Ellie returned, books in hand, and pulled up a stool beside him.
‘Neil, will you have a look through this.’
He began to turn the pages.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
Her eyes widened.
‘If you mean have I had any more drunken nights where I have disgraced myself, the answer is no.’
‘I didn’t mean to be judgemental,’ he apologized. ‘I just wanted to know if you are all right.’
She blinked and turned her head and for some reason he suspected he’d upset her further.
‘Ellie?’
‘Never better actually,’ she said, dazzling him with a smile. ‘The business is doing well. People are beginning to know about the shop and I love what I do. Things are going great, and fingers crossed I’m off to France in another few weeks.’
‘France?’
‘Paris.’
He swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the ridiculous drawings on the page. Obviously off to Paris with that boyfriend he’d seen her with. Maybe if he wasn’t such a stuffy old fool and had sent her yellow roses and romanced her, things would be different. Too late as per usual.
He stood listening to her talk for another few minutes, just to hear her voice and watch the way she scrunched her nose.
‘Neil, are you listening?’ interrupted Ellie. ‘I think it’s a really nice idea about getting your mother a hat but I do think it would be better if she came in to talk to me herself and order something she really wants. I’m not even sure of her hat size.’
‘But you’ve met her,’ he insisted. ‘Besides, I want to surprise her.’
‘She’s very stylish, in a classic kind of way,’ mused Ellie aloud. ‘Probably something very simple and elegant, maybe a black and white or black and cream or beige, a slight down-brim that’s not too wide.’
‘Perfect,’ he said, noticing the way she frowned when she was concentrating.
Fifteen minutes later, after her promise to phone him when the hat was ready, he found himself back out on the street.
He’d missed twelve messages on his mobile and was late for a client meeting. He hoped that his secretary, Jean, was looking after Jerome Casey in his absence. He’d spent the past forty minutes talking about his mother and women’s hats just so he could see Ellie, and he hadn’t even had the courage to ask her out to dinner.
Chapter Fifty-one
Making the Memory Hat, as Tommy called it, was the most difficult commission she had ever undertaken. Ellie groaned with regret at her own stupidity for saying yes and encouraging Tommy Butler to believe in her. She had racked and reracked her brain for inspiration and was determined not to produce something God-awful and cluttered for this wonderful old lady.
From the photos it was clear Lillian Butler had always loved hats, spent her meagre money on one when the occasion demanded, worn them with a rare confidence, for hats had been part of her life. She had kept in style and adapted to the latest fashion and trends, even wearing a jaunty beret. Already Ellie had covered half a pad in designs but she was not happy with any of them.
‘Don’t tell me you are still at it!’ joked Fergus, who had called in to collect her.
She nodded dumbly, for she was meant to have been ready at least half an hour ago to go to the cinema with him.
‘Don’t tell me we are not going to Les Parapluies de Cherbourg!’
‘You go, Fergus. Honestly, I have to try and work on this.’
‘I’m not going to the Film Centre without you. What would I be doing at a foreign film if you weren’t with me?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No harm done, we’ll do it another time,’ he said, moving over towards the kettle. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
‘Oh, that would be sweet.’
She listened as Fergus rattled on about how wonderful and interesting Liam Flynn was compared to other guys he’d gone out with.
‘You do like him, El?’
‘Of course,’ she beamed reassuringly. Friends always needed to be told that the people they fancied were the brightest, the most beautiful and the best in the world.
‘He’s a bit wound up.’
‘Fergus, he’s a high-powered trader.’
‘I know,’ he said proudly, rooting around for something to eat. ‘Any biccies?’
‘There should be some chocolate chip and a packet of digestives in the tin.’
Later, nursing a hot milky coffee, she confessed to Fergus about the position she found herself in.
‘That Lily sounds a real Dublin character. Lived here all her life, raised a family, moved from place to place, street to street, all over the city. She’s part of the place like the Liffey, the Castle, Christ Church. A true Dub.’
‘I know, she’s had an amazing life. It’s just that I don’t know what to do to capture her spirit. It’s like I have hit a blank wall and can’t think of anything.’
‘Well, a lily or lilies sound good, nice and simple. The obvious.’
‘Yes, but that’s not what Tommy wants. He wants something more than a classic expensive-looking hat. He wants magic and blow-your-mind kind of stuff. I can’t disappoint the kid.’
‘A conundrum.’
‘To put it mildly.’ She sighed. ‘Tommy would hate a plain ivory lily, he’d expect colour and bells and whistles, though I suppose cream or ivory would give me a good canvas to work on, a perfect background.’
Suddenly Ellie jumped up, hugging a very surprised Fergus, who almost spilt his mug of coffee all over his trousers.
‘What’s that for?’
‘That’s for lighting the torch, for giving me the idea. Fergus, you are just wonderful! Now I know why I love you so much.’
‘Hey, well, that’s great.’ He laughed smugly. ‘I’m glad I am good for something!’
‘Drink up your coffee. If we race we might still make it to the Film Centre.’
She had stretched the material as far as she could, then using a light brush had retraced the pattern she had drawn out in fine pale browns and white. Once the material had dried she would shape the hat on the block and leave it for a few days before she began to assemble the trimmings that would capture centenarian Lily Butler’s life and the spirit of the one-hundred-year-old Dublin woman. Ellie was strangely excited about the old lady’s hat, as it was like assembling a work of art, a collage of the different experiences that make a life. What would she put on a hat to symbolize her own life? she wondered. She fingered the round coffee beans. They were like polished beads, their colour rich and dark. The bird’s feathers were exotic, adding a splash of colour, the blue-green remnant of silk ribbon like a river in flow. This hat was different from anything else she had ever designed or created and she would not charge for the hours of work, for she knew Tommy’s funds were limited. The boy was a strange kid, different from what she had first expected, his rough tough exterior hiding the sensitive young man he really was. She smiled to herself, thinking of his face as he gave his grandmother his gift, knowing that her time was being well spent.
Chapter Fifty-two
The shop was busy and Neil Harrington was tempted to turn round and come back at a time when he would have her to himself. Get the chance to talk to her privately.
She was fully occupied, attending to some young fellow who was red-faced with embarrassment, his brown hair standing on end as he kept telling her how much he loved some hat.
‘It’s lovely, flipping great. My nan will love it. Just wait till she sees it.’
Ellie’s eyes were shining as the thirteen-year-old proceeded to tumble a load of dirty-looking notes and coins on to the counter, some rolling along the wooden floor as the kid scrambled after them.
‘Hello,’ Neil said, trying to get her attention, hoping to get her to look at him the way she did at that scruffy kid.
‘Oh Neil, you’ve come for the hat. I have it ready for you.’
He stood patiently, wishing that she would get rid of the young intruder.
‘It�
�s in the box!’
Two hatboxes lay on the floor near his feet. Curious, he lifted the lid off one.
It was a wide hat and covered in the most extraordinary things. A hotchpotch of items circled the wide brim – fruit, feathers, flowers, lace, even a medal – and God knows what other items were scattered upon it. He’d never seen anything like it. Embarrassed, he replaced the lid. He knew for sure that his elegant mother wouldn’t be seen dead in such a creation, no matter who the designer was. In trepidation he lifted the lid of the other box, immediately recognizing the sophisticated style of the plain black hat with the simple line of creamy white colour that circled its brim, and he knew his mother would approve.
‘Do you like it?’ she asked anxiously.
‘It’s perfect,’ he admitted, ‘and I know my mother will adore it.’
‘I thought it might suit Rosemary,’ she laughed, pleased with his reaction.
The pesky kid was still there and making no move to shift, and his heart dropped when two anorexic blondes in skintight leather pushed past him and began to try headpieces on their hair, talking aloud.
‘I’d better pay you for this,’ he said, taking out his credit card, and not even flinching when she said how much the hat was going to cost. He remembered why he hated shopping and wondered what kind of price she was going to charge the kid.
‘Have you got this in pearl?’ interrupted one of the blondes, pushing her skinny hips between them and trying to get attention.
‘Sorry, I’ll be with you in a minute,’ replied Ellie as she dealt with his payment.
He considered asking her for coffee, but could see she was too busy. The kid glowered at him as if he was luring away his mate. No, it would be better if he came back another day. Got her on her own.
‘Thanks,’ he said, lifting the hatbox lightly by its string.
‘I do hope Rosemary is pleased,’ she worried. ‘If not tell her to come in and see me.’
‘I guarantee that she will love it,’ he reassured her. ‘It will be a lovely surprise for her when she gets back from Parknasilla at the weekend.’
Chapter Fifty-three
Tommy Butler had wrapped up the hatbox in a big black plastic bag and he held the present as if his life depended on it. He’d had no intention of trawling the streets with a big sissy hatbox or a woman’s shopping bag. No, he had come prepared with a bin bag and now, glowering at the other passengers on the 11 bus, he dared them to guess what he was carrying. He could imagine what the neighbourhood lads would say if they knew. He’d b.. . .. . . burst anyone who laid one f. . .. . . finger on him or his grandmother’s hat on his way home!
They had the TV on and his mam was cooking chicken curry when he let himself in quietly and sneaked upstairs to his bedroom. The smell of onions, garlic and spices was wafting through the house. Tommy was starving.
First things first: where could he hide the present without squashing it and without his mam or Ray finding it? The bottom of the wardrobe was the only safe place as his mam often hoovered under the bed or dusted the top of the wardrobe. He turfed out all his football boots and his sports bag and flung them under his bed temporarily so he could place the plastic bag with the box carefully in his wardrobe. He put a football jersey and a pair of shorts on top to disguise it. A mixture of relief and pride punched him in the gut as he sat on the bed.
The hat had cost him every last cent of his pocket money and the remainder of his confirmation money but he didn’t begrudge it for a minute. He would forgo chocolate, the cinema and games rentals for the next few weeks in return for purchasing such a gift. Even with all the money he had spent, he guessed that the shop lady had undercharged him for the beautiful hat she had produced. Ellie Matthews, the hatmaker, had a kind face and a good heart and he knew she was being sincere when she wished his grandmother all the best on her hundredth birthday.
Chapter Fifty-four
Arriving home from a visit to the dentist, Constance O’Kelly was shocked to discover Shay standing in the bathroom of their Blackrock home, his broad frame leaning against the sink as he rooted through the overhead medicine cupboard.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was wondering if there was any of that painkiller the doctor gave me the last time I pulled a muscle in my back. It should be here somewhere.’
She studied his face. He looked pale under his usual golf club tan. A little puffed around the eyes, always a sign he was eating and drinking too much.
‘In trouble again?’
‘No,’ he protested. ‘Just a bit of a twinge but I want to have it in case I need it. Anyway I had to collect my dress suit.’
‘It’s hanging in the back wardrobe, still in the wrap from the cleaners.’
Constance had given some consideration to taking the garden shears to every item of clothing that Shay possessed, but sanity had prevailed and she had simply moved them to the small, musty wardrobe in Jack’s room. There they shared space with their son’s rancid trainers and football boots and unwashed jeans, alcohol-soaked shirts and a hotchpotch of vile-smelling boys’ socks.
‘I’ll get it in a minute but first there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.’
Constance stood on her own maple floor suddenly feeling nervous. What was this about?
‘Can we sit down and talk?’
She was about to make some negative remark when she saw that her husband was serious.
‘All right, Shay. Let me put the kettle on and make us a cup of tea.’
As she fussed around in the kitchen with the teabags and mugs and milk she wondered what he wanted. He looked tired.
‘Things cannot stay the way they are, Constance. We both know it.’
She said nothing. Her lips and mouth were still slightly numb.
‘I know how hard it has been for you,’ he admitted, ‘how tough this year has been.’
She held the warm mug in her hands, trying to remain composed.
‘But you living here on your own in this house is madness. I’m still making the final payments on the mortgage, along with the insurance and our VHI, and now I have the rent on the apartment in Donnybrook too.’
‘That was your decision, Shay.’
‘I know. I’m not arguing that. But the bills have doubled. Electricity, heating, house insurance! The money is due for the alarm on this place next week and you’d better organize to pay it.’
‘With what?’ Her laugh was suddenly uncontrollable. ‘I have no income.’
He put his head in his hands. She noticed that he was wearing new denim jeans and what looked like trainers.
‘That’s your problem. You live here and you must decide if safety and security are top of your priorities.’
‘I think having an alarm on the house is a bit of a priority, Shay. If you remember, you’ve spent the past fifteen years going on about it ever since your golf clubs and my handbag were stolen from the hall.’
‘I’m just informing you,’ he said, tossing her the bill, ‘that the payment is due.’
‘Well, it will just have to be cut off then,’ she snapped, ‘since I don’t have the money to pay it.’
‘Constance, there is no point fighting about it. We are where we are. Although I pay the mortgage on the house, it belongs to both of us jointly. I’m not arguing about it. It’s just that it no longer suits our needs. The kids are grown up. We had always planned as we got older to sell it. You know we had.’
‘I love this house,’ she insisted, looking out towards the garden.
‘I know you do,’ he said. ‘It’s a great house. But now times have changed. You need the money. I need the money. Can’t we somehow resolve this without being at each other’s throats and resorting to bloody barristers?’
She wanted to be angry with him but instead felt sapped, drained. She’d had enough of being angry and fighting. Was this man with his scared face, paunchy stomach and Nike runners really worth it?
‘I’ll think about it,’ she offered,
standing up and putting the mugs in the dishwasher.
‘And I’ll pay the alarm people,’ he said.
She stood in the kitchen, listening to the sound of Shay moving around upstairs just like old times. His heavy feet thumped on the overhead floorboards, doors banging as he got his suit. Then suddenly he was gone, the hall door slamming, the silver BMW reversing out of the driveway. She wondered where he was going in the dress suit, and immediately regretted her own stupid curiosity. It didn’t matter where he went as she wouldn’t be with him and that was something she was going to have to accept.
Shay and herself were no longer a couple. No longer partners. Their worlds were totally separate now and she just had to get used to it.
‘It’s good that you could sit down and talk,’ said Helen, serious, when Constance phoned her later that night. She listened for an hour as her friend replayed Shay’s visit, her financial problems and the true depths of her despair. ‘Things can’t go on the way they are.’
‘I know,’ Constance sniffed, jaw aching after a root filling and heart-broken after thirty years of marriage.
‘You have got to get your life back on track without Shay,’ she admonished.
Constance knew her best friend was right. Helen had been widowed over ten years ago. Paul’s death from kidney failure, though not unexpected, had been tragic. Helen had been left to raise their two sons on her own. She had never complained or raged but had earned the respect of everyone around her by simply getting on with it. Helen was right. Deep inside, Constance knew she was no different from a million other women who found themselves, for one reason or another, suddenly alone. Her world had altered and now so must she. Looking to the past was doing nothing but causing her hurt and pain. Somehow she had to look to the future.
The summer was almost gone, apples on the tree in the garden, the Michaelmas daisies brown and withered, the nights chilly as Constance folded away her summer clothes and covered the barbecue. There was a massive amount of work to be done in the garden and she wasn’t sure she had the energy or the enthusiasm for it. Jack had taken off weeks ago and wouldn’t commit to being home for Christmas.
The Hat Shop on the Corner Page 25