by Amy McLean
"How is everyone?"
"Everyone's fine, dear. Your Dad says hello."
"Hello to Dad," she said.
"Listen, did you receive the photograph I sent you on that e-thing this morning?"
Grace had lost count of how many times her Mum had phoned her asking how to send an email. She was learning, slowly, but Grace still wouldn't dream of letting her loose on her own laptop.
"I've not checked my emails today, Mum."
"Are you in the house now? You need to see this!"
"Well, I am at home but I'm kind of—"
"Turn on your computer and have a look!" Mrs Byrne interrupted. "Oh, you'll love it, Grace!"
With little other choice, Grace glanced at the oven to make sure it was okay before dashing through to the living room.
"Right, I'm booting it now," she responded as she opened the laptop. The machine whirred to life. "What is it you want me to see?"
"You'll find out when you open it. Have you got it yet?"
"It takes a minute to load. Right, here we are." She found the email and clicked it open. It was never a good sign to find an attachment from her Mum. She scrolled down and located the photograph at the bottom of the page. There was no challenge in identifying her Mum near the centre of the gathering, and around her stood faces Grace also recognised. There were a few people nearer the edges of the photo she'd never seen before, but it was quite obvious whose family this was. "Is this from the baby's baptism?"
"It's from the baby's baptism! Just look at him, Grace. Isn't he adorable?"
She looked at the small pink child in the arms of her Uncle Seamus, a fluffy mop of bright ginger hair already forming on his freckled infant head. "Yes, I suppose he is..."
"They have a name for him now, too."
"It's about time. What did they go with in the end?"
"They've decided to call him Malachy Michael Martin MacBride," Mrs Byrne squealed.
"Wow, that's quite a mouthful!"
"He's just the sweetest baby, Grace. I wish you could have been there."
Apart from returning each Christmas, Grace seldom went been back to Belfast since she'd moved to England.
"Your Great-Uncle Malachy O'Malley was flattered at the name choice, of course. He spent the entire day tickling the baby's—"
"Did you say O'Malley, Mum?" The question had come out with more force than she had intended, but she needed to make sure she'd heard right. She had no recollection of ever having heard of this relative.
"Yes, dear. You've never met him before, and I've only really met him once or twice myself before last weekend. I must say, he's quite a handsome man. He's fourth from the left in the photo," said Mrs Byrne.
Grace studied the image on the screen. "I didn't know we were related to the O'Malleys, Mum."
"Only by marriage. He married my Aunt Nora—that's your Granny MacBride's sister—just before you were born. They live on the other side of the city though, and as you know, we never really speak to Aunt Nora unless we have to. Every time we've had to deliver a present or take something to them Malachy has been away on business. He's nearly ninety now, though. I expect he'll be at home a lot more nowadays. Perhaps I should pay my Aunt Nora a visit and see if he—"
"Is he from Mayo?" If there was even the slightest chance that this Great-Uncle of hers was related to Gráinne O'Malley, then she was going to make sure she found out about it.
"No, of course he's not from Mayo. He was born and raised in Belfast. I remember one time we were all sitting at the dinner table when you were just a baby, and your Dad mentioned to Granny MacBride that he had to go to Galway for a few—"
"Mum, I don't mean to interrupt"—Grace knew she was about to start another one of her never-ending stories—"but I really need to go. I'm baking a cake and I need to take it out of the oven before it burns." Having almost forgotten about the cake, she rushed back to the kitchen with the phone still to her ear.
"How lovely that you still bake! What is it this time?"
"It's a walnut sponge cake, Mum," she said as she struggled with the baking tray.
"I do love a good sponge cake. Are you having friends over for a sleepover?"
"Sure, Mum." It was easier than telling her the truth.
"Enjoy your cake, dear; I'll phone you later in the week."
"Bye, Mum. I love you."
"I love you too, dear."
Grace hung up and dropped the phone onto the kitchen counter. She had fallen uncomfortably behind schedule now and was going to have to work quickly to catch up if she wanted everything to be ready before Andy arrived. She'd just about finished when her phone rang again.
She looked at the caller ID, and considered ignoring it. But what good would it do? She knew Caroline would only keep ringing until Grace eventually answered, and she'd rather speak to her now than have to face her conversations when Andy was around.
'Hello?"
"Grace, darling, it's Caroline!"
"Hel—"
"I'm glad I caught you. I tried ringing a few minutes ago but you must have been on another call. Listen, I wanted to thank you for coming over last week. It really was great to see everybody and catch up again, wasn't it? It's been so long." Grace was sure that Caroline wasn't phoning just to thank her. "It was such a fun night. I don't think I've laughed that much in ages. My cheeks are still hurting. Anyway, I was wondering if you were busy on Friday?"
There it was.
"Well, I'll be at work—"
"I need you to meet me on your lunch break. I've been given a new project, something we're publishing about the monarchy, and I've been asked to visit Westminster Abbey as part of the first article. But the thing is, Grace, I'm really not all that interested in that sort of thing, and I know you're quite keen on all that historical stuff, so I thought you'd be able to come with me, point out a few things, and then we can have something to eat. What do you say?"
"Okay, I can help you," she said. "But only for an hour—the boss will kill me if he knows I've been gone any longer."
"Oh you're a star, Grace. Thank you. I knew you wouldn't let me down. Perhaps you could do a little research for me beforehand, maybe jot a few things onto a piece of paper for me that I can take back to the office and work with..."
Caroline continued talking for another twenty minutes; it was proving impossible to hang up on her, as every time she tried to say goodbye Caroline launched into another story. But when she began to gossip about somebody in her office who had just undergone some awful cosmetic procedure, Grace knew she was going to have to interrupt.
"Caroline, I really have to go. I have somebody coming over soon. But I'll meet you outside the Abbey on Friday, I promise."
She hung up the phone and sprinted up the stairs, flinging off her apron as she went.She was covered in flour, and Andy was due to arrive any minute. She had to find something suitable to wear, and fast.
"Wow!"Andy stood in the doorway, poised with a bottle in his hand. "You look wonderful!"
"Thanks!" It wasn't much, but Grace had managed to dig out a teal summer dress from the back of her wardrobe—something a bit more feminine than the outfits she usually wore, she thought, but still comfortable. She studied Andy's choice of outfit with admiration: he was wearing a white shirt—undoubtedly a new purchase—with grey suit trousers, his black waterproof left unzipped to reveal the lack of tie around his neck. The top button of his shirt had been left unfastened, and there was a hint of stubble on his chin. Although unusual for Andy, it was much less than the beard upon Donal's face. Grace noted to herself that she'd never seen Andy look this relaxed.
"This is for you, Miss Byrne," he managed, bowing playfully as he handed her the bottle of wine.
"Thank you, that's very kind of you. Come in; I won't be a moment." She had been in the middle of drying the dishes when the doorbell rang. "Make yourself at home and I'll get some glasses." She hoped he wasn't able to detect the nerves in her voice as she showed him to the living room.
"The horse? That's my housemate's. She's very big on animals," Grace replied. "She's out this evening though. Hey, you don't mind cats, do you?" She pulled the cork on the bottle.
"No, not at all. Why?"
Right on cue Bella crawled around the door and emerged at the side of the sofa, rubbing her arched back against the furniture.
"Never mind," Andy called as he reached down to tickle Bella on the back.
Grace entered the living room with two glasses of white wine and handed one to Andy. "Cheers!"
She decided to play it safe and sit on the sofa opposite him, not wanting to seem too forward by invading his personal space. She was a little surprised when he edged closer to her. He sipped at the glass and glanced around the room.
"So..."
"I've baked a cake." Grace was sure she hadn't meant it to come out as forced as that. She was just trying to prevent an awkward silence.
"Oh, brilliant! What kind?"
"Walnut sponge. I hope that's okay."
"Certainly. I don't believe there's a cake out there that I won't eat. I remember my mum took me to this beautiful little café when I was a boy as a treat for doing so well on my report card for once in a subject that wasn't sport—I never really took any interest in writing until secondary school. She bought me this Belgian chocolate cupcake, and I can still remember the delicious aroma as the waitress placed it on the table in front of me, the sweet smell completely enveloping me in this sort of cocoon of chocolate perfection. It had these little flakes on the top and it crumbled wonderfully whenever I took a bite. To this day, I can't say I've ever had a better cupcake."
"It must have been delicious for you to remember it so vividly."'
"It was! Sadly, I don't think that café's there anymore. Quite a shame really."
"Did you go there often?"
"Not really. It was a place that we'd go to if Sarah or I had done particularly well at school or some other activity. We didn't really have a lot of money when we were growing up. Our parents had decided to take out a mortgage on a house in Kensington before they realised that Mum was already pregnant. Several years down the line they were juggling house payments and two kids on one wage. We still had fun though. I always remember it being a happy home. It wasn't until they both died a few years ago and we had to sell the house that I realised how much I was going to miss that place."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Grace was surprised by how open Andy was being with her.
"It's okay. I suppose it's something you get used to, isn't it? You grew up in Belfast didn't you?"
"I did, yes."
"I've been to Dublin, but never as far as Northern Ireland. What's it like?"
"Well, I can't say it was the easiest of upbringings—always on guard, always on the lookout. But it's a beautiful place, so many hidden treasures if you get away from the centre."
"I'm sure I'd love to visit one day," Andy said with a hint of suggestion.
"You really should. I must admit that I often miss it."
"I'm ashamed to have to ask, because all this sort of stuff really does confuse me, but do you consider yourself to be British or Irish?"
Grace remained silent for a moment.
"Oh, I'm sorry. That wasn't the right thing to ask was it? I didn't mean to—"
"No, it's fine. Honestly. It's just something I have to think about as I'm not really too sure myself. There's a lot of division, you know? I'm never quite sure which nationality I consider myself to be."
"I understand. So you moved here to study then?" Andy asked, tactfully redirecting the subject.
The question made Grace realise that, in all the years they'd worked together, they'd never really sat down to have a proper conversation. Until recently they'd engaged in little more than office banter. While she wouldn't deny that she'd enjoyed that side of the relationship, she was glad that things seemed to at last be taking a new direction.
"I think I just fancied a change of scenery. I'd always wanted to visit London anyway, so it seemed like the perfect situation."
"And you have no regrets?" He drained his glass.
"None at all: I mean, yes, I wish I were enjoying my job more; and no, this wasn't where I thought I'd be at this stage in my life, but I have a lot to be thankful for, and I need to remind myself of that more often."
For a moment neither spoke. Grace was certain that this harmony could last forever. That was, until the timer sounded from the kitchen.
"Will you excuse me for a moment? I need to see to the food." She stood to leave the room.
"Sure thing," he called after her as he placed his empty glass on the coffee table. To occupy himself while he waited he turned his attention to a small pile of books at the foot of the table. He picked up the one on top to discover that it was a collection of poetry. "I didn't know you liked poetry, Grace."
"How can you be so sure it's mine?" she teased.
"Because it has your name written on the first page..."
"I'm not actually all that interested, to be honest," she said. "I thought I'd give it a go and bought a couple of books from a charity shop, but I never really took to it." She drained the pasta. "I was sorting through some old books to donate and thought those could go back."
Andy didn't respond, but instead he read the list of names out loud as he scanned the contents page. "Wordsworth. Coleridge. Blake. Byron—hey, I went to the same school as him," he confirmed to himself.
"Same school as whom?" Grace asked from the kitchen.
"Lord Byron," Andy called back. "I went on a scholarship." As he returned the book he noticed a bundle of papers that lay scattered near the books, and he couldn't resist the temptation to have a quick peek to see what mysteries they might contain. He picked up the top sheet and began to read, unaware that Grace was almost finished preparing the meal in the kitchen.
He was still holding up a sheet of paper when she returned to the living room.
"Dinner is served—" She stopped in her tracks.
"Oh, so sorry; I was just glancing over these while I was waiting for you. I hope you don't mind. I didn't know you were interested in pirates. Are the notes for anything special?"
What could she say to him? She could hardly tell him the truth. He'd think she had gone insane. Before Grace could respond though, there was a knock at the front door.
"Sorry, do you mind if I get that?" Grace dashed out of the room to see who it was, relieved for the opportunity to consider her response to Andy's question.
"Sorry about that. I had to sign for a parcel for Harriet. More online shopping, I assume," she announced when she returned.
"No worries," Andy replied as they made their way to the kitchen.
The subject of Grace's research didn't enter the conversation again, at least not immediately. Once they were seated at the table, the taste of the wine soon became the hottest topic of conversation. Grace served another glass, and then another, as both rapidly drained their drinks.
However, the inevitable was soon to happen, and Grace couldn't avoid it.
"So you never did tell me what those notes were for..." Andy revisited the topic as Grace was busy twirling a strand of spaghetti around her fork.
"I'm—I'm writing an article," Grace blurted out.
She had no idea where that had come from. She had panicked; it was the first thing that had popped into her head. And yet, somehow, it made perfect sense. Her mind now started whizzing with ideas.
"I think I'd like to read that when you're done, if you would let me of course. What I managed to read of your notes sounded interesting. And I take it this article will be shown to Mr Barrie?"
"I—yes, I suppose it will..." She could have squealed from her newfound excitement. She didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before. "Yes, I'm writing an article for Mr Barrie so that he'll see that I have greater potential and will hopefully offer me mor
e responsibilities."
"Good for you! I'm glad you've finally thought of something. I was starting to worry that I'd have to force you to look for another job. The last thing I want is for you to leave Anchor, Grace, but I do hate seeing you unhappy."
Grace's mouth lowered from an excited grin into a warm smile as she gazed at Andy, who stared silently across the table at her. She blushed, not accustomed to the attention, and lowered her head as she concentrated on working another strand of spaghetti.
Andy chuckled softly before continuing: "So tell me, what's this article all about? Your notes are about a female pirate, aren't they?" he asked.
'They are, yes. Her name is Gráinne O'Malley, or Grace—"
"That's your name," Andy pointed out the obvious.
"Yes, it is!But she's from the west coast of Ireland, and from the sixteenth century."
"Sounds fascinating... A female pirate is certainly not something I would have expected, especially not back then."
"Perhaps that's why she was so notorious," Grace responded, her eyes widening with the opportunity to talk about something she'd kept secret for longer than she cared to consider. "I think even today the idea of a powerful female is something with which society struggles, and such personalities were almost unheard of in her time."
"I can only imagine..."
"The islanders are feeling the strain of being under English rule," she remarked, not wholly conscious of her chosen tense, and forgetting that her so-called present circumstances in Ireland were otherwise in the past. "Their land is suffering in both size and quality, and both finances and food are of equal shortage."
"You sound as if you've been there," Andy laughed, not realising the importance behind Grace's words, but finding the passion in her expressions to be admirable. "English rule? Who was in charge at the time?"
"Queen Elizabeth."
"Ah, yes, good old Lizzie! She was quite a strong woman, wasn't she? What was it she'd said? 'I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king!'" said Andy in his best female voice before wolfing down another forkful of spaghetti.
"Actually," continued Grace, "you wouldn't believe this, but Gráinne actually met the Queen. Her son was captured by one of Her Majesty's men. Gráinne had to go to England to fight for his release."