That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel

by Adrienne Vaughan

  “Lol went to the pub with the others.”

  She guessed he was making sure the coast was clear to let her know her services were no longer required, she was let go, leave it at that. Christ, this business could be so fickle.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. May I sit?” He looked for a chair. Mia dragged debris off the bench beneath the window. Courtney sat, long legs folded up in the small space.

  “A drink?”

  “Thanks. Whatever you’re having.”

  Mia tipped the remainder of the wine into another mug.

  “We’ve had a call. Hard to get a signal here, I thought I’d come and tell you.” He kept his gaze fixed on the mug.

  Mia leaned against the sink, relief swept through her, she was not being sacked.

  “Do you mean Archie? Archie Fitz?”

  Courtney pressed his lips together in a sad smile.

  “My mother phoned, I … I know,” Mia told him.

  “Great,” Courtney finally looked at her. “No, sorry, not great, I didn’t mean …”

  “I know, good I got the call, just before the storm, must have had a signal briefly.” She indicated the discarded phone.

  “I met him you know.” He stood, bending to avoid the roof. The wind howled, the caravan shifted. She gave him a smile, they had been so close, once.

  “Of course you did, a party at Galty House.” She looked up into his face. “His birthday.”

  “Yes, one hell of a night. Worked with him a couple of times since, too. He was amazing,” Courtney said. “Kind, warm, generous.”

  “Crazy, bad tempered, lazy too,” Mia added ruefully. No canonisation, not for Archie, he would despise that.

  “To Archie, he was one of the greats.” Courtney raised his mug.

  “Not dead yet.” Mia was solemn. “Let’s just drink to him.”

  “Archie,” they said together. The phone beeped, Mia grabbed it.

  “A text, my fiancé, he must have heard.”

  Courtney made to leave. Mia had a fiancé, he had a wife, they had moved on.

  “Thanks,” she called after him. “Thanks for coming.” It was a terrible night out there.

  The text read:

  ‘What’s happening? Will you be home at the weekend or what? R x’

  Despite her sadness the message lifted her; her man was longing to see her and she was aching to see him too. She could not wait to bury herself in his warm, forever there embrace. She pressed ‘call’. Straight to answerphone. No signal.

  She sighed, weary and worried, and finished the wine. Closing her eyes she tried to remember the very first time she had met Archie, her mother’s oldest friend. But she could not picture it, that first encounter. Probably because she had been too young to remember, probably because Archie had always been there, right from the very beginning; even before the beginning, if truth were told.

  The storm rattled on, yet despite it Mia slept soundly, warmed through with wine and reminders of Archie’s love, a love she had never, ever had cause to doubt. And somewhere deep in her dreams Mia Flanagan knew that whatever happened she was going to miss Aloysius Fermoy Fitzgerald OBE, very much indeed. It would be just like losing a father. The very same.

  STATION TO STATION

  T2 Dublin Airport was familiar territory for Fenella Flanagan, she danced up the escalator, blowing a kiss at the portrait of Pierce Brosnan at the top, as she glided past the gallery of quintessential Irish faces, heading to passport control.

  Fellow travellers looked left and right, questioning if it really was the famous actress or just someone who looked like her. A classical beauty even now in her fifties ‒ Fenella was a beauty with brains, guile and talent ‒ and was totally aware that being an ‘icon’ was a full-time job, twenty-four-seven.

  “Miss Flanagan, welcome home,” the immigration officer gave her his best smile. She checked his badge.

  “Sean, good to see you, great to be back.” She had never seen him before in her life.

  “We guessed you’d be home,” he leaned in to whisper. “When the newspapers said Fitz was in a bad way.”

  “Sometimes, you just need your friends around you.” She was aware of the agitated queue growing behind her. She would not comment on Archie’s condition, besides she had only spoken to Bernice and her version of things, even the weather, could vary wildly from her own.

  “Will you go straight to Wexford or stop over in Dublin tonight?” the officer asked, oblivious to the unrest his conversation was causing.

  “Stop over. My daughter’s on location in Wicklow, we’ll go together in the morning.”

  “Young Mia is here?” He was clearly a fan.

  “Working on that new vampire film near Aughrim.”

  “I read that. Your man, James Quinn, is giving them hell!”

  Fenella smiled, removing her shades. “Surely not!”

  A man behind coughed. The officer ignored him.

  “Well, be sure and tell Fitz, we love him. See if he can’t pull himself round and make a bit of a comeback. There’s no one like him, none of the new fellas can act their way out of a paper bag.”

  Fenella tightened the knot of her Hermes scarf.

  “All in order?”

  She tried to move on, people might think she expected differential treatment, they would be on Twitter or Facebook instantly, saying she was arrogant, then her agent or worse, her PR, would be begging she ‘get with the programme’ and ‘keep a handle on things’. Times had changed, she knew the score.

  “Indeed, Miss Flanagan, away you go,” the officer pronounced, and despite the bundle of fury which took her place, continued to gaze after her, until she disappeared into the Arrivals Hall.

  The traffic was nose to tail. She could not remember Dublin being this busy but it was rush hour and she had not been in her homeland for … how long was it? Nearly five years.

  She was pleased to see her usual driver waiting.

  “Where is it, Miss Flanagan, The Shelbourne?” He took her bag.

  “No, Thomas, not this time. Connolly Street, just a stopover before I take the train to Wexford tomorrow.” She took in the grey landscape of the Drumcondra Road. It had started to rain.

  “Sure, I could take you down to Wexford, no problem,” the driver reassured her via the rear-view mirror. With so many taxis licensed for the city, good fares were hard to come by.

  “Thank you, Thomas, but myself and my daughter will take the train together, a sentimental journey, you know how it is.”

  “Of course.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as they waited at lights. “It’s a lovely journey alright, all along the coast, sure you’re on the beach half the time.” He turned the wipers on full.

  Fenella adored and abhorred the beach in equal measure but was desperate to see Archie, and the train was the quickest and easiest route, beach or no beach. She was hardly able to keep her eyes open as they crawled through the murky streets, people and buildings turned taupe with misty rain, even in June.

  “At last!” he said when she answered the phone.

  “At last? I’ve been calling for days, goes to voicemail every time.” Mia stopped herself sounding frustrated, she did not want a tetchy conversation, it was ages since they had seen each other.

  “Yeah, sorry about that, lost it.”

  “You lost it?” She was immediately concerned.

  “Misplaced it, I mean,”

  “Oh, I see, where was it?”

  “In the airing cupboard.”

  “Airing cupboard?”

  Mia was surprised he knew they even had an airing cupboard.

  “The tank was …er… making noises, I went to investigate, must have fallen out of my pocket.”

  Mia was impressed, Rupert developing an interest in DIY? He was hardly the most domesticated of creatures. Was this a good thing, was he happy because rehearsals were going well or home looking for things to do because they were not. Had he been sac
ked … again?

  “Everything okay?” he asked, quietly.

  Suddenly she wished she was there, close enough to fling herself into his arms.

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Something awful, I can tell.”

  There he was, her gorgeous man, the one who understood every nuance in her voice. “It’s Archie, he’s gravely ill, asking to see me.” The words caught in her throat.

  “Hey, steady-up.” His tone instantly soft, caring, everything she adored about him. “Think about it, ill as he is, he’s able to send for you, his favourite girl.”

  “You’re right and I have to be strong for him and for mother too, you know …”

  The phone was pressed so hard against her face it would leave a mark when she hung up. She could hear music in the background, one of their favourite songs. He was playing the soundtrack to All for One! They had met on the set of a woeful remake of The Three Musketeers. Some bright spark had decided the classic tale ought to be turned into a musical. How they had laughed, lived and loved, despite the awfulness of everything that gruelling, grinding three months in a derelict Tuscan castle had thrown at them.

  “How’s it going? All the other stuff?”

  Kind, lovely guy, she thought, trying to change the subject, cheer me up. “Bloody mayhem, as usual. James dropping his fangs and smashing the set to pieces. Amelia shrieking and wailing like a banshee over every tiny thing. Rain stops play every five minutes and we had a major prop issue, sent the director into a tailspin and everyone else to the pub!”

  He gave a low chuckle. “Just another day at the coalface, then?”

  Mia slumped on the bench, gazed at the pewter sky.

  “How long do you think you’ll be away?” he asked.

  “No … idea.” The sob came in her voice again.

  “Sweet thing, try not to worry so much. See how things are with Archie, do whatever you have to, finish filming and get home when you can. I’ll take care of things here till your return, I promise.”

  Exquisitely English; looks, voice, charm, Rupert was incredibly laidback. An attitude Mia often tried to imitate, always failing hopelessly.

  “He’s going to die, Rupert,” she said.

  “We’re all going to die, my love,” Rupert replied helpfully. Silence. Someone who had been a father figure all her life was seriously ill. Mia was a worrier. She would be stressing big time. “I’m sorry.” More silence.

  “How’re things with you?” Mia asked finally.

  Rupert chose to be selfless, declining to mention his sorry state of affairs, rehearsals were not going well; he was teetering on the edge of unemployment yet again.

  “Absolutely fine but tell me your plans?”

  “Mother wants to meet in Dublin, travel together. I’ll get back to the shoot as soon as I can.” Mia had been fretting about how much extra work her leave of absence would create, she needed to get ahead of herself. She was already dragging bits of script out of the filing cabinet in her brain, wondering which scenes they were filming next, what costumes would be needed.

  “Will the movie finish on schedule?”

  “I doubt it,” Mia replied, head back on track. “It’s tricky, no one likes the costume designer, two of the principals were married once and seem to be revisiting past issues between takes and then this set malarkey with James.”

  “Same old, same old.” Rupert gave a laugh.

  “I just wish I was home but ... I need to see Archie.” She was trying not to cry.

  “Come on, Mia, chin up,” he said soothingly, then. “Sorry, the door. Christ, I’m late.”

  “Oh.”

  “Be strong, now.” The phone died.

  Mia had never seen her mother look so tiny. The vastness of Connolly Street Station dwarfed her. She was suddenly moved, protective of the diminutive creature in the long, linen coat, ebony hair pushed into a straw trilby, huge dark glasses covering her face. She was buying a magazine, Mia hoped it was Hello, her mother’s take on the celebrity stories were far more fascinating than anything the magazine could deliver. At least it would distract them, give them something other than the bald reality of Archie’s impending demise to talk about, a more amenable common ground.

  “Darling!” Fenella gave her only child a brief hug. “I’ve managed to buy tickets, why is it so difficult? No staff. Just a hole in the wall, a desperate state of affairs.” She steered Mia towards a row of carriages. “Is there even first class? No one to ask.” She scanned the train for signage. Mia indicated a coach.

  “This one, it’ll be fine.” She lifted her mother’s Aspinal leather holdall onto the luggage rack. It was surprisingly light. Mia slung her backpack on top. Fenella slipped into a seat, pulling her collar about her ears.

  “Are you cold?” Yesterday’s dampness had morphed into a beautiful June morning.

  “Perished,” Fenella replied, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I’ll need a hot whiskey once the bar opens.”

  “Probably isn’t a bar. Maybe a trolley.” Mia offered.

  “No bar and I’m to be served from a trolley?” Fenella leaned her head against the window. “True is it that we have seen better days,” she quoted, from something Mia did not recognise. Mia sometimes wondered if her mother ever made up her own sentences, having spent most of her life using words created by others, characteristics and emotions too, it would seem. Stop it, she told herself, be patient, be nice.

  Mia placed her phone on the table, sure Rupert would call wanting to know how the trip was progressing, he knew how upset she was and how spending time with her mother could be fraught, never mind the gravity of the current situation. Fenella had not even opened her magazine. Mia offered some water. Fenella shook her head.

  “What is this obsession with taking water everywhere? Are these islands, probably the wettest on the planet, suddenly to become an arid desert? Could this travesty happen so quickly that one could die of thirst between Connolly Station and Greystones?” She pushed her sunglasses onto her head, pressing at her eyelids with her fingers.

  “You might be glad of it when the trolley comes and there’s no mixer for your whiskey.” Mia poked her gently with the bottle. Fenella gave a tight smile.

  “You look tired, darling, is the shoot very wearing?”

  “No more than any other,” Mia said.

  “How’s James?” Fenella and James had once been close.

  “Cranky,” Mia told her.

  “And Amelia?” Another friend of Fenella’s.

  “Crankier.”

  Fenella laughed. “They probably know it’s going to bomb. I mean, aren’t vampires on the wane?”

  “By the time they release this one, they’ll be back in vogue,” Mia looked at her properly for the first time, she had a touch of vampire about her today, waxen beneath the expertly applied make-up.

  “You look weary too. No sleep?”

  “My own fault. The hotel had a live band, kept me awake all night.” Although staying awake all night was sometimes better than dreaming, Fenella often considered.

  Mia was surprised; her mother either stayed in one of the five-star haunts of the rich and famous or with equally smart friends.

  “No one’s around.” She read Mia’s thoughts. “And besides, with Archie so ill I don’t feel like partying.” Fenella pulled her glasses down over her face, people were boarding, filling the carriage; closing her eyes, the movie star shrank back into the cream coat.

  The train rolled out of the station, starting a journey Mia had always adored. The elevated line snaked through the city as she peered into offices of state, elegant courtyards, taking in the playing fields of Dublin’s legendary seats of learning and the sweeping grandeur of its squares; she settled back to enjoy the view as they trundled on.

  “Which whiskey when the trolley comes?” Mia would have tea and shortbread, a tradition she and Archie had established long ago. No reply; Fenella was already asleep.

  A little girl with long fair hair appea
red in the carriage, checking seats, eyes red-rimmed from crying. Mia put her hand out as she passed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The girl shook her head. “I might have made a mistake but I think I’ve lost someone.” She had an American accent and blushed at such an admission.

  “I hope not,” Mia replied. “Do you think they got off the train?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s too early for Rosshaven Harbour, isn’t it?” she said, fighting back tears.

  “Much too early. Is that where you’re going?”

  The little girl nodded.

  “Good, so am I. Why don’t you sit with my mother and I’ll try to find who you’re looking for, okay?”

  About to burst into tears again, the youngster climbed into the seat Mia vacated. Fenella was sleeping behind her glasses.

  “Stay here, I’ll go check the other carriages and the loos.”

  She nodded.

  “Who am I looking for?”

  “My uncle, Ross.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “A boy,” the girl said.

  “Another clue?”

  “He shouts on his cell-phone. A lot,” she confirmed.

  “I’ll be right back,” Mia gave a smile and headed off. Two carriages forward she came across a group of teenagers.

  “Excuse me, did you see a little girl with a man earlier?” The boys said no, but one of the girls looked up.

  “Yeah, they were over there.” She pointed at a table. “Then she was on her own, asleep I think. Have you lost them?”

  “Someone’s in the toilet. Been in there for hours,” said one of the boys. “I had to use another one, miles away.”

  “Thanks.” Mia was already on her way to the lavatory. She tried the door, locked. She knocked, politely. It might not be the girl’s uncle in there at all. Mia was praying it was. She listened, trying to hear if there was someone inside. It was difficult, the carriage was noisy, the train rattled over the tracks.

  “That’s why I’m calling you, it has to be done.”