The Other Side of Wonderful

by Caroline Grace-Cassidy

  “Jeez, Fort Knox, hey! Sorry, you were still in the shower! Am I too early?”

  “It’s fine, I was daydreaming as usual – glasses are in the fridge along with the wine and I have a couple of Louise’s lasagnes for later.”

  “Superb! I am absolutely starving! I’ve been starving all day.”

  Cara took Sandra’s coat and hung it on the old-fashioned coat-rack by the door. She repositioned her fluffy towel.

  “There’s still no word from the bank,” Sandra said. “I just emailed Jonathan on his Blackberry – Dermot’s on the way to get him from the train station. Man, it’s exciting, isn’t it? It’s just what I need – a whole new lease of life! Did I just say ‘man’? Okay, I really do need a drink.” Sandra flopped on the small couch as Cara made her way into the bedroom to get dressed, the two still chatting through the open door.

  “There is red on the counter and white in the fridge so whichever you prefer!” Cara called out, shaking the wet out of her long red hair with her left hand then she turned on the hairdryer to blast it dry.

  “You know, when I was a little girl I always wanted to call this place home. I had a bit of a property crush on it! I was only telling an old friend – Alex Charles – about it when I bumped into him in London!” Sandra shouted down the hall as she headed for the fridge and removed the white wine and the chilled glasses. She poured two large measures and popped the bottle back in the fridge before returning to the couch with the drinks.

  Cara came out of the bedroom in her blue tracksuit and fluffy red slipper-socks.

  “Sorry? Were you saying something? I couldn’t hear a word over the dryer.”

  “Nah, nothing important. Nice outfit!” Sandra said and smiled as Cara curled up on the couch beside her.

  “Yeah, I’m a comfy girl, always have been, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, me too!” Sandra handed her a glass and they clinked. “Great to meet you, fellow-comfy-girl Cara Byrne!”

  “Great to meet you too, Sandra . . . are you still Darragh?” Cara asked as she sniffed her wine and swirled the clear liquid around the bottom of the glass.

  “Ah, yeah, I don’t think I will go through all the bother of changing it back to Loughnane. I was Sandra Darragh, I still am. I think I need to just move forwards and not go backwards.” She sipped her wine. “Ah, that is so good!” She threw her eyes up to the ceiling. “So then, here we are!” She laughed. “Both with a novel in us, I guess?”

  “You got that right,” Cara laughed.

  “So what genre would yours be then?”

  “Oh – horror!” Cara answered immediately. “And yours?”

  Sandra paused and looked Cara in the eye. “Well, it’s hard to categorise my book really – romantic fiction meets hospital drama maybe?” They both laughed even though they each guessed the seriousness of the other’s choice.

  “So, fire ahead – tell me all.” Cara twisted her red curls up into a knot as Sandra filled her in on all her story.

  “What about the babies? Are you giving up on that too?” Cara touched Sandra’s arm.

  “It’s so hard for me to think about it, Cara, it really is. I can’t explain my desire to have a baby – it’s completely overwhelming. Don’t you ever feel like that? If you don’t mind me asking – and if I am out of line tell me to mind my own bloody business.”

  “I don’t know. No, not really. Esther, my poor traumatised mother, had me quite late in her life so maybe I’ll follow suit,” Cara said.

  “Why do I get the feeling that no matter how bad my story is, yours is probably worse?”

  Cara laughed now. “Because it probably is. The thing is, Sandra, I can be judged by my story. You won’t think the same way about me ever again. But I trust you and I feel that if I can’t open up and come totally clean and honest about my past then maybe Knocknoly’s not the right place for me after all.” Cara was suddenly really nervous. Why didn’t she just bury Alex Charles instead of thinking about him all the time? And now she was going to talk about him.

  “Shoot!” Sandra picked up her glass, kicked off her runners and tucked her feet under her.

  So Cara shot. She began with that afternoon in The Law Top when this absolute ride of a man invited her to take a drink for herself.

  Sandra’s facial expressions over the next half hour were priceless but she never once made a sound, never tried to interrupt or ask a question – she just listened.

  Just before Cara got to the last piece of her awful tale she stood up. “Hang on.” She stretched her arms above her head. “First – where’s that vodka?”

  “Really?” Sandra’s eyes were on stalks. “It gets worse?”

  Cara shrugged her shoulders. “Depends on what you see as worse.”

  Sandra dragged the bottle straight through the paper bag which ripped in two clean halves as Cara grabbed two new glasses from the kitchen and a two-litre bottle of Diet Coke. She popped a glass in front of each of them and added vodka and some Coke. “The Coke’s a bit flat, I’m afraid, but sure it will do.” She sat and picked up her glass.

  “Okay,” said Sandra, waving her glass. “Now I’m prepared for anything. Go on!”

  Cara did.

  “Jesus!” Sandra whispered minutes later as she cradled her glass.

  Silence hung in the air now as Cara watched her friend. Then Sandra let a slow tear trickle down her face before quickly wiping it away, not wanting Cara to know she felt sorry for her.

  “Are you okay?” Cara asked.

  Sandra snorted. “Am I okay? Yeah, I’m okay, but, Jesus, are you?”

  Cara nodded and her pretty face lit up. “I am fine now, honestly. It was a complete nightmare, but you know what they say: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Life goes on. I’ll never fall for piercing blue eyes again.”

  “Girls!” a male voice boomed through the open letterbox and Cara and Sandra screamed.

  Sandra jumped on the couch, roaring at a frightening pitch.

  “It’s just us! Dermot and Jonathan! What’s going on in there?”

  Cara dropped her head in her hands and began to laugh. She looked at Sandra’s white face and laughed even more.

  “It is not funny! I nearly peed in my pants! But no wonder we’re jumpy after your story, Holy Mother of God!” Sandra wiped her brow.

  “Not a word, okay?” Cara hissed after her as she got down off the couch and went to let the lads in.

  “What the heck is wrong with you, Sandy?” Dermot stared at her as she opened the door. “Is everything okay?”

  “Sorry,” she said, her eyes wide open as she stared hard back at him. “We just got a fright, that’s all.” Then she nearly fell backwards. “Wow, Dermot, your hair!”

  Dermot stood there, sporting a very closely shaven head. It was fantastic on him. Took years off him and made his cheekbones stand out like two armed guards. “Ah, thanks!” He ran his massive hand over it. “Had to be done, bit chilly on the ole noggin though.”

  “You two are seriously weird together, girls,” Jonathan said as he wiped his shoes on Cara’s new Welcome mat.

  “Well?” Cara jogged down the small hall as they entered and Sandra shut the door fast behind them. “What news from the bank?” She hopped up and down on each foot.

  “Okay, first of all, we will both have some of what ye are having.” Dermot pointed to the empty wine bottle and the half-empty vodka bottle.

  “Let’s sit at the kitchen table – more space,” Cara said as she tried to pull her fluffy slipper-socks off and push them under the couch. She didn’t quite know why.

  They sat and drinks were poured.

  Jonathan rubbed his hands together before loosening his tie and opening the top button of his shirt. “It’s not good news. No, worse than that, it’s shite news. They won’t even consider the loan they swore was sitting in the vault for me. They won’t budge. I tried everything. Sorry, guys!”

  “That’s crazy,” Cara said. “Sure we have it half raised already! Is ther
e no way we can find other investors? What about calling a meeting in Knocknoly church hall and seeing what the locals say? The hotel has been a massive part of Knocknoly for so many years and it’s a huge source of local employment and tourism. The locals have a right at least to know what’s going on, don’t they? It will affect a lot of businesses.”

  “We can try all right,” Jonathan said “but I think it’s a lost cause. The wonderful thing though is how touched I was at all the staff pulling together like that. I’d give anything to save the Moritz but I’m all out of ideas. Unless a Knight in Shining Euros appears through that door, the hotel is gone, I’m afraid, and possibly all our jobs too.” He peeled the paper label from the vodka bottle.

  “Would a Knight in Shining Sterling do?” Sandra suddenly said. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

  They all stared at her.

  “Who?” Jonathan and Dermot asked in unison.

  “Jamie Keenan, the tennis player!” Was it her imagination or did Dermot’s face cloud over for a split second.

  “Why would he want to help us?” he asked.

  “Yeah, why?” Jonathan asked.

  “Because this is what he wants to get into – well, the restaurant trade. I’m sure he would help. I’m sure he’d be interested – as a business venture, I mean.” She blushed now as she caught Dermot staring at her. “Listen, there is absolutely nothing romantic between us. He’ll never settle down romantically but I know he’d love to settle in Ireland. What have we got to lose by approaching him?” She knew she was slightly drunk but she was sure it was a great idea.

  “Okay, so how, when?” Jonathan asked.

  “Let me get his number – it’s back at the hotel – we can call him first thing in the morning.”

  “Okay.” Dermot looked at her and recognised she was well drunk. “It’s late now, guys – why don’t we call it a night and let’s meet say around seven thirty at the hotel and make a plan. We need to have facts and figures in front of us before we just cold-call the guy, yeah?”

  “Agreed, sir!” Jonathan necked his vodka and Coke and kissed Cara unexpectedly on the cheek.

  “Oh thanks! I mean, thank you, Jonathan, that was nice.”

  Sandra started to giggle under her hand. Oh no, Cara thought, don’t let me laugh. But then she did – very loudly – as Sandra snorted back her guffaws.

  “Seriously, the pair of you are very strange at times,” Jonathan said and pulled up his tie. He needed to get back to the hotel.

  “Sorry!” Cara shook her head at Sandra. “We must be a bit drunk. Beddy-byes time, I think! I will let ye out.” She hiccupped now as if by way of explanation and escorted them to the door.

  When Cara shut the door behind them, she padded down to her bedroom, slightly wobbly, and passed out instantly on top of her bed.

  ***

  “So do you think Cara will still stay in Knocknoly if the hotel goes?” Jonathan stuffed his hands deep down into his suit pockets as they walked.

  Sandra peered at him through her drunken eyes as she linked Dermot’s arm. The night was wild and the wind so cold it took her breath away. She was also knocked out by Cara’s story.

  “Why do you ask?” She tried to keep a straight face as she tucked her head down into her coat collar. She’d seen the way Jonathan had looked at Cara Byrne that very first morning, when the lift doors opened, and over the last few months had seen enough to know he fancied her. Sly glances at her constantly and his attitude around her was always of such a sunny disposition. In fact, Jonathan Redmond had been in positively super form since Cara had joined the Moritz.

  “I think she will, you know. I genuinely think she loves it here. Why do you ask?”

  “Just making conversation, is all.” He dipped his head now to try and cut the wind.

  “Do you, Dermot?” Sandra squeezed his big arm tighter.

  “Do I what?” He was miles away.

  “Cara? Do you think Cara will stay put?”

  “What’s with all the questions about Cara tonight? I had a bloke around the yard earlier asking after her too. Wanted to know where she lived – bit of an oddball – told him to take a hike!”

  “She’s very popular . . . it’s the red hair, I guess . . .” Sandra said.

  “You two really seem to be getting closer.” Dermot glanced at her inquiringly.

  “Yeah, we’ve both been through a lot . . . not since my Aer Lingus days have I felt I had a close female friend . . . even some of the pilots . . .”

  She stopped suddenly and pulled him up in his tracks as she pinched his arm hard.

  “Ouch!” Dermot winced in pain.

  “Piercing blue eyes? Piercing blue eyes! A pilot? Alex? But his name must have been Alex Byrne! No, no – Cara may have gone back to her maiden name – she asked me if I was going back to mine . . .”

  “Are you okay, Sandy?” Dermot tugged his arm free and, rubbing it, turned to face her.

  “Fuck, Dermot, this is so important I cannot tell you. Please think really hard about the guy who was asking after Cara today. The oddball? Was there anything about him that stood out?” Sandra was on her knees now, throwing everything out of her bag to find her phone. Lipsticks and eye pencils were rolling down the path.

  “What is it, Sandra?” Jonathan bent and picked up her keys and put his foot out to stop the rest from rolling.

  “Dermot!” she shouted up at him now, the phone in her hand.

  Dermot was running his hand over his newly shaven head. “Why did you say piercing blue eyes? Do you know him? That’s what he had – he had mad blue eyes.” He raised his hands and dropped them hard by his sides.

  She nodded, her face now deathly pale, as though every drop of blood had just been drained out of her body. She staggered to her feet. “Oh God, no, she could be in danger!”

  “Danger!” Jonathan spun Sandra around.

  “Yes, danger, Jonathan. It’s a long story but we need to get back to Peter’s cottage right now. I don’t think I should call. There’s no time to call. Let’s go. Let’s just run!” She flung the rest of her stuff into her bag. “I think I know the guy who was looking for her. I think it was Alex Charles you were talking about, a guy I worked with. I met him again recently – he’s Cara’s ex-husband. I told him where she lived!” She turned and started to run.

  “She was married?” Jonathan pulled Sandra up.

  “Let’s go, I said!” She started to run again and the two men fell into step beside her.

  “But, apart from the eyes, what made you think it was him?” Jonathan panted.

  “Something just hit me – I have a weird feeling,” Sandra panted back as Jonathan sped past her.

  ***

  Cara could feel her body being rocked gently to wake up. It was actually a really nice sensation. She wasn’t scared or nervous or sleeping like a one-eyed dog. She was so relaxed. She couldn’t even open her eyes. Then she heard her name being called very quietly. She knew she was dreaming but she wasn’t letting the dream in. The familiar haunting voice called her name over and over again. She knew it was Alex but she also knew it was a dream. It was time that she ignored these ridiculous nightmares.

  “Cara, wake up!” It was loud now and no mistaking how close it was.

  Cara slowly opened her eyes. Alex sat on the edge of her bed. Dressed in a black polo-neck jumper and black jeans.

  “Don’t scream!” He held his hand in the air. “I have come in peace, I swear to God. Cara, please don’t be afraid. I knocked and knocked but there was no answer. I came around the back and saw you asleep on the bed, in all your clothes. I checked the back door and it was open.”

  She sat up. She looked at him. He looked different. Softer.

  “I have come to give you this.” He handed her a letter, a white small envelope with her name printed in green ink on the front. “It’s some kind of apology, Cara. It’s nothing to what I put you through but it’s part of my healing, and yes,” he clasped his hands, long fingers intertwin
ed, “I know I’ve a bloody cheek to talk about my healing after the things I did to you, the dreadful, dreadful things, but I can’t change the past, Cara, I can only move forward. I have to accept my past is part of me, acknowledge the damage I caused, try and apologise and move on.”

  She didn’t move. But she was near enough to her pillow and she knew what she had hidden under there. A hunting knife she had bought after the attack. She had slept with it under her pillow every night since.

  “I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia, undifferentiated schizophrenia to be exact. I’m on drugs referred to as antipsychotics since they help decrease the intensity of psychotic symptoms. I’ve also started on lithium which is really helping. Obviously I have no reason to tell you all this.”

  She nodded and pushed herself further up in the bed and rested her elbows on the pillow.

  “The reason I came here was to give you this letter but then I saw you passed out on the bed and I honestly got a fright. If you can believe that? It’s so unlike you to sleep in your clothes and on top of the bed.”

  “Thank you, Alex, but you can’t break into my home,” she said, feeling the bulk under her elbows.

  “I went to the hotel but you weren’t there and I didn’t want to leave the letter in case it got lost and never got to you. I asked a man in the stables where you lived but he was really rude. Eventually a woman in the coffee shop told me. Jesus, Cara, I am so, so sorry.”

  He looked it. He looked as he had looked the first night they had drunk in O’Donoghue’s.

  “The illness seemed to just take over again when I met you – all the classic signs now that I know what they are. The second anyone you care about comes along it feeds the paranoia. I knew I was way out of control but I thought if I just got you to marry me I would feel okay, safe in the knowledge that if you loved me enough to commit your entire life to me there was no way you were going to cheat on me. I told my psychologist about my dad but that’s not the reason I am like this. It’s chemical. I am sick that’s all there is to it. I need meds to keep me stable. I’m sure the police told you I haven’t flown in a long time. I will never come to you again after tonight, Cara. You have my absolute word on that but I just wanted to apologise to you.”