Cara nipped in behind reception. She couldn’t put her finger on it but something wasn’t quite the same with Sandra today. The two women had not really spoken much on a personal level – in fact not at all, Cara thought, as she opened the lid of the photocopier. They were both busy and just went about their work. Cara hadn’t had a social drink with anyone since she had been here. She would like to make some friends but she was taking her life one day at a time and it suited her that way. She wasn’t really up to socialising just yet. She took the colourful pins out of the bulletin board and took the relevant pages down. She placed one onto the glass surface of the photocopier and closed the cover. She hit the blue button on the machine and nothing happened. She lifted the lid again. She was going to buy some paint and brushes this evening on the way home and get started on her bedroom after she called Esther.
“Come on, work, you pig!” she muttered at the photocopier and pressed the button again and again.
“Are you okay in there?” Sandra was leaning against the door.
“I don’t think this copier likes me. I feel like a nervous child every time I touch it, hoping it will work.”
Sandra laughed and then sighed. “Amongst a whole pile of other shit it’s becoming the bane of my life.” She bent down and pulled out the plug and then plugged it in again. “There you go, Cara, try that! See? I’m a technical wizard!” She laughed as the machine purred into action, then her phone rang and she went back to answer it. This time it worked. Cara folded the pages neatly into her briefcase and then decided to photocopy some other material from the bulletin board while the blasted thing was working. She photocopied a list of every member of staff and their hours along with their mobile phone numbers. She copied a history of the hotel that was a newer version than the one she had. Then she copied the side of her face. She couldn’t resist. She had an overwhelming urge to photocopy her arse. She smiled – her sense of humour must be returning! What other shit did Sandra have going on, she wondered as she listened to the other woman on the phone, giving expert driving directions down from Dublin.
Cara didn’t miss Dublin, not yet. She missed being able to see her mam but nothing else really. Cara had always felt protective of her mam – Esther was just that type of person. She really liked this village of Knocknoly. It had everything she could need and it was so tranquil. She had explored it quite well lately and knew some of the locals to say a polite hello to now. She had made a friend in Louise, the owner of Louise’s Loft, the small café on the edge of the village. A lot of the locals called her The Apple. Because of her amazing flaky apple pies, Cara had asked? Louise had grinned. “I think it’s more because of my love for cider,” she said, sniggering into her hand. Louise made all the produce herself and it really was remarkable. She sold the most amazing pastries and savouries like her beef-and-Guinness pies and her cheese-and-ham quiches – and of course her flaky apple pies. It was all simple, healthy, homemade cooking.
Cara loved the lack of traffic and the fresh air and she really loved the lack of McDonald’s, Burger Kings, Centras and Spars. The originality of the village was very special. After the ruckus that had been her life she craved this quiet.
She really should buy some more of those wedding books on “Organising That Perfect Day”, she thought. She fished in her briefcase for her diary to make some notes and let the copier work away.
Then she sat on the black-leather swivel office chair and closed her eyes as the warm pages purred through.
***
“There’s a note left for you here, Cara,” Steve said as she turned the tip jar upside down onto the table and the coins clattered around before falling still. Lunch had been manic busy and now her feet really hurt.
“For me?” She whipped the note from his hand as he stood over her. There was a number and underneath it said in red felt-tip pen: “Please call your friendly pilot. He’d love to buy you that drink.” She went bright red to match the writing as Steve ran through the bar à la Laura Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie with his arms extended and making aeroplane noises. Why he was doing that she had no idea.
“Bit of a pigtailed girl,” he explained, “a chicken-shit if you ask me. Why didn’t he just ask you out to your face?” Steve was miffed now.
He had never asked Cara out but she had always imagined he fancied her a little bit. On the other hand maybe he just liked her but she wasn’t a romantic interest for him. She would never approach him first, that was for sure. Some days she thought they would make a good couple and other days she knew they wouldn’t work.
Cara put her hands on her hips in mock protest.
“You read it, Steve Brady?”
“Well, he handed it to me and asked me to give it to you. You know the types we get in here – it could have been pornographic.”
Cara sat down and kicked off her red FitFlop runners. The state of her! She had barely any make-up on, her hair was frizzy from the heat of the kitchen and lack of leave-in conditioner, she had been way overeating lately and she was knackered. Yet he wanted to go out with her. This had never happened to her before. Oh, she knew she was attractive but in an if-you-like-that-kind-of-look way and to be honest she didn’t think she was most men’s cup of tea. A busty blonde she was not. “You’re a bit like Black Magic,” her mother had always told her when she was growing up. “Some people will absolutely love you and others just won’t get you at all. Or that Marmite stuff – no, I’ve never tried it, I just don’t like the look of it – so there you go, you see what I mean?” The pilot obviously liked Black Magic.
“Are you gonna ring him before he flies away?” Steve whispered at her in a mock Southern American accent before flicking the copper coins into the jar and building a one-euro-coins tower.
“Mind your own business!” She stuck out her tongue playfully.
“He looks dodgy if you ask me,” he sniffed.
“Well, I didn’t ask you, did I now?” Bloody right she was going to ring him. How long should she wait? Esther would have a field day on this one.
She collected her tips, slipped her sore feet back into her runners and headed for her bus home. What should she say? ‘Hi, it’s Cara from the bar – you wanted me to call?’ Or: ‘It’s Cara, the girl from the pub’ – or should she say ‘the woman’? Oh, what would she say? It had been so long since she was on a date. It was so long really since she had felt that a member of the opposite sex fancied her. If Steve had really fancied her he would have asked her out by now. It was like that old saying about actors working together on a set: they were so close all day they felt they should be together. It wore off. It never worked out in the real world. That’s what Cara needed, someone in the real world, outside the four walls of the bar, to like her. She was excited and the adrenalin pumped through her veins as she slid her bus card into the machine and it beeped in recognition.
She sat at the back of the bus, the engine roaring noisily under her. Who knew where this might lead? She was more than aware of her biological clock.
He hadn’t even left his name on the note, she now realised. That was unusual.
She practised what she would say all the way home.
***
Esther spat her éclair into her hand.
“Seriously, Mam, that’s so gross!” Cara grimaced.
“A pilot!” she put the éclair back in her mouth and then spat it back out again. “Jesus! Ring him now before he changes his mind! He might have been dizzy from that altitude. He must be loaded if he’s a pilot!” She popped the drippy brown toffee back in.
“Money, doesn’t interest me in the slightest, Mam.” Cara opened the microwave and looked at the baked ham, turnip and potatoes on the plate. Closing the door again, she pressed two minutes and it beeped into action.
“Well, it bloody well interests me, madam!” Esther sat at the small kitchen table and shook her head as she chewed rhythmically. “A pilot, if you don’t mind. All she ever meets in that place are muggers and rapists – suddenly
it’s a pilot and she’s acting as if it’s no big deal!”
“It’s not, Mam – it’s only a drink!” Cara rubbed at her eyes she was so tired.
“Listen, if he likes you at all, he must fancy the pants off you. You are his type. You know what I always say about your type? Black Magic? Did you check for a wedding ring?”
Cara laughed at her this time and at the ping removed her dinner with the tea towel wrapped around her hand. “No ring,” she admitted as she sat down.
Her mother poured her a strong cup of tea and replaced the ancient knitted brown tea cosy.
“No ring!” Esther swallowed hard. “Look, I’m off to bingo with Mrs McGurn – ring him while I’m gone, won’t ya?”
“Yes, Mam. Now can I eat in peace?”
Her mother tied her grey scarf tight around her neck. “Now, that’s a lovely bitta ham from FX Buckley’s on Moore Street so eat it all up. Not that you ever leave a screed, mind you. And stay away from the éclairs – I’ve only five left and I have to ring your Auntie Ann when I get in later.”
Cara waved her fork at her mother, her mouth full.
Esther removed her purse from the kitchen drawer, then another purse with coins from another drawer, then her big change purse from her bag, and stuffed them all in her Green Bingo Bag.
“See you later, love.”
The door banged and Cara ate in comfortable silence. She never put the TV on as she listened to too much talk all day in work. She took the note out and looked at it again. She would call him after eight o’clock, she thought as she cut into her ham and smeared some mashed turnip on top. First a long soak in a hot bubbly bath. She ate her dinner slowly and then rooted in the fridge for some leftover carrot cake. As she munched it from her hand she made her way upstairs. Their little house was a two-up two-down. She pushed open the door of her bedroom and stood in front of her mirror, chewing. “Well, Cara, a pilot no less – a pilot fancies you.” She laughed at her reflection and stepped out of her working clothes. She smelled of stew. She let her long red curls tumble around her shoulders and went in to run the bath. She didn’t care that he was a pilot to be honest – all she cared about was that he was utterly drop-dead gorgeous. And he was available. She put her phone with the piece of paper tucked neatly under it on the edge of the bath, added bath salts and immersed herself into the warm bubbles.
“Wait. Don’t call him yet,” she said out loud as she ran her razor under her arms. Then she sat bolt upright, grabbed for her phone and punched the precious numbers in.
After four rings he picked up. “Hello?”
She closed her eyes tight. “Hi, em, this is, well, it’s the girl from the bar, today . . .”
“Aah, Red – I’m delighted you called.”
His voice was lower-toned than she remembered. She smiled and squashed some white bubbles between her finger and thumb. She wasn’t normally the nervy type. “Well, actually, I don’t usually do this,” he said, “but, listen, I would have asked you out face to face but I was in a business meeting and the guy wouldn’t leave my side. It didn’t seem appropriate for us both to approach you so the note was all I could think of. So will you come for a drink with me then?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “That would be lovely.”
“Great, how about tonight?” he replied.
“Tonight?” she said, her voice raised.
“Well, I’m only in Dublin tonight. I fly out to Dubai tomorrow for two weeks.”
Oh, what the heck, Cara thought as she tried to hush the obvious sounds of the bath water with the palms of her hands and sat up straighter.
“Sure, okay, why not? Where and when?” She bit her bottom lip hard.
“Say O’Donoghue’s on Baggot Street, around nine?” he suggested.
“Great, well, I’ll see you there – oh sorry, I don’t even know your name!”
“My name is Alex Charles,” he laughed. “Sorry, how rude of me – and you are?”
“Cara” she said, “Cara Byrne.”
“See you later, Cara Byrne,” he said slowly and hung up.
***
O’Donoghue’s bar was heaving when Cara arrived and loud traditional Irish music rang out all around. She headed straight for the toilet to check her appearance one last time. She had let her long red hair loose after her bath and it curled around her petite face. She had worn tinted foundation, dark-grey eye shadow, dark-grey eyeliner, pink blusher and kept her lips nude. She wore a tight white vest shirt and a denim miniskirt, with thick black tights and black pumps, and had added some silver chains around her neck. She applied some rosy Vaseline on her lips now to liven up her lips a little and let out a deep breath.
“Are you in a queue, dear?” an American lady asked her.
“No, sorry, go ahead!” She smiled and pushed the door open as she squeezed past. Roomy was not a word to describe the toilets in O’Donoghue’s.
She saw him at the bar as soon as she left the loo. He was tall and dark and totally breathtaking. He had dark stubble now and it suited him. Every woman was looking at him, she noted, as she held her head high and pushed her way through the crowd towards him. He was engrossed in the live music in the corner, tapping his fingers on his pint glass. She reached up on her tippy toes and poked him gently on the shoulder.
“Ah, Red, you made it! Don’t you look beautiful?” His eyes caressed her body and she blushed. “So what will you have to drink, Cara Byrne?”
She loved how her name sounded on his lips and she ordered a gin and tonic. They made their way out to the beer garden when her drink arrived so he could smoke. It was well heated so she didn’t mind. There was a spare barrel and two stools at the very back, away from the music, and she ran for it.
“Eager beaver!” he laughed. “As they say,” he added, slightly awkwardly.
They both sat on the high stools. Cara was aware that a group of girls at a barrel beside them all stopped talking to gawp at him and now there were peals of laughter from them.
“So, pleased to meet you, Cara.” He stuck out his hand and she took it. He held it for a moment too long.
“Pleased to meet you too, Alex,” she returned.
Then he suddenly said, “So, great stew today by the way – good advice.”
They smiled at one another.
“So, Cara Byrne, tell me all about you, tell me everything, I want to know it all.” He grinned and she laughed as he opened a fresh packet of Marlboro Red. He removed the silver foil and wrapped the clear wrapping paper in it and sealed it tightly. He dropped it into the ashtray and lit a cigarette up slowly and confidently.
He was wearing a tight black T-shirt and light blue jeans with black Nike runners. He seemed so much younger than when he was in uniform. He had eyes like Ray Liotta, she realised. That was it! Before she knew it she said out loud, “Wow, you look really like the actor Ray Liotta!”
He blew smoke high into the air. “I get that all the time – and you, you look like Nicole Kidman, right?”
She laughed. She wouldn’t say she got that all the time but it had been said once or twice and that was enough for her. “Ha, I wish that were true!” She sipped her G&T, waiting for his response.
“You are far more beautiful than Nicole Kidman but we could become a pair of look-a-likes and quit our day jobs.”
She was thrilled at the word we. “So a pilot’s life must be pretty exciting stuff?” she asked him, genuinely interested.
They struck up an easy conversation and he told her he had worked as a pilot for five years. “It was never a question of what career I would take really as my dad was a pilot. He had my name down for the Pilot Training Centre in Killowen in Waterford since I was a boy.” He picked up his pint and the beer mat stuck to it. They both laughed. He prised it off and dropped it onto the ground. “That’s where I received my ATPL licence. The course took fifty-seven weeks to complete but Dad was always singing its praises.” He stuck his chin down into his neck and squinted his eyes tight, pointing his baby fin
ger in the air. “You know, son, I can’t recommend the pilot college highly enough. I know from experience that airlines favour students who have trained in Europe and trained with one organisation.” He stared into the distance now.
“Okay, yep, I get you!” Cara laughed.
“Yeah, that was the way it was. Then I went out to Florida and finished off my practicals. I do love it, though. It’s such a buzz still, climbing into the air – the power is overwhelming at times. The adrenalin rush. I can’t imagine I will ever tire of it.”
They ordered another round from a lounge boy. Alex told her he was from Dalkey in Dublin, had one sister and went to boarding school in Kerry from the age of twelve. He was so easy to talk to and a fantastic listener. She found herself, after the fourth G&T, doing exactly what he’d asked the second they’d sat down – telling him all about herself. She told him about her beloved dad’s passing at forty-nine of a heart attack, how she found him in the chair in their front room when she came down for her Rice Krispies that Friday morning in March, how she still lived with her mother and still couldn’t face leaving her on her own. Didn’t ever want to leave her on her own. Cara opened up to this stranger about how she felt responsible for Esther, about how Esther was still quite innocent and childlike yet a perfectly functioning adult and mother. She knew her dad would have wanted her to look after Esther as he had. He told her he understood as he was also really close to his own mother. She went on to tell him how she’d have loved to have gone to college but they needed the money. She’d always been really interested in working in hotel hospitality ever since her first family holiday years back when she was ten years old. They stayed at The Cliffs in Blackpool and she’d adored it. Her dad had been a bus driver and he had spent every penny as he earned it. He liked his pints, did her dad. He wasn’t an alcoholic by any means – well, if he was he was the best advertisement for one she had ever known. He was always jolly, always laughing, and he always left the pub at nine o’clock on the dot every night to say goodnight to her and see his wife. On Friday nights he brought home fish and chips and sometimes a portion of curry sauce. He was so loving. A gentle soul, her mother fondly called him, but sometimes she called him “that bloody eejit” as he had left them penniless. He had spent some formative years going to school in Blackpool when his parents had sent him over to England to live with his wonderful auntie, Kathleen Fogg. His aunt had taken great care of him and looked after him as one of her own. “That’s what family did for each other in those days,” he had explained to her. On their holiday, the one and only in Blackpool, he showed her all the places he went, took her to the top of the Blackpool Tower and then to the Pleasure Beach. They went on the tram and walked the piers. Cara had thought she’d died and gone to heaven as she rode ride after ride in the Pleasure Beach and ate candy floss and got one of those huge red candy soothers that she hung around her neck on a red ribbon. It had lasted forever. It had been warm and sunny. The town seemed so full of cheer and goodwill it made her smile. It had been full of Irish families all enjoying themselves and they had mixed with many over the holiday. Simple pleasures. At the hotel every night the three of them sat in the bar at the same corner table and there were magic shows and dancers and singers. This was where Cara’s love for the hotel industry was born.
The Other Side of Wonderful Page 6