‘Lizzie, that money is for you; he always said so. He invested his retirement lump sum; I’ll have plenty from that, and the pension.’
Lizzie thinks of Mammy’s careful spending – the chops and the cabbage and the white pudding, and the homemade brown bread. She thinks of the long-ago caravan holidays, and the rented houses in Kerry and West Cork and Connemara when she was a bit older – the pub lunches, the dinners Mammy cooked in the rented kitchens. They had nothing expensive, nothing extravagant, not even when Daddy retired. Mammy and Daddy never stayed in a hotel, not once – never ate in a fancy restaurant, except for the few times when Lizzie and Tony insisted on bringing them out to dinner. They never had a foreign holiday. They were saving all the money for some distant future, when only one of them would be around to enjoy it.
Mammy gestures towards the letter. ‘Would it be enough, I wonder, to start your little bakery in Merway?’
Oh yes, Mammy, it would. Lizzie smiles over at her and nods, and silently tells God she’s sorry for fighting with Him.
Later that night, she phones Angela.
She stays another week with Mammy, sorting out a list of numbers for her to keep beside the phone – doctor, plumber, electrician, handyman. Unknown to Mammy, she calls in to Claire next door and thanks her again for all her help, and leaves her mobile number with her in case of any emergency. She finishes replying to the letters of condolence, and arranges for Cian McDermott, Johnny’s younger brother, to mow the back lawn once a week till the end of summer. She shows Mammy where the water turns off and where the fuse-box is and how to read the meter, and she makes sure that Mammy has a drawerful of candles and a torch. She checks the batteries in the two smoke alarms and shows Mammy how to do it too. She gets a man out from Eircom to run a phone line into Mammy’s bedroom, even though Mammy thinks it’s the height of nonsense.
‘It’s not for you, Mammy, it’s for me; it’ll help me sleep, even if it does nothing for you.’ Then she smiles faintly; it’s the first time she’s felt more like Mammy’s mother than her daughter.
On the day she’s heading off again, Lizzie stands by the car. ‘I’ll phone twice a week, Wednesday and Sunday, and you have my mobile number if you need me.’
Mammy nods.
‘And I’ll come and visit often, I promise; and you have Rose coming at the weekend.’
Mammy nods again.
‘And you’ll remember to –’
Mammy stops nodding. ‘Lizzie, for goodness’ sake, I’m not a child. Get into that car, and give me a ring to let me know you’re safely landed.’
So Lizzie hugs her and drives away, and tries not to remember the last time she drove off, with her head full of dreams and Daddy standing beside Mammy on the path, waving.
When she comes to the place where she picked up the American hitchhiker, she wonders what’s become of him. Is he still in Rockford, in the house with the holes in the roof? She can hardly remember what he looks like.
She drives on towards Merway.
Chapter Nineteen
When Lizzie pulls up outside The Kitchen, she sits in the car for a minute. It’s been less than two months since she was here, but it feels like another lifetime. She winds down her window and breathes in deeply, smelling salty air and garlic: Angela has started the dinners. A wave of something peaceful washes over her.
She takes her bag out of the car and walks around to the back of the restaurant, feet crunching on the gravel. The kitchen door opens as she approaches it.
‘Lizzie – there you are. Good to see you.’ Angela gives her a hug, then steps back and looks at her carefully. ‘You’ve lost weight. How are you?’
‘All the better for seeing you, my dear,’ smiles Lizzie. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine; I’ll be telling you all later on.’ Angela goes to the cooker and gives the pan a shake, making something sizzle loudly. ‘Why don’t you settle back in and come up when you’re ready? I’ve your duvet airing in the hot press here – you can take it down when that rain stops.’
On the way to the caravan, Lizzie spots a familiar ginger bulk poking out from under a bush. ‘Jones, hi.’ She crouches beside him and scratches the back of his neck, and he yawns hugely at her. ‘Well, I’m really glad you missed me too.’
She opens the door of the caravan. I’m home. The familiar space feels so right – the small kitchen, the shelves with her cookery books, the rug in front of the fire, the bowl of shells on the coffee table; the vase she always kept filled with flowers, full of flowers now – thanks, Angela.
She drops her bag on the bed. A shower and a change of clothes, and maybe a short walk on the beach, and then she’ll go back up to Angela. Might as well get stuck in.
But first . . . She puts a hand into a side pocket of the bag and takes out the cat and the baseball cap. She puts the cat on the little shelf beside the window and the cap under her pillow.
A little later, crunching along the pebbles next to the water, Lizzie wonders about Angela. Of course she seemed glad to see her, but was there something . . . subdued about her? She wasn’t her usual bubbly self, was she?
Lizzie shakes her head impatiently. I’m imagining things; Angela was perfectly normal. She was hardly talking to me for more than a minute, for goodness’ sake. And, anyway, she knows I’m not able for bubbly just yet. She turns back and heads towards the restaurant.
But by the time they’ve cleared away the last of the dinners, Lizzie’s decided that her first instinct was right: something is definitely up with Angela. She’s been distracted all evening, going through the motions of cooking and dishing up and serving, but clearly a million miles away.
Lizzie waits until they’re sitting down with tea.
‘Want to talk about it?’
Angela gives her a half-smile. ‘How well you know me.’
‘It’s John, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ Angela takes a deep breath. ‘You know I wrote to him and said I wasn’t interested in getting back together again.’ Lizzie nods. ‘I feel I made the right decision; that part of my life is over, I just want to move on . . . To be honest, I don’t think I’d ever be able to trust him again.’
Lizzie passes her the milk. ‘That letter can’t have been easy to write.’
‘About as easy as pulling teeth from a rabid elephant, if there’s such a thing,’ Angela says. ‘Anyway, I heard nothing for a few weeks after that. I was beginning to think that was the end of it – and wondering if he’d stop coming to see Dee, just to spite me . . . Then he turned up out of the blue, about a week ago, and told me that, if I wanted to make a clean break, then he’d rather we made our separation . . . official.’ She makes a face.
‘But isn’t that better, Angela? Isn’t that what you want too?’ Lizzie says gently. She can imagine that Angela’s feelings must be terribly mixed; it’s one thing to say you want to put your marriage behind you and make a fresh start, and another to actually do it.
‘He said we should get a divorce.’ Angela picks up her cup, then puts it down again. ‘He said we should do it properly – get a solicitor each, and divide everything up between us.’
‘I suppose it makes sense, really – as long as he keeps up the contact with Deirdre.’ Dee is obviously close to her father; it would break her heart to be cut off from him.
Angela frowns. ‘Yes, I’m sure he’ll see her like he always has; that’s not what I’m worried about. But Lizzie, if we divide everything up between us, that includes this place – the restaurant. My livelihood. He’s probably entitled to half.’
Lizzie looks at her in alarm. ‘Half this place? But – no, he has no right. This is all your work, you set it all up.’
‘Yes, yes, I was the one who opened the restaurant,’ Angela says impatiently, ‘and I was the one who stayed up half the night for the first six months, trying to make a go of it. But it was his place to begin with; he already had the house and the video shop when we got married. I just moved in.’
She pulls a hand th
rough her hair, and Lizzie suddenly sees how tired she looks. ‘I don’t know exactly what he’s entitled to at this stage, but one thing’s for sure – there’s no way in the world I can afford to buy him out, whatever his rights are.’
‘But he can’t just come along like that and demand –’
‘Actually, I’m afraid he can. I haven’t really talked to my solicitor yet – I’m meeting her in the morning – but on the phone she didn’t hold out much hope. She said he’d definitely be entitled to “a substantial share”, whatever that is.’
Lizzie’s head is buzzing. Everything Angela worked for, all her efforts to keep going after John walked out . . . It seems incredible that he might be able to come along and claim half – and, in the process, ruin her. What kind of justice would that be?
No wonder Angela seemed distracted; she must be going out of her mind with worry.
Lizzie tries to gather her thoughts. ‘Look, wait and see what the solicitor says when you meet her. It mightn’t be as bad as you think; I mean, surely a lot would depend on what kind of income John has now, wouldn’t it? And Deirdre is living with you, so that’ll be taken into account . . .’
But, even as she says it, she knows that Angela is probably right: if this place originally belonged to John, he must have a strong case for claiming at least half. And, of course, he walked out on his livelihood – the video shop – when he left, so chances are he’s not rolling in it now.
Angela smiles thinly. ‘Watch out, Lizzie – Dee and I could well end up moving into the caravan. You might have to make room.’
Even though it’s meant to be a feeble joke, Lizzie feels a very selfish stab of fear at the thought that the caravan might be taken from her. Mammy sends her back to Merway, and she’s evicted a week later . . . how ironic would that be?
She lifts the teapot, but Angela shakes her head. ‘No, thanks; I think I’ll turn in. Sorry – not much of a welcome back for you, was it? . . . Oh, and not a word to Dee – I haven’t mentioned this to her yet. I dread to think how she’ll take it, actually.’
‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that – kids are resilient.’ Except that she’s not a kid any more; she’s a teenager, probably full of the insecurities and uncertainties that I remember from that age. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help, I will; you know that. Now that I’m not working in Joe’s any more, I can be around here as much as I’m needed.’
Angela gives her another weak smile. ‘I know, pet. Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s a darn thing you can do to get me out of this one.’
As she goes through the door into the hall, Lizzie looks thoughtfully after her. Actually, you might just be surprised.
The following morning, Lizzie walks to Blooming Miracles after breakfast. Big Maggie’s head pops up from behind a display of seed packets as the door opens.
‘Lizzie, how lovely; Angela said you were coming back this week. Any excuse to take a break from cleaning is very welcome.’ She takes Lizzie’s hands and presses them gently between hers. ‘My dear, I’m so sorry about your poor father.’
Lizzie is touched. ‘Thank you, Maggie – and thanks for your Mass card; it was very thoughtful.’
‘Not at all, dear – the least I could do. I wanted to come to the funeral, but I had a big wedding order that day.’ She drops Lizzie’s hands. ‘Now, have you time for a cup of tea?’
‘That’d be lovely, Maggie. I think I could spare a few minutes – and you can bring me up to date on what’s been happening around Merway.’ Because if anyone knows, you will.
So Lizzie hears the news – a spate of break-ins within days of one another; a new boutique about to open; a near-drowning a few miles down the coast; Maggie’s own plans to redecorate and possibly extend the garden centre.
Lizzie wonders how long before the name she’s waiting for comes up. ‘Anything else strange?’
‘Well, I suppose Angela has already told you that Dominic is off to the States next month. Some big offer of work from the man he deals with there.’ Lizzie hadn’t heard; Angela had other things on her mind the night before. ‘Yes, it seems he could be gone quite a while – two or three months, maybe. He told me he’s asked Joe McCarthy to keep an eye on his house for him.’
With an effort, Lizzie looks innocently over at Maggie. ‘Oh, I see.’ And then she waits.
Maggie leans over and puts a hand on Lizzie’s arm. ‘I hope you’re going to be working with Joe again, dear, now that you’re back. Take your mind off things.’
And give you something fresh to talk about. Lizzie shakes her head firmly. ‘Oh, no, Maggie – that was only a temporary arrangement, just to give Joe a hand for a few weeks. No, I’ll be helping Angela out more in The Kitchen, actually; I’ll have my hands full there.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Maggie looks faintly surprised. ‘I thought you were a permanent fixture in Joe’s shop; you seemed to get on very well.’
‘Ah, no, I wouldn’t really fancy that kind of work; not my cup of tea at all.’ Lizzie smiles. ‘I’m much happier baking for Angela . . . Anyway, Joe has Charlie to help him if he’s stuck.’
‘That fellow?’ Maggie says in disbelief. ‘He wouldn’t last a day there; he doesn’t know the meaning of work.’
So Lizzie was right: Charlie was simply Joe’s excuse to let her go. It’s painful for her to accept the truth – but at least now, she hopes, Maggie doesn’t think she’s pining for Joe.
They talk some more, and then Lizzie looks at her watch and remembers that she should be getting back to help Angela. She thanks Maggie for the tea, and buys two bunches of freesias.
She heads towards the beach; she’ll walk back to The Kitchen that way. She’s not in as much of a hurry as she led Maggie to believe, and the day is fine.
It’s got nothing to do with the fact that, this way, she won’t have to walk past Ripe. As she crunches across the pebbles, she tells herself that she’s not avoiding Joe; of course not. It’s just that she’s not quite ready to face him yet. Give her a week or so, to get back into the swing of things in Merway, and she’ll be able to chat away to him and be perfectly friendly and natural.
She hopes.
As luck would have it, every time Lizzie turns around, over the next week or so, Charlie is there. He saunters past The Kitchen one afternoon, hands in the pockets of the one pair of scruffy jeans he seems to own. She sees him coming out of Doherty’s another day, and heading into Dignam’s one evening. If he sees her, he doesn’t let on, and she’s glad that she doesn’t have to pretend to be friendly.
One day she drives past a chipper in Seapoint and sees Charlie talking with a girl in a blue top. She looks awfully like – Lizzie slows down and cranes out the window – yes, it’s definitely Deirdre, deep in conversation with the most unsavoury character in Merway. She’s sharing his newspaper bundle of chips, or whatever, and laughing at something he’s saying. Lizzie is amazed that they even know each other, but then she thinks: Why shouldn’t they? They’ve been living in the same village for nearly a year.
After deliberating for a while, she decides to say nothing about it; Angela has other things on her mind these days.
Or, at least, one other thing.
Today she’s visiting her solicitor for the second time in a week. Today she’ll be told whether John Byrne is going to bring about the end of her business. Lizzie wants to go with her, but Angela insists on going alone.
‘If I’m delayed, you’ll need to make a start on the dinners – Dee will be around to give a hand if you need her. At least, I hope she will; she’s been out a lot lately.’ Angela looks pale and worried, and Lizzie feels a knot of anxiety for her.
‘Look, just wait and see; it mightn’t be as bad as you’re thinking.’
Even as she says it, Lizzie knows that this is a fat lot of good to Angela, who has a head on her shoulders and a pretty good idea what her solicitor is going to say. But Angela nods and climbs into her car.
Later, as Lizzie comes out of the caravan, she sees D
eirdre coming through the gate from the beach.
‘Hi, Lizzie.’ Her usually pale cheeks are slightly flushed, presumably from having rushed home from wherever she was. She looks up towards the house. ‘Wonder if Mum is back yet.’
Lizzie shakes her head. ‘She said she’d ring me when she’s on her way home. I was just about to go and make a start on the bread.’
Deirdre nods – ‘Shout if you need me; I’ll be in my room’ – and walks quickly up to the house.
Looking after her, Lizzie wonders how much she knows, or guesses, about what’s happening between her parents. She’s been out more than in since Lizzie got back. Maybe she prefers the company of her friends at the moment, with Angela so distracted – and who could blame her, poor thing? As long as she’s not seeing too much of Charlie McCarthy . . .
She glances at her watch: two-fifteen. If Angela gets back in the next half-hour, they’ll have time to chat before they get too busy.
Enough time, Lizzie hopes, for her to find out what she needs to know.
Chapter Twenty
‘You must be out of your mind.’
Angela looks incredulous. Lizzie smiles gently back. It’s eleven o’clock that evening, the clear-up is finished and they’re in the kitchen.
‘I knew you’d say that. You’re so predictable. And I’m not out of my mind, I’m perfectly sane – as well you know.’
Angela shakes her head slowly. ‘No, you’ve definitely flipped.’ Then she smiles. ‘Look, Lizzie, don’t think I’m not grateful; it’s the most generous offer I’ve –’
‘Generous, my foot. Now you listen to me, Angela Byrne.’ Lizzie sits down across from her, and the look on her face makes Angela think that it might be wise to listen. ‘That money is mine to do as I please with. It’s not up to you how I spend it; it’s up to me. I’m so bloody tired of everyone telling me what I can and can’t do.’
Angela looks at her in amazement. ‘Of course, I know that, but –’
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