‘It’s only a day or two, Mum,’ he’d protested. ‘Flying home from Thailand for turkey and plum pudding is hardly worth it.’
She had buried her disappointment, trying to understand his wanderlust and lack of need for home and family.
The blissfully happy newly-weds, Chris and Sally, called at the weekends, and she made a point of going into town once a week to meet Sally for something to eat at lunchtime or after work. It was wonderful to see Sally so contented.
There had been more good news: Miriam had announced that she was expecting again. The arrival of another grandchild, a little brother or sister for Max, would be a blessing.
‘What are you going to do for the winter?’ quizzed Helen. ‘You are not going to sit here on the couch hibernating, watching EastEnders and Coronation Street every night!’
Constance hadn’t the heart to admit that that was exactly what she had been planning.
‘Lots of people sign up for evening classes. It’d be good to do a course on something that interests you, take up something, do something new,’ Helen continued, waving a booklet listing the evening courses being run all over the city. ‘The last thing you want to do is stagnate now that Shay’s gone.’
Constance had studied the booklet later that night, surprised by the range of courses on offer. When the children were younger there had always been reasons not to do things, what with homework and exams and study. In addition, Shay had been the type who liked his meal ready when he got home and for Constance to be available if he had to entertain a client or attend a function. Those days were past and Helen was right: she was a free agent and didn’t have to suit anyone any more except herself.
In trepidation she had phoned the information desk in Trinity College to enquire about the art history course they were running. It sounded very interesting and the young man on the phone was so enthusiastic about it that before she had time to think she had signed up and paid for it.
‘I must be gone mad,’ she chided herself. ‘Why, I won’t know a soul.’
Helen had simply smiled when she told her.
‘Well, it’s a start.’
Chapter Fifty-five
‘Are you ready, Tommy?’ shouted his ma from downstairs. ‘You can’t keep us waiting. We can’t be late today of all days.’
Tommy glanced at himself in the bedroom mirror. He had gelled his hair and was wearing the new shirt his ma had bought him, pale blue with a T-shirt under, and his jeans.
Yeah, he didn’t half look good.
‘Your father is going crazy, Tommy. He’s sitting out in the car. For heaven’s sake, will you hurry it up or he’ll drive off without you,’ she threatened. ‘And then you’ll have to get the bus.’
‘I’m coming,’ he roared, ‘so tell the old fellah to keep his hair on.’
He grabbed the black-plastic-wrapped hatbox from the bottom of his wardrobe and carried it gently down the stairs. The front door was open and the rest of them were all sitting in the car. He closed the door and, releasing the lid of the car boot, placed the box carefully inside.
‘What are you doing?’ asked his brother, eyes gawping, curious, his large box of handmade chocolates on his lap.
‘I was just putting Nan’s present in the back.’
‘What did you get her?’
‘You’ll see when we get there.’
‘Go on, tell me.’
‘No. You’ll see soon enough. It’s a surprise.’
‘Rubbish,’ jeered Ray. ‘Something stupid and useless!’
‘Will you two stop fighting,’ ordered their mother. ‘I’ve had enough of it. Today is a day of big celebration for your grandmother and all the Butler family and you two boyos better behave.’
The two of them glared at each other, knowing by their mother’s warning tone that she meant it.
Tommy grinned. He had no intention of spoiling his grandmother’s day. He was so excited about it himself. All the family were coming. Aunt Maggie and Uncle Phil from Liverpool and their five kids and three grandchildren, and Uncle Matt and his wife and four kids had flown in from Canada. His cousin Peter had come from Sydney with his girlfriend, Melanie, and of course the Irish cousins were going to be there in full force. None of his grandma’s own old friends was alive but obviously the people in the home with her and a few others had been invited along. He had cadged an invitation for Mr McHugh and given it to him on Wednesday after history class, and had posted the one to the hat lady, Ellie Matthews, though he wasn’t really expecting her to turn up.
‘Are you OK, Pat?’ asked his mother. Tommy was aware that he had never seen his father so quiet when driving anywhere.
‘I’m just watching the traffic.’
Normally his father would be blowing the horn, moving lanes, trying to edge the car past the lights, revving the engine for the off once the green signal came. He supposed it must be hard when you realize that your own mother is a hundred and that you are pushing it too, almost over the hill.
‘Sure!’
His father gave a huge sigh.
‘I’m just worried that all this fuss and the party and seeing everyone might be too much for her,’ he admitted slowly. ‘Give her a turn, a heart attack or a stroke even.’
Tommy’s eyes flew to his mother.
‘Pat Butler, do you think for one minute that your blessed mother is the type to keel over because people make a fuss of her? Well, if you do, you are wrong. Lily loves fuss, loves to be centre of attention. With all the children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren flying in from all around the world and all over the country to see her, she’ll be in her element! Don’t you dare give everyone the glooms today.’
Tommy could see the weight lift off his father’s massive shoulders as he listened to Mary Butler’s good sense. Only a few minutes later he gripped the wheel and honked at the car moving slowly beside him, not even indicating as he pulled across.
Yeah, the king of the road – his da was back on track!
Chapter Fifty-six
Lillian Butler still found it hard to credit that today she was a hundred years old. A century ago, in an overcrowded room on the third floor of a tenement house on Mountjoy Square, her mother had brought her into the world. Her parents had struggled to raise their brood during terrible times. Sometimes she could remember the smells and the noise and the neighbours of her childhood days as clear as a bell and other times she struggled even to recall her mother’s face. It was all so long ago.
‘Morning to the birthday girl!’ chorused Teresa, one of the kitchen staff, as she roused her for her breakfast by singing ‘Happy Birthday’ loudly and giving her a big kiss and a tin of wine gums – her favourite sweets. And it had been like that all day, the staff and nurses bursting into song, congratulating her for reaching a hundred years of age, as if she had done anything to make it happen. She enjoyed their hugs and kisses and gifts and cards, asking Nurse Barry to read them to her, as her old eyesight was so bad these days. She enjoyed her usual early morning bowl of porridge and a slice of brown toast, marmalade and a cup of milky tea.
‘Wouldn’t you like anything special today, Lil?’ the cook had asked.
She had shaken her head. This was her usual breakfast, and birthday or not she wasn’t about to change it. The nurses had bathed her. Yesterday Josephine, the hairdresser, had come in especially to wash and set her hair, ready for today’s party. The nurses teased it into shape as they helped her to dress.
She had never imagined herself living so long, a hundred years on God’s good earth, watching her children grow up, then their children and now she even had great-grandchildren. Twelve at the last count! Her only regret was that Tom was not at her side to share this day and see the family they had reared. He had been the best husband a woman could want. Tom had kept a roof over their heads and put food on their table, never complaining as they both struggled to raise their family. They’d had their fair share of ups and downs but had stuck it out, making the best of what was given
them. She smiled to herself, remembering it all.
Her daughter had helped her pick out the pale blue chiffon dress with its floaty skirt.
‘It looks lovely, Ma. Makes you look younger.’
‘Ninety-nine!’
Poor old Kitty! She’d never had a sense of humour and still didn’t get the joke.
‘You look very elegant, Lil. You will do your family proud today,’ Angela, the matron, congratulated her, presenting her with a magnificent bouquet of flowers and a huge card signed by all the residents. One of the others had reached a hundred last Easter but poor old Bill was bed-bound and had to be fed and minded by the nurses.
‘And here’s your telegram and cheque from the President,’ laughed the matron.
Lil blushed. Imagine the President writing to her as if she was someone famous or well-to-do!
‘Lil, I hope you don’t mind me interfering but you have a busy day ahead. All your family are coming in today to join in your celebrations but myself and the staff want to make sure that you don’t overtire yourself.’
‘I’ll be good,’ she chuckled.
‘Yes, but I want you to have a nap after a light lunch.’
Lil agreed willingly, for then she would be right for the party. She wanted nothing to spoil this special day.
Chapter Fifty-seven
Tommy whistled out loud, ‘Wheweee,’ as he lifted his black bag into the hallway. The Charlemont Old People’s Nursing Home had been transformed for the day with flowers and balloons everywhere, and big banners in reception and the corridors saying ‘100 years’. One of the young nurses pointed them in the direction of the huge dining room where the party was to be held.
He noticed as he walked past the sitting room and day room that the residents – well, that was what his ma liked to call them – were all dressed in their very best, cardigans and dresses and blouses and skirts and jackets. He supposed it must be a very big thing to them, the residents, to have someone make the hundred mark! Maybe they were all trying to make it and it was just that his grandmother was the first past the winning post.
‘Lil’s sitting pretty in her chair up there,’ a staff nurse told them. ‘Matron is with her and a few of the family have already arrived, Mr Butler. Your brother from Canada and his family are there.’
Pat Butler grinned. It was ten years since he’d seen Matt and only two of his kids had ever been to Ireland before. He was silly to have worried: today was going to be one of the Butler family’s finest as they all assembled to pay tribute to his ma, a wonderful woman.
His grandmother looked lovely. Her hair was all nice and softly curled and looked even whiter than ever, like a halo around her small face as she kissed and hugged and welcomed everyone. Auntie Paula and his cousin Brian were fetching everyone drinks from the small bar the family had set up. There was wine and beer and sherry and vodka, and Coke, orange and big bottles of red lemonade. The presents were all put on a table in the centre of the room, and he shoved the hatbox on the ground slightly under the tablecloth beside two huge floral arrangements. His cousin Andy was taking photos of everyone with his grandmother on a fancy digital camera.
‘Go on, smile with Nan.’
‘Give Lil another kiss!’
Lillian Butler was lapping it all up and wiped tears from her eyes as six great-grandchildren were deposited on her lap and around her.
‘I only wish poor Tom was here to see them all,’ she smiled.
Tommy helped himself to a sausage roll and some vol-au-vents. Some had prawns in them but he preferred the cheese and ham ones. There was loads of grub, for the Butlers all had big appetites. The Canadian and Australian cousins were grand, asking him to come and visit them when he was old enough.
‘What do you do for fun around here?’ asked Aaron Butler from Alberta, the same age as himself and about a foot taller.
Tommy racked his brains, thinking of playing football in the road or up in the park with the lads and walking to the cinema or the chipper. Somehow it didn’t sound as good as it really was.
‘I do snowboarding and ski in the winter and kayaking once the weather gets warm!’ said Aaron.
Tommy stuck out his chin. ‘Yeah, well, we don’t get enough snow here for that kind of thing but we all hang round, messing, if you know what I mean.’
More and more people were arriving, and the room was filling up and buzzing with sound. He was surprised to see Mr McHugh had arrived and was engrossed in talking to his ancient old uncle Donal.
‘An event like this, young Thomas, is part of social history and not to be missed. Thank you for inviting me along to join the celebration.’
Everyone was getting on really well and the glass of sherry had given his nan two rosy cheeks.
‘We’ll all eat first,’ bossed his aunt Kitty, ‘then everyone here will get their turn to go up and say happy birthday to Mammy and give her their present and good wishes.’
Tommy watched as the Butler family moved like a pack of migrant wildebeest towards the buffet table, arming themselves with plates and knives and forks. He decided to hang back and remove the plastic covering off his gift, for he was dying to be first in line for his granny to see what he’d got her. He tilted open the lid to take a satisfied peek.
Janey! He couldn’t believe it! Inside was a scummy black and white hat like you’d wear going to a funeral. His da would kill him. He turned it over in the box, crouching down as if the Memory Hat might miraculously appear underneath. He felt like crying as he looked round the room. Where was his hat?
Ray was stuffing himself with chicken goujons and potato wedges when Tommy grabbed his mobile phone off him and took off.
‘Give me back the phone!’ threatened his brother, as Tommy disappeared into the quiet of the corridor with his hastily rewrapped black plastic disaster.
Please let her be there, he begged, knowing it was almost closing time as he rang the number that was written in curly writing on the side of the lid. She had to be there!
Chapter Fifty-eight
A mix-up with the hatboxes! Ellie couldn’t believe it. How had it happened? Tommy Butler was talking nineteen to the dozen on the phone and near to tears by the sound of it.
‘I’ve got the wrong hat.’
What had she done for the fates to conspire against her like this, she thought, as she listened to his anxious voice.
‘Where’s my nan’s hat?’
Her heart sank as he explained, and she began frantically to rummage through every box in the shop. It must be here somewhere.
‘Where are you?’ she asked.
‘I’m at Nan’s party,’ he shouted back, sounding totally defeated.
She could sense his utter disappointment and knew that the promise of another hat would be no good. She had to find his hat and try to swap them round.
‘Tell me about the hat you have in the box?’
‘It’s a stupid black one,’ he insisted.
‘So it’s pure black?’
‘No, there’s a bit of white on it.’
She recognized the description immediately. He had Rosemary Harrington’s hat, which meant that she had his. She racked her brain. Neil’s mother had said she lived beside Merrion Square. She pulled out the phone book, searching through the H’s. Not there, obviously ex-directory. Shit, shit, shit!
‘Listen, Tommy. I think I know where your hat is and I’m going to try and get it. It’s only a long shot.’
‘Please, Ellie, please try and get it,’ he pleaded. ‘The party’s on. Everybody’s eating before they do the presents.’
She grabbed her jacket and purse and the invitation from the noticeboard, locking the shop as quickly as she could. Almost throwing herself in front of a cab on Dawson Street, she begged the driver to take her to Merrion Square.
Once there, Ellie walked up and down the row of Georgian houses trying to find the right one. Offices, solicitors, an art gallery . . . Almost frantic, she grabbed hold of a tall young mother with blue eyes who was abo
ut to cross over to the park with her little boy. She recognized her from somewhere.
‘Sorry, do you live here? Do you know where the Harringtons live?’
The three-year-old looked at her as if she was crazy as his mother burst out laughing.
‘That’s us, I’m Rachel Harrington – well, I was. We met before at the opera.’
‘Oh! Oh, I see . . . I’m looking for your mother actually.’
‘Good timing then! We’ve just driven up from Kerry. That’s why we’re going to the park, to stretch our legs after that awful long journey. Mum’s inside.’
Ellie felt like she was going to collapse with relief as she climbed the front steps and rang the bell.
She tried to brush her hair off her face and appear more composed and calm as she heard footsteps approaching.
‘Ellie, this is an unexpected pleasure!’ Neil Harrington was standing in front of her. ‘Would you like to come in?’
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Neil, but it’s about your mother’s hat.’ She sounded so stupid and lame. ‘There’s been a mix-up with the hatboxes and the thing is, I think you’ve got somebody else’s hat and they have yours – well, I mean your mother’s.’
She was doing her best to sound rational but could tell from the expression on his face that he thought she was some kind of raving lunatic, turning up at the weekend on his doorstep.
‘The wrong hat?’
‘Yes, exactly. Has your mother worn the hat yet?’
‘No, it’s still upstairs in the box. I haven’t had the opportunity to give it to her yet.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’ She gasped with relief. ‘That’s great.’
‘So do you want me to do a swap?’ he teased.
‘Yes, but I haven’t got the other hat yet. Please, Neil, could you get the box and the hat quickly!’ she begged, resisting the urge to run up the stairs herself and find it.
‘This all sounds very urgent!’
The Hat Shop on the Corner Page 26