The Other Side of Wonderful

by Caroline Grace-Cassidy

  She was suddenly shy and slightly breathless.

  “Well, when I say muscle . . .” he made a feeble attempt to squeeze his biceps, “I mean I can lend a hand.” He dropped his arm, extended his free hand and winked at her.

  “Honestly, that’s not necessary, I can manage on my own . . . I . . .” Then she stopped herself. “Actually, Jonathan, thank you, I’d really appreciate the help.”

  “Sure thing – let me get my diary and we can see when we can do it.”

  “Excuse me, please, Mr Redmond?” Tiffney leaned over the reception desk on her tippy-toes and called in. “I need to ask you to come and look at the dish of the day – there are two choices and Chef is in one of her mean morning moods.”

  “Later so?” Jonathan said to Cara, then picked up his red cup and made his way out to Tiffney.

  Cara was pleased with herself. Jonathan was a lovely man and she had to learn to move forward. She wanted to make new friends and start afresh.

  ***

  “Delivery!” Steve shouted through to the kitchen. “There’s a delivery man here for a Miss Cara Byrne! Anyone know a Miss Cara Byrne?” he joked.

  Cara wiped her hands on her red chequered apron and pushed the door open with her foot. There stood a man holding the biggest bouquet of red roses she had ever seen in her life. It covered his entire upper body. She could feel the rush of blood to her cheeks as the bar went quiet. Curious regular customers on the bar stools craned their necks to get a better look. Aoife and Hanja oohed and ahhed.

  “Thanks,” she muttered as she shakily signed her name on the electronic pad. She fled to the back storeroom with the roses and removed the card. “Dear Cara, I so hope we can see each other again. Sorry I was so jet-lagged! I had a fantastic time. Please, please, call me. Alex. xxx” She was so flattered. No one had ever sent her flowers in her life. Wait until Esther got a load of these! She smelled one after another as she twisted the massive bouquet in her hands. His mobile number was written clear and concise once again so there would be no messing up any digits. She still had the original piece of paper folded neatly on her bookshelf in her bedroom.

  She ran water in the old paint-splattered sink and gently stood the flowers up in it. Then she returned to the bar, her face less flushed now.

  “Hmm, someone musta had a good night?” Steve teased but she could tell he was a bit put out.

  “Who are they from?” Aoife pushed her stud back into her nose as Cara just waved her question away.

  The bar was really busy.

  “We need mixers quick and the bar’s a foot deep so I can’t move to get them,” Steve said.

  Glad of the job, Cara grabbed the large bunch of keys off him. She had thought Alex would like to see her again but you could never really tell, could you? It had been over two weeks since she had left him in that hotel room but she knew he was in Dubai so didn’t worry too much. But the whole shower episode rattled around in her head and she didn’t quite know what to make of it. Was it odd or perfectly normal? It didn’t really sit right with her but it wasn’t the type of question she could ever ask Esther either.

  Esther had been peeping out her bedroom net curtains as Cara arrived home in a taxi the night of the Shelbourne episode.

  “All I want to know is, were ya with the pilot?” she called down the stairs, rollers studded through her hair.

  “Yes,” Cara hissed back up. “Now get back into bed, Mam!”

  “I’ll sleep well tonight so.” Her mother closed her bedroom door quietly but Cara could hear her laughing.

  Cara grabbed a box of mixers and hoisted it up onto her knee and then onto her shoulder. Her heart was beating fast and she felt great. He must really like her. Alex Charles must really like Black Magic.

  ***

  “Do you never wear trousers then?” Alex asked casually as they strolled up a busy Grafton Street towards the Gaiety Theatre.

  She suddenly felt very self-conscious as she had debated on whether or not the H&M blue skirt had been a little short. She pulled at it now.

  “Oh, I mean, it’s a great little skirt – it’s just I never really understand how women in relationships can still go out in tiny skirts. Oh shit, that sounded so bad! I don’t for one second mean us, mean you . . . oh, please, tell me you know what I mean?” Alex was blushing now and Cara stopped him just at the top of the street.

  “It’s fine, Alex, really, and I do understand. In fact I wasn’t sure about this skirt myself this evening. My wardrobe isn’t great. In fact, I ran out during my lunch break up to Henry Street and grabbed this.”

  “No, Cara, please, you don’t need to explain. The skirt’s amazing on you. I guess I’m just a really old-fashioned guy. Sorry. Sometimes I speak before I think.” He pulled her in close now and his body was taut against hers as his lips found her mouth.

  He smelt of Joop aftershave and cigarettes. She wasn’t really one for public displays of affection but for some reason when she was with Alex she just wanted to please him all the time. She found his physical presence so intoxicating. They kissed long and hard opposite the doors to the St Stephen’s Green Centre as passersby stared.

  They had spent every weekend together since his return from Dubai. He had been on dailies to the UK since and he was due to return to long haul soon.

  “I’m going to miss you so much,” he mumbled.

  He pulled at her hand now and they continued towards the theatre.

  Cara wasn’t really looking forward to the next two and a half hours if she was really honest. Opera wasn’t her thing. Fidelio wasn’t on her list of things she wanted to see.

  “Alex!”

  The leggy blonde air-kissed him as Cara stood in the background on the steps up to the theatre. “How fantastic to see you! It’s been forever. How have you been?”

  Cara took in her open fur wrap and tailored white trouser suit with massive pearl earrings and black stilettos. She was so polished, so chic.

  “Hi, Glenda! All good, thanks, and what about you?” Alex responded.

  “Oh, same old same old, darling! I’m still company manager with Roctas Modern Dance Company, been touring Berlin, heading to NY in the morning. You must catch a show soon? Dying for this production of Fidelio, aren’t you? Their Rigoletto was simply out of this world. Stunnnnnnning!”

  Glenda leaned in close to Alex and Cara shifted uncomfortably. Alex didn’t seem to notice.

  “Are you here alone?” Glenda asked.

  “Em, no, no,” Alex wrung his hands together, “I’m with my friend.” He turned and his eyes found Cara’s as she stepped forward.

  Glenda looked her up and down. “Hello, I’m Glenda Woodcock, how nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Cara, and yes, same here.” Cara wanted to run. She felt so awkward and didn’t really know why. She tugged hard at her skirt.

  Alex reached for her hand and led her to the doors as people spilled in all around them.

  “I haven’t seen Beth in so long . . . not since all the stuff . . . you know . . .?” Glenda was still alongside them as Alex handed their tickets over to the usher.

  “Oh, really?” said Alex.

  Clearly he didn’t want to talk about this Beth, Cara thought – or perhaps it was just that he wanted to discourage Glenda?

  They made their way into the auditorium and suddenly Glenda was lost in the crowd.

  “Sorry about that,” Alex whispered into her ear. “An old friend of someone’s, I don’t really know her too well, ex-model turned company manager, knows everyone.” He squeezed her hand.

  They found their seats and Alex sat back and read the programme. Cara pretended to read it along with him. As the lights went down and the music started and surrounded her, she found herself drifting. Opera definitely wasn’t her thing. She hadn’t a bloody clue what was going on. One minute someone was happily singing and the next it seemed some tragedy had occurred, only she didn’t have the foggiest idea what it was. Try, she urged herself and sat forward on the red velvet
seat. She couldn’t: her mind was all over the place. Alex’s friends were absolutely nothing like hers. Were she and Alex the right match, she wondered? What you really mean is, are you good enough for him, a little grinding voice echoed in her head. She shifted in her seat and Alex placed his hand gently on her thigh – to stop her fidgeting, no doubt.

  She sat back and tried to relax. She was thinking way too far ahead.

  Chapter 8

  Sandra sat in Louise’s with a guest’s left-behind copy of U magazine and a hot chocolate. She flicked the pages as she sipped her drink. Young Irish models stared back at her, posing in great couture gowns. Louise hovered around, whistling as she cleaned tables and served. Sandra just couldn’t face going home yet.

  She had cooked again last night when she got in from work – his favourite Irish coddle – and called him to come down. He had come down after a while, starving no doubt, and tried to be friendly to her.

  “How was work?” he’d asked as he spooned some hot gravy from the coddle into his mouth.

  “Fine.” She’d looked at him.

  “What?” he’d asked. “Why do you keep staring at me, Sandra?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  “Look, I’m sorry I’m so narky – it’s just this hanging around with no work is killing me.” He coughed and put his spoon down, gravy spraying over the glass table. “In fact, I’m thinking I might have to go up to Dublin again this weekend and see if I can make any new contacts.”

  The rain came down and pelted off the skylight, the only noise between them.

  “Whatever.” She’d pushed back her seat and tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

  “Want anything with that, hun?” Louise’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  Louise slipped into the empty brown-leather-backed chair beside her.

  “Ah, I don’t think so, Louise, thanks.”

  “Everything okay?” the older woman asked as she rearranged the white matching salt and pepper set on the table. She pushed up the drooping end-of-day fresh flowers in their cream vase with its logo of two entwined letter L’s for Louise’s Loft.

  “If only!” Sandra sighed.

  “I’m always a good pair of ears, you know that,” Louise said, lowering her voice to a whisper.

  Sandra nodded. “I know that only too well, Louise.”

  “Are you trying for another round?” Louise slid her hand over Sandra’s.

  Another round. The dreaded IVF. She remembered the days when another round meant a round at the bar! She almost wished that was her only problem right now. “No, I think I’m done.” She shook her head. “It’s Neil . . . he’s . . . well, I’m not sure but . . .” She dabbed her finger into the pink marshmallow on the side of her plate.

  “Oh no, chicken, do you mean what I think you mean?” Louise asked.

  Sandra had confided in Louise the last time and the older woman had been amazing. “Well, yeah, but like I say I have no proof . . . I’m only guessing really . . . and to top all that off we are flat broke. I spent every penny we had on the family home and the two rounds of IVF and now we have no money, not a smelly cent. We’re in debt. I’m working every hour God sends but Neil doesn’t appreciate my efforts. I think he wants out, Louise.” The words tumbled past each other now. “We have no marriage to speak of any more, no money and we still have no baby.”

  Louise squeezed her hand. “He’s a bad one, Sandra, if he’s doing this to you again. But you need to find out for sure. You’ve both been through so much, but you in particular. Confront him, it’s the only way. I know I told you before that we all make mistakes – I felt his pride was wounded over the IVF. But to do it twice is not on, you know that, love?” Louise’s kind eyes were serious.

  Sandra didn’t think Neil was in the state he was in over the baby, not for a second. She drained the chocolate as Louise got up to serve Cara who had just come in. She carried her empty mug up to the counter and smiled at Cara as she left. She hadn’t spoken to Cara much and she felt bad about that but she just had no time lately.

  She strolled slowly over the bridge and walked down towards the estate. Funny, she thought as she stopped to let some loud American tourists take their photos, she hadn’t thought about her baby in weeks now. The first time in so long. She always said ‘her baby’ even though there had never been a baby. There had been a pregnancy though. A very brief one. The pregnancy she had longed so much for. Her mouth quivered as she tried to smile her best friendly ‘top o’ the mornin’’ Irish smile at the tourists. Knocknoly needed these tourists and so did the Moritz.

  She heard a Vespa pulling into the estate over the hill as she crossed the field. It must be Neil – he possessed the only Vespa on the estate. She would ask him outright after dinner. Sandra wouldn’t be a doormat any longer.

  Chapter 9

  Cara hung up the phone and sat back relieved. She had just finalised the menu with Jenny who was delighted with the final choices. The starter was a homemade vegetable soup or filo prawns in a sweet brandy sauce. For mains it was a thirty-two-day-aged sirloin of tender Aberdeen Angus steak, served with a Béarnaise sauce, skinny fries and roasted tomatoes, accompanied by sides of tender-stem broccoli and spinach with garlic and lemon – or Salmon Teriyaki served with grilled bok choi, ginger, chilli and coriander shoots with jasmine rice – or the vegetarian options of a Tofu Teriyaki served with the same grilled bok choi, ginger and chilli on a bed of jasmine rice, or a mushroom-and-pea risotto. Cara had pushed Jenny on a traditional dessert selection of Christmas pudding with custard or a Crème Brulé. Cara thought it was a great seasonal menu suited to this couple and their guests.

  Jenny seemed to be handling everything on her own and it was a lot. Max had come to the hotel last week to meet with her and Cara had found him to be very pleasant but a little under Jenny’s thumb. He had spent most of the time sipping his red wine, relaxing and checking sports results on his iPhone.

  “So, Max,” she had pointed to the menu samples, “I won’t keep you much longer, I promise. We’re just looking at some samples Chef has put together if you would –” He had cut her off.

  “Listen, it’s just a bit of grub – whatever she wants is grand by me, Cara. I’m happy if she’s happy.”

  At that Jenny had stood up and thrown her cream leather bag over her shoulder. “Thanks, Cara. I’ll ring you during the week.”

  The two had left, Max shrugging his massive shoulders at Cara as they disappeared out the door.

  Jenny definitely wore the trousers in that relationship. Good for her, Cara thought.

  She had begun to compose an email to thank Delphine for all her hard work and confirm the menu when Jonathan entered her office.

  “Cara, I’m going to need you to go on a conference for couple of nights. You know what the Americans are like – they want us involved in all these conferences. They’re hosting a large one and I’d like you to go for us. I’m just waiting on the date. I’m not sure what exactly is going on but they seem a bit on edge. Can you manage that okay?”

  “Sure.” Cara twisted her hands together. “Once it’s after the wedding that should be fine. The anniversary isn’t until the last Saturday in January.”

  He was running his fingers over the mirror in the back office. “Seriously, Sandra’s make-up powder stuff gets everywhere. What does she do? Shake it around the place before she puts it on? Sandra really doesn’t need to wear that much make-up – she’s way prettier without. Actually, I might need her to go on the conference trip too. It might be an idea to put up a local notice in Louise’s for some temp staff over Christmas and New Year, what do you think? There are a few locals we use – they’ll reply if they’re interested.”

  He approached her now. He came right up to within inches of her face and gently pulled a small piece of paper from her hair. “Paper.” He flicked it away.

  Cara stiffened. “N-no problem, I c-can do that,” she stuttered back at him as the bell at reception rang out
and Jonathan left the office.

  ***

  When Sandra arrived home Neil was outside, down on his leather-clad knees locking up his bike. The leathers were always a bad sign. It was only a Vespa after all not a Harley Davidson.

  “Hi ya, Neil!” Sandra called out to him as she put her key in the hall door.

  “Hey, how’s things, love?” He pulled his retro helmet off, put it under his arm and followed her inside.

  She looked around the hall. “Did you put the washing on the radiators?” She felt the clothes which were still damp. All his clothes.

  “Yeah, this afternoon.” He balanced the helmet on the knob of the banister.

  “Why?” She turned to him.

  “Why? Because it was in the machine and I dunno but I guessed it wasn’t going to dry in there all by itself,” he answered her, too quickly and too smartly. Defence.

  “You need something dried?” She kept her focus.

  He shuffled from one foot to the other. “Yeah, like I told you, I need a few bits if I’m going to Dublin for the weekend. I need a job, love, you know that.” He took her hands.

  “Of course you do – silly me.” She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t face it yet.

  “Anything for dinner? I’d eat a scabby man’s leg,” he asked.

  It was the first time in God knows how long she hadn’t left out a prepared evening meal for the two of them.

  “I’m afraid not. I keep cooking and it keeps going in the bin. I hate wasting good food that we can ill afford. There are tins of beans and fresh bread in the press – that’s about the height of it. I’m going up for a shower.” She pulled her hands away.

  “It will be okay, Sandra, I’ll get sorted. Things are all a bit mad right now but I will sort it.”

  He made his way down to the kitchen and she watched him reach up and open the press and pull out two tins of beans.

  “Take your time!” he called from the kitchen. “I’ll heat these up and pour us a glass of wine. At least we can still afford wine, I see.”