Kitty sat on the bus, her adrenalin rushing inside her so much that she wanted to jump up and dance in the aisles. Instead she took out her notepad and wrote:
Name Number Four: Jedrek Vysotski
Story Title: Guinness World Records
CHAPTER TWENTY
From outside the door in the Mater Hospital, Kitty could hear a hair dryer blasting, and when she entered the room she found Mary-Rose standing over a head of hair, hard at work, a mop of blond flying around the room. She saw Kitty and turned the hair dryer off.
‘Ah, just on time, my assistant has arrived.’
The woman beneath the hair peeked out from the strands that had been blown across her face. Her eyes were big and brown, huge in her shrunken face. Kitty felt a wave of dizziness pass over her, but she smiled and waved, then wanted to kick herself for smiling, and then again for not speaking. She found she was like one of those people who didn’t know what to say to children; when it came to people who were ill, she simply hadn’t the words, couldn’t think of anything remotely in common to chat to them about, all her mind kept telling her was: they are sick, they are sick.
‘Diane is the beautiful bride today,’ Mary-Rose introduced them.
Congratulations? Should she say that? Was it appropriate? She was getting married but she was also about to die – how could she be congratulated for that? So instead she said, ‘Ah,’ and nodded her head.
‘Well, I’m not beautiful yet,’ Diane said. ‘Hopefully I will be after Mary-Rose is finished with me.’
Kitty still hadn’t said anything.
‘Do me a favour and hold these clips?’ Mary-Rose asked, handing her a container to hold.
Delighted to have something to do, Kitty jumped into action and stood behind Diane so she wouldn’t have to look at her, then made it her job to be completely helpful, offering clips when Mary-Rose still had two in her hand, one in her mouth and was manoeuvring another firmly in Diane’s head.
Mary-Rose began chatting casually without any uneasiness, without awkwardness, as if this was a normal day, just like any other.
‘Will you have a bridesmaid?’ Mary-Rose asked, a clip between her teeth.
‘My daughter, Serena, she’ll be here any moment. She’s getting her hair done too. She’s sixteen and loving all the excitement.’
‘I bet,’ Mary-Rose said. ‘Her mum is getting married, I’m excited for you!’
Excited? All Kitty could feel was misery for the poor sixteen-year-old who was going to lose her mother.
‘I know, I’m excited too,’ Diane laughed. ‘I’m trying to figure out why her dad and I didn’t do this years ago!’
‘Will you make a speech?’ Mary-Rose asked, and Kitty wondered why she couldn’t think of questions like that to ask. She was a journalist, she was supposed to be able to ask all kinds of questions, but her head had dried up, which wasn’t a new experience.
Mary-Rose picked up strands of hair and moved them, twisted them, pinned them, manipulated them to look silkier, thicker, beautiful and healthy. The way she pinned each section before moving on to the next was hypnotic to watch.
‘I’ll speak if I can,’ Diane said. ‘Serena wants to speak.’
‘She’s a brave girl.’
‘She’s been the bravest.’ There was a silence and Kitty felt awkward, but then Diane laughed. ‘She sat me down to help me choose a coffin, would you believe?’
Mary-Rose laughed. ‘I hope you picked a nice one.’
Kitty almost fainted at the conversation.
‘Apparently there’s new personalised coffins which you can have themed to suit your taste – football club emblems and that kind of thing.’
‘And what did you choose?’
‘Well, she wanted me to choose the sunset-themed one – the sea, the palm trees, the beach. I used to surf, you see.’
‘It sounds beautiful.’
‘Too good to be burned,’ Diane joked. ‘I’m being cremated.’
‘Well, they could always cremate you and keep the coffin,’ Mary-Rose said, and the two women burst out laughing. Kitty couldn’t believe her ears; she watched the two of them in shock. How could they joke like this about death?
‘Oh, stop.’ Diane wiped the corners of her eyes. ‘You’ll ruin my make-up.’
‘It’s okay, I can do it again,’ Mary-Rose said. ‘I once had a client who told me she was choosing a dark oak because it would bring out the colour of her eyes.’
And with that they both started laughing again.
The door opened and an excited member of staff announced the arrival of the bridesmaid.
‘Oh, darling.’ Diane immediately stopped laughing as she took in the sight of her daughter wearing a pretty and simple dress for the low-key affair. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Stop, Mum,’ Serena said, embarrassed. ‘We’re not crying today, remember?’ She went to her mother and embraced her, and Mary-Rose immediately stopped working and stepped back. Kitty followed her lead. As soon as they pulled away, both of them in tears, Mary-Rose chose the right moment to work again. She worked silently, quickly, almost becoming invisible in the room.
‘Nearly there,’ Mary-Rose said, reaching for another pin. ‘This is the last one.’ She twisted the final strand of hair around her finger and expertly pinned it in place so that the pin was invisible.
‘Wow,’ Kitty finally spoke.
‘I want to see,’ Diane said excitedly.
‘You hold this mirror for me.’ Mary-Rose gave Kitty a mirror. She went round the front with another mirror so that Diane could see the back and front.
Diane was silent but her face said it all. Her hands went slowly up to her hair but didn’t touch it, instead hovered tenderly around her face. Her face, which had seemed lost in the big blond hair, now looked more at home.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered.
‘Mum,’ Serena warned.
‘I’m not going to …’ Diane tried not to cry. ‘It just looks
like …’
‘Like …?’ Mary-Rose asked nervously.
‘The way it used to be.’
And finally Kitty understood.
They all watched Diane’s face go through some kind of transformation. It was difficult to know what she was thinking; who knew what on earth she could be thinking at a time like that? Nobody. Apart from Mary-Rose, apparently.
‘But it’s not you,’ Mary-Rose said, surprising Kitty.
Diane looked at her in surprise and it changed to apologetic.
‘It’s okay, we can take it off.’
‘But all your hard work …’
‘Never mind my work, this is your day. Would you like me to take it out?’
Diane looked at Serena.
‘I think it’s stunning, Mum, but it’s up to you.’
Diane thought hard. ‘I just think, it’s my old hair on a … new face and it feels wrong.’
‘No problem.’ And with that Mary-Rose lifted up the hair and revealed a bald Diane.
Diane swallowed.
The colour difference between her made-up face and her pale head was evident.
‘I’ll just use my magic brush,’ Mary-Rose said chirpily, ‘but be warned. It may tickle.’
Diane smiled as Serena laughed. ‘Can I help?’
Kitty took a few steps back as she watched Mary-Rose and Serena dusting Diane’s head, the three of them laughing.
‘Well, our work here is done,’ Mary-Rose said with a look of satisfaction as the door closed behind Serena wheeling her mother to the marriage ceremony in the hospital boardroom. The nurses excitedly followed after them, delighted to have such a positive event in the ward.
‘How long do you think she has?’ Kitty asked.
‘I didn’t ask but I’m guessing a few months.’ Mary-Rose started to tidy things away.
‘How do you do this?’ Kitty sat down, drained.
‘It’s not easy, I suppose, but it’s not all bad … I usen’t to believe in marriage. My mum a
nd dad separated when I was young, it was nasty and so I didn’t have a good example of marriage, but a lot of my friends are getting married now and mostly I do their hair. All brides are nervous for different reasons, whether they’re sick or not. You just have to judge if they want to chat or not. Some don’t. The main difference is my friends are panicking about the “for ever” part. They have to stay together for ever whereas Diane’s worried because she knows that it can’t be. When I get married I want to be like Diane and hope beyond all hope that it can be for ever.’
Mary-Rose brought her mother into Dublin city once a week for afternoon tea. It was something she insisted on doing despite her mother’s health, and this week she’d chosen Powerscourt Townhouse. Powerscourt Townhouse was a speciality shopping centre in a Georgian house off Grafton Street. It had once been the party home to Richard Wingfield, Third Viscount Powerscourt, and his wife, Lady Amelia, and was a popular place to eat and shop. The courtyard had been covered over and a large ground-floor restaurant sat in the centre overlooked by the balconies of each side of the building. A piano played softly beside them. As if Kitty hadn’t had enough awkward moments with sick people she now faced a meal with Mary-Rose and a woman whose speech was near impossible to understand due to the paralysis of one side of her face. Mary-Rose, as she had done in the hospital, acted as their mediator.
As Kitty was in the middle of explaining to Mary-Rose’s mother what exactly she was doing with her daughter a loud male voice interrupted everyone’s conversations.
‘Oh, no,’ Mary-Rose said, looking up at the main staircase into the courtyard shopping area and seeing Sam standing there with a microphone in hand.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could please have your attention …’ He tapped the microphone. There was an immediate hush. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time, I appreciate you’re all trying to have an enjoyable break, but there’s somebody I need to say something special to.’
Again that twitter of excitement began to build among the crowd.
‘Margaret Posslewaite, are you here?’
Mary-Rose groaned.
‘Maggie, are you here?’ he asked again.
Mary-Rose’s mother nudged her and Mary-Rose’s hand shot up in the air at the same time as her other hand went to cover her face.
‘There she is!’ he exclaimed. ‘Maggie. There’s something I have to ask you in front of all these people.’
There it was, the gasp from some, the whoop of excitement from others, the cheer from some, the cynical eye roll of a few. Sam nodded to the piano player, who began to play ‘Moon River’. ‘Remember this song, Maggie? It was the first song we danced to on our first date.’
The crowd oohed.
He slowly made his way down the steps singing the first line of the song.
‘Oh Jesus,’ Mary-Rose said. Her mother laughed.
‘Ever since our first dance on our first date, I knew I wanted to be with you. Ever since you wowed me with your merengue and cha-cha when we met at the YMCA dance class.’
Mary-Rose snorted and covered her face, trying not to laugh.
‘But it was the salsa,’ he made a little move with his hips and the crowd cheered, ‘that made me realise I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.’
People whooped.
‘Margaret,’ he came closer, stole a rose from a nearby table and swooped down to his knee beside her to thunderous applause, ‘my huckleberry friend. Will you marry me?’ Only Kitty was close enough to hear the snort from Mary-Rose as she tried to contain her hysterical laughter while her face was fighting hard to stay calm.
‘Yes,’ she said, but the crowd were too busy cheering to hear. Somebody shushed and that was sent around the shopping centre.
She and Sam were almost nose to nose.
‘I can’t hear you,’ Sam said into the microphone and then pushed it close to her lips. She gave him a warning look. He gave her a cheesy smile.
‘Yes,’ she said into the microphone and the whole of Powerscourt Townhouse erupted.
They hugged and the manager brought over the menus and told them drinks were on the house.
‘That was a good one,’ Mary-Rose chuckled, her pretty face lighting up. ‘Okay, you got me there, Sam. That was possibly one of your best. Your huckleberry friend?’
He shrugged and laughed. ‘I had to impress the mother-in-law. Hi, Judy.’ He gave Mary-Rose’s mother a kiss on the forehead. Judy said something intelligible to Kitty and Sam laughed, understanding her perfectly.
A young woman, whom Kitty had assumed was a member of staff standing by and watching it all, made her way over to the table.
‘Am I allowed to join you now?’ she asked, a big grin on her face. ‘Is it safe?’
‘Of course,’ Sam said, lighting up. ‘Guys, this is Aoife. I hope you don’t mind her joining us today.’
Mary-Rose looked slightly confused but covered it up quickly. ‘Yes, I mean no, I mean, no I don’t mind.’
‘Aoife, this is Kitty, a friend of Mary-Rose’s. In fact you and me need to have words later, I have a few stories to share.’ He winked and Kitty laughed. ‘Aoife, this is my best friend and wife-to-be, Margaret Posslewaite, also known as Mary-Rose.’
‘Congratulations,’ Aoife laughed, leaning over and giving Mary-Rose a half-hug and kiss.
Mary-Rose seemed uncomfortable by the closeness.
‘Aoife and I met a few weeks ago at work. I thought now would be a nice time for you to meet,’ Sam said, a little embarrassed.
‘Ah, yes, of course,’ Mary-Rose said, still trying to gather herself together.
‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ Aoife said, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager to please.
‘Well, I …’ Mary-Rose was at a loss for words.
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her about the baths we took together,’ Sam jumped in, and Aoife laughed.
‘What have you not done together?’ Aoife laughed. She meant it innocently but it carried more weight with Mary-Rose, who immediately looked awkward, which Sam picked up on and who then also looked awkward. But Aoife didn’t notice. Eager to impress her boyfriend’s friend she continued, ‘Speaking of baths, have you ever tried to wash Scotty? He’s impossible!’ Aoife launched into a story about how she and Sam had tried to clean Sam’s dog, but Kitty wasn’t listening to the story. Instead she caught the quick glance between mother and daughter, her mother reaching for her daughter’s hand beneath the table.
Name Number Seven: Mary-Rose Godfrey
Story Title: The Proposee
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After meeting with Mary-Rose, Kitty made her way to St Margaret’s Nursing Home to meet Birdie again. She enjoyed spending time with Birdie, loved her simple stories of years gone by, her elegance, her gentleness, her openness to everything around her. Kitty had spent more time with Birdie than with the other people on her list, but, listening back over the tapes, Kitty realised that there was one question that needed to be asked. The day was still bright and sunny despite coming into a chillier evening at six o’clock. Many of the nursing home inhabitants were outside sitting in the shade, which was where Kitty found Birdie, looking as elegant as usual, her feet resting on a pillow on a garden chair, her face lifted up to the heat, her eyes closed.
‘Hello, birthday girl,’ Kitty said gently, not wanting to surprise her.
Birdie’s eyes opened and she smiled. ‘Well, hello, Kitty. It’s lovely to see you again.’ She took her feet down from the chair. ‘It’s not quite my birthday yet,’ she said. ‘Not that I’ll be celebrating it. Eighty-five years old, can you believe it?’ She shook her head, unimpressed.
‘You don’t look a day over eighty,’ Kitty said, and Birdie laughed. ‘You are celebrating it somewhere, though, aren’t you?’ Kitty probed, trying to get to the bottom of the mystery. It had been playing on Kitty’s mind for the past few days: where on earth was an eighty-five-year-old woman planning on spending her birthday if it wasn’t with her family, and she
was intent on not telling them where she was going?
‘Well, no, I’m not exactly celebrating it.’ She removed an invisible piece of fluff from her skirt. ‘Isn’t it a smashing day?’
Kitty smiled, loving the challenge. ‘Your birthday is on Thursday, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ll be somewhere other than here for your birthday?’
‘That’s right, I won’t be here, but we can meet again on Saturday or Sunday, if that suits you. Even Thursday morning will be fine but I’m afraid I’m probably boring you with all of these stories.’
Kitty smiled. ‘Birdie, can I ask, where are you going?’
‘Oh, it’s not important, Kitty, it’s just …’
‘Birdie,’ Kitty said in a warning tone, and Birdie finally cracked a smile.
‘You don’t take no for an answer, do you?’
‘Never.’
‘Well, all right. I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Kitty, and I do apologise.’
Kitty’s ears pricked up and her adrenalin surged. ‘Yes?’
‘But only because it’s a silly little thing and nothing you would want for your story.’
‘Let me be the judge of that.’
She sighed. ‘I told you that when I was a young girl I was very sick.’
‘You had tuberculosis.’
‘It was an incredibly fatal disease then. It was like being handed a death sentence. Four thousand people died from it every year.’ She shook her head. ‘There was a terrible stigma attached to it. I was only fourteen and was sent to a TB sanatorium on the edge of town where I stayed for six months before my father, God rest his soul, decided to take me out of there and go with me to Switzerland. They thought the fresh air would help me. After a summer my father got the position of headmaster and we moved back home, but with my poor health there was very little I could do. So many people died in those sanatoriums. But because of my condition, my father wrapped me up in cotton wool. He had plans for me, he was very controlling of me – who I played with, who I talked to, eventually who I loved.’ She looked sad at that. ‘Even when I was improved, he couldn’t change. I was his sick little girl, his youngest, and he wouldn’t, couldn’t, I suppose, let me go.’
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