“It’s very ageing,” Fenella told her. “You’ve lovely hair too and Mia, we’re very lucky.”
“She’s another one for always tying it up. Gorgeous, flowing locks, hidden away. Sometimes I think she doesn’t want to be attractive.”
“Maybe she doesn’t.” Fenella shrugged. “It’s like a hangover from school, the way she wears her hair and dresses in tunics and trousers all the time and plain, always plain. Maybe she doesn’t want to be noticed.”
“She was mortified when she had to wear glasses, crying because it made her look different.” Bernice recalled.
“Then she wouldn’t take them off, hiding behind them, even when I paid a fortune for contact lenses. Hopeless.” Fenella had prayed she and her only child would at least look alike, but they were so different; sometimes she looked at Mia and despaired, feeling only disappointment.
“It was how she was brought up.” Bernice folded a cashmere cardigan into her bag. “Discipline and modesty, the school motto, remember.”
Remember … how could she ever forget? Fenella had rebelled against the nuns and their mottoes every step of the way. Watching Bernice frown as she packed, she remembered that frown and the lecture that went with it.
“Discipline, Fenella, someone has to instill discipline into the girl, she’s at a dangerous age.” Bernice had been painting in the summerhouse.
Sitting down on the bench, Fenella kicked off her shoes, admiring newly painted toenails.
“She’s the most disciplined child I’ve ever met. Well mannered, tidy. Never swears or sulks, does her homework without being asked.”
“And these are bad things?” Bernice was bemused.
“Where’s her rebelliousness? I worry we’re creating a monster, a replicant, you know, like in Blade Runner.”
“As usual, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Maeve’s fine. She is, despite everything, a lovely girl and that’s because she knows how to behave.”
“Despite what?” Fenella knew Bernice meant ‘despite being illegitimate’.
“Her unconventional upbringing.”
“Unconventional compared with what? The brainwashed robots sitting up in the Mary Magdalene?”
“Never did us any harm,” Bernice told her.
“Are you mad? Look at us!” Fenella exclaimed.
“We’re talking about Maeve. Let me keep her, Sister Agnes said she can stay for next term. You’ll be on tour, one less thing for you to worry about,” Bernice cajoled.
“But she’s not a worry, that’s the whole point!”
“Isn’t that a blessing then?” Bernice was exasperated.
That very afternoon Mia had cycled into town, walked straight into the only beauty parlour in Rosshaven and had her waist-length hair cut to her ears. Her appearance at supper rendered the household speechless.
“I didn’t know you were thinking of changing your image,” Archie said gently, the first to find his voice.
“It wasn’t up for discussion,” Mia replied, unusually churlish.
“So it would seem.” He continued slicing the ham.
“You could at least let me take you to a decent hairdresser, Maeve. I mean, a good haircut is so important.” Fenella was near to tears eyeing the shapeless crop.
“Is it? Is it really important?” her daughter asked. “Half the world is starving, the other half dying of AIDS. No, you’re probably right, Mother, a good haircut really is important.”
“There’s no need to be rude,” she told the teenager, whose face was as red as what remained of her hair. “Who gave you permission to have your hair cut?”
“It’s my hair.”
“Fair point,” said Archie, eyes dancing with merriment.
“What did you do with your hair?” Bernice demanded.
“Why, are you going to stick it back on?” the youngster snapped back.
“Maeve, that’s enough,” Fenella said. “I don’t know what’s got into you.”
“If you must know, I sold it and gave the money to Oxfam.”
“Very worthy.” Archie announced.
“Archie!” Fenella exclaimed.
“And while I’m at it.” The girl pushed her plate away. “My name is Mia, from this moment on I will no longer answer to Maeve, I’ve changed it.”
“How?” Fenella squeaked.
“By Deed Poll,” she replied. Not entirely true, she had acquired the official forms but could not affect the change without parental permission. And with that, the newly-named Mia, took the magazine she had been reading at the table ‒ also not permitted ‒ and swept out.
“I was never mad about Maeve as a name myself.” Archie tried to smooth the frisson in the room. “I know she was named after that old doll you couldn’t be parted from but …”
“She wasn’t named after my doll! Maeve is an ancient Irish name, the legendary warrior queen of Connaught. When I knew they wanted to take my child away I named her Maeve so someone, somewhere would know she was Irish. I gave my little princess, a name fit for a queen!” Fenella was furious.
Bernice sighed; she had lost her appetite.
“You don’t think she heard us, do you?” Fenella reached for her wine.
“This afternoon?” Bernice said. “Maybe.”
“You better keep her then,” Fenella replied. “Looks like she could do with another term at Mary Magdalene.”
“Poor thing,” Archie said, lifting the teenager’s plate to take it to wherever she was hiding.
SOMETHING BORROWED
Despite being up at dawn, Mia’s plans to arrive at Galty House in time for breakfast were thwarted. Whispering farewell to Lol, she took her bags and the carrier stuffed with knits Leela insisted she take against the cold, and stole out of the caravan.
Throwing her luggage onto the back seat, she noticed someone sitting at the entrance to the yard. The figure waved as she turned on the headlights and putting the car into gear she crawled slowly towards the now redundant assistant director. Mia sighed; she could really do without a lengthy conversation about the failed project right now yet despite everything Courtney was a friend.
“Hey.” He forced a smile. “Any chance of a lift to the airport? I’ve been kind of abandoned.”
“How come?”
“The crew went into Wicklow last night, partying because we’d wrapped. I was trying to get in touch with Shelley, see if there’s any money in our account. Anyway, they didn’t come back, someone had a minibus going to Dublin, so they all went too.” He gave a mournful look.
She indicated the passenger seat, he climbed in.
“I’m heading in the opposite direction, actually. Going back to Wexford till the weekend.”
“Couldn’t drop me at the station could you? Maybe lend me some money? If I miss my flight I’ve had it.” He was giving her that look he could work so well.
“There’s a train strike, no wonder the others grabbed a lift.”
“Shit. I forgot. What am I going to do?” He was near to tears.
“Relax, I’ll take you to the airport. Mind you, the road will be busy with the trains off, weather’s bad too,” she warned.
“Oh, the relief! What would I do without you?” He settled into his seat.
“You did very well without me, I seem to recall.” She instantly regretted her words but it still rankled, he had never once mentioned marriage in all the time they had been together, yet the minute they parted he married someone else.
An uneasy silence descended as she eased the old Dame towards the motorway. The day was struggling to break free of the night, thunderous clouds clung to the mountains and the road was wet, rivulets of water spilling from the hillside. It was not going to be an easy ride.
Mia’s mood darkened. The luggage on the back seat, combined with the twist of human angst beside her, deepened her irritation as they bumped along the route. She wished she had thrown the whole lot in the boot. However, if she had, she would have seen it contained an elegant turquoise box a
nd a note scrawled with ‘Something borrowed’ in Lol’s handwriting. But Mia just wanted to get to her destination as soon as possible, so put up with the annoying baggage all the way to the airport.
Leela must have heard the throaty thrum of the Daimler’s six cylinder engine some way off because she was waving from the steps as Mia came along the drive.
“Why didn’t you phone?” Leela asked, welcoming her with a California smile and yellow Marigold embrace.
“Didn’t want to disturb anyone, it’s late.”
“Ah sure, you know this crowd. They’re down in the summerhouse having coffee and liqueurs. What can I bring you?” Although Leela was allergic to housework, she could certainly cook.
“Not really hungry,” Mia replied.
“Nonsense, I’ll be down in a few minutes, go and see if you can keep the peace. Bernice’s on a witch hunt about Archie’s will, convinced Fenella knows all about it and as for Eamon, he’s as crotchety as a toddler teething and I’ve no idea if that’s because he knows what Archie’s up to or he doesn’t!”
Mia was weary, it had been a fractious few days. She had had to draw on a deep vein of inner strength to keep it all together, not daring to let Lol know how petrified she was during the police interview, terrified they would discover her entire story was a tissue of lies. Then adding to her anxiety, the mercy dash with Courtney, desperate to return to his wife and baby. She was at a low ebb. It would be better just to slope off and greet everyone afresh in the morning.
“Mia darling, is that you?” It was Archie, banished outside to smoke his cigar.
So be it, Mia thought, her spirits lifting a little. It was Archie she wanted to see after all, Archie she needed to spend precious time with. She followed the lanterns to the summerhouse, no more than an ancient clapboard shed with iron rails around the balcony, perched precariously overlooking the sea. Yet it had always been her very own fairy-tale castle.
“I spy a rat!” Archie called to his guests scattered about the room.
“Well, deal with it then!” Fenella shouted back; regulars at Galty House were not easily disturbed by rodents of any description.
“It’s left a sinking ship,” he laughed, throwing open his arms to Mia, returning his barb with a wonky smile.
“Darling, you must be exhausted.” Fenella patted the sofa for Mia to join her. “You look totally drained.”
“Is Leela fetching you something to eat?” Bernice asked.
On cue Leela appeared with food, enough to feed everyone all over again. Mia sat beside Fenella who arranged a throw around her, rubbing her shoulders gently while Bernice made drinks.
“Well, tell all,” said Archie, striding through the door, having abandoned his cigar for port and gossip.
“Let the child have something first, Archie, she’s white with tiredness.” Bernice insisted, passing Mia a steaming mug.
“It was awful,” Mia said, as they gathered to listen. “The worst experience of my career. Equipment stolen, the costume truck vandalised, clothes tampered with and, worst of all, itching powder. Someone had doused everything with itching powder, not one member of the cast could stand still for a minute.”
“Oh dear.” Archie rolled his eyes. “An old trick, haven’t heard of anything like that in years.”
“A prank, surely?” Fenella asked.
Bernice looked at Eamon, who had just knocked back his drink.
Mia’s tummy rumbled, she had not had eaten properly since leaving Galty nearly forty-eight hours ago. She dived on Leela’s mix of toasted cheese and ham.
“Definitely sabotage. Someone wanted the whole thing to dissolve in chaos and it did. No way could we carry on, ran out of time and money.”
“Such a waste,” Bernice sympathised.
“Hardly going to be a classic though, was it?” Fenella said, gently.
“That’s not the point,” Mia told her. “We worked really hard on that film, conditions weren’t brilliant, the budget was tight but we gave it our best shot. We’re a team, we wanted to see it through.”
“I do understand, darling, we’re nothing if not professional,” Fenella said.
“Sounds like the sabotage was pretty professional too,” Bernice interjected. “Could any of it have been accidental? Just one of those things?”
Mia’s mouth was full.
“The food poisoning maybe,” Archie filled in. “We’ve all suffered at the hands of mobile caterers. Even at five in the morning, pissed as a fart, I always demand to see a proper hygiene certificate.”
Mia and Fenella exchanged a look.
Demanding to see paperwork was one of Archie’s favourite pastimes. In reality he took scant notice of anything official. When he missed a premiere in New York because his passport was out of date, Bernice took responsibility for all documentation. Archie had no choice but to acquiesce – imagine if he had missed the Oscars?
“No, the stuff on the truck was calculated. They were thorough, knew what they were doing.” Mia replied.
“What did the guards make of it?” Eamon lifted a slice of toast, checking the sandwich filling. “Anyone in the frame?”
“Whoever did it was long gone.” Mia declined to mention Lol’s lapse or the fact it was she had who had masterminded the cover-up. “I feel so guilty.”
“Now, darling, that’s enough,” Fenella said.
“You weren’t even there,” Archie affirmed.
“I should have been, I’m in charge.” She frowned into her mug.
“It’s just a job,” Eamon offered, licking his fingers. He had finished the last sandwich.
“It’s my career!” Mia snapped. Archie knelt before her.
“It will all be alright, you’ll still have a glorious career, you see if you don’t.” His eyes bored into hers. Mia softened; he spoke as if she were still a young girl. Mia had been in the business for years.
“Can I stay till the weekend, please? I don’t think I’ll be needed on set, anywhere, anytime soon.” She gave him a limp smile.
“Of course, stay as long as you like, stay forever!”
“Just till the weekend will be lovely.”
Archie pulled her to her feet.
“Very well, young lady, then I must order you to your bed, because if we are to have you, even just for a while, you must be nurtured and cherished so you leave with the happiest of memories, to return in all haste.” Archie, who now looked totally jaded, led her to the door. It was a closing speech, he always gave one when he felt a particular scene should end.
Breakfast was cleared away by the time Mia surfaced. Leela was at the table with a huge slice of walnut cake and the tarot cards; she wiped her tears quickly as she put the cards away.
“Never known you sleep so late.” She gave Mia her chair, the others piled with washing.
“Would you like a bacon sandwich? Salmon and scrambled eggs? Won’t take me a minute,” Leela said, selflessly abandoning the cake.
“Just toast, I can see you’re busy,” Mia replied, knowing Leela would be disappointed not to have an excuse to put the laundry off. “Where is everyone?” The place seemed deserted.
“Bernice and your mother have gone into Rosshaven, one of the new boutiques is giving a fashion show. Archie’s in bed, wants to save himself for this evening.”
“I’m surprised you’re not at the fashion show,” Mia remarked. Leela loved a bit of style, even now she was wearing lacy tights under her pinafore.
“Wasn’t invited,” she said, without a hint of malice. “Too rich for my blood and to be honest, all that designer stuff is taupe and cream. I ask you? You need a hell of a spray tan to look anything other than half dead in taupe and cream.” She took the cups to the Belfast sink.
“What’s Archie saving himself for, another row with Eamon?”
“Ha, that would be easy enough. Eamon might be a lawyer, but he needs to give the interrogation a rest. If Archie’s made his mind up about things, it’s really nobody else’s business.”
Mia was surprised. Leela usually thought everything was everybody’s business.
“What do you know about it?” She gave Leela an old-fashioned look.
“Nothing at all.” Leela turned back to the sink. “I’m just the hired help, don’t forget.”
Mia smiled. “If no row with Eamon, what then?”
“A reception at the new hotel. They’re opening the cocktail bar, live music, canapés, all that kind of nonsense.” Leela had not been invited to this either. “It’s all very salacious up there, I believe.”
“I hope you mean salubrious, Leela,” Mia said smiling. “Wonder who’s going?” Mia was trying to plan her day. Supper in front of the TV after an afternoon on the beach would suit her perfectly.
“Well, you for one,” Leela told her. “Archie wants you to escort him, said he’d ask you after breakfast but went straight back to bed.”
Mia groaned as the bread popped out of the toaster.
“Do I have to go? Archie will keep us there till dawn.”
“Ah, indulge him.” Leela faced Mia, eyes pleading. Mia felt immediately guilty. It was Archie she wanted to spend time with and it was obvious, whatever time he had left, Archie wanted to spend it with her.
“Hey, a couple of hours on the beach will revive me, a bit of sea air and I’ll be ready for anything,” Mia confirmed, ramming a piece of toast in her mouth, as she stuffed her hair into a battered straw hat. Leela wiped her hands and leaving the dishes in the sink, went back to her cards. Mia stopped to look.
“Which is this one again?” She touched the Knight of Swords.
“One of my favourites, represents a young man, energetic, magnetic, a strong character.” She tapped the card. “Might come across as a bit insensitive but he’s forthright, refreshing. See, his horse is white, meaning his words are pure, certainly shakes things up, anyway.”
Mia was fascinated, her fingers traced the dark knight, sword aloft, vaguely imagining him galloping along the beach, sweeping her up, crushing her in his arms, melting away all her worries.
“They say his influence is good when things need to change. Some think he’s brusque but he wants people to see things as they really are. Yes, I like him a lot.” Leela gave Mia a mysterious look. She turned the card over, hiding the knight. “You need a bit of sun, anyone would think you’ve been working down a coal mine, not up a mountain.”
That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel Page 12