by Amy McLean
Grace folded it up neatly and placed it into the pouch in her bag, out of sight. She tried to replay the entire event in her mind, searching for things that might give her clues. But it was hopeless. She wasn't getting anywhere.
But then she remembered something. Didn't the ship have something written on its side? A name of some sort? She thought for a moment, rubbing the tips of her fingers against the sides of her head as if trying to help the information come forth.
"The Pirate Queen!" She flung a hand to her mouth, worried she'd said it too loudly. She glanced around. Nobody was looking at her.
Grace searched for the name and waited for the results to load. She clicked on the first link and started reading.
She had hoped to find photographs of the ship so she could confirm that it was the same one, but she soon realised why she wasn't finding anything. According to the website, The Pirate Queen was associated with the sixteenth century—or more accurately, sixteenth-century Ireland.
"So I was in Ireland?" Grace said to herself, a little more quietly this time.
"Wait... She was a person?"
It hadn't been quite what she had expected to read, but something inside her told her that this was exactly what she was looking for. She continued down the page, muttering to herself as she read out loud to help her take in the information.
"So, The Pirate Queen is the name given to an Irish pirate," she confirmed to herself: "Grace O'Malley, better known to those in Ireland as Gráinne, or Granuaile." She stumbled over the last word, butchering the pronunciation. It took a few seconds for the information to register before Grace realised exactly what it was that she had discovered.
"Grace O'Malley!" she gasped as she finally took it in. Why hadn't it occurred to her immediately that her own name was the Anglicisation of Gráinne? She was starting to think she hadn't spent nearly enough time researching her heritage.
Her head was starting to spin. "The girl, Cathleen, what was it she'd called me?' She tried to think back, but her mind was racing so fast that she was struggling to digest the information. She looked at the screen again and as she read the words and it all started coming back to her. "Miss something, wasn't it? Miss...Granuaile? That's it! Miss Granuaile!" She absorbed the word on the screen as she rejoiced in remembering the name, pronouncing it more accurately this time. "Cathleen must have thought that I was Grace O'Malley!"
This new information was a welcomed relief, but still little of it made sense to Grace. How could she find herself in sixteenth-century Ireland, being mistaken for a pirate she had never heard of before and with whom she shared a first name?
Okay, so she'd established that the boots in the ship—the boots in which she'd first discovered her letter—belonged to Gráinne O'Malley. Perhaps the clothes Grace had somehow found herself wearing had been Gráinne's too. But it still didn't explain much. Grace hadn't even heard of this pirate woman before, so why was she trying to communicate with her? And how was she doing it? She couldn't possibly know about Grace four hundred years before she was even born.
She continued reading down the page. 'Grace O'Malley's castle on Clare Island still stands today.' Next to the paragraph there was a small photograph of a grey building. It took a moment for it to register with Grace before she realised that it was the same castle she'd seen in the distance when she had climbed down from the ship.
She was about to continue down the page when the phone on her desk rang.
"Anchor News; Grace speaking," she said as she picked up the receiver. Typical, she thought: Nobody ever rings except when I'm in the middle of something important. "Sure, I'll put you through to him."
Catching Andy's eye to alert him of the incoming call, she transferred it to his desk and put down the phone.
She turned her attention back to her monitor, but before she had a chance to read any further she noticed Andy coming toward her. She quickly closed down the web page that was open in front of her and pulled up the Anchor homepage.
"Cheese and onion or chicken and mayo?" He stood at her desk and produced two takeaway sandwiches.
"Ooh, cheese and onion, please!" She took the lunch gratefully and tore open the plastic wrap. She'd been running late as usual and hadn't had time for breakfast, something of which her rumbling stomach had reminded her all morning.
"Working hard, are we?" Andy teased as he ripped into his own sandwich and took a bite.
"As ever..." She rolled her eyes at him. "Quick phone call, was it?"
"Yeah, it wasn't anything important. I'd just asked for some information confirmation and they said they'd get back to me."
"Which they did..."
"Yes, which they did. So, how much fun has your day been?"
"Oh, enthralling!" She raised her thumbs in the air, adding to her sarcasm.
"Well, why don't I give you something to look forward to?" he said.
"What do you have in mind?"
"It depends! Do you have plans for this evening?"
Grace pretended to think for a moment, not wanting to confess that she rarely made plans to do anything that didn't involve takeaway food and a night in front of the television. "I can't say that I do," she finally replied.
"Good. Look, if I'm honest, I'm in need of a favour from you."
"Ah, so that's what the sandwiches are for," Grace baited.
"Pretty much..."' Which they both knew wasn't true as Andy would often pick up something for her if he had time. Last week it had been a Twix and a can of Diet Coke, both received as warmly as the sandwich. "My sister's got this thing tonight—a function of some sort—and she wants me to watch Mollie, my niece." Was Andy stumbling with his words? "I said I'd take her out for something to eat, but I'm really not that good with kids. I don't suppose you'd want to join me?"
"Sure."
"I promise she's as good as gold, never saying much and always remembering her manners—"
"Andy, I said I'll come with you!"
"—oh, thank you, Grace. You're a life-saver, you really are. We can head there straight after work. Sarah's dropping her off around half five. Right, I'm just popping out for a bit. I'll be back though, don't worry!" Andy winked before turning round, dropping his now empty sandwich packet into the nearby bin, and heading out of the door.
So it's not exactly a date he's after, but...
If only for that moment, Grace forgot all about Ireland and Gráínne and the letter that she'd managed to return to her bag before anyone had seen it. There was something about Andy she'd found particularly alluring ever since she'd joined the Anchor team. They had a great working relationship—a friendship, Grace hoped - but they'd not really had the chance to spend time together outside of work.
Perhaps this was going to be the start of something beautiful. It didn't matter to Grace that his niece was going to be there too. She felt like a teenager again as she thought about seeing him after office hours. She tried not to squeal as she struggled to contain herself. At long last she was going to spend some time with him, and only that time would tell where their relationship would lead to after that. As her imagination conjured some of her wildest fantasies, she blushed.
The rest of the day crawled by much more slowly than usual. For once, though, Grace was thankful for the lack of work to do. After forcing her wandering mind through the rest of the article about Grace O'Malley that she'd been in the middle of before Andy had come over to her, she allowed herself to slip into a daydream, leaving her unable to concentrate on anything except the possible events of that evening that were slowly unravelling inside her mind.
She kept playing it over and over again in her head, imagining conversations she'd share with Andy. She thought about what he might order, what she might eat; it didn't matter that he hadn't actually told her where they were going. Perhaps they'd go somewhere for Thai food. Or maybe they'd visit an Italian restaurant, and they could share a plate of spaghetti. Then they would each take an end of a ribbon of pasta and bite their way down towards the middl
e until their lips met...all with the child sitting right next to them.
Grace was forced out of her daydream when Andy arrived back at the office to pick her up. "Back just in time. Didn't I promise?" he grinned.
He had tapped Grace on the shoulder to get her attention, causing her to nearly jump right out of her seat. Everybody else had already gone home, except Mr Barrie and Fran, who were both in the boss's office doing whatever it was they did when they were alone. Grace didn't know the details but she was certain she never wanted to find out.
"Are you ready then?" Andy asked.
As ready as I'll ever be, Grace thought to herself as she shut down the computer, forcing herself to hide the excitement that was rapidly building inside her.
As they headed down Regent Street, butterflies fluttering in her stomach, Andy still hadn't said where they were going. Too impatient to wait any longer, Grace finally asked.
"It's this great little diner just round the corner on Charing Cross Road. I've been there a few times with Mollie and she really seems to enjoy it, so I thought we'd play it safe and stick to somewhere she knows. She's not the easiest to please with food!"
"I've never been in a diner before," Grace confessed.
"Well you're going to love it. It's very retro."
When they reached the entrance, she agreed that it looked spectacular. For some reason she couldn't remember ever having seen this one before; maybe it was just because she hadn't ever sought it out. There were lots of independent restaurants and diners around London but the ones Grace usually noticed were sleek with posh fonts and fancy lettering. Not this one though. Both the front window and the frame of the door were decorated with bright neon lights, lit up in different colours: blues, greens, yellows, reds. The display was alluring, stunning. It was unique, and that was something Grace admired.
They stopped and turned their backs on the diner to face the street. "Sarah shouldn't be too long. I must warn you though, she's a bit—"
The BMW pulled up in front of them: shiny new paintwork, chrome finishes, clearly worth not a penny lower than Grace's annual salary.
"—flash."
He wasn't kidding either. The tall woman slid out of the driver's seat. Her cream suit highlighted her slim figure, her large sunglasses drawing attention to her bronzed cheekbones. A blonde ponytail swished around her waist, tied up tightly to match the rest of her immaculate image.
Andy hugged his sister with a distinct lack of any real embrace.
She opened the side door and out stepped Andy's petite niece: soft brown curls, pale skin, rosy cheeks. Her eyes were wide as her eyelashes were long. Between her natural features and her little red woollen duffel coat that would do any Edwardian child proud, she remarkably resembled a little porcelain doll.
"I'll pick Mollie up from your place at around ten, if that's okay with you?"
"Sure. Hello, Mollie." He bent down and hugged the child.
"Hi, Uncle Andy." Her whisper was barely audible, her voice a delicate product of her sheltered life.
"Mollie, this is Grace, a friend of mine." He gestured toward her as she stood back on the pavement, shifting her feet awkwardly.
"Hello." Grace decided to add a small wave for effect. The child smiled slightly but didn't speak.
"As I said," Andy spoke to Grace from the side of his mouth, "she's quite shy. Don't take it personally."
"Right, give mummy a kiss." Sarah leaned forward so Mollie could kiss her cheek. "Have fun with Uncle Andy."
And without another word, she drove off.
Once they were inside the diner, Grace was just as amazed as she had been by the exterior. An assortment of tables was arranged around the diner floor. Some were circular with individual seats in an open space. Others resembled little booths to allow for a more intimate experience. She was equally surprised and delighted to discover that Andy had selected a booth for them.
Grace took in the surroundings as they waited for their order. "It's very nice in here. Quite American, isn't it?"
"Oh, it's lovely. I've been here quite a few times, and it's always such an inviting place. In the evenings they play music on that jukebox over there." He pointed to the corner of the room near the toilets. "It can actually get quite lively in here, believe it or not! I only tend to come in when I'm looking after Mollie, of course." She was sitting next to him, concentrating on the picture she was colouring that had been provided by the diner. "I'll have an occasional something to eat here myself after work though and catch up with a few newspapers if I've been out all day. It's a nice place to relax and escape from the cold. I suppose I should probably endeavour to be a bit more adventurous with what I eat here though. I always order the same thing! I did try their veggie burger once, actually. It was quite nice. I could never give up real burgers though!"
"Neither could I."
"You'll love the cheeseburger. The first time I took a bite out of one of those beauties I thought I'd died and gone to heaven."
The waitress who had taken their order approached the table, carrying two trays. She was younger than Grace, in her early twenties perhaps, and wore her blonde hair in short plaits at either side of her face. Around her waist she'd wrapped a green apron, with a cap of the same colour resting on the top of her head.
"Three cheeseburgers and fries with chocolate milkshakes?"
"Yes, that's us." Andy replied. "Thank you."
The waitress unloaded the trays. "Enjoy your meal," she said before heading off to take another order. Mollie didn't hesitate as she began tucking into her chips, probably thankful for another excuse not to have to talk or interact with anybody.
Grace looked down at her own plate. She couldn't believe the size of the cheeseburger. The hearty helping was wedged in between two thick slices of bun, the melted cheese oozing and bubbling hot in the middle. A fair display of chips—sorry, fries—lay at the side of it. Grace was sure they were the longest fries she'd ever seen. The milkshake had arrived in a tall glass, its look finished off with a pink straw. Andy had been given a green straw, Grace noticed. She started to wonder what Andy's favourite colour was. She decided he looked like he'd enjoy blue, or perhaps orange, and made a mental note to find out.
"It smells amazing, doesn't it?"
"I don't know where to begin!"
Andy laughed and reached for the plastic basket of condiments on the table. "Now call me disgusting, but I have to have mustard with my chips. I'm afraid it's one of my greatest weaknesses." He pulled out the yellow bottle and gave it a shake before turning it upside down and squeezing a dollop of mustard onto the side of his plate.
"I think I'll stick with plain old ketchup. I don't think my culinary adventures would stretch as far as yours." She squeezed the red bottle so that her fries were decorated in the sauce. She reached for her cutlery and separated the knife and fork from the paper napkin.
"Mollie doesn't like any sauce, do you?" She shook her head and popped another chip into her mouth. "Anyway, I wouldn't say I'm overly adventurous myself," he laughed. "I'm sitting in a backstreet diner with a burger the size of a house in front of me. I'm not really one for fancy restaurants. You know the sort where you end up paying an entire month's wages for little more than a raisin in the middle of the plate? I know some consider it to be an art form, but I just don't care for all that intricate presentation stuff. No, I like my food to be something tasty that will fill me up."
"I couldn't agree more."
"Ah yes, just as I remembered it!" Andy remarked as he shovelled a fork of burger into his mouth, having cut it into portions. "I've not been here in at least a month. I swear I was starting to get withdrawal symptoms!"
Grace cut a piece of the cheeseburger and popped it into her mouth. As she chewed, she began to realise exactly what Andy had been talking about. The burger was juicy and not overdone, but not so soft that it turned the crispy bun soggy. The cheese was wonderful and creamy. She couldn't believe she'd never heard of this place. Now that she thought about
it, she couldn't recall seeing a name above the door.
"Wow! You were right. It's delicious!" She picked up her milkshake and drew the straw to her lips. As she sucked, her mouth was overcome with the sweet chocolate taste. It was thick, but not lumpy: just the way Grace thought it should be. "I don't think I've had a chocolate milkshake since I was a teenager!"
"They're amazing, aren't they? I know they're a little naughty, but it's such a wonderful indulgence. All in moderation, as I keep reminding myself, or I'll end up needing a new wardrobe." He tugged at his jacket.
Grace smiled, thinking to herself how dapper Andy looked. He was always smartly dressed in his suits and ties for work. She wondered what he liked to wear during weekends when he was away from the office.
"I've been craving this since this morning. It definitely hits the spot after a long day."
"I know how you feel!"
"Don't get me wrong; I love working away from the office. But it's November, and even with a scarf around my neck, it's still freezing! I just keep reminding myself that it'll be tennis season soon enough."
"Do you play tennis?"
"Occasionally; I used to play for the school team, and I used to compete in regional competitions."
"Wow!"
"I loved mixed doubles. I think I won most of my matches that way. I don't really have the time for it now, so I only play now and then. What about you? Do you play any sports?"
Grace snorted, narrowly avoiding bringing milkshake down her nose.
"I'll take that as a no then!"
"It's just not something I was ever good at. I hated gym lessons at school, and I think my opinions about sports have remained the same from there. I did go to gymnastics for a while in primary school, but I think that's something every little girl tries. But all in all, I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about it."
"I love writing about sport, but it's not the same as actually taking part. I suppose it's not for everybody. But more importantly, how's the job going?" he asked as he piled a few fries onto his fork.