The Hat Shop on the Corner

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  Ellie stood there feeling awful, unsure of what to say, for not finished was an understatement: the hat was barely begun.

  ‘Not finished, you say?’

  ‘Not even near being finished,’ she admitted candidly.

  ‘But couldn’t someone else finish it, do the rest? There must be someone?’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘This was my mother’s business. She employed no one else.’

  Mrs Cassidy looked as if she would burst into tears.

  ‘There must be something someone can do? Where else am I going to find a hat that will match my outfit at this late hour!’

  Ellie felt guilty. Her mother had prided herself on never letting a customer down, on always having the work done, the hats and ornamental headpieces ready on time to be collected by her clients.

  ‘I can finish the piece,’ she volunteered, tilting the notebook in her hands as she considered it. Was she talented enough to step into her mother’s shoes, to continue her mother’s work, to finish off the piece to the customer’s satisfaction, to create something with the style and panache that Madeleine Matthews always did?

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, I am also a milliner, trained by my mother. I’ve spent most of my childhood and growing years in this place and have often helped her with her work. I studied art and textiles in college and have a very sound knowledge of design. Besides, my mother has left a copy of the design here in this notebook.’

  Maureen Cassidy studied the coloured drawing. ‘Are you sure you’d be able to do it?’

  ‘Of course,’ Ellie assured her. ‘I have worked on many hats.’

  She simply couldn’t let down her mother or this nice woman. Whether it was out of loyalty or love or the big soft heart her mother and friends were always teasing her about, or some moment of utter madness in her bereavement, Ellie found herself promising to complete the hat and have it ready for the customer in less than twenty-four hours. It was a promise she had every intention of keeping.

  Chapter Two

  Ellie couldn’t believe that she had made such a rash promise to one of her mother’s customers. What had possessed her? However, holding the stiffened rose-coloured crown in her hand she knew that it was the right thing to do. She wanted to protect not only her mother’s reputation but that of the hat shop. Maureen Cassidy deserved the very best and Ellie was determined to work all night if she had to, to achieve exactly the design her mother had sketched out so precisely in her notepad. She would simply finish the job. She had grown up with the world of millinery, shaping the materials on the hat blocks, sewing and stitching and steaming, bending brim wires and covering them, hand-rolling silk petals and flowers, trimming feathers, fixing ribbons; from her mother she had learned all the skills needed to create the perfect piece of art that was a hat. A hat that would make Mrs Cassidy shine at her daughter’s wedding in three days’ time!

  The street outside was quiet, a few passers-by gazing at the window before hurrying on their way to the bus or the Luas tram as the town began to unwind and the shops shut. She watched as the newsagent’s and Scottie O’Loughlin in the old toy and joke shop pulled down their shutters for the night. Mr Farrell from the antiques shop five doors down checked his keys as he locked up, the newspaper under his arm as he headed up the street. Over the past two years South Anne Street had changed. Property prices had skyrocketed and some of the shops had been forced to close down. A few landlords had refused to renew the leases of their existing tenants, knowing they could sell to the developers for a huge price. The woman from Killiney had closed up her beautiful gift shop further down six months ago, and it still lay idle along with a few others, their shopfronts empty and neglected. Ellie remembered South Anne Street as a bustling thoroughfare with a range of shops run by a myriad of characters, everyone knowing everyone else. It was a shame the way things were changing.

  The street-lights flickered on as one by one the rest of the shops and businesses in the street closed for the night.

  I’d better run out and get something to eat, thought Ellie, pulling on her coat. She raced to the deli near Duke Lane to buy a roll and some soup and a wrap, for she intended to work for the rest of the evening. She was trying to balance her purchases and open the shop door when she noticed the little black cat again, miaowing for attention.

  ‘Scat! Go on, scat!’ she called, trying to shoo it away. But the cat pushed its way in between her feet. Terrified that she would hurt it, with her key stuck in the door and her soup carton wobbling ominously and about to spill all over the two of them, Ellie found herself lurching forward and landing in a heap on her own tiled doorstep as the shop door opened. The soup was saved but the bag with her supper in it lay beside her on the ground. The little cat tilted its head curiously at her and a second later pulled out a piece of chicken from the fallen wrap and gobbled it up.

  ‘You, you!’ she threatened.

  The cat stood for a few seconds as if trying to make up its mind. Its small black body tense, it stared at her then stepped past her into the shop and jumped up into the chair with the blue cushion near the window.

  As she stood up, Ellie burst out laughing, something she hadn’t done in weeks. She was tempted to scoop up the small creature and bury her face in the comfort of its warm fur, but she was afraid to scare it. Inside she sat down in the tiny kitchenette and took out what was left of her supper, holding her breath as the cat appeared again. Minouche, the street cat her mother had adopted, knew the shop well and settled itself patiently to watch her eat.

  ‘I suppose you’re hungry too.’ She tossed it a bit more of the chicken wrap, which it delicately chewed. The cat eyed her intently as Ellie poured it some milk in the lid of her empty soup carton. Whether she wanted it or not, she guessed she had company for the night.

  Ellie concentrated for the next few hours, discovering there was a bit less of the dusky rose pink sinamay material than she needed. She would have to be careful or there would not be enough for the trimmings. She cut delicate pieces of the fabric and folded them gently over the fine wired shape she’d created, concentrating as she didn’t want the material to tear before she lightly stitched and glued it together. She counted each shape, laying them carefully on the table before she began to search for the perfect piece of gossamer silk that would cover the joins and create a rim of colour round the brim. She wished her fingers were as deft in working the fabric as her mother’s and berated herself as part of the sinamay tore and ravelled. There definitely wouldn’t be enough. What was she going to do? She had three or four more loops of petals to form and she had run out of material. She could feel a sense of panic invade her as she knew there was no guarantee she could match the colour, let alone order more in the next day or two. She would have to be inventive, perhaps use a different colour or shade for the underside, and for one or two rolls of heavy rose petals. But what colour? Another pink, a cream, green? She worked carefully and, finding a piece of pale pink and a piece of cranberry, she tried them. The cranberry was too strong but the paler pink would work. Grabbing some cream the same colour as the trim, she twirled and fixed it into position. She worked for hours, and realized that the sense of pleasure she got must be akin to the feelings experienced by her mother when she was creating her millinery confections.

  The hat looked beautiful. It was perfectly balanced from all angles, with a medium brim and the ideal height.

  When Ellie realized that she was totally satisfied with it, she gasped with surprise to see that the clock on the wall said twelve thirty. Even the cat over in the corner was fast asleep. She put everything away neatly, pins, scissors and needles in a safe place. Proud of her work, she placed the hat on a stand.

  As she locked up, the cat suddenly pushed out past her.

  ‘Going on the prowl!’ she joked, watching it slink along the pavement and disappear into the darkness.

  She decided to walk home along by the Shelbourne Hotel and up around the edge of the Green, the fresh night air filling
her lungs.

  At home, the flat seemed strangely silent. There were a few messages on the answering machine from her friends Kim and Fergus, checking that she was OK, and more letters of condolence from old family friends. Ellie would deal with them later. First she was dying for a mug of tea and some nice buttery toast: the work had made her starving.

  Curling up on the sofa in the sitting room, she finally got a chance to study the documents that Neil Harrington had delivered to the shop earlier on. She was careful not to smudge them with her buttery fingers but even a very quick perusal seemed to indicate that he and his clients were offering a good price for the property that Madeleine Matthews had been wise enough to buy outright. It was a tempting offer and she could understand her mother’s readiness to negotiate with them. The small business she had started was now worth quite a large sum.

  Ellie was too tired tonight to read the minutiae of the contract but she promised herself that tomorrow she would read it properly, for the proposed sale of the business would ensure a far greater inheritance from her mother’s estate than she had ever imagined.

  All night she tossed and turned, her sleep disturbed both by the exciting prospect of having a large sum of money at her disposal and by guilt about selling the hat shop, the business her mother had worked so hard to build up. Her mind was in utter turmoil as she imagined the shop finally closed down.

  ‘Oh, it’s a miracle. I am so pleased! I can’t believe it!’ confessed Maureen Cassidy the next day as she tried on the dusky pink chapeau with the slight upturn and the silk peony roses with their paler pink and cream petals lolling against the crown. ‘Oh, I do love the way you’ve used the cream ribbon and petals to show off the pink!’

  ‘It’s a beautiful hat, Mum,’ complimented Lucy, the bride-to-be. ‘It’s exactly what you wanted and the shape suits your face perfectly. The colour is just right for your outfit.’

  Relieved at seeing such a satisfied customer, Ellie began to relax.

  ‘You saved the day, Miss Matthews. Thank you. I know your mother would be very proud of you, very proud,’ gushed her client, taking out her credit card as Ellie gently placed the hat in a pale blue hatbox, easing a light layer of tissue over it for protection.

  ‘I’m glad you like it,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘My other daughter, Jenny, is getting married early next year,’ confided Maureen Cassidy, ‘and of course there will have to be something totally different for that wedding!’

  ‘Another new hat,’ joked Lucy, throwing her eyes to heaven.

  Ellie was about to say that completing this commission had been a one-off and that the shop was likely to be sold in a few months’ time, but instead found herself biting her tongue and saying nothing.

  ‘I see the little black cat is back,’ murmured Mrs Cassidy.

  ‘The cat?’

  ‘Yes, your mother always used to say that cat brought her luck. Used to come and go as it pleased.’

  ‘Mum, you are so superstitious,’ joked her daughter.

  Ellie said nothing as she stared at the cat, which had somehow manoeuvred itself into a snug corner near the window.

  ‘I am eternally grateful to you, Ellie dear, and I see you have the same wonderful talent as your mother!’

  Ellie blushed as the Cassidys said their goodbyes. She wished Lucy well with the wedding, and was filled with a strange sense of satisfaction and yearning as she watched mother and daughter walk away arm in arm, the pale blue hatbox swinging between them.

  She was about to put the latch on the door and close up when her best friend, Fergus, appeared.

  ‘I called to the apartment and when there was no reply I guessed you might be here,’ he said, hugging her to his skinny frame. ‘You OK, El?’

  ‘Yeah, just a bit emotional. I’ve been clearing up and cleaning out. Sold a hat to one of my mother’s customers for her daughter’s wedding on Saturday.’

  ‘Hey, that’s great!’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose, but it made me think of Mum.’

  ‘You poor old thing,’ he said, holding her close. Ellie was comforted by his warm embrace and thoughtfulness. Fergus Delaney and herself had been close ever since they met up at Irish college when they were both thirteen years old. Over the years Fergus had always been a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board for mad ideas and the best friend a girl could have. The fact that Fergus didn’t fancy her in the slightest, and had told her when he was nineteen that he suspected he liked only men, made her love him even more. With his roaring red hair and pale skin and freckles, Fergus was one of those Celtic men who stood out from the crowd and was always loyal and true to his friends. Madeleine had adored him and insisted on trying to feed him up whenever he called to the apartment.

  Over the past few weeks he had been a huge support, visiting her mother in the hospital, helping with the funeral arrangements, checking in on her constantly and holding her hand when she felt scared and sad, telling her she was not alone.

  ‘What about lunch?’

  ‘I was about to take a break,’ she admitted, yawning, ‘though I have a load of paperwork I have to read thoroughly.’

  ‘I’ve had no breakfast yet.’ He gave her one of those pleading looks that are irresistible. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘Let’s go eat then.’

  They got a table in the corner of Ryan’s Café, where Fergus opted for the all-day breakfast, loading his plate with rashers and sausages and pudding and a big helping of chips and beans.

  ‘I don’t know where you put all that.’

  It wasn’t fair, thought Ellie, for Fergus seemed to burn food like a fire, stoking up energy. She chose the cheesy pasta and a side salad.

  ‘So what’s this about paperwork?’ he asked, munching.

  ‘You won’t believe it, but Mum was talking to the developers about selling the shop,’ she confided. ‘Their solicitor called yesterday with copies of the contracts that had been drawn up.’

  ‘And what do you make of it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose it’s a bit of a shock. I always imagined the shop and my mother going on for ever. You know she was really opposed to the big shopping scheme they are planning, and I guess that’s why it was such a surprise that she was even negotiating with them. I’d have thought she’d have sent them packing.’

  ‘Given the circumstances,’ prompted Fergus gently, ‘Madeleine was probably thinking of you.’

  ‘I know. It means she realized all along that she was dying, that there was no way she was going to get better.’

  ‘And she knew you were settled and happy in your job and the money from the sale would be a real inheritance. Dublin property prices have gone through the roof and a shop just off Grafton Street should fetch a fortune.’

  ‘Fergus, she was thinking of me. She always did. But still, Mum adored the shop and . . . well . . .’

  ‘You shouldn’t sign or do anything with that contract until you get someone to read it.’

  ‘You could read it!’ she cajoled.

  He threw his eyes upwards. ‘Come off it, Ellie, we’re both shite at figures and legalese. Someone else, promise!’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘You do want to sell it?’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose so. It’s just all happening so fast. Losing the shop will be like losing another part of Mum. Part of what I’ve grown up with, what I am.’

  ‘Then don’t do anything hasty. Take your time. Don’t let the big boys bully you into something you’re not sure about.’

  Ellie took a deep breath. How was it that Fergus was so wise and always gave such good advice?

  ‘Are you going to eat the rest of that pasta?’ he enquired, staring at her plate.

  ‘I’ve had enough,’ she said, passing the dish over to him.

  ‘You know, it’s a great little shop in a wonderful location,’ he mused, spearing a piece of creamy penne, ‘and you don’t have to sell if you don’t want to. Think about it.’

  Fergus had walked her back to
the shop and then taken off on a mission to meet up with the new graphic designer who was coming on board the small advertising agency where he worked.

  Ellie let herself in and sat behind the counter watching the street outside. The distant sounds of traffic and the rumble of the city were strangely comforting as she tried to pretend nothing had changed in the small millinery shop, and that her mother might appear in the doorway any minute.

  She sat there for hours, remembering her mother, always charming and bright, making magic as she worked, singing softly under her breath, as Ellie played dolls with the polished wooden hat blocks and learned in time the essentials of hat-making.

  Chapter Three

  Over the weekend Ellie decided to trawl through her mother’s old bank statements, cashbooks and accounts for the shop. Reading Madeleine Matthews’s perfect writing with its odd fancy curl invoked a strange mixture of emotions: sadness and a certain pride in her mother’s achievements. She remembered the large clientele and all the commissions her mother had worked on over the years. There had been the sparkling production of Pygmalion at the Abbey Theatre and a very stylish Importance of Being Earnest at the Gate Theatre. Her mother had created headwear for a huge number of stage productions over the years. Then of course there were all the fashion shows: Madeleine Matthews had worked with so many designers on hats and headpieces for their collections. But the mainstay had been her loyal clientele of stylish women of all ages in search of the perfect hat for a special occasion.

  Going over the old cashbooks and accounts revealed the delicate balance of their financial affairs in a confusing array of debits and credits. Her concentration was suddenly disturbed by the mad ringing of the doorbell as Fergus and Kim dropped in to see how she was.

  ‘Ellie, it’s the weekend. Why don’t we all go for a drink in Hartigan’s?’ coaxed Kim, glancing at the array of papers and books spread all over the table and couch.

  ‘I can’t,’ she moaned, ‘I’ve got to try and read all this stuff from the shop.’