Spin the Bottle

by Monica McInerney

  ‘Still, it’s good to have May’s house in operation again, mice or no mice. I’ll tell you one thing, Lainey, we’ll really miss your aunt around this area.’

  ‘Miss her? I thought no one –’ she was about to say no one liked her, when she stopped herself ‘– no one really knew her that well.’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t want to be in her firing line, sure enough, but she was an entertainment in herself, wasn’t she, Rohan? What was that story you heard about her, when you first got back from Germany?’

  He shook his head, smiling at the memory. ‘She put an ad in one of the local papers, looking for people interested in forming a local branch of the Insomniacs Society. The ad said the first meeting would take place in a local hotel at four a.m.’

  ‘And the ad appeared?’ Lainey said, laughing.

  ‘It did. It slipped through somehow. She could be very funny. It was really just loneliness, I think. She needed people to take notice of her, to have to ring her or talk to her in some way. I don’t think she minded if they were cross with her. It was just the human contact she needed.’

  ‘You were very good to spend so much time with her, Rohan,’ Mrs Hartigan said.

  ‘I liked her,’ he said simply.

  Lainey felt that rush of guilt again that her family had lost contact with May. She was glad when the subject moved on to other local news. Throughout the conversation Nell sat in the corner, reading a glossy magazine, answering only if she was spoken to. She perked up briefly when Lainey mentioned she wanted to get some unusual photographs taken of Tara, to make her own cards and postcards to sell.

  ‘I’m a photographer,’ Nell said.

  ‘Well, not quite, pet,’ Mrs Hartigan stepped in. ‘You’re studying to be a photographer, you mean.’ Lainey saw a glance pass between Rohan and his mother.

  ‘Have you photos here with you, Nell?’ Lainey asked.

  ‘At home. At Nana’s, I mean.’

  ‘Could I see them? If they’re what I’m after, perhaps we could talk about you taking some for me.’ They arranged for Nell to call out to the B&B some time.

  Lainey buttoned her coat as she moved to the door.

  ‘Well, goodnight then, Nell. Nice to meet you. I’ll look forward to seeing your photos. And nice to see you again, Mrs Hartigan.’

  ‘You too, Lainey. And good to see there’s no hard feelings between you and Rohan.’

  ‘Hard feelings?’ The double meaning of the words leapt out at Lainey as though she was in a Benny Hill skit.

  ‘About that dare, and the scar on his arm.’

  ‘Oh, we sorted that all out, didn’t we, Lainey?’ Rohan said as he guided her to the door.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She gave a silly laugh, wincing inside at the tone of it. She turned as they reached the door. ‘Well, thanks for your time, Rohan, and your ideas. They’re terrific.’ Close up, in the bright hall light, she noticed that he had gold flecks in his eyes.

  ‘Any time, Lainey. And thanks for being so nice to Nell. She’s been through the wars a bit lately. You do mean that about the photography, do you?’

  ‘Oh, I do. I’d love to see her work.’

  ‘I’ll drop her out to see you soon, then.’

  He leaned forward, his hand nearly brushing her face, and for a moment she thought he was going to stroke her cheek, kiss her even. Oh holy God, she thought. Had he guessed what she’d been thinking?

  Instead, he drew his hand back and she could see the glistening of a spider web and a small wriggling body in his fingers. ‘Sorry about that. When Sabine’s not here I don’t usually bother getting rid of the spiders.’

  So his girlfriend had been in Ireland, then? Why wasn’t she here now? Lainey hurriedly said goodbye and ran back out through the rain to her car.

  The next day brought another newsy email from her friend Christine, chatting about the Melbourne weather: ‘hot, hot, hot, am I rubbing it in enough yet?’; work gossip: ‘if I don’t win the lottery soon so I can retire I am going to go mad, I swear’; and news of a disastrous dinner date she’d been on: ‘I tried to stay awake while he was talking, honestly I did’.

  There was no mention of Adam or his restaurant.

  Three days before the launch party Lainey was in the library photocopying sample menus for her information packs when she heard a familiar voice. It was Rohan. Peering through the shelves, she saw he was talking to Ciara the librarian, who was flirting mightily with him again. He left Ciara and went over to another librarian, beside a group of people in rows of chairs. He must be giving another talk. She should be getting back home, but if it was about Tara, then she really should listen too, shouldn’t she? In case any of her guests needed to know, or had any questions? Yes, what a good idea.

  She walked over to the desk. ‘Ciara, is it all right if I sit in on Rohan’s talk?’

  ‘Of course it is. I’ve sat through heaps of them, but between you and me,’ she lowered her voice, ‘more for the lust factor than the search-for-knowledge factor.’ She gave a surprisingly suggestive laugh before turning to her next customer.

  Lainey didn’t know if Rohan noticed her taking a seat at the back. She could just see him between a grey-haired woman and a middle-aged man in front of her. He was talking about his current project.

  ‘It’s through oral histories that many of the most fascinating stories come to us. Stories that have been passed down from generation to generation. But how do they change as they are passed down? That’s what I’ve been trying to discover as I travel around speaking to the older people in our community, hearing what they have been told over the years. I’d like to share some of those with you all today, starting with the fascinating story of the origin of the Hill of Tara’s name. There have been five names recorded through history, all of course with their roots in the Irish language. The first was believed to be Druim Decsuin, which translates as Conspicuous Hill – as you can see, a fairly obvious name. The second was slightly more obscure, named in honour of a chief called Liath, who…’

  Lainey stifled a yawn. She’d been up until nearly two a.m. the night before, her head bursting with ideas for the relaunch of the B&B, researching similar places around the world, surfing the net. She’d found it hard to sleep, between eye strain from staring at the computer and the thoughts buzzing in her head. She blinked again now, her lids heavy. The warmth in the library was soporific.

  ‘I first met Lainey when I was fifteen. Since that time I have thought about her and waited for her and now she is back as a fully fledged woman. We haven’t made love yet, but I’m certainly planning to, and I know it’s something she wants to do as well. Isn’t that right, Lainey?’

  Lainey sat up. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Rohan was talking directly to her. Several of the audience members had turned around, looking over their shoulders at her.

  ‘I was saying that you’ve recently taken over a B&B at the Hill of Tara and are interested in hearing stories that you might be able to pass on to your guests.’

  She nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So if anyone has any stories, perhaps you could let me know here at the library. Thanks for your time.’

  Lainey was too embarrassed to wait to talk to him. She was out the door and in her car before the applause had even finished.

  ‘What do you mean you haven’t invited Rohan to the launch party? He’s one of the speakers, isn’t he? Anyway, I’m dying to meet him again.’

  How did Lainey explain why not? Tell the truth? Actually, Eva, I’m finding that whenever I’m in the same room as him I’m getting overwhelmed by erotic fantasies and it’s getting a bit embarrassing.

  ‘Lainey, are you there?’

  ‘Of course I am. I just haven’t got around to it yet.’ She realised how ridiculous she was being. Of course she had to invite Rohan, out of courtesy to him as a friend of May’s, if nothing else. ‘I’ll give him a call in a minute.’

  ‘Good, I need to run an eye over him, to see whether I think he’s the ri
ght man for you or not.’

  ‘Eva…’

  ‘Now be sure to put on your huskiest voice when you ring him. The fates are good but they need a helping hand every now and then.’

  ‘Eva, stop it!’

  Eva was laughing as she hung up.

  Lainey picked up the phone again and dialled Rohan’s number. As she did so, a particularly saucy image came into her head. She put down the receiver. She couldn’t talk to him now, with her head filled with R-rated visions like that. It was as though she was recalling all the best times with Adam, but had transplanted Rohan’s head onto his body. What on earth was happening to her? She went into the kitchen. Was there a cupboard she could clean, a floor to sweep? Where were Aunt May’s handy household hints when she really needed them? ‘To banish troublesome and inappropriate erotic thoughts about a practically married man when in fact you’re confused about the way you finished it with another man, use one part bicarbonate of soda and one pint of freshly squeezed lemon juice applied in a circular motion to the head.’ Alternatively, calm down and stop being so ridiculous. She tried his number again.

  ‘Rohan, hello, this is Lainey.’

  ‘Lainey, hello. Was that you ringing before? Someone was trying to get through but I just heard some breathing.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry, it was me. I’m having problems with my phone here.’

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I’m having a party here at the house next Saturday night, to show off the new look and my plans for it. I wondered if you’d like to come along.’

  ‘I’d love to come. Thanks, Lainey. Will you be home tomorrow, by the way?’

  ‘I will, yes.’

  She could hear a smile in his voice. ‘I have something for you, if it’s okay if I drop around.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a surprise. But you’ll like it, I promise.’

  A surprise. The mind-films started whirring into action, a tiny imp operating the projector. ‘Oh, good. Great, even. See you then.’ Was this really her, being so polite? So tentative? She hung up and was embarrassed to feel her pulse running quicker than normal. The room was obviously too hot, she decided, going across to open a window.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ROHAN ARRIVED JUST after lunch the next day, a basket under one arm. Whatever was in it would not be able to compete with what her imagination had come up with, Lainey knew, as she watched him walk up the path. In the space of twenty-four hours, Rohan’s surprise present had changed enticingly from a bottle of champagne, to airline tickets to Barbados, to a Tiffany brooch, to an interesting lace and leather combination that she couldn’t recall ever having seen in real life.

  He saw her and waved. The basket was tilting from the movement of whatever was inside. He looked delighted with himself. ‘I’ve got the answer to all your mice problems. Forget traps, forget poisons. What you need to get rid of those mice is right in here,’ he announced as he reached the front door.

  She eyed the basket dubiously. ‘You’ve brought a shotgun?’

  ‘No, think of four paws. A tail. A well-documented passion for mice.’

  ‘You’ve got a cat in there?’

  He nodded, smiling broadly, then noticed her low-key reaction. ‘Don’t you like cats?’

  She could hardly tell him she’d been thinking more along the lines of sexy lingerie and champagne, could she? ‘Oh yes, I love cats actually. I own the finest cat in the world back in Melbourne. I just hadn’t thought about getting a pet while I was here.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not like a pet cat. This is more like a worker around the place. He’s from a family of ratters. It’s in his genes.’ Rohan opened the basket a little way, put his hand in and just as quickly pulled it out, to a sound of fierce hissing. There was a red scratch on the back of his hand. ‘I think it’s still a bit wild.’

  ‘Shall I have a go?’ She reached in and lifted out the animal. It was really hissing and spitting now, its fur puffed around its body. It wasn’t as pretty as Rex, she thought, as it tried to bite her.

  ‘So will you give it a name?’ Rohan asked.

  She studied the cat, its ginger fur all spiky around its head, the skinny legs, the wide-open mouth. It really reminded her of someone. ‘Yes, I think I will,’ she said.

  ‘Here, Rod Stewart. Here, kitty,’ she called at the top of her voice that afternoon, as she roamed around the house. ‘Where are you, Rod Stewart? Here, kitty-kitty-kitty.’

  She finally found Rod Stewart in one of the back rooms, asleep on the single bed. She picked him up, holding him at arm’s length as he hissed again, trying to scratch her with his paw, the spiky orange fur a halo around his head. ‘Come on now, Roddie. Come and show the mice in this house who’s boss.’

  He just scratched her face in reply.

  Twenty-four hours before her launch party she was in the Dunshaughlin shopping centre. She hated supermarkets at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. She’d thought she had all she needed for the launch party and had started decorating when she realised she needed light bulbs and would have to go into town again, for the fifth time in two days.

  They were the last things on her list though. Everything else was ordered and in place. She was loving the feeling of being back in charge of an event, running through all the details in her mind, like a director planning a film shoot. Eva and Joe would be bringing the food tomorrow, all prepared at Ambrosia – a clever combination of traditional Irish ingredients served in new ways. There would be smoked salmon blinis, little potato fritters, baked fish skewers and vintage cheese, which they’d serve with a selection of Mrs Gillespie’s breads. They’d volunteered to be the food and drink waiters as well, leaving her to be hostess. A local off-licence had delivered the hired wine glasses and the wine that morning – a rich, fruity South Australian shiraz from a small Clare Valley winery called Lorikeet Hill, and a crisp French sauvignon blanc. She’d decided on open fires and warm lamps in every room, with soft music playing, the curtains drawn against the cold night, and the newly painted walls making the rooms plush and cosy. She’d prepared information packs for the guests to take home, outlining all her plans for the Feast of Ireland series of theme weekends at the Tara Lodge.

  It was while she was checking that the lamps she’d placed in each of the rooms looked just as beautiful in real life as they had in her imagination that she’d discovered she’d run out of light bulbs. Something so simple yet so important. She was cross that she hadn’t thought of it on her last shopping trip.

  It wasn’t helping that she had a raging dose of PMT. Women should come equipped with a pair of red plastic horns that they could just slip on once every month, she thought. A sort of public-warning device that said: ‘I have temporarily turned into a she-devil and it might be best if you keep your distance until normal transmission has been resumed.’ She stalked around the aisles, trying to find what she needed.

  She finally found the light bulbs, ridiculously stored in the household items section. She bought six bumper packs and then added several other items – kitchen rolls, notepads, pens, tea towels, cat food, hand cream – in a sudden shopping fever. She grabbed two more packets of mouse traps and some more poison too – Rod Stewart had lost complete interest in the mice, it seemed. The ratter gene had obviously skipped a generation.

  The queue to the check-out was long, of course. And of course the register ran out of paper just as she was getting closer. And of course the woman ahead of her wanted to pay by cheque and of course she was a calligrapher and couldn’t just sign her name but had to fashion each letter and number as though it was a work of art. As her temper rose, Lainey felt as though she had grown a long thick tail like a lioness, and was flicking it, slowly, angrily, waiting for the moment to sink her fangs into the spotty neck of the boy behind the register. If he didn’t apologise for the delay, that was it – she was going to bite off his head.

  As she finally reached the front of the queue he looked up, sweaty and
red-faced, and gave her a sweet smile. ‘Sorry for the delay, miss. Just one of those days.’

  Her imaginary tail gave a final, disappointed flick. ‘No problem at all,’ she said cheerily.

  She badly needed a cup of tea. Dragging the bulging shopping bags like bad-tempered toddlers behind her, she found a seat in the café in the middle of the shopping centre, ordered tea and then, with a long, deep sigh, willed herself to relax. She obviously wasn’t used to the stress of organising an event, even though she’d organised hundreds in her time. This party felt different, though, more real. It actually mattered to her. She wanted the B&B to work, her theme weekends to be a success, the guests to flock to her. Perhaps she hadn’t really cared before if the new chocolate bar fulfilled expectations or if the new motor mower really did mow all the opposition out of the way. She’d cared about the launch events going well, but beyond that, they really had been products. As she sipped the tea, one part of her mind checked down the long to-do list for the launch. She was on top of things; it was all organised. She was in the nice calm before the storm time, when it was just a matter of waiting for it all to unfold. She knew the feeling well from all her years at Complete Event Management.

  Gazing off into the middle distance, her eyes were drawn to the newsagent directly opposite the café. Standing between the magazine racks and the counter was Rohan Hartigan. As she looked at him, taking in his height, the width of his shoulders, the dark curly hair, her mind returned to her dream of the other night.