do you think you will hear from America?’
‘I have not even written a letter yet. Martin Moran says it could be a few weeks. They have to tell him and his parents. I am sure it will be a blow to them. His name is James. I like that name; it sounds strong.’
‘I will wait with you, Ella. We can work in the café together,’ he said, taking her hand in his and rubbing it gently, because it looked cold. He slipped her hand into his pocket and they walked on to the water’s edge.
*
Roberta was walking past the post office when Muriel called her in.
‘How are you, Roberta? You are looking well.’
‘What it is, Muriel? You saw me yesterday. What is eating you?’
The Ballroom Café Page 21